Chapter Nineteen: Surprise!

“Aura, are you done in there yet…?” Kurai knocks loudly on the bathroom door. I am looking at the mirror, my mouth wide open and my head angled so I can see the roof of my mouth as best as I can.

I slept for two whole days upon returning from that mission, but it was a muddled sleep. At times it was blissfully empty, but at others I had murky visions of the wailing children, and even worse, of those soul-less abysmal eyes. But I don’t really worry about it. After all, soon these will fade into the nothingness of time, as everything else already has. While some pain may not fade with time, memories are not at all immune to it’s influence. After all, even the things we wish to remember most become hazy and distorted as our lives go on. Some fade less quickly than others, such as the memory of first meeting Kurai, or Megan, or my first day as Mistress Kay’s pupil- but others will fade much more rapidly. The memory of a particular fight, for instance. It becomes harder to remember what exactly was said or done as time passes. Another example would be a birthday. No matter how pleasant the day, it becomes lost in the rest of the days of the year, becomes lost in all the other birthdays.

“Just one more second…” I call as I wipe the mist from the mirror again, my towel wrapped around my body as wet steaming droplets drip down from my glistening raven hair. Warm showers feel so nice, they help unlock tensed muscles and wipe away dirt and grime- not on the inside, but hey- at least it’s a start. With the clear spot in the mirror I can see the pink roof of my mouth, it has healed considerably I must say, but it is still tender and sore. It looks puffy, agitated. There is a huge scar right in the middle from the anchor pulling out and ripping the flesh, I can poke it with my tongue, and it feels quite strange. It sends a jolt down my spine when I do from the spark of pain. Like this, naked and exposed, I can also see the shadow of my scar hiding beneath the curtain of my bangs. Usually I never remove my eyepatch, but it isn’t very practical to shower with it on, now is it?

My hand tentatively moves to touch the scar that cuts right down the left side of my face, from above my brow to midway down my cheek. My eyelid seems permanently glued shut, I can’t even feel it anymore, let alone move it. The socket beneath the closed lid is too vacant to look like my eye is just closed- it is gone. Nothing is there. Despite the scar looking red and puckered, ghastly and still excruciatingly painful, when my fingers touch it I feel just a faint tickle. It looks much worse than it actually is. I think it went dead a long time ago, it only acts up occasionally, often with a dull throb that causes a migraine. I cup my hand over it and am surprised by the warmth that radiates from beneath my fingers. Funny how I’ve always considered this part of me to be dead, separate from the rest of me- but in fact it is still very alive… blood still runs through it, it is still warm and full of sensations. It is damaged, but still alive. Damaged...but still alive...just like me…

I push the hair back out of my face with my fingers, looking at the entirety of my face for the first time in a long while. A deep blue eye looks back at me, a ghastly scar on the other side. There is porcelain pale skin, thin dark brows, heavy black lashes that almost give off a look of drowsiness with my head tilted back like this, there is a pair of soft curved lips, the lower ever so slightly larger than the upper, that are often turned down into a scowl- but now they aren’t. Now they are indifferent, void of any expression. And they look almost...attractive. My face like this...it doesn’t look scary, or harsh, or broken. Even with my scar, even though it is present and admittedly very distracting, the face that goes with it does not look like the face of a killer, of someone heartless and cold.

‘Do I look like you…?’ I think of my forgotten mother, cupping a hand to the side of my face gingerly. Sometimes I can’t help but think about her, this mysterious woman whom I have forgotten, but have always yearned to know. My face like this, exposed, vulnerable, natural- does it resemble her facade? Do I possess any quality of hers...any at all?...Like this...I almost look like an entirely different person...And indeed, I do feel different….

I look down with a frustrated sigh, breaking the trance my own mind had cast on me. I put my eyepatch on with resigned hands and a stern expression before I look back at the mirror.

The change is drastic. My face is sharp, severe. The blue eye has turned cold and a scowl is painted upon those attractive lips. To think those two faces were the same woman would be preposterous, and yet they are. The girl with the pretty but damaged face, and the woman with a steely hard gaze- they are both me. But I can never be the former. I can never be exposed, never forget where I am and the pain I have felt. After all, it is the pain that makes me strong- and one can never be weak in a world such as this. Those who leave themselves exposed always get hurt, always get snared in every trap and hunted as easy prey- I refuse to be one of them.

In a perfect world...maybe I could be that girl I secretly want to be. The girl who could be hurt and get over it, who could let people in, who could be pleasant and capable of feeling, someone who was capable of giving love and receiving it in return. Maybe I would be able to trust people, and not hurt them unintentionally. Maybe I would be able to smile. Perhaps even I might be able to shed a few tears because I was not afraid of showing weakness, because I was not so numb and cold inside that I felt like I didn’t need them, because I didn’t feel that I had used up my allotted ration of tears for my entire life. Maybe I would be able to be happy, to love and be loved, to cry without holding back, to feel deep down inside and actually live instead of...just breathing.

But the truth is that this is not a perfect world- and it never will be. The world I live in is cruel, and if you are exposed, open, if you are vulnerable...you will be snuffed out. I cannot be happy. I cannot be merciful. I cannot allow myself to become weak. I am not ready to die, not yet. I will fight the tender side of me until the day I die. I will stifle and smother her. I will keep her from destroying me….after all, it is the only thing I can do...I have to be numb...So that I can fight...Because if I think about all of the terrible things I’ve done, if I dare to feel at all, this soul full of sin will surely drown me, dragging me down with heavy weights of guilt to the bottom of an ocean of blood… An ocean that I created.

“Aura! Come on! Some of us have to pee you know!” Kurai snaps, and I come back into reality. I should stop thinking so much, it’s starting to become dangerous.

“Fine, Fine. I’m coming out already, Princess…” I grumble as I rub my eye and open the bathroom door, wisps of steam escaping the room as I do. His face goes from flustered to shocked in a portion of a second.

“Aura...Um…”

“Spit it out already, I don’t have time for your babbling today.” I snap.

“You’re um...kind of...exposed….” His face is bright red, it makes me want to laugh.

“Stop staring then.” I pull the towel tighter around my chest, my other hand lands a hard blow to his ribs. “What sort of man are you, intruding on a woman when she’s clearly busy in the bathroom, then daring to leer at her?” I really didn’t like Kurai staring at me. I was used to other people looking at me like that, but I guess I didn’t want that sort of shallow attention from him. I don’t really know why I held him to different standards, maybe it was because we lived together…

“Damn….Ouch….I think you bruised me…”

“And you deserved it. Now go on and use the bathroom like you’ve been pining for the past half hour, I’m going to go start some laundry.” He grudgingly trudges into the bathroom at this, probably upset that I had hit him again. Pansy. Jerkwad shouldn’t have been staring at my body like that in the first place, he does have a girlfriend you know. (However evil she may be. I mean- she smells like cotton candy, I’ve never met a single decent person that smells like a carnival puked all over them.)

I go into my room and throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, picking up my laundry basket and the few stray items littered around the room from when Megan decided to “borrow” a shirt and dug through every single drawer without even caring what landed on the floor. Honestly, just because her room looks like a disaster area doesn’t mean she can wreck mine whenever she has the inclination. My basket is only half full, so I decide to do Kurai a favor and carry it down the hall and into his room. It’s messier than usual (probably because he’d had a few days alone and I hadn’t been there to enforce the very strict cleaning policy I put in place), with a hodgepodge of clothes strewn across the floor in crumpled piles. It isn’t a total disaster zone, which proves that he is neater than most of the male population. But even so, it still isn’t up to par with my regulations. I start to pick up clothes and toss them into the wicker basket.

“What are you doing…?” His voice comes from behind me.

“Doing laundry. I figured I’d help you out.” I pick up one of his shirts and put it in the basket, my brow furrowing as I see what lies underneath it.

“Um. What is my bra doing in your room…?” I pick it up by one of the straps. The article is beige in color, trimmed in a sultry black lace and with shaped cups for extra support. I’ve worn it on occasion, and it’s very disturbing to find it in Kurai’s room….

“Oh, that isn’t yours.” He smiles slyly.

“I beg to differ? It looks exactly like mine.”

“It’s Marianne’s.” His grin gets wider.

I quickly drop the bra and let out a loud expletive that conveys just how disgusted I am.

“That’s so….Gross! God! Tell your tramp to take her undergarments home with her next time! What were you even- nevermind! I have a pretty good idea! Ugh- soap….I need soap…” I run out to wash my hands and I can hear his laughter behind me.

“You’re doing all of the laundry from now on!” I snap.

“Whatever- it was worth it.” He chuckles.

“So gross…” I grumble as I scrub my hands to the bone. I wish I could scrub my eye too- wash away that image. Never in my wildest dreams did I want to know that Kurai’s girlfriend and I shared common taste in undergarments….

* * *

I walk into the living room and all of the lights are off. This is suspicious, because Kurai was supposed to have come home several hours earlier while I meditated at the chapel. He always leaves a light on somewhere. Always….

A chilled spring breeze flows in behind me, the rare sort that comes in the days between two seasons, when Winter shifts into Spring. That’s right- it had been over a year together now, hadn’t it…? It certainly didn’t feel like it had been that long. And yet, the cold breeze that smelled of green buds and young flowers pushing through ice spoke of the inevitable passing of time. It was a pleasant, and yet sorrowful scent. A whole year gone that would never return, and yet- was it not a glorious year? Did I not accomplish many things and make new bonds? One thing I had yet to accomplish though, was the deciphering of that blasted journal- there were absolutely no reference materials whatsoever on the glyphs inside of it at the library, not even in the rare book section. It was always gnawing at me, that journal, in the back of my mind. It teased and taunted me, even as I stand in the dark doorway, reminiscing and remembering the events of the past year.

My night vision has adjusted enough for me to take a tentative step into the room.

“There better not be any nudists in here…” I warn. I honestly can’t think of any other reason all of the lights would be off. Unless he wasn’t home- in which case I would have to punish him for daring to lie to me. Huh- why do I always think of worst case scenarios?...

“Surpriseeeeeeee~!!!!!” The lights turn on abruptly, and I double over at the searing pain in my eye socket.

There are a lot of choice words as I clutch at my eye, the world slowly coming into focus as the switch in my brain is flipped. When I can finally see clearly, I straighten myself up and take in the scene. And you know what? I almost want to laugh.

There’s a very small gathering of people in the room, in fact- only three people. Kurai, Megan, and (the distinctly feminine) Link Michaels, Megan’s trainee. Next to them there is a very modest stack of presents that look as though they’ve been wrapped by a toddler, and cheap party streamers and ribbons are tossed about the room without rhyme or reason. In front of them, resting on the coffee table, there is a cake with black and blue frosting. ‘Happy Birthday!’ is arced across it in blue m&ms, and there’s a rather sorry excuse for a whip doodled on it in frosting.

“What is all this…?” I shake my head and smile, it’s sort of cute that they did this when I hadn’t even remembered that it was my own birthday.

“A party- sort of.” Megan grins, there’s a smudge of blue on her lips- so I know she must have tasted the frosting already, ‘just to see if it was good enough’. It’s funny to me- because I’ve never really celebrated my birthday before. It’s just always been another day in the year, albeit the day I came into the world. It’s even more amusing because I can honestly say I never expected to have any of this- not a cake, or presents, least of all a small gathering of people who actually cared about me, cared that I was born...It makes me almost...happy. Happy that people cared.

“How did all of you know my birthday…?” I look around at the messy decorations. They certainly are an eyesore, but the most charming eyesore I have ever seen.

“Your file. Megan broke into it.” Link smirks.

“It’s kind of insulting that you never told me your birthday, Aura. I thought we were best friends.” Megan pouts.

“We are, it just wasn’t relevant. Besides, you were always gone or busy this time of year.”

“Whatever- but lookie!” Megan chirrups, trying to prop a tacky plastic tiara on my head.

“Oh-ho no….” I duck and weave to the side. No way did I want that on my head, that was just begging for centuries of taunting. Besides- the phrase ‘Birthday Princess!’ stamped on the cheap plastic didn’t really appeal to me either.

“Oh come on- what fun is a birthday party if you don’t let yourself go a little?” Megan frowns. “You have to have fun on your birthday! That’s what makes it different from every other day!” There was a lot of struggling and persuading, and even a bit of wrestling, but Megan finally managed to set the tiara on my head. But let me make this perfectly clear- I did not enjoy it. At all. After the tiara fiasco, she propped me down on the sofa in front of the cake.

On the cake there were nineteen candles, one for each year I had lived. Even the ones I couldn’t remember. The candles were shaped like little knives, but were already half melted by the time they managed to get the cheesy tiara on my head. Little rivulets of wax had plopped down onto the icing and solidified into bead-like lumps. I blew out the army of little flames with one big breath, much to Megan’s excitement.

“What did you wish for?” Kurai asks.

“Wish…?”

“Yeah. You were supposed to make a wish.”

“That’s stupid. Everyone knows wishes are just dreams that don’t come true. Why would I waste my time on that sort of junk?”

“Just do it. It’s tradition.” He explains. I grudgingly roll my eye and think. What on earth could I possibly want? What would please me enough to wish for it…? There were two things that came to mind, one right after the other. The first was that I wanted to know more about my parents, about the life I’d had before it was destroyed, about what could have been. The second was that I wanted to know more about that journal, about the secrets that eluded me so completely. I settle on one, clearly the more practical of the two, and remind myself that there really was no chance of it ever happening just because I made some silly wish. Wishes don’t come true, not for people like me. Never for people like me.

“So what did you wish for?” They all ask with wide eyes.

“Oh wait- she isn’t supposed to say!” Megan facepalms, “It won’t come true if she does!”

“Well it wasn’t gonna come true anyway so-” I try to say.

“Oh hush! Just have a little fun, ok? Now come on- it’s time for cake!” To my surprise, when Link carefully slices the cake (Even though Megan wanted to do it, but we didn’t really want it looking like diced sashimi by the time she was done with it…), I find that it is actually a richly iced and delectable looking red velvet cake. It is a Vietellam delicacy that I found I had enjoyed on a job in Champagne some long time ago, when Megan and I had stopped by a little bakery there. I have not eaten it since then, but it appears the readhead did not forget the experience. Strangely enough, I find myself smiling for the second time in less than an hour. I never knew it was possible for me to feel so… enchanted? No, that is not the word. Cared for…? No, that isn’t quite right either. Happy…? Yes, but….something more than that- Loved. I never knew it was possible for me to feel so...loved.

Kurai hands me the first piece, and as I take the first bite I find that it is just as flavorsome as I remember it to be.

“Which of you made this?” I look up suspiciously, because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Megan can’t cook, and Kurai doesn’t have the refined culinary talent to bake such a confection. I didn’t think we had a bakery in District One either, since people didn’t really have much of a sweet tooth here.

“Oh, Link did.” Megan grins. The runty male gives a smile and a small wave as I look at him. I almost choke on laughter (and cake). He really isn’t helping his case. I wonder if Megan has told him that I secretly believe he’s a woman. I mean, he has the build of a mortal ‘ballerina’. He has slim shoulders and hips to match, long but thin legs and arms, long unkempt dark brown hair, suspiciously long eyelashes and curvy lips, and the clothes he wears are conspicuously loose around the breast region. He’s too...pretty. Girls in Vietellam fawn over his sort (I’ve learned this as I was once cornered by the ‘Belieber’ fandom on a trip in New Jersey, where I simply could not comprehend why young women would want to watch a distinctly feminine male dance to autotuned vocals on an overly bright stage), but to me? It’s just….suspicious. And comical. Very, very comical.

“Do you like it?” He/She asks.

“Yes. It’s quite good.” I admit. After cake, I am handed the presents that look as though they were wrapped in a tornado. By a woman with only one arm. And really bad arthritis in her fingers. The first is a shapeless lump that I honestly have no clue about its contents because it is so horribly packaged. Megan is beaming though- so I know her sporadic mind must have tried its very best to wrap up this….whatever it is. I pretend to be impressed.

“Wow...this is great wrapping, you know- I can’t even tell what it is.” I force a smile, but it doesn’t feel quite so hard as usual. Maybe lying, if it was to spare someone’s feelings, wasn’t exactly the same, or as bad, as lying for other reasons. Megan soaks up the false praise as I gingerly pick at the wrapping paper (which is covered in psychopathic little clowns I might add). Eventually I get fed up with it, because she must have used a whole roll of tape or something, and rip the paper off to reveal a circular container a bit larger  than an old hat box.

“What is it…?” I ask, but she says nothing. Simply beckons me to open it. I shimmy the lid off carefully and pick the crinkling tissue paper off of the top and sides. When I peel it away, there’s a layer of cloth. That also is slowly peeled back to reveal the substance underneath, an assortment of objects really. From a small poison making kit and a jar of lacquer oil for BloodLust, to an emergency first aid kit and spare blades, to a new eyepatch and a set of hair ribbons, even going so far as to contain a new tracker device to replace the one that was damaged. But beneath this pile of goodies, there lies the brunt of the gift. The true “meat” of the present.

There’s a dress, a nice one at that. It is a dark blue, a cross between midnight and the darkest of navy. It has a bodice with a tantalizing bit of black lace around the top, and it flows into a floor length skirt that pools on the floor, which is also hemmed in the same lace. The sleeves look as though they would be form fitting and end about the elbow, but then erupt into a waterfall of black gossamer and lace that is so long it trails past the hips of the dress. This was the sort of dress a queen would wear- not a girl who enjoys decapitating things and whose only job is killing.

“Why…?” I ask, utterly confused. The fabric was so soft between my fingers, I didn’t even know things of such extravagant quality could exist- let alone for me.

“Well, we went out shopping in a city in Vietellam- what was it called again, Link?”

“Paris.”

“Oh yeah, Paris. And we found this small dress shop and I was all- ‘Hey, I don’t even think Aura owns a dress, do you Link?’ and he was all ‘No, I don’t think so.’ and then I said ‘Well, we should fix that. Cuz one of these days she gonna need a dress, for an espionage mission, or a formal event, or even a date- but she’s gonna need one.’. So we just decided to go in and have a peek. But, like I said it was a small shop. The dressmaker didn’t really have a lot of stuff already made- so we sorta told him what we were looking for and he asked for your measurements. Of course- I didn’t know them, so I broke into your place and measured you while you were asleep and Link ran them back to him. We just picked it up last night. Didn’t even really know what it looked like, but it turned out nice, yeah?” There’s a pause.

“Wait you...broke into my room at night to take my measurements while I was...asleep?”

“Ah-hah-hah…” She laughs nervously, “So, um...next present….”

I put the gown aside as though it would burst into flames in an instant. Something so nice just didn’t feel right in my hands. And yet, Megan was right. I didn’t even own a dress. It just didn’t seem practical to me, they get caught on everything and you have to worry about not messing them up or overexerting yourself in them- if I can’t run and fight and kill in something, why would I buy it? Why would I want to own one at all? Even so, the sentiment was nice. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be invited to see Lord Death face to face (yeah, like that’ll ever happen…), this would be the perfect dress for that such occasion.

The next present is an almost presentably wrapped package, but that might have been because whoever wrapped it had put a big gaudy bow on top of the bare patch where they had run out of wrapping paper. Upon the paper’s removal, it is revealed to be a book. Leather and velvet bound and rather nice actually. When I flip through it the pages are blank, and I realize this rather official looking book is actually a blank journal. It was actually a pretty good idea, a journal. Maybe writing all of my thoughts down in one would help me organize them and come up with something coherent.

“Thank you, Link.” I say, because I know it is Link’s gift just from the nearly acceptable wrapping.

“Next one.” Kurai hands me an oddly shaped bundle wrapped up in brown burlap and string- an odd choice of wrapping, no doubt…

“Um….”

“Just open it.” He prods. I slowly untie the twine string and the burlap cloth falls away from the parcel, revealing a rather odd little trinket.

It is a bird- that is without question. Not a real one, but a bird nonetheless. Small and sprightly. The statuette is made of alabaster or white quartz, and sits in the palm of my hand heavily but perfectly. I don’t know why, but I feel like I have seen it somewhere before…

“A paperweight?” I look up at him.

“First off, it isn’t a paperweight.” He rolls his eyes and takes it from my hand, I kind of want to smack him for taking it away from me, but I resist the urge. He huffs the dark hair out of his eyes and suddenly twists the neck of the small bird with the palm of his hand. At first I think he’s gone and broken it, but then he shows me that the upper half of the bird unscrews from the lower. Inside is a small well full of a deep red and glossy solid. Lipstick. Just not so much in stick form anymore.

“It’s a makeup jar.” He hands the two halves back to me. “It’s in the shape of a nightingale, and it supposedly belonged to someone in the Nightingale family a long time ago.” He looks up at me. “Your family.” He says to clarify. I swear my heart almost stops beating.

“I found it in an antique shop that was going out of business, the guy was all too eager to sell it to me once I told him about you. The stuff inside was all dried up and cakey so I had to go down to an apothecary and have them make some more lip rouge to put inside.” I put the two pieces back together and turn the small bird in my hands. If this had really belonged to somebody in my family a long time ago- it was priceless to me now, more priceless to me than it would be to anyone else. Of course, this raises the question of who it really belonged to, and what their relation is to me. But even so, even with these questions...it was beautiful to me. Truly and unmistakably so. Never had I held anything in my hands that had any sort of relation to my family or lineage. Family...the feeling has such a warm connotation, and my heart years for that connection every day- but all it feels is...a void. Nothingness. I have no family, nor have I ever known one. I guess...if you really think about it...the closest thing I have to family is right here, surrounding me in this room. Megan- sisters not by blood but by heart, Link- that weird distant cousin you have to pretend to like, and Kurai… what would Kurai be? I mean, I think of him possessively, and I always want to protect him and make sure he doesn’t get hurt (by himself or by others) so...he would be like a brother? Yes, a brother…

“Thank you for the gifts, all of you. It was very-”

“There’s still one more.” Kurai insists, handing me the last package with a bit of reluctance.

The last gift looks like some sort of lumpy box, through what I can make out with the devastated wrapping paper. Tearing it off would be absolutely merciful.

Upon shedding the object of its atrocious paper shroud, it was revealed indeed to be a soft edged box, blue in color. The sort mortals would keep jewelry inside. There wasn’t a card, there weren’t cards with any of the gifts in fact, this lot didn’t seem the sort for empty words that would probably induce nausea inside of me anyway. I crack the box before fully opening it, my keen nose detects the pungent smell of silver and glass, perhaps crystal- because the two substances have remarkably similar scents.

When the box is fully opened, it reveals an almost off putting amount of sparkles. But then- not quite.

The object is something that resembles an oblong polished stone, perhaps a bit smaller than the upper half of my thumb, but slightly so. It is clear, the stone, likely glass or crystal as my nose had hinted, and hollowed out. It resembles frosted crystal or glass, being just the slightest bit hazy at the bottom with white-grey lines webbing across it as though it were cracked, though it isn’t. The walls of the cocoon are thin, I could crush them between my fingers in fact, but sturdy enough that it probably wouldn’t shatter if it was accidentally dropped on the hard floor. The little ornament is wrapped up in an intricate silver cage, one that holds the base and top through swirling vines that push against the surface of the object. There is a small ring at the top of the cage, and through it is threaded a delicate silver chain. I’m not really one for pointless jewelry, so I don’t really understand-

“It’s from my Mom….” Kurai says softly, I look up at him and have to refrain from dropping the fragile necklace at his statement.

“Why would you-”

“She wants you to have it. It’s a ‘Fae Flask’. Supposedly a long time ago one of the little light creatures lived inside of that stone. A really long time ago I mean, the sort of times you only hear of in fables. Back when Muortum wasn’t just dark, and wasn’t even Muortum at all. Back when all of the creatures and people lived in one realm. When creatures like the Fae could still survive. But the Fae inside of it died, and only the shell of its home remains. It’s supposed to bring good luck and fortune to its wearer. My mom was dead set on giving it to you. Said she thought it was time for her to pass on ownership. I didn’t agree but...she’s always been stubborn. Just promise you’ll take good care of it….” He looked at me with those sharp silver eyes, perhaps even a bit of hurt lingering behind them for whatever reason. I didn’t know what to do- I couldn’t just say ‘Nope. Don’t really want it, you can give it back to your mom’ or ‘Yeah, thanks so much for your mother’s precious necklace. I really hope I don’t break it’. So...what exactly do I say…?

“I can tell this is very precious to you….and I don’t think anything I could say would really be adequate...but nonetheless, thank you...and thank your mother for me too...It is quite beautiful, and the story that goes along with it is priceless in and of itself.” I didn’t really believe in luck or good fortune, but if it was something his mother believed in- who was I to say she was a liar? I didn’t really understand why his mother would care about her son’s mentor either. But then, perhaps she truly understands that I am only here to help improve her son’s chances of survival and make sure that when an inevitable catastrophe strikes, he will at least be prepared for it. That he will survive where he otherwise would have died.

To my surprise, a small smile breaks across his lips.

“Let me help you put it on, the clasp can be tricky sometimes…” He comes up behind me and my entire body seizes up. My spine is rigid as he sweeps my dark hair aside and brushes his fingers against the pale skin of my neck, looping the delicate chain around it. It is an instinct, whenever something comes up from behind- well, it usually isn’t a good thing. But his fingers are gentle, and after a few moments he steps back to take in the look of the necklace around my neck.

“It looks nice on you.” He says absently, I touch the fragile cocoon gingerly. Wearing it is so much more different than seeing it. When I wear it, it feels...kind. As though the Fae that once resided within the flask was still alive and had finally come home. It is almost...soothing.

“Thank you. All of you. This day has been...an interesting experience, to say the least…” I remove the cheap plastic tiara from my head when a sharp rap on the door catches everyone’s attention.

“Who could that be…?” Megan ponders as Kurai goes over to answer the door.

“At this hour too, the party’s already over…” Link says. Kurai cracks the door and I hear a long drawn out pause…

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, narrowing his eyes slightly. The person behind the mostly closed door pushes it open and it is as though all of the air in my lungs freezes. Such a familiar face, such a looming presence and daunting air, such beauty and danger all in one package...it could only be one person…

“Mistress Kay…?” My voice chokes out, an unexpected visit from one’s master usually means you have made a critical error- one worthy of only the most harsh and degrading punishment.

“We need to talk, Aurora. Now.” Her soft auburn hair is tied back in a sharp braid, as if she had just come out of training new recruits. She still wears her mentor’s armor and cloak, one that billows around her like a pool of rippling shadows when she walks. The brooch pinned to her breast is the emblem of the Guardian circle, a thorned circle with a scythe and sword crossing through the middle to make an X. In the center of that X there rests a small set of scales, balance. A reminder that everything the Guardian Circle does is to preserve the balance between the worlds.

“Y-yes ma’am…” I curl and uncurl my fingers, I don’t know what I did, but her sense of urgency probably meant this was going to be one hell of a punishment.

“Is there anywhere we can speak in private?” She asks curtly.

“My room is just down the hall…” I say softly, turning quickly to lead her to the chamber- the last thing I needed was an even more severe punishment because I had ‘stalled’.

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[EmaleighLynn]

Psst...Kurai's girlfriend was called Marianne, I thought? Persephone was Rosa's story.