"What did you bring me?"
"No, sir. We are still actively pursuing all possible leads."
"So he's been missing since last night."
"Yes, sir, according to his mother's testimony. The last time Adela Swatham saw Blake was before leaving for work the night before."
"Go to Work?"
"Night nurse, sir."
"Boss, the child has been gone for less than twenty-four hours. Doesn't that mean he is not considered missing yet?"
"He is not yet eighteen, Detective. This rule does not apply. Did you get any useful information from his mother?"
"Hysterical?"
"West, do you need me to arrange another sensitivity training for you?"
"We are not sure of his mother's testimony yet, sir. We have one or two more names to look up."
"Okay, let's go then. Dismissed."
I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. Pancakes have cake in their name. Very close. It's been a long time since I've had good pancakes.
Matt's pancakes are so delicious. Well, you might think that making pancakes is easy, and it is. But making good pancakes is hard. Not everyone can do it. My brother has it; my mom has it too. A family secret recipe. Unfortunately, its ingredients are not spread around the world. Neither does maple syrup.
Maple syrup and powdered sugar pancakes. This has been “breakfast for dinner” in our house for a long time. We occasionally get that special surprise when we actually get a chance to sit down together for a nice meal. Tonight's feast was better than any I can remember - including several literal feasts. Note, I'm not saying Matt is some food wizard. It tasted good, but the meal was made even better by the company.
First, my mother woke up and was still laughing. We told the usual inside jokes, poked fun at Matt's unexpected new love life, and hung out. It felt like we were right back where we left off. Sitting at the small round table for the three of us, I felt very comfortable and warm. I think...it's normal. relatively. For the first time, I didn't think about Sierraville for hours at a time. Occasionally I would still glance out the window to make sure no one was watching, but the usual hallucinations and flashes of fear were gone.
What really made me anxious was when my mom asked me how school was. I ignored it, or at least I thought I ignored it, but a few minutes later she came back to haunt me. I knew she was just trying to be a good parent, but how could I answer a homework question from seven years ago?
Matt was no help at all. He could easily have led his mother to other topics, but instead he became moody and withdrawn. It was only through years of experience dealing with my opposites in the ambassadorial tent that I was able to hide my emotions and steer the conversation in the direction I wanted. She was persistent, something Matt clearly inherited from her. Once they have a mission in mind, they don't give up. Which is admirable, except when I'm the target.
I love her to death, don’t get me wrong. I wanted to tell her everything, but Matt said no. He may be right. Let's keep it a secret until everything is clear, we know what we're doing and who we can trust.
Yeah, I'm a bit of a hypocrite. Shut up.
Sarah is my best friend. Not the kind of best friend you happen to hang out with all the time. I mean people I trust. She was the kind of person who had seen me cry, she knew my every crush and every weird thought that ran through my head, and she would keep me awake for weeks on end until three in the morning talking about anything and everything in between. of all things. I never lied to her.
Well, that’s a lie too, if you want to be pedantic. But big things. I never lied to Sarah, she helped me so much. Like what happened with my dad, or when my mom was sick, or those stupid things at school, or my huge identity crisis when I realized what my last name and Matt's were different meant.
(Not adopted, by the way. Pureblood siblings, it's complicated. If you ask nicely, I might tell you the story someday.)
The point is, Sarah is trustworthy. She is the best person I know in the world, besides my mom. But while my mom never quite understood discretion, preferring to share everything within the family, Sarah would never break a promise to anyone. Maybe Matt doesn't know yet, or maybe he overlooked people like Sarah when he said we couldn't tell anyone.
So why didn't I tell Matt what I did? If I have to admit, I was scared. I'm afraid he'll say it's a bad idea. Afraid that he would tell me to stop talking to her. And then we have a real problem, because there's absolutely no way I'm going to agree to that. I don't want to quarrel with my brother. We've done this before, with terrible results. It's really serious.
For now, secrecy is the best option. Sarah didn't know much and hadn't asked anything yet. This seems like a good compromise. Plus, it made the rift between her and Matt disappear.
Yeah, my best friend and my brother were going on a date, and that was really weird. But they're only a year apart now, and I mean it. They look like a cute couple. I thought they would be good together. They are my two favorite people in the world and they want to be together. That can't be a bad thing, right?
Right?
No, I'm not worried. It'll be fine.
I worried whether Matt noticed what I brought in that afternoon. When we get home from school, I run to check my mailbox. See, same-day delivery is a miracle of modern technology. I wish I had rushed the package into the room before Matt went to the garage. He might have seen me from the window. I don't know. I think I hid it well. He didn’t mention it anyway.
After dinner, while Mom was helping Matt clean the kitchen (despite his insistence that she go relax and enjoy her unusual day), I climbed the stairs very quietly and carefully. Often, our entire house creaks wherever you go. It's almost impossible to move around without being heard. I learned a lot about moving quietly and a lot of the concepts still apply. My steps were light and agile, and I can still remember many of the specific spots where the old wood made its sound. Memories resurfaced, many nights with Tetwalun and Neferin, I learned how to walk in the forest with only whispers behind me, how to avoid the rustling of leaves and branches, how to avoid the sound of footsteps without losing a trace power. A completely different environment, but I was able to adapt to the basics and I learned quickly.
When I got back to my room I was almost a ghost running across the floor, not hearing the door banging or heels hitting the floor.
I'm not sure why I do this. It's not like my family doesn't know where I am. It feels natural. Being able to move silently almost anywhere is a skill I've honed over the years, and it's incredibly valuable. I don't want to let it go.
Under "Valuable Skills," there's the package I ordered that afternoon using Carl's phone—a surprisingly short cardboard box that I shoved under the bed. I opened it slowly, trying not to make too much noise as I peeled the tape off. Inside is a beautiful three-piece maple bow that is easily disassembled and reassembled. A hard leather suitcase containing a quiver and a set of feathered arrows.
I took the bow out and assembled it, although I didn't string it right away. I don't want to stress the wood, and I don't plan on using it anytime soon, so there's no reason to bother with it just yet. I ran my hands along the board, feeling the smooth maple and perfect surface. This is perfect. so perfect. I wish I still had the bow I made, but I force myself not to. This is so stupid. There is no way I could put together a bow of that quality with the tools and materials here. Also, there are prettier, more modern materials that can be used instead of traditional wood, and I'm not a purist.
For example, the limb of this bow is not made of wood, or any material known to the Sillavels, but of black fiberglass that rolls back and up to form a thin The long curve adds weight to the string. I shudder to think what Tesi Varun would think of this, but that's not to say I can use the embryos here to strengthen my limbs. I haven't felt any connection or resurgence in the world yet, so I have to make do. Fiberglass works, even if the shiny black is completely incongruous with the pleasant brown swirls in the maple.
Satisfied, I took it apart and placed the three parts back into the foam-lined slots of the leather bag. The bag is tied around the waist and has a cylindrical box for arrows attached. I tried the outfit on and tested it carefully. After a few adjustments, it flexed with my movements, but it remained tight and firm. It doesn't swing around unnecessarily, catch things, or get in my way. I tried to feel it and found that I could catch an arrow quickly and painlessly whenever I needed to.
I checked the arrow. They were more expensive than I expected, but they felt sturdy and smooth and had great feathering. The tip was generous and it looked like they were up to the job. They also fly straight, even if they use some weird feather colors. I guess the pure white and black make them easier to spot when hunting. I bagged them, not wanting them to be exposed in the quiver outside to prying eyes.
Finally there is the knife. Anyway, I have much less experience with them in terms of materials and quality. I definitely know how to use it. I took a look at it and it looked pretty good. The blade is sharp and long enough that I can do just about anything with it. I feel very satisfied.
The bag was hidden under my bed, under some sheets, and I followed suit under my own blanket. Every muscle ached with fatigue. I pulled the blanket tighter around me and huddled up, waiting for the heat to come in, wishing I had a fire or something because I couldn't keep myself warm like I usually did.
You can buy a bow online and have it delivered to your door within 9 hours. How crazy is this?
The thought flashed through my mind and I fell asleep within a few minutes. After a miserable night of sleepless nights and an exhausting first day back, real sleep finally arrived. I was grateful to finally actually fall asleep. As I quietly left, my thoughts were focused on what I had just purchased. weapons.
It was the first time since I came home that I felt safe. It bothers me, but I can't help it. I have no logical reason to expect something, but my brain thinks logic can screw it up on its own. In my hands, that bow is a deadly, swift, and nearly silent weapon, and that knife is a great addition. If I get attacked, they'll end this fight quickly.
What on earth was I thinking? I didn't want to kill anyone. that's not me. I don't even want to hurt anyone.
So why am I still clutching the knife under my pillow when I fall asleep?
＊＊＊
The next day (Thursday, because I finally remembered the names of each day again) was a disaster.
Of course, I mean this with the best of intentions, but I'm pretty sure I ruined everything in one day. Come on, Team Jen.
I guess I'll go back and explain. Not bad at first. The next morning, after about 15 hours of continuous sleep, I woke up with a knife in my hand. I had breakfast with leftover pancakes from the night before. Matt put them on a plate in the refrigerator and left a note with my name on it. My mother has also passed away, so for a while I had the house to myself. Most of the time I just chewed and stared out the back window at the woods.
There is a small forest behind our house. It's really not that big, but it's deep enough that you can get a little lost and feel like your sense of direction is completely lost, surrounded by scattered tree trucks and bushes. Of course, since we were still very close to several major roads, the faint noise of cars speeding by was unavoidable. The woods obscured it, but not much. Sierraville Forest is much larger and more difficult to traverse, but it's on the other side of town, further away from the city.
I now have a strong, primal desire for those trees. Sitting in the shade of some large tree trunks, in a cozy corner under its thick roots, the scattered sunlight filters through the layers of leaves above my head, feeling the wind rustling among the branches, and the floor covered with layers of of ivy and fallen twigs, filling my nostrils with the smell of bark and sap and perhaps the coming downpour.
But I have to go to school.
I packed my luggage and went out. With Sarah's help I managed to find myself a class schedule for later in the day so I actually knew what I had in store for the day rather than blindly hoping my feet would take me to the right room. Our school implements classes on alternate days, so I had a new set of classes today. Sarah was busy on Thursday morning too, so I had to walk to school by myself. However, my other friends were waiting for me at the door in the morning. I said hello, as usual, but avoided conversation for the rest of the time. I just let them talk. I really don’t feel it today, especially with them.
Their conversation looked...I don't know. Not important, right now? I kind of hate myself for thinking that. Does that make me super arrogant? Neferin certainly has a few words to describe it.
I can't participate in gossip anymore, especially when I can't remember half the people we're talking about. There isn't much interesting information when names are floating like petals in the wind. I know I'll regret not paying attention later, but right now it seems like too much effort.
Sorry, back to business, disaster day. Nothing interesting happened in the morning. I'll jump right to the noteworthy part. That happened during the break between my second and third classes.
I just stood in front of my locker in the hallway. It is nothing special. (BTW, thank you Sarah for telling me where my locker was, with just a few raised eyebrows and painful concern.) I've been fighting with my bag all day, trying not to The contents were scattered everywhere as I walked. The noise is too much. I could tell myself it was okay, but my gut stubbornly persisted until I gave in. I divided all the loose stuff into little bags and filled them with cotton balls I had taken from the art room.
I thought I was smart and content, so something must be wrong.
There were a few people playing catch nearby. In fact, they are all good people. I vaguely remember that distant place long ago. I think we were classmates in elementary school. I watched them as I always watched everyone within thirty feet. But I got distracted, I was trying to figure out what was in my locker, what the hell was half the junk in there, and did I actually pick out the crappy trim on the door, until the ball hit the top of my head. On the wall, I just noticed the ball coming.
Well, objects flying at my head is nothing new. Usually they are more pointed. But the similarities are still there. The air behind it swept past my face, and I caught only a glimpse of the flash of an object. Suddenly, as I turned around, my mind slipped to a completely different place - coming face to face with a swarm of roaring kapavas, charging at me with hatred in their eyes and fists raised.
Me. difficult. He was taller than me, much bigger than me, but he had no weapons. Faster, more direct, he didn't expect it. I aimed for his unprotected stomach.
The unprotected fleshy part of the lower abdomen was punched hard. He was so frightened that he could not straighten up. Now I can use his momentum and weight against him. As I moved out of the way, my strong right foot caught his off-balance left foot.
He stumbled forward. His head hit the inside of the locker. I turned and followed him. My hand pulled the knife out of the belt holster behind my back. A knee dug into his spine, pinning him to the ground. I grabbed his head and pointed the blade at his throat.
He is at my mercy.
"what the hell?"
The real world quickly returned to normal. I didn't take down some racist, hateful warrior - I just took down a guy on the football team. He had been trying to catch a bad ball from his friend, and then he got distracted. Almost hit me.
I pointed the knife at him. Take him down. I almost killed him.
Pure, cold fear gripped every fiber of my being. I climbed off him and tucked the knife into my sleeve—I prayed I could hide it before anyone found it. I reached out to the guy, who was now completely confused, lying on the floor at my feet with his head still stuffed in my locker. His friend rushed over and a small crowd gathered around us, chattering excitedly.
Oh my God! This is bad.
“Sanam,” I said awkwardly. "Self-defense class, right?"
"Uh-huh," he said slowly, but still took my hand. I pulled him to his feet, relieved that there was no confrontation. He didn't notice how close to death he had been just a second ago. because I. Because I screwed up.
"Are you okay?" his friend asked, staring at me.
"Is she okay?" the man asked.
"Oh, forget it, Chris. You don't need that head anyway." I chuckled involuntarily, and my friend grinned. "How did you do it, Jenny?"
The brief laughter disappeared again into the cold ice. Well, don’t get me wrong, I love being the center of attention on a good day, but today was definitely not a good day. If I was up to it, I could rock the "edgy, mysterious cool girl" vibe I've suddenly picked up and ride it all the way to the next dance - but now? I'm in volas management mode. There was so much adrenaline in my blood begging me to leave that I couldn't stay quiet. My right hand was playing with the handle of the knife tucked into my sleeve, and I was restless, waiting to make a move.
I need to get out of there. My heart beat so fast that blood filled my skull.
They were still waiting for me to say something. "I eat vegetables," I said lamely. "I'm sorry, I have to go now."
Without looking back, I grabbed my bag and closed my locker. Within seconds, I was completely out of the building.
＊＊＊
There was no way I could make it through the rest of the day. I didn't see a friendly face for the rest of the day, thanks to a change in class schedule. I feel very weak. I hated that I needed a support system to get through a day in high school. I've never had this problem before. I shouldn't be like this. I was supposed to be back to normal, but I still felt like a mentally unstable, emotionally broken person.
Yeah, I know, I have PTSD or something. This is obvious. I can even pinpoint where I got it from, but it doesn't work for me at all. Knowing what's wrong with you and actually doing something about it are very, very different things. I'm still stuck on step A and I don't know how to get to step B.
Scared me.
So I ran. I quickly walked through the neighborhood and retreated to the place where I felt most comfortable and safe, where I could feel like myself again. I feel like home. It was a place where nothing bad ever happened to me and where I really figured out who I was and how to truly live in the world.
So, naturally, I found myself deep in the woods behind the house, bow and arrows slung across my back, knife resting comfortably on the small of my back.
Even yesterday I had no intention of doing anything with the bow. I want it like I wanted a security blanket as a kid. I just needed it, not because I was actually going to use it as a blanket, but because it had to be next to me or something wasn't right. That bow will sit obediently in its box, hidden under my bed, unnoticed, and I may never take it out again.
It’s funny how things can change in a day, right?
No, it's not funny at all. So fucking terrible. I’ve had so many “single days” in my life.
But now? Alone in the woods? That's fine.
I was deep in the forest, fully immersed in it as best I could. The din of the human world was barely audible, reduced to a faint murmur, muffled by the undergrowth and thick branches. There was almost no wind today, which was a bit disappointing, but just being surrounded by lush green, chirping birds, and even a squirrel hopping on a nearby branch put my mood at ease.
For a long time, I just wandered aimlessly without any purpose or real direction other than getting away from the noise. Normally I'd hang out in the woods waiting for prey to show up, but I'm not sure there's any worthwhile game in this forest. What's more, as much as I hate not being able to forget even here, I'm back in the real world. I'm not sure what the law says, but I'm pretty sure it's probably illegal to hunt in the woods in a random suburb.
Plus, to be honest, I wasn’t really hungry. I just want to get back to what I'm good at. To use the skills I learned in things other than fighting, you know. another thing. But if I went hunting with a full stomach and plenty of food in the pantry, Tessivaren would be very angry.
So, yes. Tethevalle
. I know I haven't mentioned him much, and I'm sorry. It still hurts. He is the best father to me. Well, the only one, but.
I found a beautiful box and sat down on it. Looking up to the sky, it was looming through the forest canopy and dotted with beautiful fluffy clouds. Obviously, I couldn't see a star at this time, but I knew where the Tesvaren Bar was. I smiled at him, said a brief prayer, and began to doze off. Not that he was really there. He would roll his eyes at the idea whenever the younger Sylphs brought it up. But I like it very much. It's comforting to think that some part of his personality and memory returned to the sky with his wisdom.
Man, I sound like a crazy person, don't I?
I reached into my bag and pulled out a blanket I had brought with me and wrapped myself tightly, again wishing I could do better than just a cloth covering to warm myself. I pulled up my hood, covered myself with the quilt, then leaned against the corner of the tree and closed my eyes. Just listen. Hear everything in the woods. Let my mind wander into the forest.
For a moment, I could almost hear the Silver family whispering in the nearby woods. My friend Neferin played her Tulaville, and she begged me to sing along, even though I knew next to nothing about the songs. She would laugh out loud when I would make up lyrics to her melodies. We played the turavir and sang increasingly provocative songs to the more handsome Dusself across the fireplace, and drank one glass after another of Talfres. When we were too drunk to play, she would do her usual party trick of grabbing a fireball from the sparks of the fire and letting it fly around my eyes until I was dizzy, Fell to the ground.
All Sylph laughed. I would be embarrassed and snatch the fire out of the air. I'm going to multiply that by a dozen flames and spell out some really rude things to say about Neveu, which just makes them laugh harder. None of them were as good as my etofola, so they got a kick out of my party skills.
Of course, the whole group was drunk and already playing with fire, and naturally we got into a game of measuring etola. Most Silvers prefer water or wind when drinking etowola, which means their drinking games usually involve taverns and actual liquids. Naef and I were the only two in the family with real flames, so our fireside games became legendary under our sun. Whenever he heard we were going to have a party, dozens of sylphs would show up, causing Rouvale to scurry into the shadows, embarrassed by his sister's antics. They came in droves, eager to see the two masters demonstrate our skills.
Or maybe they just come out to watch two hotties playing with fire. I'm not sure. After all, I was only twenty at the time, and Naf was only about sixty (which is way too young for an elf, right? She basically looked and acted the same age as me. It was completely unfair ), so we are a prime target for younger audiences. Many of them approached Nuff, and even a few of the truly adventurous Duselfs wanted to ask out the strange human girl they had collectively adopted.
I rejected them.
Oh, don't get me wrong. I am very interested. By the stars, some people...I mean. damn it. But I have my reasons.
A nearby branch snapped in two. A sharp crackle echoed through the woods. My daydream burst suddenly and horribly like a bubble. I tensed, my hand already grasping my knife. Another crunched among the leaves on the forest floor. They are not far away.
Out of pure instinct, I slowly reached for my bow, expecting the worst.
I'm on earth. If I draw it, I'll be in real trouble.
I resisted the urge. I live in the suburbs and no one is going to pounce on me. I'm safe. Except I still had the knife in my hand, just in case, and I peeked around the edge of the trunk towards the source of the sound.
When I recognized the letter's origin, I was relieved—then confused. I put away the knife, stood up and shouted.
” Kalleddo
Shasalla. How can I make a phone call to Silveridge?"
Karl froze in place and narrowed his eyes. He looked around and recognized me effortlessly. Because, you know, I'm not hiding anymore. Why hide from the person who saved your life several times? The only person in the world who can understand this sentence?
"Hi Jen."
"One of a kind," I added as he walked toward my tree. I cringe every time I hear footsteps crunching through the leaves. "Aren't you better at this?"
"Shut up," Carl muttered. He sat on an overturned tree trunk that had fallen years before, and I settled back into my comfortable position in the corner of the tree's roots. "I'm not used to my old body yet." He paused. "Did you just call me Caledo?"
"Yeah," I teased. "Did I miss your title?"
"...I don't know. It sounds cheesy now." He looked embarrassed.
I grinned. "always like this."
"Oh my God, really?" His face turned redder.
"Don't worry, I'm sure it's just me and Matt," I said. "That's a perfect fantasy name." Carl still looked skeptical, so before he could really dig in, I changed the subject. "Anyway, back to the obvious question: Why on earth are you here?"
"I could ask you the same question," Carl retorted, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, no." I answered without hesitation. "This is basically my business, and we're close to my house. You'd better not stalk me," I added jokingly.
"...I kinda like it," he replied sheepishly. "I saw what you ordered on my phone. I figured you'd be out hunting sooner or later."
I'm really surprised. It took me a while to figure out how he did it. "…Oh, shit. Browser history."
He nodded. "Yes."
"I guess it's a good thing I wasn't using Matt's computer at the time."
"Yes."
"So you followed me here just to scare away all my prey?" I added, deliberately glancing at his feet.
"I want to talk."
His tone, and maybe his expression, ruined the mood. I finally enjoyed it for once. The conversation was no different than the conversations we had in the past. I teased him and he was laughed at, good-natured banter. That's between us. So it was clear that today was destined to come to an abrupt end.
"What's wrong?" I asked, already dreading the answer.
Karl started to answer, but he stammered and couldn't speak. His mouth opened and closed several times without making any sound. I waited patiently. I don't know what it is, but it doesn't look like him. Carl didn't talk much, but he never ran out of things to say. I'm really worried. Finally, he asked a question.
"You were there, right?"
Well, that's not very impressive. "ah?"
"When Blake...when he-" Carl choked out, glancing away awkwardly.
Oh, stars. My heart sank. Carl finally accepted. I knew it was coming, but still. How can you tell someone that their best friend is dead?
"…Yes," I said quietly.
"I never knew," Carl said, his voice a little stronger, his eyes returning to mine. "He didn't suffer, did he?"
I answered in my mind, but I could never tell you. "He didn't. Soon."
Carl smiled. "Even if that's bullshit, Fannando."
"Sel
ou. "
He picked up a small branch from the ground and fiddled with it. I sat back in the tree, picked up the blanket, and wrapped it tightly around myself. The clouds covered the sun and the weather grew colder, and a breeze finally blew through, ruffling the branches and leaves. I love the sound it makes. We just sat there, like old times, Carl sharpening his sword (well, branches) and me watching him and everything else from my position under the tree. Time passed by, and only the birds kept us company.
"He loved it there, you know?" Carl said at last. I held back a sigh of relief. While I was enjoying the silence a little, Carl hadn't been that person in a long time. If it continues to extend, I'll really start to worry.
"Black?" I prompted.
"Yeah. I mean, he hates war and stuff, but this world. He loves Seraville."
"Oh." I wasn't sure what Carl wanted to get out of this conversation. I just had to let him bounce the thing off me. I hope this is what he needs. Anyway, it seems to be working so far.
"He found a girl, you know?" She was beautiful. They plan to get married and start a family. He invited me to be his best man. "
"I thought there wasn't anything like this out there."
Carl smiled. "We were going to start this tradition ourselves. Blake is a romantic. It had to be a picturesque wedding."
"I never knew," I said. "I didn't really spend a lot of time with him."
"I'm very sorry."
"It's not your fault. I was a little busy."
"A girl too busy being Sylvain?" Carl raised his eyebrows and smiled proudly.
It was my turn to blush. "Wack, that's so tacky. Do they really call me that in Kandel?"
"Well, they have to give you a name. You're a legend."
"Does it have a shiny hat?"
"More like an eternal hatred for the Emperor."
I snickered. "Now there's a medal of honor." Carl smiled. "It's not right not to die, right?"
Oh, vack. Karl's face was as gloomy as the night. This statement annoys me. I didn't mean to spoil the mood. I said the wrong thing.
"……sorry."
"It's okay," he said, but looked away.
"I shouldn't have said that. He's your friend."
"He made a mistake and he paid for it," he said. "I can't say he deserves it."
Why, oh why, Carl, do we always have to jump wildly between joking and teasing, and painful shared memories? Every single time. The silence was incredibly unsettling.
Why can't I just put the awkward part aside and have a nice, normal conversation? Or normal between two random dimension jumpers like us.
"You know, I mean it," Carl blurted, looking back at me. "on the phone."
"Um?"
"I still love you."
Is this what he's going to talk about next?
"Karl..." I started to say, but he kept talking.
"Even though we're stuck here, even though everything has changed, I still really love you, Jean."
I had to stop this confessional before things got out of hand. "Carl, you don't know."
"What?"
"You don't really know me," I sighed. "You didn't even know my name before we left here."
"But, that night -"
Oh stars, not that. "Look, Carl. You're my friend, and yes, we've been through some ridiculous, life-changing, horrible things together. I acted on impulse, okay?" I shrugged, blushing. "There was a moment when I really needed to be saved, and you were there. I will always be grateful to you, but that's it."
"I--"
"It was just a kiss, Carl." My face lit up, like someone threw boiling water in my face. Stupid emotions.
In case you're wondering, I'm telling the truth. I'm going to be very corny and cut out the oldest line in the book, but I only like Carl as a friend. That night, in a hotel outside Venantport, I let my guard down and was carried away by everything around me. There was nothing romantic between us, and even if there was, I had too much of my own to deal with.
but it is not the truth. handle it seriously. Just two friends who hung out a lot and kissed once or twice.
But I didn't like what I did to him. Carl was my friend and I was still hurting him. Of course, of course, it had to be worse.
"It doesn't look like this," he said confused.
"I don't know what else can I say, Carl." I sighed. "You met someone, but it's not the real me. I'm sorry."
"you are wrong". Hearing his harsh tone, I raised my eyebrows. He narrowed his eyes and threw the branches aside. "That's you. Is this?" He leaned over and picked up a small key chain on me. A cute plastic squirrel won the game hall a long time ago, and since then I have every backpack. "This is not the real you. This is just the illusion of your compilation." He sat down again. "I dare to bet that you have weapons now, right?"
I nodded slowly. Since we started talking, I actually let go of the knife, but when I leaned on the tree, it still gently pressed it on my back.
"Yes, because that's you. You are still her, not Jenny. You are je
ife
Demovi-RALAEV. "He was in awe when he said this, almost like whispering. Just like this is an inspiring thing." You fucking is a legend, not a silly high school girl "
"Seka
a
A Vack, do you know my name? "I roared and stunned. This name is private. Karl cannot know. Only my neighbors know the name.
I suddenly changed my tone, and he frightened. "I--"
"Hurry up, Masasak-La, otherwise I will do it."
"Renny told me." He blurted out.
"... how did Rynier Selman know?"
Carl looked down at the ground of the forest. His voice became calm. "... Because he tortured an elf. Her name is Rawray. I think."
I suddenly stood up. The blanket fell down. My hand stretched directly to the knife. It's not to attack Karl or something, but I definitely want to stab. "Ruvalei dusyla
I? "I asked, clenched my teeth and said a few syllables. But I already knew the answer. Few Sirf would say enough li
gue
It is worth torture, I know all of them. They are all taught.
"... yes," Carl replied nervously. "I'm very sorry."
I started pacing in front of the tree, and every step deliberately squeaked the leaves. I need to find a way to vent my anger and find an exit.
I don't know where she went. We never know what happened to her. Nafrin cried for several days after disappearing. We are all. Nafu's sister is the kind and cute person in the entire forest. Super timid, but when she came out of the shell, she was a great chef and the most beautiful singer you could imagine. She taught me everything about history and culture, especially music. She also wrote her own songs, and I learned.
Shortly before the first border raid, she disappeared. At that time, my happy life finally broke.
"Did he kill her?" I asked, looked up at the sky, and desperately wanted to see her stars -although I knew I lost it forever. This is a completely different world. She died lonely on the torture rack deep in the dungeon, far from the root of the world.
"Yes."
"Silidaka." I roared. I kicked the trunk, although this did not make me feel better. "I'm glad to dektolal kapa
-Basal is dead. Black should slowly kill him. "
"Wait, what?"
I stopped pacing. I just said some of me, what I really shouldn't say. I turned around slowly and looked at Carl. His face with an unspeakable mask.
It seems that we have all learned terrible things today.
"Where is Black?" His voice was too calm. Disturbing.
Oh, star, don't connect these points. Don't be so logical and smart in your life, Carl. "Yes. Black and I am there." I said carefully, trying to control my emotions. I am still uneasy about what I just learned, although I tried to conceal this secret to Carl.
"But you have never entered the main hall. Matt should know what it is ..." Carl's face twisted. I gathered courage. He figured it out. Matt should be more clear. "He sent Black in and waited for death."
"Carl-"
"He knows. Fuck Matt knows." Carl murmured. I can hear the iron in his voice and hear the cold steel of Kaledo. "Matt sacrificed Blake."
"We all know," I said weakly, but Carl had got up and walked.
"I can't, Zhen." Carl's voice was low and painful, and I sympathized with him. I feel too strong about him, and I can hardly breathe. He turned and left, I opened my mouth and wanted to speak, but I couldn't say anything. "I just can't do it."
I watched him turn around and walked away. I knew he started crying, but it was hidden again, and I could feel tears poured out in my eyes. I messed up today. That conversation was completely out of control.
I fell on the tree again, tightened the blanket, drilled into the hood, closed my eyes, and tears rolled down the cheeks. Poor Livrey's memory of Naverlyl, synthane and Ruwray occupies my mind. I let them devour me, desperately refuse the real world, hiding in another world, even if I just treat it for a while.
