Crowned - 11 | Death pulls a real number on us

 CHAPTER 11

The man scoffed at the cold avoidance of the girl who had been siphoning his magic for the past five years, rendering him almost incapable in battlefield.

He was about to grab her hand and pull her back when the sudden exclamation of her name caused her to trip over her own shaky feet. He rolled his eyes, astounded over how she was still alive.

The girl looked up, her eyes widened and the umbrella fell to the floor. Her heart thundered in her ears as she faced the familiar features of Kairo, smiling at her from a distance. She recognised him instantly – the brilliant jade eyes, the curly blonde hair, the lean erudite build and a bright smile greeting her.

No way he was real – alive and breathing, standing in front of her.

“Kairo?” Elvira mumbled, frowning at the sound of her own voice.

“Brilliant! You win a hug!” Kairo exclaimed and ran up to her.

Upon seeing him up close, tears ran down Elvira’s face. “I th-thought, I thought you were-- where were you? I thought I dreamt it all up! I thought you didn’t exist!” Elvira burst into wails, broken and hoarse. Her chest heaved and shoulders fluttered up and down until Kairo wrapped his arms around her.

Her pulled her into an embrace and ran a soothing hand over her back, “Everything will be fine now, you’re safe.” He whispered as she sobbed into his shirt.

Behind her, Kaeo raised a scowl. Kairo flipped a middle finger to his face.

“W-w-what happened to Kaeo? How did you escape? Where have you been? Are you okay?” Elvira spat questions in between sniffles.

“I’m standing right behind you,” the man snapped upon being mentioned.

Elvira stiffened in Kairo’s arms and the blonde noticed the sudden switch.

“It’s okay, you should eat something, sit down and I’ll explain everything. Kaeo is very much alive, all thanks to you, Elvira.” Kairo sneaked a magic circle under her feet which allowed her to float beside him.

“Because of me?” Elvira asked, frowning. She turned to catch a glimpse of the man behind them and flipped as soon as she witnessed his dark scowl. “You must be mistaken, he is dead,” she mumbled.

Her petulant pout birthed a chuckle in Kairo.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve wanted me dead over these five years,” Kaeo scoffed, yet, his feet followed as Kairo led them toward the dining hall.

“You, Elvira, are highly misunderstood about yourself. You do have magic but it isn’t one of the four established types, maybe that is why you failed your Awakening. I have been researching but I don’t think I understand exactly how your magic works— or what its scope is. But yeah, you can technically, sort of, bring the dead back to life…?” Kairo smiled with clenched teeth.

Elvira blinked at him.

Turned to frown at the man following them.

Then, she slapped herself.

“Woah! Woah, stop!” Kairo exclaimed at the same time as Kaeo, mumbled, “Shit that stings,” under his breath.

“I must be dreaming. This is a dream. I have to wake up and see if Clary is okay, wake up, wake up, wake up—” Elvira muttered as she closed her eyes and patted her arms, chanting, “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

“Elvira!” Kairo snapped and grabbed a hold of her hands, “You are not asleep! This is reality,” he said as he teleported them outside, over the castle roof, to let her view the morning sun – much to Kaeo’s distaste, who was left behind frowning at thin air.

Elvira gasped, “This is how dreams work, we shift and jump from one place to another, nothing makes sense!” she exclaimed and looked up, grinning at him with widened hollow eyes.

Kairo couldn’t help but laugh at Elvira’s logical exasperation.

“See the world around you, it is breathing, alive, thrumming with power,” Kairo said as he opened his arms in front of the rising sun, “Do it, close your eyes and feel the warmth.”

Reluctantly, still believing it to be a dream, Elvira spread out her arms and closed her eyes.

“Inhale the scent of your world.”

Elvira sucked in an elongated breath. The sun felt real against her skin and her lungs were whelmed of fresh North Hill air. Her moment of serenity lasted until, her skin started burning under the direct light – a side effect of Kindlers’ bites – and Elvira, for the first time, felt grateful towards them.

“Magic is all around us but we only have the ability to harness it from within us. Enhancer Types, especially Induced, are at the lowest tier because they keep their magic within themselves. They use it to enhance their own self and have no magical impact on the outer world. Unless, they are able to up-class into a Type II.”

Birds chirped in agreement and a soft gale danced around them. The prickling sensation grounded her to reality.

“Next in line are Enhancer Type II: The Projectors, who are able to lend their power to the world in order to enhance its attributes. They are able to make flowers bloom, calm a turbulent mind, accelerate healing, alter gravity...their mind is the limit.”

Elvira nodded. She knew all that. Zinna was an Enhancer Type II Mage.

“The Conjurors harness their magic into spells. They learn ancient languages to create special spells and use their magic to implement them. The juvenile mages have to write each spell in real time or have a pre-written spell card in order to quick cast. But mages of higher class, like me, are able to store our spell cards, in our finger tips. Each spell has their own special gesture to be activated and used. We harness our magic for external use.”

Elvira’s skin was burning and this reality was droning on. It felt like a high school class, all over again.

“Alchemy type mages are alike Conjuror mages in a way that, instead of creating their own spells, they invent and innovate materials to aid their magic. It can be a wand, a healing pin, a vial of potion...anything that their mind desires, their magic can make it work. They harness their magic for external, material, use.”

Alchemy Type mages were very rare to come across, Elvira knew.

“Lastly, there are the Elementals. They lend magic from the world around them and mould it according to the magic within them. That is why some can wield a fire, move mountains, break open the ground or part seas.”

Elvira remembered Danzel clearing up the skies at her Awakening.

“Your magic, the world lends it to you. The very atmosphere around you is charged and willing but something within you is not letting it in. So, it works externally, at its own will, when it deems its owner desperate enough. When Kaeo was dying, your magic caught onto your desperation and intervened with the force of life. It’s like you are not harnessing it but commanding it. It’s uncalled for, impossible even, yet, it has happened twice and I have seen it with my very own eyes.”

“Twice?”

“Yes. The magic around you is loyal. It bonds you with all whom it affects, I believe, so it can trace a path back to you. That is what it did with Kaeo and you. It bonded him to you as a form of…redemption? I don’t quite understand, but, because Kaeo is a higher-class mage, your magic has been siphoning his in order to sustain the hollow within you. Maybe it is a form of payback? I don’t know. But that was how you survived the Kindler attack. Kaeo’s Induced healing has been a null ever since you brought him back. Your magic is actively using him to shield you from harm.”

“I seem to have an awful sort of magic…” Elvira scoffed.

“Precisely why you are in a wedding dress! Once you get married to him, your Stars will align and hopefully the magic will stabilise itself!”

“Marriage?!” Elvira snapped, opening her eyes.

“Hopefully?!” Kaeo snapped, having finally caught up to them. He stood on the roof, scowling at the girl in front.

“I am not marrying anybody! I do not believe a bloody thing you’re on about!” Elvira shrieked.

Kaeo rolled his eyes and scoffed, “As if I want to,” he spat. “See?” he looked up at a scowling Kairo, “It won’t work. Let’s just kill her instead.”

“Woah—what!?”

“Kaeo! No!” Kairo snapped then apologetically turned to Elvira, “Don’t mind him, death and constant power-loss has made him into an awful sort of person. He was used to feeling powerful and better than everyone else…but the past five years have been tough on him, mentally and physically.”

“And that is my problem…?” Elvira frowned, not believing Kairo one bit. How could she have magic? She felt hollow, weak and human. But…his story did explain why she survived the Kindlers.

“Oh? So, you won’t even take responsibility after using me for so long?!” Kaeo shouted, baffled by the causal disrespect.

“You’re nothing like the Kaeo I knew!” Elvira shouted back.

“That’s because he died on D’amar Square!”

“Exactly my point! You’re an imposter!”

“Kai, I am going to kill her myself—” Kaeo lunged at them but Kairo was swift enough to snap his fingers and teleport Elvira away.

They reached the Dining Hall and Kairo let out a nervous chuckle as Elvira glared at him. “Death pulls a real number on us, eh?” he laughed.

the pen who gained sentience

News Reporter: As the 'Freedom' magic swells through, more and more objects gain sentience. The onset of memories intertwined with emotions has overwhelmed quite a few unwilling participants onto the path of villainy. Though as Barbie Dolls banding with the Robots in hopes for a World Takeover (rooted in deep hatred over human treatment) are becoming commonalities, there are shocking cases like that of an ancestral pen writing its autobiography which are taking the world by storm!

The entires go as follows:

I remember being crafted by my master. After the searing molten metal was molded into my form, he carved his seal onto my back and forever branded me as his. My master's hands were rugged against my polished finish; he never took care of his hands. They were always calloused, scathed or scratched in one place or the other: I observed for as long as I stayed on his display shelf. Regardless, he held each of my siblings with ardent care, a representation of love for his craft.

I would miss him, I remember thinking, when a contractor claimed me away as a prize for a writing contest. Though, my master's memories would soon be shadowed by the eccentricities of my first owner. 

He was a gentleman by facevalue, a man of refined clothing and graceful eloquence. He smiled charmingly, curtsied to every compliment and housed me proudly within his breastpocket. A scholar, one would think him as, until they'd spend a night in his working quarters against the bright warmth of the kerosene lamps on his limping oakwood table and witness him writing so passionately that his tongue would poke out of his pursed lips.

One would think he's drafting the constitution or writing the Declaration of Independence with such fervor, but no! Oh Master, if you would only witness the utter filth he used me for. His sharp Ts and cursive Gs were using my precious ink for writing erotica! And mind you, he was not poetic about it! He was crass, descriptive and imaginative (trust me, I'd know) within those pages and somehow he made a fortune off of them!

It truly baffles me, to this day, how he accounted his success to me. 

"'tis all because of this pen," he'd say to his friends, as if it were I, an innocent non-sentient object, who was whispering the devil's ideas into his head at the arseclock of dawn! The Audacity! 

That is how the nature of my existence became ancestral. 

I was passed down to my first owner's son, even though he had a perfectly fine daughter who could use me for better purposes, who seemed to inherit his father's exceptional imagination.

Though, my second owner used his imagination for a purpose quite contrasting to his father's. While his father was using me to bring bodies together, my second owner used me to bring bodies apart. Quite literally. No, he wasn't a divorce lawyer. My second owner was a member of the Mafia and he was masterful at coming up with ways to dismember his brothers in Christ. 

He used my delicate head in evil ways, scratching illegible cursive over the parchment, whilst seated in a dingy office with moonlight as his governing agent of sight. No wonder the letters seemed equally threatening as to what they read; and honestly, I would have been fine with such misuse if he wouldn't use his pantpockets as my placeholder.

That was straight up abuse.

And the stench was often nauseating. Not that I could feel it then, though, as everything is coming back to me now, I have since leaked my ink twelve times on the paper while trying to write about him.

Thankfully, he lost me in a gambling debt. I remember being estatic as I was held being passed onto a better man. A man with soft hands and an erudite gleam in his eyes. He combed his blonde hair in different styles everyday and kept me on his well furnished bedroom desk and used me seldom. 

Though, when my third owner did use me...it was somehow even more devious, albeit oddly wholesome and weird. He used me to write letters, love letters, normal isn't it? Yes. His letters were poetic and innocent, often desperate and fervent with emotion — but he drafted them to the man he loved while his illiterate wife would be hanging by his arm, peeking over the parchment and giggling. Never without her.

"I w'nder what yer writin. Is it for me? I do love ye!"

"Of course, my darling, it is for you. I'm always thinking of you and writing of you," he'd reply to his wife, still using his straight and sharp-edged handwriting in the honour of his manly lover. 

His moral delinquency, brought on by the times he lived in, thrived for as long as I remained with that family. Therein, I faced the first traumatic event of my life. There are no pen therapists, but I do insist humans to come forward for this profession because pens genuinely need a grip for their sanity to cling on. We might be mightier than swords only because swords merely kill, while we can do much more than that.

The odd couple eventually had a kid; the kid got its grubby claws on me and ABUSED MY GENTLE NIB-HEAD OVER THE PARCHMENT, SCRIBBLING AND SCRATCHING TO THE POINT WHERE I FELT THE PARCHMENT TEAR AND CRUMBLE IN THE FACE OF MY EVIL MINISTRATIONS. That child made me a criminal, a first degree murderer, and if that wasn't horrible enough, that demon-spawn threw me off the open window.

I was flung down three floors and into the muddy wet fields, traumatized and abandoned. I call that event of my life as APENDONMENT, you get it? yeah? funny? no? My bad. 

Why are you still reading? 

Regardless, those insect infested fields were my new home. At least for a week, I remained unused and degraded, until a dog ran up to me. It peed in my line of sight and we looked at eachother, intently, while he did his business. It was to no one's surprise that the animal found fancy in me, after the quick moment we shared and picked me up in his salivating mouth.

Are you writing that down, my future therapist? Yes, thank you. 

The ten minutes I spent in his slimy mouth felt like a lifetime's worth of goo accumulating in my crevices. I was let go at a middle class doorstep, a little downtrodden albeit homey and picked up by a little girl.

As a wise pen had once said, after all ink-ridden scratches on parchment comes a new ink filter and the smoothest, most flourishing writing.

Finally, my time had come. After all the trials and tribulations, my perfect body worn down by my paint chipping away and my master's mark pierced by a dog's canine — I found a family who accepted me at my worst. They bathed me and placed me in their happening living room, a family of three who ate together and made merry. 

They used me seldom (my ink was expensive) but when they did, it was for honourable purposes. I filled out the little girl's school admission form in that house. I was used to write greetings on birthday cards and sign a deed for a field. My new owners were content with what they had and were always striving to do more for their little girl. 

Placed on top of a cabinet, in a stand of my own, I witnessed the little girl mature into a lady and her parents curve into old gentle souls. Their shaky hands had no use of me anymore and the invention of a telephone line had me forever stuck in my place, steady and observant. I would have felt neglected if the mother did not do her weakly dusting chores whilst humming to a new tune.

She was a beautiful singer and she passed on with a smile on her face. I was used to sign on her Death Certificate and I put my best curves forward in her honour. 

Her husband did not do the dusting after she was gone. He remained on the living room couch, where the family had eaten dinners together, celebrated happiness and hugged eachother in moments of sorrow. He remained there, now alone and staring into the ceiling.

I would have felt lonely but somehow, I knew he was more. Alone but not forgotten; for the last time, I was used to write the little lady's wedding invitation. Her father found his smile again for her husband-to-be was a good man. She took her father into the city after the wedding went through and I was packed up in a box, abandoned on an attic, never to be used again.

Laptops and texting had taken over, I heard as I laid in my bed of dust for many an ages, hoping someone would use me again.

I was made as a tool for a free human society, to be used by those who pursued freedom of passion. Though, when in their hands I begged for a life of my own but now that I have one — I have nothing to do with it. Odd, is it not? 

Freedom

 Aira tapped on the webstory app. Its icon enlarged, burst into colourful confetti and zoomed out to reveal Aira's profile page. Her eyes skimmed over the bell icon in the upper right corner and her shoulders slumped upon its grey sight. No new notifications, comments, reviews or reads.

The whizz of a coffee machine and the scent of vanilla essence sweetened the sense of misery as her thumb tapped on star shape in the lower left corner of the app. A list of trending stories popped up with the first one was titled, 'I was sold off to the Demon King and Now He is Obsessed with Me!' 

Aira rolled her eyes and swapped the screen until she reached the last page; ranked 96th was her story, 'Loss and Loss.' There was only one upvote on her story, eighteen thousand times less compared to the top grossing story. A sigh escaped her lips.

"Aira, no using phone during your shift!" 

Her teeth clenched as she locked her phone and pocketed it in her uniform. She raised her head to pass a stiff smile to Shumaila, her coworker. Shumaila was kind and beautiful with bright doe eyes, full pink lips and skin as white as moonlight. It wrung Aira's heart to work beside someone like Shumaila.

The chime against the door tinkled in arrival of a customer. Instead of heading to Aira's counter, which was in front of him, the man walked over to Shumaila and began reciting his order with a flirtatious glint in his eye. Shumaila giggled ever so slightly as she typed in his order and confirmed the bill. The flush of a smile caused by the customer earned her a good tip in the Tip Jar. 

"One café latte with whipped cream and mint sprinkles coming right up!" Shumaila recited as she tore the printed receipt off the cash counter and handed it over to the customer. His hand lurked over hers a minute more than what one would be considered gentlemanly. Shumaila retreated her hand as soon as he grabbed the receipt and gestured him to wait on the many empty tables for his order to arrive. 

Though, in the four minutes he waited, she couldn't shake the intense gaze presiding her every move. Sweat clamoured in her hands as she passed a smile to Aira and informed, "I'll take a break for a moment, don't mind," before walking inside the 'Employees Only' room. 

She paced to the locker room while wiping her hands on her apron, again and again, until a searing burn agitated her skin. She gulped as she reached in front of her locker and stared dead into the mirror. Everything seemed normal, nothing was weird about her face. Still, she rubbed her palms all over her features to make sure she had no makeup on.

Nothing.

"Shumaila! Are you f**king kidding me?! What are you doing in here instead of serving customers?! Peak morning hour is about to start! I did not hire your pretty face to hide in the lockers!" Raiden, the young manager, shouted as he entered the locker room.

Shumaila flinched at the loudness of his tone and backed into the locker as Raiden infiltrated her personal space. "I—I, you know, I got anxious. I don't do well when I am anxious and there was this man staring—"

Harsh fingers grabbed her face by her cheeks and pushed them together to seal her lips in a pout. "If you are made this pretty then you better f**king get used to being stared at, you s**ty wh**e!" Raiden cursed. He let go of her face with a jerk when tears welled her doe eyes. Her head hit against the locker handle with a loud thud.

Shumaila whimpered as Raiden walked away with a last warning, enraged steps leading him to where he was heading before getting distracted by the crying mess of a lass. "No body wants to work, everybody wants easy money like it will f**king drop off a tree," Raiden grumbled under his breath as he walked through the 'Employees Only' door.

He beelined towards the cash counters and pocketed all the cash from Shumaila and Aira's cases and Tip Jars. "Don't you make you lose money!" He called to his workers before walking out of the café. The cash wad was thick in his pocket and his steps are hasty on the cobbled floor. A walk turned into a jog which eventually morphed into a run as he dashed past the glistening shop windows of high-end stores. He turned round the corner, into an uphill alleyway which led him to a street contrasting the pleasures of life he left behind.

His pace slowed as the smell of accumulated garbage overwhelmed his senses. Small huts lined both sides of the cracked road, buzzing with employment and overpopulation. Even the sun did not shine in this area, Raiden realised as he made to the twelfth hut on the left of the street.

A scream resonated through the neighborhood and the people surrounding the hut made a way for him, decorated by pitiful glances and harrowing sighs. He gulped as he banged open the wooden plank for a door and found his father swinging a blow at his mother.

He gulped, disgusted, his chest heaved and breath hitched, summoning all his courage he shouted, "Stop! Here's the money! Let her go!" He emptied out the cash wad from his pocket, his eyes not leaving his mother's withering self.

"Da fook am i gon do wid dis? Innit too li'l? Wad do ye think, dis won lemme win!! Can ye no' earn even?! Whot a load o' crap I've born!" The father tsked as he snatched the cash from Raiden's hand and swung the wooden log against Raiden's kneecaps. 

The young boy wailed and collapsed to the floor. His mother slithered closer to shelter her son even when her old bones were shivering like the last leaf in a storm. The father tsked at the pathetic sight infront and walked out.

"Watya lookin' at?! Go yer ways, ye swine lot!" He shouted at the crowd standing outside the door. Though, as one last act of mockery, he threw the log he used as a weapon to beat his family inside their house. It landed against the mother's foot, lifeless and unthreatening without a user. 

"Atleast we got a good one for soup tonight," she whispered in her son's ear, her eyes never leaving the thick log. She pulled away from the hug and patted her son's back, "Let's get going." She had a job to do, places to be at and responsibilities to fulfill. 

Her bones ached as she limped downhill, ignoring the stares and whispers following with the wind. Her feet were already swollen from an older beating and new bruises were beginning to form under the long sleeved blouse she had on. Her shoulders were hunched but the corners of her lips remained upturned. Her circumstances did not wear the smile off her face as she rung the bell at a giant mansion's gate.

"Who is it?" The security man asked through the speakers inbuilt in the wall, beside the bell.

"It's Mary," she informed upon which the metal gates buzzed and drew apart. Her small frame tried its best to not limp inside the mansion's lawn. She squared her shoulders even though they hurt her bruised collarbones, she straightened her back even though it felt like she was being stabbed repeatedly by pins and needles, she held her head high even though all she wanted was to fall to the floor and never get up.

She knocked against a richly engraved wooden door and waited patiently until a muffled "Come in," was uttered. Mary twisted the golden handle and entered the spirit scented room. 

"Morning Mary, how are you?" A voice croaked from the elegant king sized bed lined with sapphire and gold. 

"I'm quite fine, how are you Ms. Vasilissa?" Mary asked as she walked up to the lady's side and gently plucked the blanket off her. 

"I'm as good as I can be. Ahsen is supposed to come today, will you send a word to the kitchen after you help me with the loo?" The lady asked. 

"Of course Madam," Mary replied as she slid her hands underneath Vasilissa's armpits and dragged her limp body onto the wheelchair beside the bed. 

"I want the British Rose scent today, if you don't mind," Lady Vasilissa whispered as Mary dragged her feet off the bed and gently placed them one by one on the footrest of the wheelchair.

"Of course Madam," Mary agreed and pushed the wheelchair from one room to another. "Is there a colour you are thinking of today?" Mary asked as she turned the wheelchair around in a circle to let Vasilissa survey the surrounding masses of clothes in the closet room.

"What do you think Mary? What would be the best colour on me?" Lady Vasilissa giggled.

"You trust this old woman's choice too much, Madam," Mary snorted but proceeded to walk up to a set of pink chanel. "Maybe this?" She asked, smiling genuinely.

"I love your choice!" Lady Vasilissa exclaimed. She wanted to clap but she couldn't; old her would have clapped and hugged Mary for choosing a good outfit but now that she was almost hanging off of a wheelchair custom made for her paralysed body, all she could do was smile to convey her gratefulness. 

The bath was set up, the water was warm and the bubbles smelled like British Rose. Old Vasilissa would have had a bottle of wine and a book to go along with the aesthetic while she soaked. Though now, she had a helper to wash her fingers and the corners of her eyes.

"Tell me a story, Mary," Vasilissa stated as the caretaker gently washed every part of her body like it was her own. 

"Of course Madam," Mary replied and began narrating a love story. A story which Vasilissa could have turned into reality if she were her former self, playing the violin at the Grand Theatre and married to the love of her life. Though, the only romance now left in her life was Mary's unbridled kindness.

After the bath, Mary helped Vasilissa get dressed and set her up for breakfast. 

"Why'd do you always treat me so nicely even when I am nothing now. All my staff left after the accident, Mary, you're the only one who keeps coming back," Vasilissa sighed as Mary fed her a spoonful of cereal. 

"You're like my own," Mary replied simply, having seen Vasilissa grow up more than her own son. She gently wiped the corners of Vasilissa's mouth and fed her another spoon. 

"I should have paid you much better when I had the chance to." 

Mary wheeled the wheelchair to the living room and left Vasilissa alone with her guest. From her line of sight, Vasilissa could only see Ahsen if he were crouching or kneeling in front of her. Old Vasilissa would have pierced people's eyes if they witnessed the love of her life kneeling on the ground but this Vasilissa was pathetic enough to bring fall to him.

"G'day sunshine," Ahsen greeted her with a kiss pressed to her lips. "I've missed you," he said as he held her head in his hands and straightened its droopiness to meet his eye. "You've lost weight?" He frowned when he couldn't feel the former squishiness of her cheeks. "I was gone for a week and that maid was being lazy?! I'll just—"

"Shhh, calm down Ahsen, it's not their fault. I had a bad stomach recently," Vasilissa said. Her instincts urged to run a hand through her lover's lush hair but all she could do was stare in his eyes and convey her love. 

"Bad stomach?" Worry laced his tone and his hand reached her stomach, "Are you okay? What happened? Why didn't you tell me? Did you take meds?" 

Vasilissa wanted to laugh, throw her head back at his cuteness and hug him so tight that she could hear his heartbeat against her ear. Old Vasilissa would have done so but this one could only pinch her cheeks up.

"Of course, it wasn't anything bad, it overate noodles again," she stated. 

Ashen and Vasilissa caught up after he picked her up from the wheelchair and laid her on the sofa with her head resting in his lap. He ran his fingers through her hair as they reminisced their past. When it was time to leave, Ahsen settled Vasilissa back in her bed and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

"I'll see you soon, okay? Miss me," he kissed her cheeks and stood up.

"I always do," Vasilissa replied with the same love in her eyes that she used to have. Something tightened in Ahsen's chest as he locked the door behind him and walked through the darkened hallways of a once shining mansion. 

Tears whelmed his eyes at the thought of what his beloved was going through. She used to be the brightest shining star of the high society and now that she had stopped burning, everyone who used to clamour around her had disappeared. His love was treated so wrongly by the world but his love never complained about the mistreatment.

Why was his love so good?

Ahsen pressed a hand against his heart and settled on the entry footsteps of the mansion. Visiting Vasilissa every week crumbled his spirit. He wanted peace but he couldn't let his beloved be abandoned yet again, not when he was alive and breathing after all that happened.

Ahsen pulled out his phone from his coat pocket and opened up the Webstory app. Every week, visiting Vasilissa, he is reminded to publish a new chapter of, 'I was sold off to the Demon King and Now He is Obsessed with Me!' Vasilissa loved the escapism it provided her and if that was the only thing he could do for his beloved after getting married behind her back, then so be it.

Crowned 10 - Lost and Found!

CHAPTER 10

     Heavy footsteps thumped against the dark floor as a man hastened down a spiral staircase through a flurry of men, drinking and dancing in between. Heads turned and eyes followed his hastening back.

“Lord Kairo, congratulations on winning over Bestia!”

“Brilliant party tonight, Lord Kairo!”

“Looking handsome as always, Your Highness!”

“Where are you rushing to?”

Kairo brushed past many a talking figures, letting their calls fall on deaf ears. He jogged past the dance floor and entered the room opposite to it. He locked the door behind him before calling, “Brother? Are you okay?”

The little room was dimly lit by a lamp placed on the center table, opposite to which was a wooden seat. It was a resting room for the servants, which had been taken over by Kaeo’s impatient grunts and whimpers.

“Kae, what’s happening?” Kairo asked as he kneeled beside the wooden seat, his eyes wandered over Kaeo’s pained expression.

“I—ugh, I can feel it, her magic,” Kaeo seethed through gritted teeth. His fist was clenched around a fork which he dragged over and over into the wooden seat.

“Close your eyes,” Kairo said as he placed a finger over Kaeo’s forehead and gently pushed him backwards, “Tell me what you see.”

Kaeo writhed under his brother’s touch and the fork was further pushed into the wood. “Arrgh, the’rre, there’s a, a fire,” Kaeo huffed as pain clutched his abdomen, “A big place is on f—ugh, fire, argh,” he grunted, voice deepened with controlled agony, “I can feel her stripping my magic.”

“It’s okay,” Kairo reassured, “She might need it. Tell me, what do you see? Give me a hint.”

Kaeo swore under his breath as he tried to concentrate. His body felt like it was being stabbed by invisible daggers and every hole was releasing his magic into the universe. Exhaustion took over his limbs and he let himself slip further into the curve of the wooden seat.

“There is a, um, trees, she is outside. The build—aargh, it’s on fire. There’s a magic circle, r-r-red and, guards, the crest, it’s the Count’s crest. Aramia. Ugh,” he grunted as pain ripped through his body, threatening to split him in half.

“Good work, brother,” Kairo smiled and knocked a finger against Kaeo’s forehead.

The ravenette fell limp, rolled off the seat and crashed against the marbled floor.

Kairo cringed at the loud thud Kaeo’s head made after hitting the table’s foot. “That’s gotta hurt…” he mumbled before a brilliant jade magic circle appeared under his feet and swept him away. “To think you had been so close…” Kairo muttered as he materialized in front of the burning occido wing at Count Aramia’s estate.

He whispered a spell and a small magic circle appeared within his right eye. Through it, he could clearly see the crimson magic circle over the estate. The circle throbbed furiously, unlike anything Kairo had seen before. He could feel the spell lending power from the very atmosphere around him. The roaring winds, the shivering leaves, the crackling fire, they are all sustaining the circle overhead.

“This…this is magic,” Kairo gasped in a whisper.

His bespelled eye caught sight of a pulsating red wave on the farther left of the magic circle. It seemed to be connecting something on the ground and something else in the burning building. The purest thread of gold was encased within, as thin as an eyelash, fragile beyond belief. Kairo wondered if he stared too hard, it would break apart.

He ran towards it and found a body being dragged by two guards. The pulsating red wave had one end connected to it and an orb of powerful crimson throbbed around the body.

Kairo looked up and spotted the other end of the magic entering the first floor of the burning building.

He snapped his fingers and a magic circle appeared under his feet, levitating him off the ground. He floated to a broken window and found a similar throbbing body, surrounded by raging fire and protected by the crimson magic. From his height, he could see two more waves pulsating on the opposite side of the estate.

Kairo casted a quick spell and brilliant jade magic circle appeared underneath the crimson. It sucked the fire away until all that was left was smoke and wails. As soon as his magic circle disappeared, Kairo entered the burnt ballroom, picked up the person and floated back to the ground.

“It’s a miracle!”

“The fire is gone!”

“All hail—”

With another snap of his fingers, the wailing guards were knocked out cold.

Kairo placed the two bodies beside each other and almost instantly, the overcast magic circle disappeared. The wind rested and the trees came to a standstill.

“It’s like the magic has a mind of its own…” Kairo whispered with fascination shining in his eyes.

Though, as soon as the throbbing orb disappeared from the two bodies, horror caused his eyes to widen. For whom he remembered with warmth now laid cold and scarred. His feet scurried to her side and clammy hands picked up her curly brown head. Tears threatened his eyes as he pulled the limp body against his chest, whispering, “I-It’s okay, you’re safe now, nothing like this will ever happen again…”

The gnarly bite marks disappeared from her body as a magic circle appeared underneath Kairo’s feet.

Five days later, her eyes fluttered open.

There was a heaviness in her limbs that weighed her down and a clog in her throat that made her croak out, “Ah.” She closed her eyes again then reopened them as memories began spiralling in her head.

“Clary!” she shouted hoarsely as she shot up, instantly regretting both the actions. A violent cough wrenched her momentarily motionless. Her world spun as her head throbbed, threatening to burst open.

She swore under her breath as her eyes scrutinized the strange surroundings. She came to a very obvious realisation that she wasn’t in Count Aramia’s basement or her hardwood charpoy.

No.

She was in an unfamiliar lap of luxury, settled in between an army of soft pillows and a sinfully addictive bed. A calming scent wafted in the rich air surrounding her, accentuating the obvious wealth around the four-poster bed. Opposite to the bed, a fireplace of black stone crackled a warm glow.

Clary.

She raised her hands to get rid of the silk sheets and spotted colourful pins attached to her wrists. She pulled out a pin and seethed as a few droplets of blood marked the sheets. The pins were a healing tool, she recognised. Their needle tips were supposed to prick the veins of a patient and the tiny glass blob on the opposite end stored a healing spell or potion, whatever the caster deemed necessary. The pins were an Alchemy Type Mage’s speciality.

Oh.

She had almost overlooked it.

She was so used to them and suddenly, the scars were…gone?

‘Did Count Amaria finally sell me off?’ she wondered as she slipped out of the bed.

Her feet landed on the softest carpet known to existence and she could not resist the urge to rub her feet against it.

Clary. Her mind reminded.

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely and pulled out the remaining four pins before getting up.

Dizziness overtook her sight and she grabbed the bedframe to stabilise herself. It was then when she caught sight of her attire. Her eyes widened as she faced the full-length mirror placed beside the fireplace.

She hadn’t seen herself in anything but the maid uniform for such a long time so it came as no surprise when an audible gasp escaped her lips. Though, instead of fascination, hers was scandalised.

For on her body was the very familiar and very classic, pearly white, iridescence embroidered, fae-woven, wedding dress.

Alarm bells raged in her mind.

‘Count Aramia totally sold me. Some creep wants to marry me. I need to run away, as soon as I can, as far as I can.’ She concluded and limped out of the bed room, which was connected to its own living room, past which was an opaque glass carved door. She gulped and limped to the circle widows. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she realised that she was on ground floor.

She looked around the living room and picked an umbrella from the stand by the door. She would use it as a contingency weapon, she decided as she unbolted the window and jumped out. Her limbs were still weak and instead of landing gracefully on her feet, she plopped on the hallway, clutching her thundering heart and sweaty limbs.

“Elvira.”

The sudden acknowledgement made her jolt backwards. Her head hit the wall and a loud groan escaped her lips.

The person in front swore under his breath as he rubbed a hand on the back of his head.

Elvira looked up and found a pair of dark eyes glaring at her with annoyance. He seemed bothered by her presence, if not disgusted, yet the odd familiarity in his face made her breath hitch.

Her eyes narrowed at his face. The frowning thick brows, center-parted raven hair strands caressing the flashy eyelashes. Odd amethyst eyes wandering over her face, the high nose bridge representing the pride in his almond shaped eyes, easing into a philtrum and pouty peach lips.

 No way.

She had never noticed it…but there was a mark under his left eye.

Had it always been there?

She wouldn’t know.

She was so sure she dreamt them up.

But—no, was it a dream again?

Elvira reached out and her fingers grazed over his shirt-covered-stomach. The hard touch felt real. Her eyes widened to their brim as she whispered, “Kaeo.”

“Good that you have your wits intact,” the man replied, voice deep and so unfamiliar, “Now that you are up, I can finally use my room again. For star’s sake,” he swore under his breath.

No, it wasn’t Kaeo. The Kaeo she knew had brilliant blue eyes and a smile that would light up her world.

It was a smile worth dying over.

And Kaeo died five years ago…

I should find Clary.

Elvira used the umbrella to stand up. The stranger shadowed her frame with his lean build.

“Ex-cuse me,” Elvira muttered as she limped past him.

 

Crowned 9 - West Wing

 

CHAPTER 9

The soft crackling of firewood engulfed the otherwise silent living room. The indent on the shiny red sofas placed in front of the fireplace indicated a party of five people. A soft scent emanated from the candles decorated on the mantlepiece. Like the rest of the Estate, the living room of the East Wing was a flurry of glazed wood, books and antique furniture which Elvira walked past.

Her neck was craned up and her hair were tucked behind her ears in order to catch the faintest of sounds. The layout of the two wings seemed to be similar as Elvira paced through a hallway of doors, opening and closing them to check inside.

Just as she opened the last door in the hallway, she heard two maids walking up the staircase. Instantly, Elvira entered the dark room and hid behind the closed door.

“How long will it last? My feet hurt, ugh.”

“It’s a full night thing. But thankfully there is overtime pay.”

Elvira scoffed, ‘It must be nice being human.’ She thought.

“I feel bad for the slave girl, they don’t even get paid.”

“That’s their fault for being born wrong.”

“Yeah…”

Their voices disappeared around the corner and Elvira sneaked out to run downstairs.

“I’ll just make sure that she’s safe and then I’ll leave,” Elvira whispered as she eyed the empty hallway downstairs. She could hear a loud orchestra on the left end and proceeded to follow the noise.

There were guards at the door, Elvira spotted, then squared her shoulders and plastered a smile on her face. The guards opened the door for her, considering her a maid. She entered what she assumed to be the ball room owing to the majestic ceilings decorated with crystal chandeliers, hanging like upside down trees. The opulent carvings of gold made her breath hitch, people dressed in elaborate gowns and elegant masks meandered the circular dance floor, clinking glasses, passing whispers and in the center of it all stood Clary, scantily clad in a bedazzled brassier and panties, tied to a pole. Her eyes were covered with a silk cloth and a bejewelled clamp pursed her lips.

Her pale forehead was in a frown and her body shivered with every strange touch lent by a passerby.

Elvira saw red.

Her mind forgot all sense and let a scowl ease onto her face. Her tongue did not twist into another sweet-talking monologue and her knees did not buckle at the sight of the Count surrounded by his men.

The skies rumbled outside and the orchestra reached a crescendo.

Elvira stormed out of the ballroom, up the stairs and began kicking every lantern and candlestand in sight. She sped into the living room upstairs, grabbed the fire poker and tossed all the firewood outside. The hardwood floor and the furniture easily caught light.

“FIRE! FIRE UPSTAIRS! THERE’S A FIRE! EVACUATE NOW!”

She shouted as she ran downstairs. Panicked maids rushed past her, guards jogged upwards and other servants ran to their masters’ aide in the ball room. Elvira entered the ball room, amidst a crowd of servants and scoffed at the frenzy with which the nobles were running around.

Paying no consideration to the girl tied to a pole.

Elvira beelined towards her, shoving past numerous servants and reached Clary’s side.

Her chest was heaving and upon close sight, Elvira noticed how badly all of Clary was shivering. Elvira placed a hand on Clary’s back and she jolted away from her touch.

“Clary, it’s me, don’t worry, I’m here,” she reassured as she unlatched the clasp from Clary’s mouth. The girl moaned as soon as her mouth was free but the painful bruises of the clasp remained on her pretty face. Elvira pulled the eye cover off her head and Clary cringed at the sudden assault by light. Realisation struck her down; her knees gave up and she descended to the floor.

The screaming had trickled to the outside as the guests managed to escape. The crowd in the ballroom had thinned while Elvira attempted to unfasten Clary’s hand binds.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be done in a moment and we can leave,” Elvira assured, clawing at the thick rope to get it loose.

“I—it’s okay…” Clary said but her tone showed no optimism. Her voice was barely above a whisper, too afraid to let out and catch any more attention.

Elvira desperately pulled at the knot, attempting to undo it but all her strength could do was fray the thick rope. She swore under her breath as waves of heat threatened their safety. The fire must be descending down, Elvira concluded – was there no mage on the premise who could get rid of it? All she had wanted was a big enough distraction and an equally immeasurable loss to the Count but she did not want to endanger anyone else.

“It’s, it’s loosening, trust me,” Elvira said through gritted teeth as her nails dug into the crevices of the rope and blood oozed out of them, “I’ll, I’ll get it done.”

“You should run…” Clary whispered, her gaze mesmerized by the way the ballroom door caught fire.

“We- we, we will go together,” Elvira seethed through a clenched jaw as her fingers were finally able to breach the tight constraints. She heaved as she pulled apart the thick knot and dropped the bloodied rope on the floor. “Le—no, wait,” she looked around and ran up to pull a curtain off a window. The rod fell down with a resounding thud and Elvira hastily pulled the curtain off it. She ran back to Clary’s side and draped the fabric over her shoulders, “Let’s go now.”

The fire had caught up to them and the entrance to the ballroom was ablaze. Elvira rushed Clary to the window and used the curtain rod to break the glass. She got rid of the small shards encasing the window pane and called for Clary to jump.

The darkened gardens awaited with a promise of momentary peace.

Yet, Clary stared at the approaching flames, unmoving.

“I think I understand Yuna now. And I get why you and her are so brave…” Clary whispered, “Dying today is better than suffering every day.”

Elvira widened her eyes as she turned to face Clary.

Her light orbs reflected the fire and an odd sense of peace veiled her face. Gone was her gentle smile and earnest eyes, exhibiting all the hope and kindness in the world.

“No, Clary, death is not an escape.” Elvira countered sternly, “We are leaving,” she snapped and grabbed the girl by her shoulders.

Clary shrugged out of Elvira’s grasp and turned to scowl at her.

“Why do you keep saving us? Why do you insist on living? We haven’t had a good day ever since we failed the Awakening and we never shall! If we live today then we suffer tomorrow! So what if you helped me today, he is going to kill us tomorrow! And it will be even more humiliating! I do not want this anymore!” Clary screamed, molten rage pouring out of her voice and eyes.

Elvira gritted her teeth as she looked around, “No Clary, I cannot die because the world has yet to see all of me. You cannot die because the world has yet to see all of you. Just because a group of people reject you does not mean you are not worth the effort others put in for you. The world beyond the mage villages of Lunaria is better than you expect. We’ll run, we’ll escape, Lira, Yuna, you and I, we’ll run and we’ll build life for oursel--”

Suddenly, two crystal chandeliers exploded and their shards shot outwards.

Elvira’s eyes widened as Clary pushed her out of the window.

She propelled downwards, gasping, as horror graced her vision.

Crystal shards shot into Clary’s nape, back and feet, disabling her to the burning ground.

“No, no, no, no, no, Clary! No! CLARY!!!!”

The ear-piercing scream birthed a crimson magic circle over the burning estate. Winds howled in response and nearby church bells rang with fervor. Blood oozed out of Elvira’s eyes as she fell onto the damp prickly damp grass, chanting, unblinking, “I have to save Clary, I have to save Clary, I have to save Clary.”

She tried to get up but another sound of explosion tripped her back to the ground. Pain twisted her limbs and yet another ear-piercing scream escaped her throat. Her vision darkened as her bruised fingers clung onto the grass, digging into the soil, grounding herself under an immense yet invisible weight.

The last thing Elvira saw was a crimson magic circle expanded all over Count Aramia’s Estate, glowing furiously, before the darkness consumed her.

Amidst Northern Hills, a man shouted, “Kairo! I can sense her magic!”

Crowned 8 - Salary Day

 

CHAPTER 8

 

It was salary day.

All the maids were queued outside of Count Aramia’s office, armed with expectant eyes and whispering mouths. All but Clary, Yuna, Lira and Elvira; they were busy compensating for the loss of manpower around the estate.

Yuna was on garden duty outside, Lira and Clary were handling the kitchen and Elvira was left to clean.

Her back was beginning to heal but her heart still felt saddened by the lack of monetary compensation granted to the oddities. Upon seeing the jittery queue every year, Elvira would be reminded of the time she demanded Count Aramia to pay.

They were inside his office, an enormous room with glaze brown furniture and big imperial windows which overlooked the garden. Elvira had a rag in her hand, which she involuntarily clutched, dripping water on his hardwood floor. Her cheek was bruised in response to her demands, a slap to ask for a salary.

“I harbour a curse within my very home, is it not kindness enough? The roof on your head and two meals a day are worth more than what any of you could earn in a lifetime or give back to the society. So, be obliged that you’re alive, I’m doing you a favour because I own all of you.” All, he said, eyeing her up and down.

The sting of his words hurt more than her reddening cheek.

“A bruised heart holds colour much longer than a bruised body,” Elvira mumbled as she scrubbed the rag all over the hardwood floor, until it sparkled under the hazy morning sunlight.

“I do not understand how we’re worse off than humans…” Lira began as they sat down to mend the fraying uniforms of the staff. “They do not have magic and they’re living just fine. Have you heard of the Montrose heiress from Zinnia? She is from the inner world, a human, became a Crown Princess, went to the magic academy in Willow and made friends with a Saintess and other mages. She is so lucky… and here we are.”

“We were born in the wrong place…” Yuna sighed. She rested her back against the wood wall, “And maybe in the wrong families.”

“How was your life all of this?” Elvira asked, curiosity brimming in her eyes.

Clary grinned as she leaned forward, “I’ll go first!” she exclaimed and continued after receiving a nod of acknowledgement from everyone. “I was the daughter of the village seamstress. I had a younger sister and two younger brothers. My father was an Alchmey Type and died in the middle of an experiment so mumma and I had to sew a lot of clothes to make a living. Our villagers were kind enough to never let us go out of work. I know it sounds hard but it was so much fun, sewing new clothes, seeing people smile when they liked their clothes not knowing all that happened behind the scenes. There was this one time my younger sister tore up a piece of very expensive fabric to make a dress for her doll! Mumma and I had to spend two days going to town to buy it. It was fun though, we camped outside, saw the stars, sang songs…I was happy.”

By the end of her narration, Clary’s throat choked up and she blinked to let go of the tightness in her eyes.

“I was the daughter of the town chief, you know, my mother was, is, I dunno, she was a Grand Knight in the Royal Army of Lunaria. My father was the chief and they were both always busy so I would spend a lot of time outside, my town raised me more than my family…and when I failed the awakening, the townsfolk were the first to kick me out. They left me in the Linch Forest to die or with the Kindlers, I don’t remember exactly…” Elvira reminisced, staring out of the square window above Yuna’s head.

“I am an orphan; I did not lose much because I never had much to begin with. There was a boy I liked, we promised to marry each other when we were twenty-five and well established in our lives. We had plans, but I failed my Awakening and I was brandished,” Yuna pointed at the mark on her left arm, “Left to fend for myself.”

“What happened to the boy?” Clary asked.

“I do not know,” Yuna shrugged, “Everything happened so quick, I never got a chance to say goodbye. I was wandering around the outskirts when Count’s men caught me and I have been here, ever since.”

“Wah…that’s sad…” Elvira sighed.

“What about you, Lira?”

“My village is up in the North, it was being invaded and the army was reluctant to help so the Village Head forced an Awakening on us…I failed and we were attacked. I got separated from my family and then I was here,” Lira replied, “We come from an average household, my father and mother were Enhancer Types so they worked in the mines. We never starved or had any memorable days…we just existed. I’d wake up, eat breakfast, go to school, come back, do homework and my parents would be home in the evening, we would make dinner and eat together. I miss it now…”

“Are we so bad that we have no place in this world?” Clary whispered.

“Eh…I don’t mind being rid of my life,” Yuna mumbled.

“You’re so lame,” Clary grunted at Yuna.

The brunette rolled her eyes and continued darning.

“Who was invading your village?” Elvira asked, frowning, “There is no way the Royal Army would be reluctant to help, my mother was always on some mission.”

“Oh, no, no, it wasn’t any other empire. It was this chaotic duo, they have been really active in the recent years, you know the K—”

The door to the work room flung open and the head butler glared at the group of girls, “Less chit-chatting and more working. And you,” he pointed at Clary, “Come with me.”

Clary kept her work aside and stood up, her lips pursed and face in a grimace. She hated being singled out, it reminded her of her early days at the Estate, when she was all alone as the only Oddity in the Count’s possession.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered.

The girls nodded and got back to their darning.

After an hour of Clary not coming back, Yuna picked up Clary’s work and finished it for her. Yuna was nimble with her fingers while Lira was good in the kitchen. Clary could do it all and Elvira was best at taking hits for everyone else because she wasn’t particulary good at anything else.

“How did you people finish it so quickly?” Elvira sobbed, staring at her pile of clothes while Yuna and Lira’s were already darned and folded.

“I’ll get done with the kitchen work, take your time,” Lira smiled before picking up her pile and walking out.

“I’ll feed the animals,” Yuna said and walked out with Clary and her own work.

Elvira sighed, cooped up in the small room, she struggled with the needle and thread, looping the fabric away, wishing she could piece her life as easily as it.

Though, it wasn’t until night basked the estate that Clary’s disappearance rang alarm bells in her friends’ heads. It was Elvira who noticed it first because Lira and Yuna had been busy keeping up with their share of chores.

“I haven’t seen her all afternoon…wasn’t she busy with the laundry?”

“No, I just came back from the laundry room, no one’s there.”

“She wasn’t in the kitchen as well…”

Elvira sucked in harsh breath and raced up the basement stairs to the upper level of servant quarters. There, she uncourteously slammed open the aged butler’s room and demanded, “Where is Clary?!”

The man merely raised an eyebrow in disappointment, his poise remained unimpacted by Elvira’s tone.

“She is with the Count.”

Elvira banged the door shut and hastened her step above another flight of stairs. Her hands were beginning to grow clammier against her uniform and her heart thundered within its cage. She prayed to all the stars who might be listening, she hoped Clary was okay. She desperately hoped. Her teeth clenched in her mouth as she knocked against the Count’s office door.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

“Milord, I’m coming in!” she faked a glee and pushed open the door only to find it empty.

She ran inside and pressed her face against the window. The garden was covered under the thick cloak of night. It was Clary duty tonight to light the Garden lights. The estate was visibly missing her presence.

Elvira rushed out and ran all the way to the west wing, the Count’s living quarters. They had never been allowed in the West Wing and understandably so, she was stopped at the door by two guards.

“You are not allowed to enter.”

“No, hear me out, um, did you see a girl come here today? She’s tall and slender, curly blonde hair, light brown eyes, wearing a maid uniform from the Oriental Wing?” Elvira asked.

“We are not allowed or obliged to tell you anything,” the other guard countered.

“No, you see, she has this problem where she begins coughing blood if I don’t give her medicine, if she dies…you understand?” Elvira rolled up her uniform sleeves and showed the guards her marks.

They vocally cringed and looked away.

“Please understand, it is quite serious.”

“Okay, you may enter, but be back within ten minutes or we will alert the other guards.”

“Also, register your name with us.”

“Yes, yes, it is Sinclair,” Elvira replied, using the head butler’s assistant’s name.

“You may go inside.”