Crowned - 13 | A Drain Chain

 

CHAPTER 13

“Do you mind?” Kaeo snapped.

“Yes!” Elvira snapped back, scowling, “Death does not solve anything. Death is cowardly and a means of escape. Let him live,” Elvira spat, “He’ll live with his scars, right here, with his collection of oddities, wondering every day if today would be any better!”

“Well said, child,” the throned Count agreed. “This lad here began poisoning me as soon as he was out of school because I had planned to leave my title and estate to a better successor.”

Countess merely clenched her eyes close and looked away.

“Pfft—I st-til lilived as nobility, y-you will be nothing m-more than a c-curse.” Helif stuttered.

Elvira kicked him in the face and attained a sense of peace.

Kaeo hated that he enjoyed the way Helif rolled after Elvira’s blow. His head hit the elevated platform’s edge and he passed out. The magic circle disappeared from Kaeo’s knuckles and left behind a bloody sight. He would have to ask Kairo to heal him, considering someone else was siphoning the majority of his power so that ancient dead folks could punish their children. 

He walked away, scowling.

“Elvira.”

The girl looked up and smiled at Clary’s acknowledgement.

“I’m glad that you’re okay.”

“Elvira.” Clary repeated, stepping closer.

Elvira frowned as she realised that Clary’s eyes had changed into a murky grey, similar to how Kaeo’s eyes had changed to a deep amethyst.

“Clary, are feeling better now?” Elvira asked. She turned to face Yuna and Lira but, suddenly, she felt Clary grab her waist and pull her in a hug.

“I—thank you, I just wanted to say that.” She sounded so much like the Clary Elvira used to know. Though, there was something foreign in this new Clary’s touch. Something consuming.

“Elvira.”

The girl looked up and found the Count and Countess staring hungrily at her.

“So, that is what your name is. El. Vi. Ra.”

The Count enunciated as he got off his chair and stepped down. Clary did not let go of her as the old Count kneeled in front of her and held out a hand.

“May I?” he asked.

Elvira wanted to step back but his beady eyes rendered her stiff and immobile.

“Allow me,” the Countess said, suddenly appearing in front of Elvira. She grabbed a hold of her hand and placed it over her husband’s palm. 

Elvira felt lightheaded. She was surrounded by dead people, she realised, stuck in a siphoning hand-sandwich.

The Countess did not let go as her husband pulled Elvira’s hand to place a kiss.

Whispers birthed around the hall.

Elvira caught the scandalised gazes of Yuna and Lira.

Her world felt blurry.

She wanted to get rid of them. Their touch clawed at her skin. Jitters ran over her body. Her feet felt cold and her palms turned clammy.

She wanted to take a step back but she couldn’t.

She felt dizzy.

And suddenly, darkness consumed her.

. . .

“Elvi, wake up, it’s time for papa and I to leave.”

Her eyes fluttered open, reluctantly. A heaviness levied them, hindering her comprehension. Yet, she could recognise the bright yellow and blue accented walls even with the faintest of glimpses.

“Don’t go anywhere, don’t invite anyone inside, you know the rules.”

Elvira got up and held her throbbing head in her hands. The heaviness wanted to weigh it down until her forehead was on the ground, yet, Elvira persisted and stood up. Her room was a mess of chrysanthemums, crumpled pages and pencil shavings. She walked past her desk, over which a paper fluttered owing to the open window behind her. There were only two sentences on the page and they were titled, ‘An Obituary.’

She dragged her feet out of her room and into an unending hallway. It was tinged an unappetizing blue, a hue of gloom with a depth of silence.

Instead of seeing her parents’ back, it was Zinna who was standing at the end of the long hallway.

Elvira gasped as she held out a hand, in order to run and reach her. But, every step she took, the hallway seemed to be pushing her farther away. The distance between them kept growing and suddenly, Zinna turned.

Her warm brown eyes glowed scarlet.

Her mouth opened into an ear-piercing scream and threads of darkness connected her jaws.

“Zi-zinnie…”

The walls of Elvira’s house disappeared. Suddenly, they were in an open field. The wind whipped past them. Predatory birds shrieked overhead.

Elvira lost her balance, terrified out of her wits. She fell over a bump in the ground. Slowly, she turned to see what she fell on. It was a grave with the epitaph reading: Here lies, the boy you killed.

The winds carried his voice. A plea. A call. A message. A warning.

Horror blinded Elvira and birthed a screech out of her. Her body shivered violently until a jade magic circle appeared over her head and pulled her out of the haze.

Once again, Elvira opened her eyes. This time, instead of her childhood home, she was in the confines of Kaeo’s living chamber. Her ears rang and her head throbbed to her heart’s beating.

Kairo was sitting by her side and his mouth seemed to be moving but Elvira couldn’t grasp a word.

In a deafened haze, Elvira turned her head. Beside her laid Kaeo, passed out or dead to the world. She did not know.

She knew nothing anymore.

Nothing made sense.

Where was she?

Who was she?

What was she?

What happened to Kaeo, Clary, the Count and the Countess?

What happened to her?

“Elvi…are you okay? Are you feeling better now?”

Her ears caught sound again. Like a flabbergasted chick out of an egg, Elvira faced Kairo.

“You passed out at the Count’s Estate. I think I have figured it out, a part of your magic. I know it is still a theory but, hear me out. Your magic, it reincarnates at its own will, right? I don’t know how or why but what I know is that, when you bring back someone with a lower power level than yours, they seem to siphon the magic out of you. Considering they need an immense stock to sustain in the living realm. You are their anchor, so of course they will drain from you! But, if you bring back someone with a higher power level than yours, you get to feed off their power! Like Kaeo, you made him your anchor—well, now four people are draining his power, BUT, we got to know something new!” Kairo ranted like an excited child.

Elvira tried to sit up but failed.

“Don’t get up, you should rest and eat. You cannot keep siphoning off Kae,” Kairo said and picked up a plate full of fruits from the bedside table. Observing Elvira’s guilty look, he elaborated, “Don’t feel guilty though, even with four people draining him, he’ll live. Because, in actuality, he is draining from whatever your magic source is.”

“It’s a drain chain,” Elvira croaked out.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I will do more research in time.” He passed her the fresh fruits.

“What about everyone else?”

“The other not-so-dead people? They’re back at the Estate. If you want to keep them alive then you should stabilize Kaeo’s power first. Marry him and half of this will be solved instantly.”

Elvira scowled at Kairo’s straight face. “What’s a marriage going to do?” she spat and instantly regretted it she felt the muscles in her stomach pull.

“Everything!” Kairo replied, ecstatic, “We did not know you were alive or where your body went but Kaeo said that he could feel you. He insisted that all the random pain he felt was a share of yours. Then, on the day you used your magic, Kaeo got glimpses of the burning estate and I was able to come and get you. If you marry him, this one-sided bond will merge when you Stars align. You have a shadow star and he has a noon star so I believe that it will help solve a lot of problems.”

“You…believe?”

“Well, it would be strange if I had experience, right?”

Elvira did not have the energy to scoff at Kairo’s snarky retort.

“Why did you take so long…when your father trapped you in the dark illusion realm, what happened?”

Kairo’s face hardened and she felt a shift in the air around them. He stood up and took a step back, “Consider my words, I have priorities as well. Remember, I am your friend, Elvira, not theirs. If they begin to take a toll on my brother, I will not hesitate.”

Elvira clenched her jaw. Her gaze hardened as she nodded.

This.

This was a testament of how less she knew about them.

Kairo walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Elvira held her head again, spiralling.

“I managed to escape the Count and somehow, I’m trapped again, this time by familiar faces. It’s like childhood all over again.”

Crowned - 14 | An Identity Crisis

 

Helmire Castle was built on top of the Northern Hills of Kalmia, bordering the submerged continent of the Narkissa on two sides. Their natural crescent shape moulded the castle’s territory, giving Helmire height and security from all directions. The elevation of the black peaks veiled the castle towers, embracing them as one of their own.

Nature was never an antagonist to magic.

Tough the land was dry and unhabitable by Kalmia’s Creatures, mages from Lunaria had transformed Helmire into grounds of scenic beauty which rivalled that of tourist hotspots of the world, like Matholia and Willow.

As per usual, Elvira sneaked out of prying eyes and found the sloping gardens a perfect place for private respite. There, surrounded by flowers, she sat cross-legged, and pointed a finger on a wilted flower in her lap.

“Alive!”

“Live!”

“GROWWWW!”

“RE! BIRTH!”

“BLOOOOOOM!”

“Thrive?”

She exclaimed, for the nth time but the wilted flower remained unmoving and unbothered by her flashy hand movements and tonal-shift advances. Sighing, a recent habit she had acquired, Elvira flopped backwards and rested her head amidst the flowers.

“I really, really, don’t think I have powers. It’s not working, no matter how hard I try, nothing happens,” she huffed to the birds and the bees, “I have never had so much free time on my hands. Now that I don’t have to slave away at the Count’s Estate, life is so much easier!”

She inhaled a breath of fragrant fresh air.

“I’m so useless,” she grumbled, instantly grounding herself.

Maybe Kairo was avoiding her, maybe she was avoiding Kairo, but it had been two weeks ever since their last conversation. Though, whatever the deal was with Kairo, Elvira knew that she was purposefully avoiding all of Kaeo. She did not know how to face him or Clary or any of the other dead people. Formerly dead people.

“At least being trapped by familiar people doesn’t involve doing chores…”

Elvira raised her hands up at the sky and chanted, “Magic Reincarnation, go, go, go!”

Obviously, nothing happened.

Elvira sighed again as her hands fell back on the flower grass. “This is so bad, I’m essentially worthless, why am I even here?” she got up with an ambition to charge inside and make demands for her freedom.

Almost immediately, realisation washed over her like a cold shower.

“Where would I go? I know nothing, I have no connections, no—well, I have friends but they’re all busy. The Count and Countess would begin paying them from the next month so they’re working hard. They’ll be financially independent soon and here I am,” she fell back into the grass, “Absolutely lost in life with a promising yet absent power,” she glared at her hands, “Can you be good at anything?”

She was allegedly good at something but she had never witnessed her own abilities first-hand, only the harsh consequences they brought along.  

“Elvira!” a voice called out.

Elvira groaned out loud and curled up into a ball, hoping the person would walk past her.

“Elvira! I see you there! Quit floundering with the flowers and make some use for yourself! Come, have tea with me!”

Elvira would rather eat Linch dung but she did not voice her avoidant dreams. Instead, she clawed up and forced her face into a smile, “Wilhelma!” she exclaimed, “Fancy seeing you so early!”

“Early? Girl, it is ten in the morning! It might be early for jobless folks like you but I, an employed person, just got off morning duty. Come along now, I’ll treat you to tea!” the tall girl exclaimed.

Wilhelma was considerably taller than Elvira and held a more poised sense of self. Her shoulders were always squared and chin held up high. Even with the harshest of comments, the smile never slipped off her lips. Her dark hair was always in a loose bun, so meticulously pinned that not a strand escaped from her head by the end of the day. She had a pair of dewy siren eyes which she used to convey her displeasure in order to not inconvenience her mouth.

“Treat me, you shall,” Elvira mumbled as she dragged her feet behind Wilhelma.

“Mhm, we’re drinking Hibiscus today,” Wilhelma replied, airily.

“I don’t even like tea,” Elvira grumbled.

“Nonsense! All ladies like tea! That is not how you will wed Kaeo! I’m going to end up grabbing him!”

“Please, make haste, the floor is all yours,” Elvira huffed.

“I would never do that to a friend…”

She had no idea how or why Wilhelma had decided to latch onto her, but this misfortune happened a week ago. She had been having an identity crisis amidst the flowers when the pretty girl showed up and offered her a sweet drink.

Elvira, having never had an overthought human interaction before, simply considered it a kind gesture and drank a sip.

Though, instead of watering the seeds of friendship with that drink, Wilhelma held out a hand and demanded compensation. Elvira, not having a morsel in her name, declared so.

Henceforth, they Wilhelma had established an uncanny sort of claim on Elvira’s time and presence. To a distant viewer, the girls drinking tea together, choosing clothes, running in the garden, petting creatures, would all look like acts of friendship.

But to Elvira’s distaste, it was hours of, “Oh, isn’t the tea marvellous? I know you do not like it, worry not, you shall develop the taste soon!” or, “Oh my! You’re horrible at coordinating an outfit! With that sack of a dress on you, do you think you will reach any man’s bed? Don’t worry, I’m here to guide you!” or else, “STOP RUNNING AWAY! ONE BITE FROM THE PAIX BEE AND YOUR INTERNAL INJURIES WILL BE HEALED, TRUST ME! IT ALSO MAKES YOUR CHEST BIGGER IF BITTEN IN THE RIGHT SPOT!” or maybe, “Yes please, wash the Hornstriders tonight, I’m so exhausted by chasing after you all afternoon. Won’t you help a friend out? You’re the kindest!”

Friend.

Elvira scoffed.

“…but if you take too much time, who knows, he’ll just end up in my bed instead!” Wilhelma giggled at whatever wild imagery her head conjured.

“I hope he does,” Elvira grumbled. “It’s not like I have known him for fifty years,” she scoffed, “five hours, give or take, at best.”

“It’s seldom about time and more about the hows, the whys, the whats and the what’s nexts!”

Elvira rolled her eyes. She wished she could straight up reject Wilhelma’s advances and walk away, but to her dismay, she had few hiding places and too much time with too less work to be excused for.

The only perk of being by Wilhelma’s side was facing the other residents of Helmire. Each and every recruit was an exceptional mage or entity, personally recruited by either Kairo or Kaeo for this elaborate mission to take over the world.

They were all useful minions and she was a useless burden they decided to weigh upon them, one unfortunate afternoon. A liability which roamed with freewill in a heaven of their creation.

“Ugh, I hate this,” Elvira mumbled. Having too much time on her hands had made her an overthinking mess of insecurities.

“Hate what? Tea time? I told you that you will develop the taste soon enough. It is refinement, trust me,” Wilhelma waved a hand in Elvira’s face and led her inside the gleaming black castle.

Misfortune tipped the balance of her life, once again, as they bumped into Kairo by the door.

“Oh, Sire Kairen! Sire Helmire! Hello! Pleasant day, is it not? What are you doing up so early?” Wilhelma exclaimed, going out of her way to demand a greeting.

Elvira rolled her eyes and slipped past Wilhelma in order to avoid brewing awkwardness in their morning greetings. The last push she needed to spiral was Kairo urging marriage. Her face wore a scowl, unintentionally so, as she sped past the greeting people in the hallway. She did not understand what ticked her off but she did not wait to comprehend either.

In her haste to escape, Elvira bumped into a person. Their papers flew out of their hands and fluttered up in the air. She burst in to a flurry of apologies as the person shrugged her off and waved their hand to gather the dropped material.

The exchange could have settled as yet another embarrassing memory to cringe over at 3 A.M. but fate had Kaeo witness the whole shenanigan and pursue a snide remark, “Is it too hard to watch where you are going or do I have to lend you my sight now?”

“It was an accident,” Elvira grumbled, “And it’s not like I want to siphon your magic off of you, okay? You don’t have to whine about it every time you meet my eye.”

“Kairo insists I marry you when I could easily have your pretty little head off your shoulders and up on my display wall.”

“Aw, you find my head pretty?” Elvira scoffed and fanned her hands around her face, “Obsessed with me, even when I'm dead? Sounds a bit loony.”

 Kaeo shrugged, leaning against a wall. His face exuded all the leisure a person could aspire to achieve.

“You should feel blessed that killing you would kill me.”

“Wow, makes me wanna slit my wrist and see what happens next,” Elvira rolled her eyes.

Though she had said the words with much nonchalance, Kaeo’s face darkened at the prospect. She was quick to recognise the hardness in his jaw and corrected herself, “My bad, I love my life too much to waste it over the likes to you.”

“Said the one who brought me back from the dead.” Kaeo scoffed.

“I did it for the Kaeo I liked,” Elvira said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Oh! You like me?” Kaeo mocked, throwing his head back in disbelief.

“What! No! not at all! the old you, who doesn’t exist anymore! the nicer person! I liked him, like I like Kairo, of course, like nor—”

“Oh, you like me?” Kairo whispered from behind her, scaring her enough to jump away. “Is that why you have been avoiding marriage with my brother? Why did I never consider this?” he wondered in a serious conspirative tone.

“You like my brother now? After all the leaching you’ve done with me? You want to marry my brother?!” Kaeo bellowed.

“Elvira, if you want to, I can—”

“NO! I DON’T LIKE EITHER OF YOU!” Elvira shouted before any misunderstandings could prosper.

“Is it me who you like?” Wilhelma jumped into perspective, grinning ear to ear as she pointed a finger at her face.

Elvira sighed, emotionally and physically exhausted by the exchange. “I’d like my magic if I can find it,” she grumbled to no one in particular.

Suddenly, Kairo perked up, his jade eyes glinting as he exclaimed, “I have an idea! Let’s go on a mission together, for old time’s sake!”

Crowned - 12 | Payment Settlement!

 

CHAPTER 12

Elvira remained skeptical of the tomfoolery brewing under her name and the alleged magic associated with it. Only cold hard proof – other than Kaeo’s estranged body – could soothe either Kairo’s delusion or her troubled mind.

“I will accept it only if you take me back to the Count’s Estate,” Elvira demanded.

“Why would you want to go back to a place you were trapped in?” Kairo sighed as he leaned in and placed his elbows on the table.

A portion of food separated them. Though, surprisingly, even after being unconscious for five days, Elvira did not have the urge to scarf down the free meal.

“I need to make sure that my friends are alright,” she replied.

“You have friends?!” Kairo exclaimed, at the same time as Kaeo banged his fist over the table.

“I knew it! You were the one who caused the fire!” he rejoiced.

Elvira and Kairo turned to face at Kaeo, who was busy scarfing down breakfast on the opposite end of the table.

“I was trying to save my friend,” Elvira mumbled and let her head hang.

“Arsonist,” Kaeo supplied, “You’re truly one of us.”

“I cannot believe you made new friends…” Kairo sighed, “I spent five years trying to locate you and you were busy forging fresher bonds…I halted my research on Linch Blood because I wanted to complete it with you…” his words faded into a whisper.

“Woah,” Elvira gasped and backed into the cushioned chair, “That is so nice of you. I didn’t even know that you were real…I never tried escaping because,” her voice cracked, “because I had no home to go back to. At least I had people I cared for, back at the Estate,” Elvira sniffled.

“You were our first friend,” Kairo mumbled, “Of course I would never give up on you, like you did not give up on Kaeo.”

Teary-eyed Elvira and a pouting Kairo turned to face Kaeo. The ravenette paid no heed to them as he was busy shoving rolls down his throat.

Elvira grimaced at the sight.

“Can you leave me back at the Estate?” Elvira asked again, turning to Kairo.

“Can I come along? I want to see these friends of yours,” Kairo narrowed his eyes at the food, ‘I want to see which friends would let Elvira be abused on the regular and still be worth a second thought.’ he thought.

He stood up and with a snap of his fingers, a magic circle appeared under his feet. “Let’s go, I’ll protect you this time,” he said as he held out a hand for Elvira.

The brunette got out of her chair and walked around the table to stand by Kairo’s side.

It was Kaeo who took Kairo’s hand instead, “Leffs goh, brafa!” (Let’s go, brother!) he exclaimed with a mouth full of food as he stepped over the circle.

“Why is he going?” Elvira frowned.

“Gof sum payments to settle,” Kaeo brushed her off.

Kairo passed her a sheepish smile before snapping his fingers.

To say Elvira missed this magic would be an understatement. In no more than a second, they were halfway across the nation and inside the Count’s Estate without the hassle of travelling or showing identification involved. 

Elvira made a mental note to ask Kairo about the rules of Teleportation Magic because there was no logical way for them to be standing inside the East Wing Hallway without him ever having visited it.

“You stay here, I’ll go,” Elvira whispered and stepped out of the circle.

Instantly, Kaeo pushed past them and walked ahead.

Frowning, Elvira took two longer steps to walk ahead of him.

The ravenette scowled and jogged past her in order to be at the front.

By the end of the hallway, Elvira and Kaeo were squabbling like children competing to walk past a door.

Kairo, willingly behind them, shook his head in utter disappointment.

Elvira elbowed Kaeo and walked through the door first, frowning at how silent the Estate was. This time around, maids should have been busy cleaning the window crevices and dusting the doorknobs and hinges.

Kaeo swore under his breath. “First you poach my magic and now you attack me ever so violently!” he seethed in her ear.

Elvira paid no heed to his words for her eyes caught sight of Sinclair walking toward the Count’s meeting room. Elvira ran up to her side, panting, as she called out her name.

The butler’s assistant turned to face the voice and her eyes widened at the sight before her. Instinctively, her feet shuffled backwards and her grip on the tray in her hands loosened. The ovular metal fell to the floor, its thunder echoing in the silent hallway.

“E-e-elvira?” Sinclair gasped.

“Sinclair,” Elvira stated bluntly.

“Y-you are alive…as well…?” Sinclair raised a finger to point at her face.

Kaeo and Kairo walked up to Elvira’s side, which cued a scandalized Sinclair to back into the charred walls.

“A-angels of death! Has my time come?!” Sinclair wailed, backing into a corner. Her mouth quivered and her eyes barely held Elvira’s gaze.

“Sinclair, are you okay? It is me, Elvira, I did not die—is anyone else dead? What happened to Clary?” Elvira asked, stepping in front of Sinclair.

Sinclair furrowed her brows, scrutinizing Elvira’s face. When her assessment deemed Elvira worthy, Sinclair stuttered out a response.

“O-oh, you, you disappeared, everyone thought you died…and Clary, um…Clary is sort of gone…?”

“Gone?”

Tears overwhelmed her eyes but Elvira could only blink them away. A tear slid past her cheek and caught a glimpse of sunlight. It sparkled like the crystal shards rushing towards her, all those nights ago, when Clary pushed her out of the window.

Clary saved her.

Sinclair picked up the metal tray, “Come with me,” she said as she grabbed Elvira’s wrist and led her into the meeting room.

A scowling Kaeo and frowning Kairo followed.

The meeting room was where Count Aramia hosted the commonfolk to hear out their grievances. It was a room on the farthest west of the estate, with its own entry and exit-ways for the commoners. The detached nature of the hall would be the only reason why it survived the massive fire.

A wall of maid-backs greeted them upon entrance. Like the rest of the estate, the meeting room was also a picture of glazed hardwood, antique furniture and tapestries. The commoners had an entry door on the far left, in front of which Elvira spotted Yuna and Lira. Her eyes widened as she followed their line of sight; horror struck her gaze as she backed into a hard chest. Her nostrils flared and squirmed while her ears were assaulted by the screams of agony.

On the small elevated stage at the end of the room were two gold carved chairs, designated for the Count and Countess. Since Count Aramia was unmarried, the smaller throne chair remained empty.

Until a few days ago.

“Is…is that what I see it is?”

Sinclair nodded.

“A-aren’t they supposed to be…?” Elvira frowned.

“A decade ago,” Sinclair replied, her tone equally chill.

For, on the thrones, were seated two people whom Elvira had only seen in pictures before. Their portraits were in the Count’s office, Elvira remembered glancing upon them everytime she cleaned. The pointy chin and upturned moustache of the beady eyed former Count and the triangular face and hooked nose of the former Countess.

Elvira could not believe her eyes when they substituted the people from the pictures on the throne chair.

The dead Count and Countess were sitting on the throne chairs, smirking, with an evil glint in their eye as—

Elvira clutched her heart.

It was Clary.

She was standing beside the Countess, dressed in a shiny black suit, wielding a whip in her right hand. She struck the whip against the ground and a shaggy haired man, curled up on the ground, whimpering.

“Told you, Clary is gone.”

The whip wielding, curly-blonde haired and newly dark eyed Clary burst into a hearty laughter.

“Yeah…well…”

Am I still dreaming?

Elvira couldn’t make sense of reality anymore. All of Count Aramia’s household staff stood in attendance, witnessing the shaggy haired man being whipped while the supposedly dead Count, Countess and Clary, bellowed in mirth.

“They’ve been doing this ever since the day after Salary Day. Head Butler suddenly called everyone here and we witnessed Helif going mad over his parents standing in front of him. Now they do this every morning, whip him in front of everyone, that is. The maids seem to enjoy it a lot.” Sinclair explained.

“Oh? So, he is the one who has been causing me misery,” Kaeo grunted.

Elvira felt a shove before Kaeo walked past her and she came to an embarrassing realisation that she had been leaning against him all this while. She cursed under her breath as Kaeo made his way through the crowd of maids.

“Count, Countess,” he greeted as soon as he was within sight, tone cold and hard.

The nobility passed him a nod of acknowledgement.

“May I?” Kaeo asked.

The old Count nodded, his mouth pushing up in a grin.

“May I what? What? Do dead people have telepathy? The dead people stare-understanding?!” Elvira whispered into Kairo’s ear, exasperated by the whole scenario.

“Your guess may be better than mine, it’s your magic after-all,” Kairo shrugged.

Elvira rolled her eyes and Kaeo grabbed the shaggy haired man by his tattered collar.

“Helif Aramia?” he questioned, looking him in the eye.

“I-I am the COUNT! D-do not say my name, y-you peasant,” the man spat blood, “You are all being fooled by these impo—”

He couldn’t continue for Kaeo’s fist met his face. Elvira spotted a sapphire blue magic circle over his knuckles, aiding the impact of his hits, and her breath hitched. He was Kaeo.

A more…unhinged version though, Elvira realised, grimacing while Kaeo shoved punch after punch into the slender man.

“The young man seems impassioned,” the Countess remarked from her throne chair.

“All well-deserved,” Clary scoffed and threw the whip towards Kaeo, “Use it as you please.”

Kaeo picked up the whip and began wrapping it around Helif’’s neck when Elvira shouted, “Stop it! You’re going to kill him!”

 

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.