Private Tales The Ways of Magic

[Raea Stormcrow]

"Your mother," she said after a moment, "is an angel in disguise. And she is definitely easier to be in the company of and understand. My Lord," she added belatedly.

After a moment she stepped forward until there were just a handful of feet between them, eyes still locked on his. That odd feeling still persisted, ever stronger and stranger with every passing breath. Why was it that its presence made her feel angry, unspeakably so?

There were too many things buried in her head to sort through. None of them made any sense, regardless. "It isn't as if I - and many others - haven't done things off of a feeling before. Instinct, premonition, whatever you want to call it."

She wanted to ask what the feeling was but refrained. She lingered a moment longer, shook her head, and turned on one heel and walked away.

"I will need new clothes," she said after pausing at the door. "I'll tear the seams of these if I try to do anything strenuous in them," she said and then left.

 

[Thallan]

Anger flickered in her gaze as she stepped closer to him and he wondered if that was a common way for those in the mortal world to offer their thanks. He had saved her life not once, but twice, and she had the nerve to be angry at him? She was too stubborn for her own good. Maybe he should have left her to die, trapped in her human body.

"And wouldn't we all like to see that," he muttered after her last comment. He wasn't sure if she had heard him or not, but she found a way to gripe about everything; even his mother's own clothes on her back were not good enough.

But he was just tired- he would feel much more hospitable in the morning. Or maybe that was his mother's voice in his head telling him that.

Huffing and puffing (like a child, Elasha would say), Thallan tore his hand through his hair once more before crawling beneath the blankets on his bed. He stared at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep.

 

[Raea Stormcrow]

Exhaustion was a stifling blanket, but sleep would not come. In its stead were random thoughts and fragments of memories without any context. They could have been ancient or new, could have been evidence of good or evil or anything in between.

Return of stolen memories did not bring with it any kind of peace. She had been sure in her self before the assassin had shattered whatever magic had been woven over and into her. Now she had no sense of self, no identity to speak of.

Couldn't cling to being an adventurer on the edge of death, because it wasn't true. An entire life that was merely the imagining of... someone.

Who, then, was she?

"How do I find the woman I was?" The question a whisper into the darkness.

There was no answer.

---

Morning brought her to the dining room in a disheveled state, dark circles underscoring pale eyes. She had managed to run a brush through her hair and that was the extent of her ablutions for the morning. She had settled for a robe instead of Elasha's clothing, which she had returned before she damaged them and with all the thanks that deserved.

"Good morning, Lord Malwyrth," she said as the male entered the room. He was looking far more rested and in better spirit than she herself did. She couldn't quite make herself care, though. She was still trying to process everything that had happened the night before.

 

[Thallan]

The next morning, Thallan was up early. He laid in bed and stared at the ceiling until he couldn't stay still any longer. He dressed and brushed his long crimson hair, tying it back in a lazy bun. He sat down to breakfast in the dining room. The long table from dinner the night before had been replaced with a smaller circular table for breakfast. Their two traitorous guests had yet to show themselves.

Raea was the first one to come in, and Thallan wondered if she had struggled to sleep as well. the dark circles under her eyes said so.

He tried not to look at her for too long, especially not at the way her long hair hung like a sheet of the night sky down her back. He wondered briefly what it'd feel like under his fingers but then he brought his gaze back to his meal, starring daggers into his porridge.

"Good morning, Raea. Sleep well?" It was a stupid question, one he already knew the answer to.