Morons and Monarchs

Chapter Fifty-Five: Ahmya📝

"Hello!" I yell to the girl in front of me, she has tried to ignore me for a few moments, but finally she turns around, rolling her eyes.

"I sincerely apologise," I hurry to her, my gown skittering on the sidewalk, I hand her the piece of paper. "I am new here," I try to explain, and the girl looks at my dress and raises her eyebrows as if to say 'Duh'. "I need to see that man," I point at the folded piece of parchment in her hands, she looks down at it, skimming my hurried scrawl before inclining her head.

I follow as indicated.

The Bubak is almost as ugly as I thought they were going to be... which is extremely ghastly.

This girls lips are sewn shut- which I never read about that happening to the Bubak, but what do I know?

Her legs are replaces with a lone stick covered with a ragged piece of cloth that looks like a really big knife-sheath. She does, I realize faintly, have a few weapons strapped to her frame. It was only then that I realised that she also had a bag of trash slung over her shoulder, I pointed at it in silent curiosity and she shrugged.

I don't speak as the Bubak leads me to the black archway of some type of cathedral, only then do I say my first words. "What is your name?" I ask as she throws the trash inside and listens to the screams of the dead.

The Bubak pulls out a charcoal pencil out of her hair and starts scribbling on the bottom of my paper.

I take it from her when she looks back at me, her arm outstretched.

Drystan

"Drystan," I give her my hand, and she takes it, nodding. "I am Ahmya,"

She nods again and scribbles something else onto my paper, I peer down at the paper in my hands as she conceals her neat letters with her hair.

I already know, stranger, bye.

I already know, stranger, bye. "Good, I think we will be seeing a lot of each other for now,"

I walk through the archway and into chaos.

-*-

Screams echo, sobs are deafening, the cathedral walls are gothically unappealing in a sort of hellish way.

I glance back to see if I can catch Drystan, but she is gone. I hadn't even heard her hop away!

Another scream threatens to burst my ears, and an older lady with pitch black hair comes into my view. Holding my attention captive for a moment.

"Hello, Miss." She says in way of greeting. "What can we do for you?"

"I am looking for somebody," My voice is oddly calm for a person who is anything but.

She nods. "I assumed so," She eyes my paper. "Who?"

"His name is Lord Archibald,"

She smirks, "I know exactly where he is, Miss." I follow her as she flies away, she seems to be a soul herself- for I have never heard of a pixie being in Tech Duinn.

But then again, her wings are black and speckled with stars, so it may not be too far fetched.

She stops at a balding man, his chains clanking against the marble floors, a frown marring his lips, he tries to speak, but only a groan slips out.

I almost feel pity for him, I really do.

The pixie slips a really small knife into my hand, and I soon realize as the cool metal slides across my skin, it only appears tiny. I flip the knife- of which was about the size of only her jugular before- and it elongates and sharpens. I flip the hilt in my palm, muttering a 'I appreciate it' before going back to mesmerizing in the golden stars along the hilt, the black hue shining off the blade even as it glints silver. I want to get Bayou to see it.

"I-" Lord Archibald is parched, his voice barely a whisper and sounds like sandpaper against a chalkboard.

"Hush it," I snap at him and he stops, he tries to glare but can't muster it past a slight narrowing of his eyes. But he stops attempting to speak, so that is something.

"DO you," I start, scanning the room. "By any chance, know where the vault is?" The Lord's eyes widened, shocked. He shakes his head, and I curse.

"Well, aren't you just useless." I grumble, but he hears and starts nodding. My attention swivels to him, "Well, speak godsdammit!"

"Y-Y-Yes, I," He clears his throat. "I do in fact kn-know where i-it is."

I make an odd gesticulation to show my impatience.

"It," He coughs. "It is in the Dead Souls Quarters." He starts to clank away, but I swoop down and grab his chain. The Lord falls.

His back hits the dark oak of the ground, all muddied and gross and looks as if it has never been expertly cleaned before, with a loud thump, and I almost want to wince.

I crouch, giving him my undivided attention, "Now," I begin, dropping the soiled chain to the ground, feeling the clank reverberate along the floor boards. "If you don't do what I say," I flip the knife in my hands. "Then your eternity down here will be even worse," He shivers.

"W-" The Lord takes a loud swallow. "What?"

"Tell everybody you saw me, but don't tell them my name. Tell everybody that you have met me, but call me by another's. Tell everybody that I was mean, but make sure it was from retribution, but tell not what I said, for that was of nothing but resolution."

He nods, and I smile. "Now, do we have a deal?" I hold out my hand, and he takes it within his own muddied and grossly soddy fingers.

"Deal."

I grit my teeth against the pain coming from my hand, biting my tongue to keep from screaming as black veins jut out of my Laritione skin. Porcelain and pale now blackened and sickly.

I turn over my arm, and watch as the color slowly fades from my veins, leaving a stark purple instead.