The Night's Curse #3 (Waverly Stump and The 7 Realms)

Chapter 11

Waverly laid flat on her bed and stared at the ceiling, clutching an unsent letter in her hand.
She listened to the sound of clashing swords from outside and the distant roaring of laughter and mild conversations. Phyllis had tried to coax her into sword practice, but she declined with the excuse that her head ached. She remained indoors for five days after that, excluding herself from camp activities, training and weddings; pondering many things at once until her head went blank.

On the same day Phyllis revealed her engagement, she had written a letter to HalfHyde, but never got the chance to send it. Since then, she held on to it, unsure of whether to send or shred it. Her spellings had improved impressively ever since she let Dermot tutor her. She also kept a stack of all HalfHyde's letters so that she could reread them to help polish her spelling since the Elf was quite told.

Although HalfHyde never once made fun of her intellect, Waverly began to feel very embarrassed and less confident with how little she knew despite having such a learned father. She sat up and unrolled the scroll, reading it over and over again, yet each time, she felt even more annoyed by it.

At last, she grew agitated and crumbled the scroll, tossed it and bent over to grab at her hair. It was not the letter nor her spellings that made her so angry. She was not particularly angry at anyone, but felt greatly vexed on the inside. She stood up and began to pace the length of the room, feeling the urge to throw something, but when she looked around, there was nothing to throw. Her room was empty save for her bed, bag and a new study table and chair Regent had sent for her. She did not want to ruin any of those objects.

Helpless, she slumped on the floor and began to sob.

What is wrong with me? She groaned in thought.

"You won't stop fighting yourself." Said a tiny voice that sounded like that of dripping water.

Waverly quickly lifted her head, but there was no one in the room. She rose in alert, springing her crescent blade into existence, and examined the space.

"Who is there?" She asked quietly, staring at the door.

It was probable that someone was pulling a silly prank, but she slowly realized that the voice she had heard did not sound like something from outside. It was a voice within. She had heard enough voices in her mind to be able to recognize when one spoke inside it. The blade shrunk into a wristband and she stood upright, the panic in her chest melting to naught.

"Show yourself." She ordered calmly.

The voice giggled. "No. You show yourself."

Waverly frowned.

Just then, her door creaked open. She tilted her head in confusion at the weather because it seemed to be suddenly dark outside. She tried to calculate how long she had spent staring at the ceiling, but could not.

"Come!" The voice urged.

It did not sound dangerous. There was something irresistibly pleasant about it that lured Waverly to take unintentional steps toward the door. She walked outside and glanced at the clearing in camp where they usually had meals, but it was empty. No fires burned, no laughter or chattering came from the numerous buildings – the whole place was silent.

"This way, now." The voice called again.

Waverly turned and headed toward the thicket on the other side of her axis. Her room was the last in the subdivision building and was nearer to the forest than any other. She walked aimlessly past two other subdivisions before finally entering the forest properly.

"Hurry." The voice urged.

Each time it spoke, it sounded thinner and thinner, and so Waverly had to keep utterly still to hear it. She marched along the underbrush, her boots making a crunch as she walked. The night was so quiet that every sound came like an earthquake.