Obsidian's Reign ¹

∷ Chapter 9 ∷

SLEEP CAME SURPRISINGLY easy to Clara, and as night turned to day, she began wondering yet again if the ensuing events were real or a figment of her imagination. However, she came to terms with her situation fairly quickly and if anything was apparent, it was her desperate need for a sense of normalcy to resume in her fast dwindling life. As such, she found herself going about her day as she ordinarily would—she took a quick shower, made herself some breakfast, glanced through the morning news . . .

But there was only so much she could do to distract herself. Before long, her mediocrities had been achieved and there was little else for her to do. She slumped against the sofa, hands wringing nervously as her mind wandered once more to the deal she had made.

Seven days until her imminent death.

It seemed like a good deal at the point, but as she sat there stewing in her thoughts, she wondered if perhaps she had been wrong after all. She had failed to consider the negativity that surrounded such a deal. Knowing her predetermined death weighed heavy on her mind and occupied too much of her thoughts to be good in any way, and she was starting to see its effects firsthand.

Still, seven days had been granted to her and despite her conflicting feelings, she should be doing something, shouldn't she? It would defeat the purpose of the deal otherwise. The fluttering of the curtains in her living room attracted her attention as her gaze drifted towards the open window. She could hear the birds chirping outside and feel the wind's gentle embrace.

It was a beautiful day. Almost as though it wasn't the first of seven days she had left to live.

Mulling over her thoughts, Clara finally decided not to waste the little time she had. She jolted upright, her decision made. She had no intention of staying cooped up in her apartment for the entire week. There was much she could do—sorting out her affairs for one thing and visiting her grandmother for another.

She was almost at the front desk when she abruptly halted, a groan of exasperation leaving her upon the realisation that she had completely forgotten the one important fact—her car had been reduced to a pile of ash in the parking lot of the medical centre.

The apartment complex was so far out from the city, it was a hassle to get anywhere without a mode of transport. Of course, there was always the option of getting a taxi, but . . . She glanced furtively at the front desk and winced when she caught sight of a familiar face.

But that would mean having to hang around the lobby in the company of the dreaded Norman Woodrow, the landlord who allegedly had a very apparent crush on her. Still, her determination was unwavering and even someone as unbearable as Norman Woodrow was not going to stop her.

Clenching her fist and forcing a smile, Clara walked over to the front desk and said, "Good morning, Woodrow."

The name sounded stiff even to her ears but to emphasise that she did not regard him in the same way he regarded her, she had taken to referring to him by his last name instead of his first, much to his dismay.

"Clara," he beamed in return, his smile blinding in comparison to hers. But it wasn't long before a frown took its place. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Norman? It is my name after all."

Clara mumbled a weak excuse under her breath and just as he was about to refute, she hurried to change the subject.

"Could you call up a taxi for me?"

Norman raised his eyebrow at her but said nothing as he unhooked the handset and started dialling the number. He thought it odd that Clara, of all people, would request for taxi service, but he didn't seem to mind if it meant having a little more time with her.