Ronan

Chapter Three

Though Rosa never looked up, she felt the impact of more dark magic taking hold of her body. One second, her knees and hands were pressed to the ground as she beheld Ronan's boots. In the next, her back slammed into a wooden chair, her eyes peering directly ahead of her.

As if he hadn't mystically placed them both here, Ronan strolled through the doorway, taking his merry time.

She breathed out in relief.

The monster before her was concealed beneath his cloak. A long, navy cloak that covered the entirety of his body, along with a hood that shielded the majority of his face from her sight. She'd always wondered how he was able to see beneath that thing when all she saw of him was darkness and the lower portion of his jaw. His hands hung limply at his side. Even they were covered by black gloves.

The Other World thought the skin concealment gig was for mystery. If no one knew what Ronan looked like, it'd up the fear. Rosa knew the true reason behind it.

He hates being touched.

Skin to skin contact was his form of torture. Just a simple brush of fingers would have his spine tensing.

He hated that she knew this. Knowing was her only power.

"Nice trick," She said tonelessly. "You're using magic for everything now."

He'd used his powers plenty back in the day but rarely ever for mundane tasks. Once upon a time, he'd been conscious that dark magic came with consequences. But not anymore?

She thought back on the dead trees surrounding the castle.

Not anymore.

Would he visit her grave?

All things considered, she didn't have much hope for grave maintenance.

Can't expect any flowers in a realm where nothing lives or grows.

Her expectations were already low. Go lower.

Idly, she made a point of taking in her surroundings. Her chair had been pushed into the table in front of her. An assortment of food and drink laid atop it, alongside the odd candle.

Was the nice act over yet? Or maybe this was part of it. Maybe Ronan would suggest that she eat something, only for it to turn into maggots in her mouth. Perhaps that wine wasn't actually wine. Maybe he'd have her drinking blood.

Only the best of the best for little old Rosa.

She was already covered in blood. Just being near that fight in the heavens was enough to dirty her dress, even if her sword had hit the ground clean. What difference would a little more blood really make?

"Your eye," Ronan murmured. "What's wrong with it?"

"Huh?" She blinked. A pocket mirror appeared in front of her, just one amongst the many other things on the table. She lifted it, tentatively tilting it towards her face. "A vessel must've popped. Probably your warlocks giving me that headache."

Ronan made no effort to acknowledge that. Instead, he waved his hand. As if by magic, the redness cleared from her eyes.

"You should eat something."

Even as her stomach rumbled, she couldn't bring herself to. Not until she found out the joke. Ronan didn't do nice. So this nice guy thing couldn't fool her. Maybe it was all poisoned. Or maybe it was an illusion. There was nothing here at all.

"Should I?"

"Drink something," He suggested instead.

"I'm not thirsty."