Evil & Love

Broken Spectacles

Oh shoot. Shoot. Shoot. SHOOT! I can’t be here. I can’t be in this world. Oh no! Who in their right mind put the narrator in the world that they are narrating for? Author! J.N. Kohr do not make me come up there. You know I will destroy you.

You did this to yourself, Kohr’s feminine voice rang loudly over me.

“I did no such thing,” I muttered to myself, “What if they find out?”

That’s your problem not mine, I just write the story how it is. You think I had a choice? I’m being threatened by everyone. Do not mess up, Kohr said.

“No promises,” I muttered.

I looked down at my attire. Crap, I’m still in my gremlin writing clothes. I have to find something else to wear. Girls don’t get to wear pants unless they are adventuring. 

I’m no adventuress. I also don’t partake in dishonest financial/social behaviours as the old definition of that word indicates.

I need to find myself a dress and a cloak. 

I can’t very well walk into a boutique dressed as I am. So I spun around. I quickly walked to the closest clothing line. 

On which hung a green skirt with a floral trim, a cream blouse trimmed in green leaves. I also found a brown leather belt that wrapped around my waist many times almost like a corset. I ran up to the steps leading to the house that the clothing line was attached to and snatched a pair of lady’s boots.

I ran into an alley to change. After no more than five minutes, I was dressed and had a new mission: figure out what kingdom I’m in. Then I realised my hair was too much like a sore thumb. Red hair sucks in a predominantly blonde, brown, and black hair society. I ran my fingers through it. What I would give to have actually listened to my sister’s lessons on how to braid hair.

Better late than never, I resolved.

I began braiding my hair not caring about how it actually looked. It was simply to try to make it look darker and to make it not so standout-ish. I’m the narrator. I can make up words.

After “successfully” braiding my hair (it took me four tries), I began my second mission. Figure out where I am.

Then I saw her. 

“Ahehp,” I muttered, hoarsely.

I began to follow her. Maybe she could help me, without first killing me, I hope.

I got all the way to the alleyway where she resides before I lost her. 

Then I found her. She had jumped me.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she growled.

“Crap. Um… My name is Korei. I’m here to help you.” Not a complete lie. Kohr didn’t give me a name, so I simply modified hers. The second part, well, it could prove to be the truth. 

“Korei? That doesn’t sound like a name from around here.”

“No, I’m from the mainland,” again not a complete lie.

She didn’t question it. Without reason, she looked panic-stricken. “Come inside! We can talk more there.”

She basically threw me into her bunker before locking the door behind her.

“What was that for?” I asked, rubbing a spot on my shoulder that bumped the wall.

“Many people on this stupid island have it out for me.”

“Well I know that, but why did you throw me in here?”

“I suppose I could have been gentler.”

I nodded. Then I actually looked at where I was.

“Woah! This is so cool! You built all of this?”

Ahehp nodded. “And stole some of it too.”

I walked around and came across some blueprints. “What are these for?”

“Oh, nothing!” she quickly ran up to hide all of it, but I knew what it was for.

“You’re planning to steal something aren’t you?”

She looked guilty.

“From the looks of that place, you're going to need a second set of hands.”

She looked surprised now, “Are you offering to help?”

“Yes, that is if I can find the local weapons master.” 

“You mean to say that you have no special skills whatsoever.”

“Not ones that would be beneficial to this quest.”

Ahehp looked dumbfounded.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

After a bit of convincing, she handed me a map to the nearest training centre.

It took me only thirty minutes to find the right place, but much longer to actually get in.

“What do you mean the master doesn’t train girls?” I snapped.

“He believes women are unfit to fight. Your attire adds to that belief,” the doorman remarked.

I looked down at my “dress”.

Suddenly, the door was pulled dramatically open and the doorman almost tumbled backward with the force. A man with greying hair and luscious beard stepped out.

“What is with all this ruckus?” he demanded.

“This girl demands you train her,” the way the doorman spit out the word girl made my hair stand up angrily.

The old master made a hmph sound. I recognized him. He looked like my great grandfather, only much younger in years. This man couldn’t be older than sixty-five. I noticed how his eyes trailed to the beloved necklace of mine that hung around my neck. 

“Where did you get that necklace?” he mustered.

“My aunt gave it to me.”

“That was my late wife’s,” he paused in contemplation, “Come in.”

I followed the great-grandfather-not-great-grandfather. 

“My name is Master Glenn. Do you have any experience with a weapon?”

“My father taught me how to shoot a bow and arrow. I also used to play around with a sword a bit.”

“Good, good. And do you have any experience with a musical instrument?”

“I play violin. Quite proficiently too.”

“Even better. Pin, get this girl a change of clothes!” he hollered at what I assumed to be his assistant.

A young man came to me with an off-white blouse that rose up to my neck with a light brown corset and cream pants that had strips of fabric on a belt. A pair of gloves decorated with flowers where the back of my hand would situate rested on top of the stack. In the boy’s other hand, he held a pair of boots that would rise just above my knees.

“Now, once you change, I will begin your training.”

So change, I did. Physically and mentally.