Revival Of Stars

10 | Wrong Tale, Wrong Time

CHAPTER 10
•••

A week had passed since the Royal Purge, and the barstool in The Archaic Bar practically had Etta's butt engraved on it. She had been sitting there, waiting and waiting and waiting. Fingers curled around the grip of the wine glass, eyes trained intensely at the entrance, mind never fraying from: Come back, come back, come backs—Etta sat waiting for the hooded old lady to return.

After the eighth day, she started going crazy.

Albeit the bar being basically her home, Etta felt incredibly bored and useless as the days dragged on. The bartenders and chefs even grew worried for her because she wasn't acting like her usual self. They'd watch as her legs bounced impatiently and how her eyes focused only on the front doors, save for the few times she'd have to order food or more drinks.

Sierra and Sid also stopped tagging along for a bit.

Sid had to teach an art class and continue the planning for his mural. On some days, he'd skip going to the bar at night and go on late-night dates with Etta's apartment desk boy.

As for Sierra—she had given up on Etta's 'fantasy' and destiny. Growing tired of hearing her best friend mumble about the old lady, she isolated herself in her home, writing poetries and essays to sell.

They were both insanely talented in their work and fortunate; they were even children of successful doctors. Therefore, Etta felt frantic, more than ever before. For the first time, she didn't have to sit idly by, watching her best friends from the distance as they did their jobs; the hooded old lady had given her something to grasp on. Before, the only thing Etta had were sporadic opportunities where she could recite tales. Being needed to do something was a foreign feeling, and she relished in her so-called destiny. But now—as she sat doing nothing at the bar—the feeling of uselessness emerged again.

However, her thoughts came to a screeching halt as a presence slid into the barstool next to her.

Etta turned in her seat hopefully, only to see a man waving his hand toward the bartender. She slumped in her seat, disappointed. Chin resting on her hand, heavy-lidded, she sighed deeply.

"Heard you're a storyteller," the man suddenly said.

Etta paused before sitting up straight. Occasionally, she'd get her customers like this: meeting up in bars, stores, or streets. After a few sessions, word traveled of her tales. "You heard right," she answered, a little proud of herself.

The man smirked before bringing a glass cup to his lips. "How much for one story? I'm in serious need of entrainment."

She settled for a number before clearing her throat. The man situated himself, loosening his collar. And Etta couldn't help but stare at the black ink etched onto his neck, the top half of a sphere exposed over the collar. It looked like...

"So," the man started, scratching his chin, "I'd like to hear...oh, I know. The Tale of the Forbidden Affair."

The shock on her face was evident. Rarely did any of her listeners ask for that specific tale. After the first few times of telling her 'twist' in the famous tale, many people criticized her interpretations, and she'd lost most of her customers. They'd all told her that she had romanticized the story in the wrong way. When it was supposed to be about the heartbroken split between Sakaguchi Keiko and Eliath Vesper, Etta had interpreted it differently, vocalizing about King Eilath's relationship with Jare Bobbit instead. Even Sierra and Sid opposed it. Making the villain of the tale pitiful was incriminating, out-right monstrous.