What Makes a Monster

♱Eighty-One♱

Wallie P.O.V.

I half expected to come face to face with the bloody queen, but that never happened. The visit from Karsissia was lackluster, which is a term that is likely rarely used in reference to her. I never knew when she arrived or when she left. As grateful as that makes me, I cannot deny the oddities that are transpiring after her visit.

Soran told me nothing, only that they spoke and she left. When I attempted to get an actual explanation, I was met with a brick wall. He refused to budge, wouldn't give a single clue to what earned her visit and why she left so hastily. Then, he started to disappear, spending long hours on his own, although it was no where anyone could find him.

We have our meals together where he's so out of it that I often talk only to be met with a dim stare. He'll apologize then ask a question that has already been answered. The eyes speak. Dull red, gaze physically present but emotionally distant. There may not be jitters or paranoid looks thrown over his shoulder, but the minuscule actions that seem like nothing pile up.

Malatis is on high alert as well. The last few days he has stuck to me like glue, rarely taking his long afternoon naps and even staying awake most evenings. I don't know how much sleep he truly needs so I've been worrying that he may pass out one of these days. When I attempt to receive answers from Soran, he insists everything is alright.

He's lying.

What is one to do against the world leagues above them? Magic and mystery and villainous acts have been thrust into my life that never considered the possibilities. Although I train long into the evenings, although I can cast a shield and send shockwaves to knock back any that grow near, the abilities can't even be considered scratches in the armor of those that threaten me. I am a singular ant, useless and alone, easily crushable.

"Not telling me what's wrong worries me more," I speak to the only one I can confide in now; Malatis.

We're in my bedroom surrounded by mounds of books and notes. Since the start of my magical training, I've only gotten better with reading too. Practicing every night results in reading practice too. Soran has been kind enough to leave notes in places that I've struggled, allowing me to easily learn. When skimming over the dry ink, exquisitely set against raised paper, I imagine that, in another life, Soran would have made an excellent teacher. The image of him standing before a class of children, book in hand and smile warm, makes me laugh. I think he would have liked that.

Reaching out, I comb through Malatis' fur. His ears flick, either out of enjoyment or irritation. One never really knows with him.

"I wish you could talk and give me answers." I half expect him to actually start. He merely blinks at me. "What can't he tell me about that concerns a visit from the High Priest and Grand Knight as well as Karsissia plus his disappearances? The Unborn?"

More blinking.

"What are they up to and why is he so worried now?"

There are no answers to the seemingly endless questions that blow away with my heavy sigh. With the position I'm in, what else is there to do but study and hope, when I need it, I'm ready to defend myself. The next time anything happens, because there is no denying that it will, I'll be ready and they won't be. I'll take their surprise and use it to my advantage. How's that for strategic thinking?! I'd gloat, but Malatis never cares and Soran has vanished again.

Malatis suddenly hops to his feet. He growls when the door swings open to show a breathless Hael. His flushed face darkens. Either having to do with Malatis' narrow gaze or rushing. Regardless, he calms enough to say, "His Grace has gone to the castle."