The Orbs of Tala

03 | I'm a Trained Villain

By the time Isla dressed the following morning and climbed down for breakfast, she already convinced herself hard enough that she had a terrible dream—a nightmare. But like most days, Cris had to ruin her fantasy.

He met her in the hallway and said, "We should book a flight soon."

She ignored him and continued down the hall and into the dining room. The morning sunlight streamed through the wide windows, casting light over the long wooden table. Ivor was already eating his bacon and muffins. Lola, her hair the color of sunlight wrapped in a blue chignon, was quietly eating in her usual spot to Ivor's right.

"I have the details of the Eastern Department of Lost Things with me if you want to look into it," Cris continued, an irritating shadow behind Isla. "They have a long list of clienteles you may be interested in, most of whom potential supporters when you become empress and—"

"Good morning," Isla curtly greeted Ivor, taking the seat to his left. The old, dying man just nodded with a small smile before he sent Cris a look of warning. Lola beamed from across the table. "What do you want to do today?" Lola asked, her cheerful voice rather forced.

"I'm thinking of going to the lake."

"The lake was closed last year," Cris said, placing a folder just beside the fork Isla wanted to grab and poke into his eye, one thong at a time.

"Then I'll go hunting."

"Not the best time for hunting. Too many stray nymphs in spring."

"Don't worry, Cris. I'll be shooting stray humans."

Cris rolled his eyes while Isla's flickered to the black folder beside her hand. Her jaw tightened. She blinked away and looked up to find Lola studying her. Then Lola smiled. "I'm thinking we can go shopping for—"

"I'm sorry, my lord," the butler interrupted, stepping through the doorway, eyes directed to Ivor. "You have callers—"

"We're not callers, we're here for breakfast," the familiar voice said, followed by a tapping sound on the hardwood floor. Isla rolled her eyes to the side to look.

Dressed in a gray sweater vest over a white dress shirt, the man walked into the room with his fancy walking stick.

"Good morning, Rowan," Lola greeted.

Their cousin walked over to the table, his eyes looking around the place as if he could see. He could not. It was his Curse. But he was so good at masking it that no one could truly tell. He had the uncanny ability to look one straight in the eye. It always gave her the chills. But that was his strategy.

Rowan enjoyed sensing people's unease. It came with the blindness, the sensing. His wing, on the other hand, was a different matter.

"I can't miss the famous Develler muffins," he said, moving his walking stick to the side until he found the empty chair beside Isla.

"Where's Diana?" Lola asked.

"Here!"

Diana looked different from Rowan. In fact, she looked different every day. Her hair was still brown, but her eyes were green and set wide apart. Her brows were thinner, her cheeks too hollow. And she looked a little older. Her hair and body always remained the same. It was just the face that changed daily since she got her Curse at eighteen.

Isla may be one of the very few who could still remember what she really looked like before her Curse, being able to look into the woman's head. But lately, she noticed that Diana's memories of her old face were also fading away. A pity, of course, because Isla genuinely liked Diana.