All good things must come to an end.
September third—the day students have dreaded for centuries—arrived once again, crushing our fleeting summer freedom with the relentless force of reality. I had no desire to return to school, but Alex managed to drag me along, even convincing me to dress up by promising green bean casserole.
The first day unfolded peacefully, just as it had in previous years. The most "exciting" part was the headmistress's speech—a prolonged, soul-draining monologue. The only reason the four hundred of us, forced to endure this concentrated flood of gloom, didn't succumb to sleep was the blazing sun beating down on us. (In suits, no less!) A few students slouched, blinking sluggishly, barely clinging to consciousness under the relentless heat.
As if that ordeal wasn't enough, the survivors who withstood the hour-long speech were handed the new timetables—harrowing documents that seemed more sinister with each passing year.
Reactions in my class varied: some immediately began to complain, others whispered about transferring schools, and a few were on the verge of tears.
I glared at the timetable on my desk with such intensity that I half-expected it to burst into flames. When it didn't, I checked my pockets for a lighter—no luck. We spent the rest of the day reeling from the shock, our spirits thoroughly crushed.
Alex sat beside me, supposedly studying, but the hearts doodled along the edges of his notebook betrayed his true focus. His pen traced another lazy heart as he let out yet another wistful sigh.
"Do you think she's thinking about me right now?" he asked, his eyes dreamy and distant.
"No," I replied, not looking up from my book. "I think she's probably thinking about how nice it is to have peace and quiet."
He ignored my jab, sighing dramatically again. My eyebrow twitched as I glanced at him. He stared dreamily at the ceiling, a soft smile playing on his lips.
If he sighs one more time, I swear I'll exile him to the library and make him read romance novels for all eternity.
"She has the most beautiful laugh, doesn't she?" he mused, his voice filled with an overly sentimental awe.
"I wouldn't know," I said, deadpan. "I've never heard it."
Alex's dreamy expression faltered for a moment as he gave me a sideways glance, a small chuckle escaping him. "You're hopeless, Shay."
"No," I corrected, turning a page in my book. "You're hopeless, Alex."
After that we were finally on our way home.
They say shared trauma—like surviving the first day of school—brings people closer. But attempting to bond by clinging to someone's pants as if your life depends on it, especially when you're both the same sex, well... let's just say it's uncomfortable in more ways than one. It's not exactly the kind of first impression you want to make.
Naturally, the guy toppled over with the grace of a drunken giraffe, and there I was, the unwitting hero, the perfect handhold to stop his face from making a dramatic acquaintance with the pavement.
My gaze flicked between the poor guy clinging to my pants and the football team geniuses snickering nearby. For a fleeting moment, I remained calm, silently congratulating myself for wearing a belt that morning.
The whole incident lasted mere seconds, but in those seconds, Misfortune Mose sprang to his feet. He took three steps back, his face a perfect blend of panic and apology.
"Er, er..." he stammered, eloquently summarizing the situation.
Well, that clears things up.
Meanwhile, the football team paraded past, laughing like they'd just watched a comedy special. One of the IQ champions clapped a hand on my shoulder, still grinning like an idiot.
"Sorry, mate," he chuckled, "It wasn't you we had a problem with."
Oh, what a relief! I grabbed his wrist and gave him my best death glare, silently daring him to continue. Spoiler: I was not in a good mood.
With that, I walked out of the school building as if nothing had happened, leaving the chaos behind me like a dramatic villain exiting the scene of a disaster.
(...)
Hajnal had grown increasingly bitter as the bustling energy of the young dissipated, confined now to weekends with the onset of school. As expected, I bore the brunt of her frustration, a situation that Cecil found endlessly amusing.
The constant barrage of her ire had begun to wear thin. No one, not even Hajnal, could berate me like that and walk away unscathed. I decided it was time to address this and, after finishing the dishes, made my way back with measured steps.
"Hey, boss," I announced, my tone deliberately casual but laced with a subtle edge. I didn't intend to be hostile, but I also wasn't aiming for sweetness. "You know, you really should—"
Hajnal turned to face me, her eyes flashing with a sharpness that, despite my height advantage, made me feel minuscule.
"Do you want something?" she snapped.
"No," I replied smoothly, raising my hands in a placating gesture. "Just letting you know the dishes are done."
"Good," she replied, her tone softening slightly but still carrying an undercurrent of irritation. "Get back to the counter."
I complied without further comment, but it wasn't long before Aleshio arrived.
"Hello, my dear," he greeted, his voice dripping with that familiar blend of charm and condescension.
He earned a cold, unamused glance.
Aleshio had become a regular, visiting at least twice a week, sharing tales of his travels, art, and wine, sometimes even seeking my opinion. One day, however, he crossed a line when he asked if I was seeing anyone. The question, trivial as it was, grated on me, and I muttered a noncommittal response.
"So, you're never going to have a meaningful conversation with me?" he pressed, his persistence wearing thin on my patience.
I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. He was getting under my skin, a feat not easily achieved.
I grabbed his collar and lifted him up. "What do you expect me to do? Maybe have a light-hearted chat with a dangerous dark mage?"
"What do you expect?" I asked, my voice low and controlled. "A light-hearted chat with a dangerous dark mage?"
"Come now, Shaytan," he replied smoothly, unbothered. "You'll realize one day there are no absolutes—just countless shades of grey."
I didn't miss him using my name, and he didn't miss that I realized—he smiled mockingly.
"I don't have a problem with you being a dark mage," I corrected, my voice steady but sharp. "I have a problem with you being a dangerous dark mage who likes to play."
Aleshio's grin faltered for a fraction of a second before his amusement returned. "Touché," he murmured. "But where's the fun in being predictable?"
"Fun," I echoed, my tone devoid of any amusement. "Is a luxury you can't afford when lives are at stake."
His smile lingered, but his eyes darkened just a bit. "And yet, here we are," he said, the playfulness in his voice tempered by something deeper. "Two players in a game neither of us can escape. We're more alike than you care to admit."
"I'm not like you," I shook my head.
His grin widened, pleased by my reaction. I dismissed him with a snort, heading for the back exit, seeking solace in a well-earned cigarette break. Aleshio left shortly after, and I settled into the routine of the remaining hours.
Hajnal watched me from the corner of her eye, her silence more pointed than words. It wasn't until I was ready to leave that she spoke.
"Tomorrow, then," I said, turning to go.
"Shay..." Her voice halted me. I turned back to see her standing close, her expression serious.
"Stick to what I told you," she warned, her voice low but firm. "He's a dark mage."
"I know," I replied, my tone neutral, betraying none of the thoughts racing through my mind.
She removed her worn leather gloves, holding out her hand. For a moment, I stared at it, understanding what she wanted but hesitating nonetheless. Her ability to see death with a touch was a burden I didn't wish to share.
"Touch me," she commanded softly.
I hesitated, my instinct screaming to avoid this, but she grasped my hand. Her eyes flashed, then darkened, filling with unshed tears. When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper.
"Thank God..."
(...)
In my dream, I found myself back in the Mirrorworld, where Lordling's grin greeted me like an unsettling welcome. I felt as though I'd merely blinked and somehow ended up on the balcony without any recollection of how I got there.
Lordling sat opposite me, his posture relaxed as he sipped tea, exuding a calm that made the silence between us almost deafening. I'd learned from Lordling that he never wore his mouth out, only speaking when he had something meaningful to say. Anyway, he always had something to say. I was rather disturbed by the silence.
"Why drag me here just to sit in silence?" I asked, my tone laced with irritation.
"You've endured it long enough," he replied smoothly. "Patience is a virtue worth cultivating."
I muttered something unpleasant under my breath, to which he merely arched a brow, unperturbed.
"Do you know why I waited so long to train your mind?" he asked, taking another measured sip.
"No idea," I admitted.
"Your consciousness evolves simply by existing in this realm," he explained. "The stimuli here force you to adapt, refine, and grow. You might have noticed subtle changes—your aura, your awareness. You perceive things now that once escaped you."
I leaned back, digesting his words. "So, are we resting today?"
He nodded, his expression giving little away. "Though, I must admit, I see little progress in your mental defenses."
I bit back a retort, reminding myself that Lordling's help was invaluable, even if his approach grated on me. Not that I didn't appreciate his training, but I've got a fucking life.
"I'm having a rare good mood today," he announced. "Ask me anything."
I pondered for a moment. "How do you control the Wraith?"
He leaned back in his velvet chair, a superior grin playing on his lips. "Wraiths lack the complex desires of your world's beings. They're simple, like children, content just to serve. It brings them joy."
"And their masks?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
His fingers brushed the edge of his own mask—a pristine, snow-white carnival mask that covered part of his face. "I don't know," he admitted, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in his voice. "When I awoke here, it was already part of me. I couldn't remove it, as if it was fused to my very being. The hardest part was adjusting to not having a face anymore."
I sipped my cocoa, grateful for the excuse to avoid a response. What could I say to that?
"This world," he continued, "is called Ywilee by the Wraith. Your world is Seilee. Mirror images, yet fundamentally different. Remember, Shaytan: nothing is as it seems."
"Why tell me that now?" I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice.
"The balance in your world grows more fragile by the day," he said thoughtfully.
"And what does that mean?" I pressed.
He shrugged. "I can't say. I've never encountered anything like it."
"So, you think trouble's brewing?" I asked.
He nodded, and a tense silence settled between us. Then, with a suddenness that caught me off guard, he spoke again. "We won't be seeing each other for a while."
"What?" I blurted out, startled. "Why?"
"I need to rest," he said, his tone final. "Pulling you into this world requires immense energy. For now, I must recuperate."
I was coming to terms with the fact that I'd gone mad—and now it's all over? I stared at him, processing the weight of his words. Just as I was beginning to grasp the depth of this strange connection, it seemed it was about to slip away.
"Just for a while," he repeated, offering a faint smile. "But when we meet again, things will be different."
"Oh," I muttered, unsure of what to say next.
"It's time for you to go," Lordling said, his tone tinged with a hint of disappointment. "You have to get up early for school these days."
"Is it already morning?" I asked, my voice laced with surprise. "It felt like I'd only been here for ten minutes."
"Your mind needs rest," he explained calmly. "If I kept you here all night, you'd soon collapse from exhaustion."
"That wouldn't be ideal," I replied dryly, and he nodded, as though he'd expected the remark.
"Your cocoa is ready," he added, his voice soft but matter-of-fact.
"See you soon," I said with a faint smile. Another nod from him, and I felt that familiar weight settle over me—the unspoken sadness that always seemed to linger when our moments together ended.
I could still see Lordling's smile as I opened my eyes, and the world of the Mirrorworld dissolved around me.
Waking up is always bittersweet. Lordling would never admit it, not even to himself, but I could see the loneliness in him. When I was there, he seemed almost... alive, a man who could talk freely, who found joy in the smallest things. But when I left, that cheerfulness faded, replaced by something deeper and unspoken. A sorrow, quietly simmering under the surface.
Surrounded by countless beings in that strange, twisted world, he was still the loneliest person I'd ever met. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. Here was a being with the power to grant any wish, yet no one to truly care for. In a place where everyone could cater to his desires, yet not a single soul who could truly understand him. A world where you could never speak your mind, never share your true thoughts, and time itself stretched on endlessly, each moment feeling like an eternity.
Shaking my head to push away the weight of these thoughts, I reached for the warm mug waiting for me on my bedside table. Its familiar comfort grounded me, the fleeting warmth offering a brief moment of solace.
Rolo was stuck with us, and neither he nor we seemed inclined to change that. He didn't want to leave, and we didn't push him away. Sometimes I'd catch him buying small things—cocoa, bread, little bits and pieces that seemed unimportant but were always practical. Occasionally, I'd find extra money in my purse, more than I'd remembered having before. I never asked questions.
I finished my cocoa and started gathering my things, ready to leave. The one bright spot in my day was meeting Luna after school. As always, she greeted me with a warm smile and invited me into her trailer.
"Are you enjoying your last year so far?" she asked, her curiosity evident. I gave her a tired look and chose silence over an answer.
"Something's bothering you," she observed, her eyes narrowing with concern. "Will you tell me?"
I nodded, though I remained quiet for a while.
"I've been having strange dreams," I finally admitted, feeling a sense of unease settle over me as I spoke. "It's like my consciousness is being pulled into another world."
Her interest piqued, Luna leaned in closer.
"I've met the ruler there, who teaches me many things," I continued, "Almost like we're becoming friends... He is worried because something is wrong in this world."
Luna's gaze turned distant, as it often did when she was lost in thought, searching for something far beyond the present moment.
"Some sense it already," she murmured, as if speaking to herself, "The empaths. It's like the world isn't as solid as it used to be. Something's definitely off."
"Great," I muttered, the frustration creeping into my voice, though her words didn't offer much reassurance. She flashed a small, understanding smile.
She stepped closer, her hands brushing against me gently, almost as if trying to soothe me.
"Don't worry," she whispered, her voice soft and calm. "The fate of the world isn't yours to carry."