Chapter Text
“Why don’t I go instead? You need the rest, and the weather is far from amicable.”
“You’ve done enough. Wouldn’t want to burden you with this.”
“By the three, what’s with you, always calling yourself a burden? That couldn’t be further from the truth!”
In a land called Balauria, far beyond the mountains and domains of the Heptarchy, was Câmpulaurit, a quaint village of little renown. Few knew of its existence, while those that did viewed it in the same regard as its neighbors: a town for the peasantry in a backwater best left to its own devices. Indeed, peasants and serfs alike made up most of the some five hundred Mon that called it home, but none were quite as peculiar as Delya Oranu, the golden-eyed Hakamo-o who stared down her surrogate mother with a defiant gaze.
“It’s not fair that you harvest the Orans and deliver them because I had one restless night.” She boldly proclaimed. Delya had never once in her life aspired to be anything more than a simple Oran berry farmer. She knew the craft well, and Orans were a fickle thing, growing under the most specific of conditions. She knew that too much water wilted them, while too little dried their leaves. She knew they required equal amounts of both sunlight and moonlight. She also knew that, no matter what, providence, above all else, determined if her efforts were ultimately in vain. Thankfully, the Shaymin blessed their household with a bountiful harvest this year, and she sought to reciprocate their generosity in turn.
Yovka Oranu the Chesnaught had a different idea. Delya’s response had set a frown on her face, and her arms crossed in disapproval. “These nightmares have been plaguing you for the past week, and you dare say that it’s only one restless night? I can’t quite tell if you’re lying for my sake or for yours.”
“Last night’s been the only time it’s kept me awake.” Delya shrugged. “This won’t take me longer than an hour. Promise.”
Yovka’s still working eye moved back and forth as she contemplated. Eventually, a heavy sigh erupted from her chest. “Fine. Be sure to watch your step. I won’t have you muddying your cloak so soon after cleaning it.”
“Thanks, Yovka.” Delya stood up, gave her a quick hug, grabbed the basket of plump Orans sitting on the table, and left.
In the brief window after harvest but before first frost, cold winds descended from the mountains brought with them a kind of rain no sane Mon dared braving. The path leading towards the local Shaymin Shrine, though forested, provided hardly any cover. Its canopy was simply too thin to shield the ground from such fat raindrops. Where it failed, Delya’s black cloak did not. In truth, she quite liked the way the rain pattered against its fabric, creating a little tune of sorts. It eased her mind as she bounded across the countless puddles dotting the hardened dirt road below.
“Quite a lot of berries you've got there. Mind if I snatch one?” A sudden voice from behind halted her pace.
She turned around, flashing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. There, besides the mossy cairn at an intersection, stood a Noibat, grinning equally as widely. “Allegro Văduva, back from the clutches of cruel Elder Oleg. What brings you home?” She teased, allowing him to catch up to her before resuming.
“He’s giving me the chance to visit Ma. I think he said I’d need to return in two days, but I’ll play it safe and go for three.” Allegro wore a thick wool poncho and carried a bottle whose weight made him waddle instead of walk. Its liquid appeared opaque, as if it had been diluted.
Delya narrowed her eyes and sniffed the air. His breath had floral hints to it. “Don’t think the Shaymin will take too kindly to you drinking an offering.”
Allegro chuffed. Ignoring his stutter, he spoke rather confidently. “They’d hate this shit, anyways. Gracidea flowers have an awful aftertaste.”
“Thought you hated wine.” She gave him a passing glance.
“I do, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re hopeless.”
“No, I’m drunk.” He replied with a cheerful lilt.
Rolling her eyes, Delya took the bottle from his hands and set it into her basket alongside the Orans. Together, they scaled the path as it began coiling up the hillside like a snake. They knew well why the Shaymin Shrine had been built in such a remote location, but that didn’t make their legs burn any less fervently. Allegro, at least, could fly for when his could no longer carry him. Delya simply grit her teeth and endured the hike.
The hilltop had little to offer other than a small cave, whose entrance was marked by two wooden poles decorated by various nailed talismans. The elements certainly hadn't been kind to the monument. What hadn't been enveloped by moss was slowly being eaten away by lichen. Nevertheless, it endured.
Once in front of the gate, Allegro wordlessly disrobed and set his poncho aside. From his shoulders to his upper thighs were twenty evenly distributed and faintly red welts running horizontally. Delya cringed at the sight, but ultimately held her tongue. It was no secret that Oleg, a rather nasty Venusaur, had a cruel way of disciplining his charges. His calloused vine whip struck fear into even his fellow elders. She didn’t envy the poor souls who’d one day succeed him.
Allegro, however, seemed entirely indifferent. He simply held out his arms towards Delya. After handing him the offerings, she, too, undressed, using a nail on the pole as a makeshift hook to hang her cloak. Instead of entering immediately, they allowed the rain to wash away any filth that may have accumulated on their bodies. A few minutes passed. Allegro cleared his throat, then recited a chant in a liturgical tongue. Delya had a vague understanding of what he said, a simple announcement of their intent, but the finer details beyond that eluded her. Now finished, he ushered her inside. Beneath the stone relief of a Shaymin sat offerings from all facets of life. There was a whetstone from the smith, bread from the peasants, and effigies and flower-based candles from the holy Mon. One even imparted a small wreath of dried Gracidea, which adorned the Shaymin’s head aptly. Placing the wine and Oran berries on the altar, the two clasped their hands together and bowed seven times, the last being their deepest.
In unison, they recited the phrase, “Gloria vestra. Providentia vestra.”
When Allegro’s eyes moved over to Delya, he saw as she grimaced with each breath taken. “Are the candles making you queasy again?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I miss the incense. Why’d they stop using it?”
“The wars down south halted trade, or so says Oleg. The monastery’s probably just using it as an excuse to save the money.” Allegro turned to exit.
Delya clicked her tongue before following suit. “You know, the monastery probably isn’t half as bad as you think they are.”
“If you saw how they treated the serfs, you’d want to burn down their temples yourself.” He gravely chuckled. “It’s like your basket of Orans. A few rotten berries can ruin the whole thing if they’re not removed.”
Now outside, she put on her cloak before throwing to Allegro his poncho. “You’re just saying that because you’re mad they won’t let you spend your days drinking and whoring yourself out to the other scribes.”
A faint blush formed on his cheeks. “True, but, also, fuck you. I’ve actually been on my best behavior recently.”
Looking down at him, she cocked her brow. “You’re not fooling anybody with those welts. Mind telling me what happened?”
“By the three, they’re still there? I thought they would’ve faded away by now.” His blush reddened further. After meandering for a few moments, he relented. “You remember Milica Cotruș, right?”
“The Tinkaton?”
“That’s the one. Elder Oleg confiscated her harpoon because it was apparently too distracting. I thought he was full of shit so I helped her steal it back, but when we broke into his private quarters, we knocked over and broke a vase. Milica had enough time to get out, but I wasn’t as lucky. Damn wart gave me a whipping right then and there over his desk.”
“You got beat over a harpoon?” The absurdity of his anecdote put a grinning grimace on her face.
He hummed in affirmation. “Milica values that thing over her own life. You should’ve seen how thankful she was to have gotten it back, even if she has to keep it hidden for a little while.”
“Oh, so that’s where the love bite came from, right?” She gestured towards his neck.
Allegro stopped and ran a hand down the side of his face. Through his fur, a small, perfectly round bruise peeked out. He loudly groaned in shame. “Shit. I can’t let Ma see this. Can I stay the night with you?”
“Not happening. If this is the kind of life you want to live, you’ll have to deal with the consequences, sweetpea.” Though amused, she couldn’t help but let venom leak into her voice. Truthfully, the thought of Allegro mingling with other Mon annoyed her to an unreasonable extent. She hesitated to call it jealousy given they were only friends. At least, in her mind, they were only friends. Their peers often thought differently on account of their intimacy, much to her dismay, but Allegro rarely brought up the semantics of their relationship, so she didn’t either. Regardless, her irritation was still very much real. “Besides, what’s the harm if Viorica knows? There’s no chance she wasn’t exactly like us at our age.”
“It’s embarrassing! She already has more than enough to tease me with!” Allegro pouted childishly, completely oblivious to her more subtle emotions.“Please? It’ll only be for one night!”
Delya couldn’t say no to those big, wet eyes of his. “You’re lucky Yovka loves you as much as I do. Maybe I’ll actually get some good sleep if we end up cuddling.”
“Sleep?” Allegro chewed on his lip in contemplation as he stared at her features more intently. Until now, he hadn’t noticed how heavy the bags looked under her eyes, how deep her wrinkles had become. “The nightmares are back, aren’t they?” He asked in a sullen tone.
“Every leap year right after harvest.” She pursed her lips. “Same burning forest, same old oak tree. You’d think I’d have gotten used to them by now.”
His ears folded downward. “We should do something about it. It’s clearly not normal.
“What can we do? We’ve already visited the monastery at least a hundred times.” Delya’s fists clenched.
Allegro took a few minutes to think in silence. At a passing glance, they truly had exhausted all their options. They had prayed to all the gods, performed countless rituals at the temples, and forced down her gullet all manner of medicines that made her retch. Still, they couldn’t give up so easily. There had to be something they were missing. “Maybe the solution’s outside the village. We’re adults now. By spring, nothing will stop us from leaving and, frankly, I don’t want to wait another three years to start.”
Delya couldn’t deny he had a point, but she wasn’t without reservations. "You’re right, but Câmpulaurit’s all I know.”
Allegro suddenly grounded himself, then scowled up at her. “Delya, for my whole life, I haven't been allowed to leave Câmpulaurit. I know nothing of the outside world beyond what the elders tell me and what’s been penned in the library, but I’d be damned if I let it stop me once my obligation to the monastery’s fulfilled. Don’t let that hold you back, either.”
“That’s different, but I suppose it’s worth a thought. Where would we even go?”
Flapping his wings downward, he resumed flying. “My first pick is Stargora. I’ve always had a mind to join the guild there, but Ma gets rather pissy whenever it’s come up.”
There were few things more divisive than the Vysoka Guild of Stargora, Balauria’s one true city. Their fellow youth had nothing but praise to sing for it while the older folk looked down on it with scorn. It was a harbinger of outside degeneracy, a hub of ideals to break their feudal chains, the face of a bright future, and the face of new forms of subjugation all at once. For such volatile subjects, Delya always turned to Yovka for guidance, but she had little to say on the matter. The guild simply was, in her eyes.
As such, she replied with a simple, “Maybe,” a nonresponse more than anything.
By the time they fully descended the hill, the storm above yielded, greatly decreasing the size and intensity of the rainfall. Here, so far from town, only the smell of petrichor permeated the air, something much more palatable to Delya’s nose than those sickly sweet candles at the shrine. Aside from a few slips, they found no trouble on their way home.
Before returning to civilization proper, they first passed through the Podgorrii, the section of Câmpulaurit east of the Skora River. Only two Mon lived there: Cordin the boatmaster and Lupescu at his old watermill. The rest had vanished, leaving behind empty homes now overrun by plantlife. From a distance, it could easily be mistaken for a vineyard. Once, the town saw such rapid growth that many considered it unsustainable, but, when tragedy struck fifteen years ago, the population halved. Every year since then, another house joined the rot. For the adolescents, the Podgorrii was the perfect spot to congregate and enjoy a bottle of stolen mead. For everyone else, it served as a painful reminder of what once was. Delya and Allegro themselves had visited numerous times alongside their friends, but, each time they did, they couldn’t shake off a looming sense of dread. Perhaps the stories of monsters living in the most derelict homes had gotten the best of them. Now, by their lonesome, they kept their pace swift. At the bridge crossing over the Skora, they didn’t take one look back.
Like their neighbors, the Oranu house had been built halfway into the ground. Few things in Balauria insulated better than the earth. It was rectangular with walls made of wood covered in clay, while thatch comprised most of its triangular roof. It was also quite small, perfect for a family of two. From the chimney protruding at the top, smoke emerged. Through the wooden shutters, the pair saw flickering candlelight. Delya entered first.
Inside, Yovka stood over a pot boiling over the hearth’s open flame, which accentuated her large frame and more prominent features. A terrible, weblike scar ran down her face that wrenched the right side of her lip into a permanent frown. Her right eye, meanwhile, had grown foggy, and it hardly ever moved, but her left was animated beyond words. Their sights met. She cheerfully exclaimed. “Ah, Delya! Just in time! The soup should be done in a few minutes.”
Delya shook off and hung her cloak by the door before moving aside, giving Allegro room to enter. “Hope you made enough for three. Allegro’s spending the night with us.”
“Oh, is he now?” She smiled mischievously. “Should I also expect Oleg to come knocking at my door first thing in the morning?”
“Give me a break! That’s only happened once!” After defensively squeaking out, he, similarly, took off his poncho to let it dry.
Yovka chortled while stirring the pot. “And I won’t ever forget it. I thought he’d have a heart attack right then and there with how furiously his eyes bulged. What was it you did, again?”
“Let’s not dwell on the past.” Allegro interrupted her, cheeks red at the mere mention of his past behavior. “You said you were making soup?”
Her expression made it clear she knew exactly what he was doing, yet she let it slide. Allegro’s antics never harmed anybody. “Onion soup. There’s not a morsel of meat in here, so you’re free to have as much as you want.”
Delya took a seat at the table. Allegro, however, paused as he pulled a chair for himself. He turned back towards Yovka. “Actually, why don’t I go ahead and perform the libation?”
She nodded. “Fine by me.”
The Noibat flew across the room towards a cabinet, where he retrieved a small, wooden bowl ornately carved with floral iconography and a bottle of diluted wine. He then made his way outside, gently kicking the door behind him. Through the shutters, Delya watched him perform the ritual. She never quite understood why they were expected to libate before eating, inviting the gods into your home for a meal made little sense when they never actually showed up, but maybe it was more about the intent rather than the act itself. From the stories recounted to her by the elders, the gods’ motivations oftentimes baffled their mortal minds. She couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like with that kind of power, with that kind of responsibility.
“How was the hike?” Yovka asked while setting down three bowls on the table. In each, she poured a heaping amount of soup using a ladle.
Delya hummed absentmindedly, her focus still primarily on Allegro. “Almost slipped on the way back and the Podgorrii was as creepy as it usually is, but I can’t really complain.”
“Good. You didn’t happen to make any detours, did you?” Her brow furrowed in curiosity.
“Detours?”
“Forgive a Chesnaught for being curious, but that bruise on Allegro’s neck is as clear as day.”
To say Delya was completely taken aback by the statement would be an understatement. Her scales grew hot and itchy, and she found it difficult to stare at her directly. “Didn’t come from me.”
“Unfaithful little brat.” Yovka’s entire chest moved as she laughed heartily. “You ought to teach him proper manners someday.”
“Not my place to do so. We’re just friends.” Delya felt itchy under her own scales. While her head hung low, the rest of her body reeled back, making herself appear smaller in Yovka’s presence. Still, she never once stopped looking at him through the window.
“You keep throwing that word around and I don’t think you know what it actually means. You look mighty jealous for someone who’s “just friends” with him.”
“Can we not talk about this right now, please?” She angrily raised her voice. Something about the insinuation deeply struck a nerve.
“Alright, alright. I’ll relent.” Yovka grabbed a few slices of stale bread from the pantry and placed it on the table upon sitting down.
Thankfully, Allegro didn’t take much longer outside. With nothing else to say, they began eating their dinner. Yovka was by no means a great cook, or even a good one for that matter, but her soup meagre held a special place in Delya’s heart. Never were the onions too pungent, the garlic too overpowering, or the broth too bitter. At worst, it tasted bland, but when her diet mostly consisted of salted meats, overly-charred vegetables, and the many forms an Oran berry could take, she didn’t complain. In particular, she appreciated the bread, which she dipped into the broth to soften.
Of course, no one truly enjoyed the silence, and, after only a few minutes, Yovka cleared her throat to speak. “So, Allegro. How’s Viorica?”
Allegro, who had spent more time stirring his soup than actually drinking it, looked up. “She’s fine. Her cough hasn’t gotten any better, but it hasn’t worsened, either. We still think it’s only phlegmatic.”
“Good, good. I was worried it’d be something far worse. This cold doesn’t treat us old Mon all too well.” She downed an entire slice of bread in a single bite.
“Give her some radishes to eat.” Delya chimed in. “It’s what we did whenever I was sick growing up.”
Allegro rolled his eyes as he snorted. “I’m not telling Ma to eat radishes, Delya. The ginger tea and honeyed herbs work well enough as is.”
“Just an idea, sweetpea.” Grabbing her bowl with both hands, she greedily slurped down the remainder of her meal, earning her a giggle from Allegro and a tut from Yovka.
“Good grief, child!” She playfully scolded. “We’re not ferals!”
Delya wiped her maw clean “Sorry. The hike made me hungrier than I thought.”
“Woe is Delya, having to walk up a hill with a basket of berries. May the Three have mercy on her poor, poor soul.” Allegro very genuinely lamented, much to her annoyance.
With a frown and puffed up cheeks, she flicked the side of his head, drawing out a surprised squeal.
“What the hell was that for?!” He whined, rubbing the sting away.
“For being a little shit. Don’t make me pick you up by the scruff and punt you out.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
“Alright, settle down you two.” Yovka grumbled. “I’d rather you not act like hatchlings for once.”
Against her better wishes, the pair did not cede. Their bickering continued well into the night, though the worst they levied against one another were embarrassing recounts of childhood memories best left forgotten. To them, these kinds of mocking back-and-forths were the sincerest form of flattery. They knew which topics to avoid and which ones humiliated them the most without being downright cruel. It helped that doing so created a valve that released all their built-up resentments. Truly, they were inseparable.
Fun as their banter was, it, too, had to end, and that point came once the sun fully descended under the mountains, casting the valley in shadow. Tomorrow, Delya and Yovka would start delivering their share of Oran Berries to the townfolk, and, as such, they’d need as much energy as possible. Their house, unfortunately, only had the one room, so they slept where they ate and ate where they slept, not that they needed the privacy, of course. Delya had outgrown her bed years ago. She couldn’t lay on it without curling up, otherwise her legs would awkwardly dangle off the side. It lacked the space for her to properly turn in her sleep, and, worst of all, not a morning passed when she didn’t awake to find her back achy. She liked to think that, one day, once they saved enough, they’d buy something better. Maybe then she’d have an easier time sleeping through the nightmares. Regardless, Allegro’s soft fur, small size, and warm body made him the perfect little spoon. Naturally, he always warned her not to crush him, but he was just paranoid. It’d only happened once before, after all. Once finishing performing their usual nightly routine, they lovingly nuzzled each other, then said goodnight.
Delya was a fool to think Allegro alone would grant her a restful night.
Sometime after closing her eyes, she felt heat. Not the gentle heat from a sunny afternoon or well-maintained hearth, mind you, but a hostile one that singed the very fuzz off her scales. At the same time, rain mercilessly pattered against her. She certainly felt that dichotomy of hot and cold, but, thanks to her unique overcoat, as the elders called it, it didn’t phase her as much as it should have. Next came the song of gunfire, a sound so loud and forceful and oppressive that it’d easily be mistaken for thunder. Though distant, it was omnipresent, rattling her to the very core. Finally, when she opened her eyes, she saw hellfire engulf the forest she now bafflingly stood in. It lapped at all the trees, making them crackle and pop as wind rustled through them. It graced their falling leaves, which danced for what little time they had left before incineration. It created thick, glowing ash that blanketed the ground, nearly burning the soles of her feet.
To anybody else, it was terror incarnate, hell made tangible through their own mind. To Delya, however, it was just another dream. She’d been here a thousand times already and, knowing her luck, she’d be here for a thousand more.
“Alright.” She yawned, stretching both arms upwards. “Let’s keep this short. Duty calls tomorrow. I’m going to need the energy.”
She didn’t know when or why she picked up the peculiar habit of talking to the dream like it was a real person, but it helped keep herself collected. Looking around, she took in her surroundings. As expected, she stood on a narrow dirt pathway surrounded on either side by what was once certainly a grand forest. Orange haze made it impossible to see beyond a few feet, though, through instinct alone, she already knew where to go: forward.
In truth, while everyone, herself included, called them nightmares, they stopped scaring her a long time ago. Really, they had become the worst kind of mundane, allowing it to fit perfectly within her already monotonous day-to-day life. Wake up, eat, spend the day breaking your back at the orchard, eat again, fall asleep, take a dip into hell, rinse and repeat ad nauseam. Safe to say, she was getting sick of it.
Then again, one detail continued eluding her. After enough time spent walking, there’d be a clearing ahead, and in it would tower an ancient oak brought to ruin by the flames. A noose would hang from its bough, and she’d wake up not long after seeing it. However, something always happened between entering the clearing and waking up that she, for the life of her, could never remember. It had to have been something terrible, otherwise she’d have no explanation as to why it’d make her jolt awake in a pool of her own sweat. Tonight, she doubted it’d make any difference, but she’d be damned if she didn’t at least try and do something different. Her earlier conversation with Allegro never left her mind.
Delya arrived much faster than expected. Normally, it should have taken her an extra ten minutes or so, but she couldn’t complain.
One foot stepped tentatively stepped forward, officially putting her in the clearing. Nothing happened.
She stared up at the noose swaying in the wind. Still, nothing happened.
She yelled out. “Hello? Can I wake up yet?”
That’s when she heard a sound like the crunching of snow beneath one’s feet from somewhere behind the oak. Her entire body froze. To her horror, she received a response.
“Was just about to ask the same thing.”
It was her voice, but deeper and more masculine. When footfalls started approaching, instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs had locked up, keeping her still. Alongside them came a repetitive, metallic jangle, the exact same made whenever her scales collided into one another. They grew closer and closer, and though her stomach twisted into a knot, some, deranged, morbidly curious part of her was glad to finally be experiencing something different. Of course, she’d probably forget this ever happened in the first place.
Slowly, the form of a Mon revealed itself. It was her, another Hakamo-o, another Delya, except it wasn’t. They shared the same eyes, same broad shoulders, and even the same general posture when standing upright, but she didn’t have half as many scars as this likeness standing before her. She didn’t share the twitch in its right eye or the subtle hobble in its gait, and it, in turn, didn’t share the slight crook in her snout.
Such differences couldn't be ignored. This Mon, though similar, was someone else entirely.
“What is this?” She breathlessly asked.
He simply smiled, but the gesture was by no means friendly. His pupils were too constricted for that to be the case. “Now what kind of hello is that, Delya? Thought you’d have been overjoyed to see me. You look great by the way, all evolved and fully grown-up.”
“Who are you?”
He chortled as if she had asked a stupid question. Maybe to him, she did. “Does the name Trismegisto ring a bell?”
Something told her that wasn’t his name, but, regardless, it did. From where, though? She meekly nodded.
“That’s good enough for me. We can always catch up later, but, first…” As he trailed off, he approached Delya, wrapped both arms around her, then pulled her into a tight hug. Afterward, he exhaled deeply. “I missed you.”
Delya did not reciprocate his affection. Instead, she tried pushing him away.
“Ah, sorry. Can’t imagine how sudden this feels for you.” He reluctantly pulled away with a pained laugh. By then, tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Listen. We don’t have much time here, so I’ll keep this brief.”
“Keep what–”
A sudden twinge of pain erupted in Delya’s abdomen. She cried out and looked down, finding that the oddly familiar stranger had jabbed into her stomach a black feather, its quill covered in purple ooze. Her hands instinctively grabbed his wrist.
“You know, it doesn’t hurt as much if you don’t struggle.” He coldly stated, pushing it in deeper. “Then again, I’m not normally the one who does this, so it’ll probably sting no matter what. Don’t worry. You’ll wake up soon enough.”
Delya’s vision faltered. Underneath her own weight, her knees buckled, sending her to the ground. The world slowly faded to black, but not before her doppelganger spoke one last time. “Oh, and tell Allegro I said hello. Would be lying if I said I didn’t miss him as well.”
When her eyes opened once more, she found herself back home, laying uncomfortably on her side. Rays of gentle sunlight leaked through the half-open shutters, illuminating the room well enough for her to see Yovka and Allegro sitting at the table, drinking soup leftover from last night.
Allegro faced her and warmly smiled. “Good morning, Delya. You look well, compared to yesterday.”
“Morning.” After sitting upright, she stretched her arms, rolled her shoulders, then rubbed her eyes, ignoring a pang near her stomach all the while. She was no stranger to aches in the morning. “What time is it?”
Yovka rubbed her scar. “The sun must’ve risen past the horizon at least an hour ago.”
“You should’ve woken me up.” Delya tossed aside her blankets and stood up, sluggishly heading towards the table.
Allegro grumbled. “I definitely wanted to. You were chewing on my ear again.”
True to his word, the tip of his left earlobe had subtle bite marks, and the fur was noticeably damp. Now seated, she turned away with a blush. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Suffer from any nightmares again?”
“Yeah. Nothing out of the usual…” As the words left her mouth, she hesitated. Poor, Ignorant Delya had forgotten about the encounter, and she knew it. The dream replayed in her mind over and over again, yet, past a certain point, things, as usual, became foggy. It almost felt like someone had been intentionally keeping her ignorant by continually wiping the slate. The thought left more questions than answers.
A name. She remembered a name.
“Actually, no. Something different did happen.” She leaned forward, quickly correcting herself. “Don’t remember where it came from, but there was a name. Trismegisto, I think? Know who that is?”
Yovka gasped. Her hands began trembling. She dropped her spoon.
Allegro, however, seemed almost disappointed at the revelation, judging from the way he crossed his arms and sighed. “Turmsberg’s little angel, who killed half the townsfolk. I think the better question to ask is how didn’t you know this?”
Nausea overcame Delya, who felt an overwhelming urge to swallow.