Morphed into Love, Book 2

5- The Womanising Trio

RONAN

I was an extremely articulate man; I'd grown up receiving the utmost education and excelled at everything I did. I was a perfectionist and never got flustered, I strived to complete every given task with a poised and no-nonsense attitude. But not even the most advanced literacy classes could've helped me put into words the experience I'd just had. It was a foreign feeling, one that was entirely unexplainable and overwhelming. I'd never been so stumped in my life.

That woman...

Of course, I'd been expecting her. Our parents had warned us in advance to be courteous during her stay and suck up to her as she was a Queen within her own right. So I'd not expected anything particularly out of the ordinary. I had prepared myself to be charming, chivalrous and polite.

But as soon as I saw her, something happened. Something that I couldn't control. Something I'd never even thought possible. As a necromancer, I exercised control in all aspects of my life. I perfected necromancy from a young age and never had spirits present themselves unless I called upon them. But as soon as I laid eyes on that girl, dozens of apparitions of the spirits I typically communicated with appeared around her in their ghostly forms, all with expressions of concern on their sullen faces. I even saw my old friend, Arthur, he'd been murdered in battle three years ago by a Zangaardian warrior.

The thing that really concerned me, though, was that they all said the same thing: 'This woman will either ruin you or bring you substances so prosperous you'll be the most affluent man in Morsica.'

I'd watched many of my friends die, and performing necromancy had moulded me into an extreme pessimist and cynic, so it seemed like second-nature to assume that Queen Ophelia would bring me the former. Total ruin. It also didn't make sense for her to make me the richest man in Morsica: I already was.

I'd never had an experience where spirits defiantly swarmed me, I didn't even know it was possible. But they'd given me a message. A warning. For that, at least, I could be thankful.

"So, you're a coward?" Arthur, my dead friend, chastised me. His apparition appeared when I conjured it, half sticking out of the wall with a cheeky grin on his face. I'd hoped he would shed some light on what just happened, but it seemed like he just wanted to annoy me.

I exhaled, slamming my dorm's door shut, "I'm not a coward. I just need to wrap my head around everything. I need time to think. I conjured you up so that you'd help me."

What the hell? As soon as she walked through the door, my head flooded itself with voices, like a gate had been blasted off its hinges.

"You ran out of that room like a little girl." Arthur scoffed, perching on the end of my bed and smirking.

"I haven't got time for your shit." I glared, folding my arms as I leant against the edge of the desk. Arthur muffled a laugh, his spirit gliding towards me. His hand clasped my shoulder, but I couldn't physically feel it, "Now, are you going to tell me what that meant, or not?"

"What, what meant?" He questioned, puzzled. Arthur was tall and skinny with shaggy ginger hair and green eyes. Whilst I'd aged since his death, Arthur would always stay the same. His youth was eternal, and so was the huge stab wound in his stomach that resulted in his death.

"She'll be my ruin? The fuck is that supposed to mean?" I paced, walking straight through Arthur and ignoring his protests of how much he disliked it when I pretended he wasn't there, "Not even an entire army could ruin me. How the hell is a puny, little elf going to do anything?"