Morningstar

[CH. 0015] - The Ravendrift's Ashleys

"When one faces their most horrific fears, all that remains is courage," - Merlin (not that Merlin)

Baal's eyes snapped open as a mop brushed against his face. Startled and struggling for breath, he seized the mop, which promptly collapsed onto the floor. "Good morning!" Merlin's voice rang through the house from a distance.

"Very funny," Baal muttered under his breath. He hoisted himself out of bed, carrying the defeated mop with him as he made his way to the kitchen. There, he found Merlin seated at the table, a plate of warm toast before him, each crowned with melting cheese.

"Oh! You brought her back, such a gentleman!" Merlin gestured for Baal to take a seat.

Still groggy, Baal noticed that Merlin was impeccably dressed in a black suit and tie, augmented by a flowing velvet robe. "You look fancy," he commented.

"Only the best for Rosie!"

"I don't have anything to wear besides my own clothes," Baal confessed, nibbling on a piece of toast as he battled with the cheese's gooey filaments.

"Nonsense, you have the tuxedo I left for you yesterday," Merlin retorted.

"What tuxedo?"

"In the closet. I assumed that since you found the pyjamas, you'd have come across the suit as well."

"The white one?" Baal's voice oscillated between bewilderment and horror.

"That one!"

"It's white!" Baal reiterated.

"I know; I chose it for you."

"I can't go to a funeral in a white tuxedo!"

"Says who?"

"You're wearing black! Right at this moment!"

"White, black, grey, or dark blue. Those are the colours traditionally allowed at a funeral," Merlin expounded, taking a leisurely bite of his own toast.

Rolling his eyes, Baal recognized that arguing further would be futile. Besides, not attending was no longer an option for him. And in any case, she wouldn't see him in his ridiculous white tuxedo. So, with a sigh, he conceded, mentally preparing himself for whatever the day might bring.

Choosing between the rickety cart pulled by Merlin's mule and walking on foot, Baal would've preferred the latter. However, Merlin had a fondness for his mule, which Baal had just learned was named Mulan.

As the cart trundled through the cobblestone streets of Ravendrift, giving way to an expanding green horizon, Baal felt his heart race uncontrollably. It pounded so furiously that he wondered if he was having a heart attack. Baal was struggling to feel his left arm, and a strange tingling sensation spread across his skin. The air grew stifling, and he found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Merlin reined in Mulan and looked back at Baal with concern. "Boy, are you all right?"

"I think...something bad is happening to me," Baal stammered as he stepped off the cart. He began pacing, waving his hands near his face in an attempt to catch his breath. "I can't breathe, I can't..."

"Young demon, you're just having a panic attack. Breathe, boy! Breathe!"

Unable to heed the advice, Baal squatted carefully to avoid soiling his suit. Folding his arms around himself, one hand clutching each shoulder, he began to tap rhythmically, a self-soothing tactic he'd picked up.