The Armadillo with No Heart

Chapter 11: Far Apart

In the later hours of morning, Margaret Bailey sat down in her favorite armchair with a cup of tea for what was, in her opinion, a well-deserved rest. She examined the living room with satisfaction. The paintings – of landscapes, since she detested portraits – were already somewhat dusty, as were the glass panes on the cupboard. The rug, however, was noticeably clean. It was her favorite piece of decoration in the house, and it was always what made the biggest impression on guests. During moments of solitude like this, she often spent many long minutes studying the rug's strange and exotic patterns and speculating about what they might mean. Some of them vaguely resembled plants or animals. Other people barely looked at these patterns, but Margaret was a meticulous observer. The rug was actually not nearly as exotic as it appeared – it was Spinehog-made; she had ordered it from Northport. Of course, her guests didn't need to know that.

Dillos were not known for caring much about the decoration of their homes. Margaret was an exception. Her husband Cyrus, however, certainly wasn't. In fact, he was almost everything you would expect a Dillo to be: modest, hard-working, and plain. His only unusual, exotic trait was his bravery – precisely what had charmed her since the day they met. Now, however, even that was starting to appear plain.

Margaret thought back to many years previously. Back then, just looking into Cyrus' eyes was enough to make her unyieldingly sure that their feelings for each other would always remain unaltered. A part of her was always there to assure her that it was perfectly normal for feelings like that to change over time, and that these changes didn't mean love was gone. But still, now that their marriage had gone from fiery to lukewarm to almost cold, it was impossible not to notice how little she and Cyrus had in common, and how strained their relationship had become over the years. She had not begun to worry when Cyrus stopped greeting her with a kiss every day when he came home from work, or when they lost the tradition of dining out every weekend. What troubled her most was that they no longer argued. Instead of purging their anger and frustration the healthy way, they suppressed these feelings, making them grow like a parasite. Even though Margaret knew full well that this would only make the situation worse in the long run, she no longer had the willpower to try and fix things. Could she have been wrong about her future with Cyrus? Was it possible that she had been just as foolish back then as the people she used to scoff at, believing that she could never make the same mistakes they did?

Margaret took a brief break from her musings to sip her tea. The sharp, sour taste was perfect. Then, unexpectedly, the doorbell rang. Margaret frowned. Cyrus was away from home, and Lily was not supposed to be back from school for five more hours. In any case, neither one of them ever rang the doorbell. A glance outside told her it was the governor, Lord Shiro, at the door, to her surprise. She and Cyrus had had him over for dinner a few times, but what could he be doing here in the morning, when Cyrus was not here?

Margaret opened the door.

"Sorry to bother you, Maggie," Shiro said, smiling awkwardly.

"It's fine. Did something happen? Nothing bad, right?"

"Oh, no," he answered quickly. His smile faltered. "No, nothing bad, don't worry. I hate to ask, but... mind if I come in?"

"Not at all. I just made some tea, if you'd like some."

"That's very sweet of you."

She went back inside poured him some tea with no sugar. They sat down across from each other in the living room, Margaret in her armchair, Shiro in an old padded chair which was rarely used. He looked around the room as if he were appraising it. His eyes eventually fell on the wall next to the mantle, where Cyrus' many medals and certificates, won over more than twenty years, were on display. Margaret was the one who had chosen to hang them on the wall. Cyrus had disliked the idea. "I didn't join the guard to show off, Margaret," he had said in exasperation, to which she simply replied, "It's not about showing off, but taking pride in your work."