Chapter Eleven: Reality
He wished the world would end.
He wished it would all burn so he wouldn't have to feel anything at all anymore. Not the crushed sensation inside him, not the aching of his heart ripped up from within, not the burning agony his body was in after being brutalized for so long, and not the look Ella was giving him.
He could feel her piercing stare on his mutilated back as he followed the small brunette down the medieval cobblestone street, mostly because it made his gut feel like it was burning. He emotionally and mentally disconnected from himself while he walked to get away, throwing himself into the mindless void he'd always escaped to during the times he couldn't endure.
Silence filled his mind and ears until he walked around the corner of the marketplace, but only thirty seconds after that a large amount of chaos broke out behind them. He heard shouts of anger, and people yelling Ella's name, and hysterical wailing from a number of voices, but as he walked the cacophony grew more distant, something he was grateful for.
His whole body still ached from the previous beatings he'd received, not counting the new one, and the last thing he needed or wanted was a headache on top of it. The girl in front of him kept an even pace as she led him down the street, but it wasn't until they rounded another corner that she unexpectedly whirled around, crystal blue eyes sparkling behind her glasses.
"Isn't it great, Phil?!" she squeaked, smiling up at him with relief written across her features. "You don't have to die anymore! You're free! And now, because everyone knows that you're really a faery, nobody would dare to lay a finger on you! You're safe from harm!"
He looked at her, not sure about what to say, because it wasn't great.
Hell, if anything, he actually felt more desolate than when he'd initially taken his own life, but she was looking at him with eyes that practically pleaded for him to say he was okay, and she was one of the only three people in wherever the hell this was to show him any kindness.
So, instead of being grim, he masked his emotions and nodded in an almost robotic manner.
"Awesome," he said in a voice that sounded dead even to his own ears; he winced and tried to liven his tone as he added, "at the very least, I won't be treated like an animal anymore."
She instantly bit her lip, looking a little dismayed.
"I'm so sorry," she sighed, lowering her eyes with a guilty expression. "I haven't even introduced myself to you, and here I am trying to make light of all the horror you went through."
"It isn't a big deal. Really."
Which was a lie, a big fat one, but his words had the desired effect and a gentle smile of relief touched her bright blue eyes.
"Let's get formally acquainted, shall we?" she trilled, bowing her head and regarding him through long lashes. "My name is Amelia Von Dolan. I'm an herbalist and part-time healer... although, my magic isn't very strong."
Xaphile blinked, then tilted his head, brows furrowing a little.
"Magic?" he asked. "What do you mean by magic?"
"Oh, basic stuff like healing flesh wounds and cleansing infection," she sighed, flapping a dismissive hand. "Really, my curative ability isn't anything special. Let's get you settled in, shall we?"
He bit his tongue and let out a huff since he obviously hadn't gotten the point of his question, but he decided not to push it because things definitely weren't normal in wherever he was.
Who could say whether magic was real? He had horns, claws, a mane running down the ridge of his spine like some sort of crazy hyena, and a fucking lion's tail.
At this point, he would simply go with the flow.
Flicking one of her braids over her shoulder, she walked up to a nearby door and unlocked it using a key she pulled out of her apron pocket.
Xaphile followed her inside the building, feeling dazed.
The interior was small, and looked like a cottage taken straight out of a movie from the middle ages. It had a large, cluttered living area filled with stacks of books lying in untidy heaps around a wicker rocking chair, which was resting in front of a cozy stone fireplace complete with a hearth.
The kitchen was cluttered with shelves full of potted plants, an assortment of jars, and bushels of dried herbs dangling from the ceiling among tons of pots and pans, but beyond that was a long rectangular table with eight empty wooden chairs seated around it.
He looked around with raised eyebrows, taking note of the strange furniture, a primitive wood-burning oven, a banistered set of stairs leading up to an unseen hall, and a row of odd-looking bookshelves resting along the farthest side of the wall.
He swallowed when she led him past the table and down a narrow hallway towards a closed door at the back of the house. After she opened it and stepped aside, he hesitantly peered around the corner, tail gently flicking back and forth.
The room was covered with dust, a testimony to its obvious disuse, but there was an actual bed resting in the corner and even though it was extremely small, the close walls were kind of comforting.
Xaphile had always felt the most comfortable in enclosed places like this since he was literally the opposite of a claustrophobic.
"This is... the room you're letting me stay in?" he inquired, carefully looking down at her. "Are you sure it won't... cause problems?"
"Of course not," she told him, giving a very bizarre, sweet, almost grandmotherly smile. "I'm a hard worker, and I earn much more coin than I spend on a regular basis thanks to my profession as an herbalist. Doing this is actually beneficial to me, in a way, since I now have a reason to use some of it."
His eyebrow twitched and he sighed, feeling more than a little disturbed by her overly friendly behavior, but nobody could really blame him for feeling that way since two weeks of being savagely abused would make anyone extremely wary.
"Why are you being so kind to me?" he growled, finally looking at her with a scowl. "I don't get it... you don't know me! Not even what kind of a person I am, yet you unthinkingly invited me to live with you! Isn't that a little reckless on your end?"
"Reckless?" she asked, looking very confused. "How so?"
His jaw dropped.
"Seriously?!" he scoffed, watching in disbelief as she gave a naive blink. "I was literally considered to be a monster by the people living in this freakish town only an hour ago! Why would you offer to let a total stranger live with you? It defies all common sense!"
She lifted a hand and shyly fiddled with one of her braids.
"If anything, this isn't even enough," she muttered, then folded her hands with a small sigh. "Phil, faeries are considered sacred creatures. In fact, some of the woodland Fae are supposed to hold more political sway than the high king."
"Fairies aren't real," he snapped, making her look up in shock. "Trust me, I know enough about Irish mythology to tell you I'm not a freaking fairy."
The mere thought of being compared to one made him feel extremely uncomfortable.
"Phil, you really are a Fae," she countered. "I knew what you were the moment the blood jewel on my mother's necklace failed to burn you."
"Blood jewel?"
"Yes, it's a stone that's like poison to demons. If I had not bumped into lady Ella herself after leaving you this morning and told her about it, she wouldn't have set you free."
He froze, blood turning to ice, then lifted his eyes.
"What did you just say?"
Amelia averted her gaze.
"We just had a simple conversation," she tentatively said. "She asked me if the Fair Folk had magic that could affect the land, and according to legend, there's only one kind that does."
"Stop stalling," he growled. "Just answer my question!"
It was here she finally made direct eye contact and said, "I told Ella what you were... and because of it, she let you go."
He glared, but she simply stuck her chin out in a stubborn manner and refused to lower her eyes.
"Why?" he rasped. "Why did you do that to me? Didn't you listen to what I said?"
"I did," she solemnly informed him, "but Phil, you need to understand... your kind are revered as creatures so powerful that the world we walk on bows to their every whim. To do anything less than this for you would have been... very bad for our village. Especially since Ella was indeed right about the forest withering to dust."
Xaphile looked at her tensely, trying not to lash out over the knowledge that she was the reason he was still suffering, then folded his arms.
"I don't understand any of this. Where am I? Where is this place?!"
"Chisago Village," Amelia told him. "It's south of Aerika's capital city."
"Which is... where?"
"Eh? Well, the capital of this country is very, very far to the north. There's a long mountain range that spans all of Aerika, and it divides the more civilized northern cities from young southern settlements like ours. Its called the Nimikan Border."
He stared blankly.
Where the hell am I? he wondered. This isn't America, is it?
"Our settlement is fairly small right now due to the lack of support for our restoration project, but we're still known for our jewelry and weapons," she added as an afterthought, "and we also have a great lumber trade whenever the demons aren't prowling around outside the walls."
Xaphile sighed and attempted to rub the bridge of his nose, but he accidentally scratched himself with his long claws in the process.
"Fair enough," he muttered, rubbing the gouges beside his eye with a wince. "I don't know what to think after today... I'm still in shock. I think I'm gonna head to my room and sleep... I need time to get over this."
"I'll go draw a bath first," Amelia murmured, giving him a little bow. "No offense intended, Phil, but right now... I'm afraid you have a rather... unpleasant odor."
The moment she said it, a violent shiver ran up his body, making him feel as though he would break out into hives.
"I really... really... did not need to hear that!" he squeaked, feeling as though little bugs were crawling all over him.
"'Tis not your fault," she sighed, patting his arm. "Two weeks without a good wash would be terrible for anyone. I'll return once the water is ready. Also, those wounds on your back... I'm worried that they might be getting infected, so they'll need to be cleansed thoroughly."
Xaphile averted his eyes, tangled black hair hiding his filthy face.
He had so much dirt and dried blood caked all over his upper torso that he was barely recognizable and it took everything in his power to avoid trying to dust himself off.
"Thank you," he murmured. "I may not fully understand what's going on, but I am grateful for your kindness."
"You're welcome," she chirped, beaming at him with a bright grin. "I'll return soon."
When she bowed again and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, Xaphile leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, wondering for the millionth time how things had become so fucked up.
Wherever the hell he was, it was obviously nowhere near Chicago.
Hell, for all he knew, he might have been dreaming everything.
Or perhaps this was the afterlife?
Up until this point, he'd been able to hold back his confusion and questions since everyone had been abusing him and there hadn't been time to really think about anything.
He tried to stay calm and collected about the situation, but now that things began to click with him, he was terrified.
He was going nuts.
That had to have been it.
When he'd shot himself in the head, he must not have died: he was probably lying in some remote hospital bed as a new human vegetable.
On top of having no clue where he was, every single person either seemed to be batshit crazy or abnormally violent, not even mentioning the bizarre changes in his body.
"It's too much to take in," he muttered. "Its like I've been tossed into a weird dream where nobody will tell me what's going on."
Lifting a hand, he examined his sharp nails and touched the scratch on his nose again, hesitantly checking for blood, but his hands were too dirty to tell.
His whole body was filthy.
Every part of him felt disgusting.
Slowly falling over on his side, he looked at the wooden wall with unseeing eyes, feeling as though he had become a writhing ball of anxiety. For what felt like hours, he stared off into space, letting the seconds tick by one at a time, and the silence was strangely peaceful since it had an almost comforting lull to it. His eyelids grew heavy as the rhythmic thrum of his heart filled his ears, strong but slow.
Unfortunately, his dazed sense of comfort was stirred by the sound of a knock on the door, followed shortly by a voice.
"Phil?" Amelia called, tentatively poking her head inside the room. "The bath is ready."
"Coming," he grunted, laboriously getting to his feet and slinking after her, choosing to ignore how she eyed the haystack he called hair with something close to distaste. She steered him through another door adjacent to his own and into a bathroom with a huge marble tub connected to some kind of aqueduct.
It was already full of hot water and it looked so inviting that he actually relaxed a little.
"There's soap on the shelf over there," she said, pointing at the far side of the wall; he blinked when he realized the bathroom had no sink or toilet. "I've left a drying cloth on the floor beside the door. When you're finished, wrap it around your waist. I'm afraid those trousers you're wearing have been so damaged by your ordeal that you won't be able to wear them again."
Xaphile winced, instantly feeling a little guilty.
"Really?" he asked, giving her a sullen look. "That sucks... these pants don't even belong to me."
"Eh? Who do they belong to?"
"A man named Octavius Macintosh. He's the one who brought me here."
Her worried face instantly relaxed.
"Oh, don't worry," she soothed, waving an amused hand. "Old Gus is a sweetheart, so I'm sure he won't be bothered. Knowing him, he'll probably just be glad that you're still alive. I have a very big suspicion that he's actually grown a little attached to you."
"It's not so much attachment as it is a guilty conscience," Xaphile sourly muttered, then shook his head. "Anyway, I'd like to get in the bath now."
"Oh, by all means," she said, waving a hand and giving him an airy smile. "The water is warm and ready!"
For a long moment, he stared at her and waited for her to leave, but eventually he quirked an eyebrow since she merely continued standing in place, hands primly clasped in front of her.
"Unless things here are totally uncivilized," he finally drawled, folding his arms, "shouldn't it be obvious that I can't yet?"
"You can't?" Amelia asked, looking at him with an expression of simple-minded confusion. "Why not?"
Xaphile gawked at her, then abruptly gestured down at himself with an incredulous expression.
"Um, hello?!" he squeaked, patting the tattered trousers with a bright red face. "I'm a guy, and you're a girl! I'm not stripping in front of you!"
Amelia blinked rapidly behind her glasses as she processed what he was getting at, but then she stiffened and also turned bright red, looking flustered.
Letting out an embarrassed squeal, she flailed her arms and abruptly covered her eyes with both hands.
"Deepest apologies!" she cried, whirling around and attempting to run out of the room; he jumped when she ran into the wall instead, but not long after, she felt her way to the door. "I am sorry! I am not used to being around boys... I am so very sorry."
When she slammed the door, the sound was obnoxiously loud.
That girl is something else, he silently muttered, letting out a deep sigh before looking down at himself. Then again... right now, I have no room to talk.
Once he was sure she wouldn't come back in, he unfastened the front of the trousers and carefully peeled them away from his skin.
He nearly forgot about his new tail being strung through the hole Gus had ripped into the back of them, but at the last second he felt a kink and carefully took the time to tug the damn thing free.
Dropping his drawers like a wild child, he hastily ran over to the shelf with the bar of soap and practically lunged into the extravagant bathtub with it.
He started scrubbing himself madly and found himself thoroughly disgusted when the water around him clouded up with reddish brown dirt, but once his entire body was clean he dunked his head under the water and lathered the soap into his hair, keeping his eyes closed.
The horns sticking out of his skull made the process feel weird to him, and even though he wanted to ignore the extreme discomfort that settled into his belly, his hands slowed with the washing. He touched them with tentative fingers, feeling them up with his eyes squeezed shut, but he couldn't tell where they really began since they blended in with his skin near his scalp.
In truth, they reminded him strongly of ivory since they were both smooth, hard, and felt a bit hollow for whatever reason. His horns were thick near the base of his skull, perhaps about an inch to two inches in circumference, and progressively grew pointier near the tips.
From what he could tell they were also curved like a bull's horns, but the physical self analysis caused a wave of extreme anxiety to wash over him and he had to stop.
Maybe I really am a demon now, he silently muttered, shuddering. This is unbelievable...
With yet another shudder, he rinsed his hair out and grabbed the soap to wash behind his ears, but the moment he touched them he immediately realized he'd overlooked another change to his body: his ears, where round tips had once been, had sharpened into long, elf-like points.
They were almost as long as his horns, long enough to poke through his hair with plenty of room left over, and for a second he wondered how he'd missed them until he remembered the bizarre muscle spasms that had been tickling his ears non-stop since that first day in the forest.
He felt them from base to tip with his eyes bugging out of his skull, since he was sure they had to be about six inches long, at least, then dropped his arms in defeat and leaned back, staring at the ceiling while he tried to process it all.
His brain literally felt as if it had finally burnt itself out from the stress.
"So... I've sprouted fur on my back, my pubes have gone crazy on me, and I now have chest hair, a tail, fangs, horns, claws, and elf ears," he muttered, rubbing his face with a large hand and letting out a sigh. "This is seriously messed up. What the fuck went wrong with my body?"
He didn't know the answer to that question, but he had a feeling it had happened only because he'd killed himself and that alone was the reason why he couldn't and wouldn't complain.
These changes were likely a result of what he'd done.
Bizarre though they were, he would put up with them.
Disgruntled, he dunked his head under water and let himself soak, feeling as though he'd scrubbed himself raw since he'd even gone as far as washing his tail and most of the strange black fur that now stretched down his spine.
Eventually, though, he stood up and shook himself free of the water and walked over to the cloth lying on the ground, using it to rub himself dry. Relief flooded through him at the sensation of being clean again, of smelling clean again, and of knowing he wasn't covered in filth.
He wrapped the cloth around his waist and slicked his hair back to keep it out of his eyes, then opened the bathroom door and peered out into the hall to see Amelia waiting not too far away, holding some sort of strange-looking white rope.
"What's that?" he asked, making her jump. "You're not... planning on tying me up, are you?"
"What?! No!" she squealed, instantly flailing her arms. "No, no, not at all! Of course not!"
"Then what's with the rope?"
"It's a measuring rope! I need it to take measurements of your body!"
He instantly narrowed his eyes, not understanding why she would want to do such a thing.
"Why?" he suspiciously asked. "What do you need measurements for?"
"Uh, clothes," she told him, blinking in a confused manner. "Since you don't have any of your own, I'm going to have some made for you. To do that I need your measurements."
He furrowed his brows, realizing for the first time that if he truly was in a primitive place, getting clothes probably wouldn't be as easy as going to a store with specific sizes. People in medieval books had always made their clothes using things like looms or by hand-stitching them.
"Fine," he muttered, stepping out into the hall and firmly holding the cloth around his waist. "Just... be careful, all right?"
He watched as she stepped forward, holding the rope out with a nervous expression, but to be honest he felt mildly relieved since she was obviously feeling just as awkward about this as he was. Knowing she was uncomfortable was a sign that she didn't really have bad intentions.
He held his breath when Amelia wrapped the rope around his waist, just above the edge of the drying cloth, then looked closely at the side.
He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and tried to ignore the feeling of her fingers ghosting against his bare hips and lower abdomen, but once she finished measuring his waist, she moved onto his chest, and then his arms.
After a moment, she poked him with a small finger.
"Could you possibly kneel down so I can measure your shoulders and neck?" she quipped, looking up at him with a timid expression. "Please?"
Xaphile wordlessly did as he was asked, carefully sliding down to his knees in front of her even though doing so sent an unexpected stab of irritation sweeping through his chest. He tried not to flinch when she moved behind him and set the rope across his shoulders, moving his long, damp hair to the side with warm hands as she did so.
She paused when she saw the scabs from being lashed, and for a moment she didn't move... but then, her fingers lightly combed through the strange furry mane running down his spine and he immediately stiffened since a flash of pain seared through the skin beneath it.
"Ow," he muttered, keeping his face blank by habit. "That hurts."
Amelia jerked her hand back.
"M-my apologies," she stammered, lifting the rope and using it to measure his throat. "I-I couldn't help myself... I've never seen a boy quite like you before, and I gave into temptation. The hair on your back... it's almost like that of an animal's. It's very peculiar."
"Not as peculiar as my tail," Xaphile muttered, and as if to enunciate that statement, the freakish appendage thumped against the floor and started sweeping against her ankles, making her twitch. "Trust me, the horns and everything else I can handle, but the tail... I hate it."
"I think it's rather amazing, to be honest," she admitted, looking down at the lion-like thing with half-lidded eyes. "You're almost like a big cat... it is strange, but interesting."
"Until you realize it's actually a part of you," he droned, feeling a little bemused himself. "Then it's not so interesting. Just very, very strange."
She giggled, smiling in genuine relief as the tension between them diffused a bit. She gently removed the rope, taking a moment to wind it up into a neat coil, but her cheerful expression faded when she looked at his back again.
Not that he didn't understand why, since he had seen snippets of it in the bathroom: all across it were horrible-looking scabs and scarred flesh, a testimony to Ella's brutality.
"I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us," Amelia sadly murmured, touching a specific spot beneath his right shoulder blade and gently brushing other spots along his back. "These wounds are terrible... they're going to leave scars everywhere..."
"It doesn't matter," he muttered, instantly feeling depressed. "I don't care if they scar up."
"Do you want me to try healing them?" she asked, biting her lip. "Even if I do, I won't be able to prevent the wounds from scarring... but, in the end, you'll hurt just a little bit less."
He didn't look at her because he didn't understand the request and didn't want to.
"Let nature take it's course," he sullenly muttered. "Don't worry yourself over me."
She winced slightly at his tone, but reluctantly nodded.
"If that is your choice, so be it," she sighed, patting his arm. "Now, I want you to measure your upper legs and both of your feet for me. I understand that this might be uncomfortable, so I'll turn around while you do so... but unless you want breeches and shoes that don't exactly fit you, this is necessary."
"How?" he asked, crawling to his feet and cracking his aching back with a wince. "I'm not exactly sure how to use this measuring thing."
"Oh, it's quite simple!" she exclaimed, holding the rope up and tapping several small symbols that had been embroidered into it. "Wrap this rope around each leg and then, when the edge connects with a particular symbol, tell me what it is and we'll have your measurements."
She handed him the rope and promptly turned around, covering both of her eyes.
"Okay, let's do this," he muttered, lifting the towel and doing as she asked; once he'd measured both of his upper thighs, he bent over and did the same with his feet until he had the necessary symbols, then he turned around and tapped her arm. "I'm finished, I think."
"Symbols?" she asked, looking at the rope when he pointed.
"This one was for my upper legs," he calmly told her, then shifted his finger, "and these two were for my feet, width and length."
Her eyebrows rose.
"I forgot to mention feet required two measurements, but it seems you realized it yourself," she murmured, lifting her eyes with a grin. "That's rather impressive."
"What will I do until those clothes you mentioned are made?" he asked, tilting his head and looking down at himself. "I can't exactly... run around in the nude."
"I think I have some clothes that used to belong to my father stored away in a trunk somewhere," Amelia told him, tossing one of her braids over her shoulder before turning and hurrying off down the hall. "Wait there... I'll see what I can scrounge up."
After she ran off, Xaphile rubbed his face, more tired than words could explain.
She wasn't gone for long at all, though, and when she came back she was holding some very strange-looking clothes indeed. He blinked rapidly as she wordlessly approached him and held out a pair of deep blue trousers and... uh...
"A dress?" he asked, giving her a disbelieving look. "Isn't that a girl's outfit?"
"No, silly!" she laughed. "These are robes!"
He eyed the article of clothing suspiciously, but no matter how hard he studied it, the damn thing still looked like a one-piece dress.
"Are you sure?" he eventually asked. "It looks like a gown, to me."
"I'm very sure, since these clothes were my father's," Amelia giggled. "My papa was a famous mage and he always dressed really flashy like this! Try them on! I'm pretty sure the pants are a little too short for someone with such a tall stature, but they'll fit you width-wise at the very least. Oh, and I also made an adjustment to the rear for your tail... I'm sure Papa won't mind."
When he took the clothes, they felt soft like satin, cool to the touch and very nice. Blinking rapidly, he looked down at the little brunette, staring at her pleasant, freckled face without really knowing what to say. She was doing all of this for him when she didn't have to, and although he couldn't really figure out why, some part of him caved against the force of her generosity.
She was a good person.
"Thank you," he weakly murmured. "I appreciate everything you've done for me."
He didn't wait for a response, instead choosing to turn and walking back into the bathroom.
Dropping the towel on the floor beside the tattered leather pants Gus had given him weeks ago, he shrugged the silken blue breeches on and shivered a little, since the sensation reminded him of dressing up in a suit. Fastening the front of the trousers, he looked down at his legs and winced, since she hadn't been kidding about them not fitting right. Her father was just as short as she was since the pants ended just above his shin bones.
Well, at least they're soft, he silently muttered, unfolding the dusty 'robe' and carefully tugging it over his head, being mindful of his horns. Once it was on, he glanced down at himself to see that the 'robe' ended near his knees, but the sleeves were so long that they hung past his hands.
"Bizarre style," he muttered, dusting the sky blue clothes off with a frown, "but its better than being naked."
Fully dressed, he padded back out into the hall.
Amelia instantly gasped and covered her mouth, face turning bright red as she fought back a fit of restrained laughter.
"W-well, now!" she stammered, face twitching. "It's not a perfect fit, but you somehow managed to make it work rather well! It looks good on you!"
He regarded her with half-lidded eyes.
"Uh-huh," he drawled, looking down at himself. "Yeah, sure it does."
"Oh, don't be so pessimistic," she choked, finally bursting into a fit of girlish giggles. "Really, it does look good on you! Better than it did on my father, at the very least!"
"Is that supposed to be flattering?" he questioned, long ears involuntarily drooping. "Why'd your dad wear clothes like this if he knew they made him look weird?"
"My father is rather eccentric and a little strange," Amelia admitted, beaming proudly, "but everyone still respects him because he's a sweetheart and a powerful magic user! One of the best, in my opinion! He even worked for the Count himself as a court wizard, long ago!"
"Well, where is he?" Xaphile asked, glancing around with a fleeting expression of curiosity. "You said you live alone, right?"
Her face immediately fell and she averted her eyes, looking a little downcast.
"He... went missing on a job for the crowned prince many years ago," she explained, shaking her head with a smile. "I really miss him, but I know he'll return someday. He promised. My Papa may be many things, but he's not a liar, and he'd never break a promise!"
Xaphile's ears twitched involuntarily upon hearing that.
He didn't know what was going on... but one thing was slowly becoming obvious: this place, wherever it was, had a very different sense of reality than where he'd been born and raised.
"May I... go to sleep now?" he asked, giving her a weary look. "I'm... tired."
Her eyes instantly softened and she stepped forward, setting a hand on his arm.
"Of course... after the horrible ordeals you've gone through, you deserve rest," she murmured, turning away and heading down the hall. "It's still rather early in the day for me, however, so I'm afraid I'll be busy making poultices and medicine until later this evening. If you need anything at all, I'll be in the kitchen. Sleep well."
He watched her go with a blank face... but the moment she was out of sight, his shoulders sagged and his eyes turned hollow again. Swiveling around, he stumbled down the hall towards the strange room he'd been given and walked inside it, quietly closing the door.
He turned and was about to flop down on the bed... but a crude mirror hanging above the nightstand caught his attention and ge immediately froze, staring at himself in disbelief.
Slowly creeping forward, he peered into the mirror more closely.
Lifting his hands, he touched the horns on his head... but his reflection didn't have them. Moving his hair to the side, he looked at his ears in the mirror, and much to his surprise... they were normal. Lifting the robes he'd been given and exposing the black streak of fur rising up from out of his trousers to his chest, he looked at the mirror with a shiver.
Smooth, pale muscles met his gaze in the reflection... it was how he'd looked before pulling the trigger. There was no doubt that the reflection was his own... but once again, like everything else, what he was seeing with his own two eyes didn't make any sense whatsoever.
Mirrors were supposed to reflect things the way they were, not show a completely different version of something.
Then, it happened.
His reflection slowly smiled.
He watched as the mirror image blinked all on its own, blue-green eyes beginning to glimmer with joy and faint traces of delight.
He blinked.
His reflection didn't.
He lifted his hand, and to his relief, his reflection moved with him, but the strange smile didn't fade even the slightest bit.
It seriously creeped him out.
Feeling spooked and more than exhausted, Xaphile sat down on the small bed and set his head on the pillow. The mattress had been stuffed full of some sort of straw, and the pillow was roughly made of the same coarse fabric with plenty of said straw, but it was softer than the metal floor of the cage he'd been stuck in so he didn't care.
Closing his eyes, he slowly curled up, muscles screaming in protest.
"Ella..." he whispered, letting out a sigh. "I miss you."
The only sound that came after that was a single tear dripping onto the pillow.
All was silent.
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