“Wake up already so I can send people in there and clean, damn it! The entire floor slls like a very successful orgy!” Bertrand slams on the door with great desperation, his voice buzzing with rage and jealousy at the sa ti.
I startle awake shortly after hearing his annoying shout. With heavy regret, I pull away from Opalina’s soft pillows, unsure of how much ti has passed since I closed my eyes. The stained glass window makes it difficult to tell, given how poorly the light fades in through it. Opalina isn’t a very good indicator, either. She looks just as dead as she did when we finished.
“What ti is it?” I ask, stretching out the sleep from my body. My lover shifts uncomfortably in response, groaning and stretching herself, only to cry out in pain when I hear several cracking sounds emanate from her body, all in unison.
“It’s eleven in the morning, you mongrel!” Bertrand replies. “I’ve been trying to awaken you for an hour straight, and I’m not coming back, so you had best be up for good this ti!”
Assuming I went to bed around six or seven, then I roughly got four hours of sleep. Not unusual, but the events of last night have
feeling groggy beyond belief. “Send coffee and leave it at our door. I’m up.”
Bertrand makes a grumbling sound of what I assu is acknowledgnt before I hear his footsteps fade away.
Now alone, I inspect Opalina in greater detail to find that her eyes are half-open in a daze. She painfully turns her head up to look at
and says, “You used way, way too much lube...” between pitiful groans.
“That sunk in around the four-hour mark, yeah. Do you have any health potions in your bra?”
“I don’t know,” Opalina stretches out again, peeling so of the sticky strands of hair off of her skin. “I don’t rember a lot of things right now.”
“I’ll take that as a complint.”
“It was a complint toward the potency of the drug you poured all over our genitals, Dear, not toward your sexual prowess.”
“Ouch... are you up?”
“Awake? Yes. Am I leaving this bed anyti soon? No. Get
my wand, please.”
Leaving the bed in all my naked glory, I look around the room and eventually find Opalina’s wand on the floor. Picking it up and inspecting it, I notice how sticky the expensive wand is and that it slls of sex.
“Did I use this on you...?” I ask while handing it over to the witch running on empty.
“What didn’t you do to
last night?” She laughs, but it’s dry and without any humor. Opalina sniffs her wand and raises an eyebrow before sighing in disbelief.
Right as Opalina finishes magicking away the sll and layers of sex gri from my skin, a series of door-knocks is heard, followed by a maid’s voice announcing that she’s placing the coffee down. Bertrand must have delegated his coffee fetching duties. Regardless, I throw on my pair of boxers and retrieve the drink after the maid departs.
My lover and I share two sobering cups of coffee in bed together. As we awaken, Opalina seems to grow more embarrassed over the events of last night. “I hope I didn’t shout anything embarrassing.” She finally says.
“You shouted plenty of embarrassing things, in case you forgot how bad you’ve been teasing .”
“Yes, but all of that was carefully chosen and worded. Both of us can scarcely recall a thing, aning only Osbourne and Abigail know the full details of what happened last night.”
“If they were awake, you an?” Opalina stares back at
with a severe look on her face. “...Yeah, you’re right. No doubt we kept them up.” If Bertrand wasn’t exaggerating about the sll, I can only hope Abigail’s opinion of
hasn’t changed too drastically. I look at Opalina as a growing sense of embarrassnt and fear spreads across my face. “Did I just fuck everything up?”
Rather than dissuade my concern, she only returns with an uncertain glance of her own. “If nothing else, you fucked
up.”
“Should I be proud of that fact?”
“Yes, actually. I’ve never had anything like that before...” Opalina surprises
by looking away and skillfully covering her blushing cheeks with a well-tid sip of coffee.
“I think I rembered sothing about you screwing around in college with other witches?”
“Did I say that?” She retorts, aloof as ever.
I’m not having it, so I tell her, “Opal, stop being intentionally mysterious.”
The witch sighs. “Fine, fine. You’re no fun, I swear... yes, I went to the Magicademy in my youth.”
“Really? I guess that ans you’re from Tior, then.”
“Arrark is the only province I call ho now,” Opalina says with burning conviction in her voice. “But I digress. Most of my sexual experience traces back to that period of my life... again, I remind you that it was only with won, you jealous little boy, but even then, I can’t rember ever getting this trashed.”
“Did it all make you feel young again?” I tease.
“At the ti, yes. Now I just feel old.” She giggles and sets her finished cup of coffee onto her nightstand before snuggling herself up back under the covers. “Go on and have your breakfast, Dear. I’ll be up by the ti you’re back.” Opalina cuts off our playful banter and closes her eyes, then assures
she’s just resting.
Determined to start this day off right, I pull on my casual clothes from the day before and gather up the dress clothes I’ll be wearing again during my eting, setting the carefully on a nearby shelf for Opalina to magically freshen up later. After going about all the little things in my morning routine, I exit the room to head down to the dining room, only to be t with a curious sight.
A young, cute-looking maid is just finishing placing a final breakfast tray upon a table situated in front of the sa chair I sat in while writing to Abigail. She blushes upon seeing
and bows with practiced politeness, then runs away into the secret passageway before I can question her. This table is littered with every kind of breakfast food imaginable, albeit in a slightly more conservative fashion than dinner was the night before. Rather than an egregious display of wealth, it looks more along the lines of an acceptable one.
Before the question of why breakfast was brought to
could even form in my mind, Woe reveals himself seated on my chair. The skeletal dog raises its head before jumping up to give
a note and retrieve his well-earned pets in exchange.
‘Sorry for freaking out last night. I hope it’s not too presumptuous, but I thought we could talk so more before you et with my father? Assuming you aren’t upset at .’
Abigail still worries that she made so big mistake, apparently. I scoot Woe off the chair to sit and take the quill resting on the table. ‘You didn’t give
ti to say anything back, or else I would have told you I wasn’t mad at you. I was worried I ruined your mood, so if everything is clear between us, I would love to continue where we left off.’ I reply
Woe zips away with my letter, and after a few bites of fluffy, scrambled eggs, he returns. ‘Really?’ She asks in shaky, uncertain handwriting.
‘Of course.’
‘I’m sorry that I’m so awful at this... I just assud the worst and thought you would be cross with
for whatever reason... oh, a side note. Don’t give Woe any table scraps no matter how badly he begs. It’s bad for him.’
I glance away from the letter to see that Woe is indeed staring down the contents of the breakfast table with his burning eyes of magic green fire. Out of sheer curiosity, I toss him a piece of bacon and watch as the partially resurrected pet catches it in midair. Woe chews the crispy at with his teeth, and the pieces crumble out of his jaw, falling down limply to the floor. He doesn’t seem to mind the lack of his digestive tract.
Over my al, I share an oddly normal conversation with Abigail where she doesn’t ntion the noise or the sll whatsoever. Speaking of the sll, Bertrand wasn’t kidding. Even with all these warm foods blasting their scent up into the air, the sll coming from our guest room is undeniable.
At the tail end of breakfast, I finally summon up the courage to ask about it. ‘Be honest with . How bad was last night? Is your father going to kill ? There was an accident with a sexual aide, which led to both of us entering a trance.’
Woe doesn’t return for a couple of minutes, and the letter he brings back is written in anxious handwriting that can barely be deciphered. ‘I didn’t hear a thing.’ She writes so ekly I can almost picture her staring at the floor and sweating awkward bullets.
‘I’m serious. My career is on the line just because we used too much magical lube.’ I tell her in return before realizing how embarrassing that tidbit is. Woe zips away before I can take it back and write sothing new, and he doesn’t co back for another few minutes again.
In the sa troubled script as before, Abigail says, ‘Boys will be boys. I’m sure Father understands.’
‘I hope you’re right...’
‘Even if I’m wrong, I’ll still help you any way that I can.’
‘Besides putting your rare skillset to work for
as an adventurer?’
‘Yes, besides that. I’m flattered that you want
by your side, but I wouldn’t be much use to you in a wheelchair.’
I stop myself short of asking if Abigail has ever explored magical options to cure her walking problem and instead respond, ‘That remains to be seen.’
Surprisingly, Abigail is privy to my inner thoughts. She says, ‘You’re probably wondering why I don’t have prosthetics or so kind of magical alternative. It’s ok. Opal probably told you I lost them in the plague... do you know much about the Rotblight?’
‘A little. I was only twelve when it happened.’ That was a rough period, for sure. Opalina’s visits beca more scarce because of her work as a Doctor, and even though Niall and I were starting to distance at that point, he ca out of hiding to look after
in her stead.
The old drunk would often bring
books to help
focus on my studies and keep my mind off the plague. One ti, Niall even slipped in an erotic to, presumably as a joke. I can’t imagine he thought it’d be as formative on
as it ended up being, but one thing led to another, and now here I am.
As bad as it sounds, I recall the plague with a queer fondness since it was just about the last ti Niall was ever around for
on a reliable basis. No one I knew was affected by it, so it didn’t leave a mark on my heart like it did to many others.
Abigail goes into so of the nitty-gritty, explaining what it has to do with her legs. ‘It’s a type of magical illness that absorbs the life from its victims. Rotblight typically starts with a person’s feet and hands, then spread upwards, withering the flesh until it falls right off. The scars that it leaves are a literal void of magic where no mana can pass through. Magical prosthetics or alchemically created replacent limbs won’t attach, and non-magical prosthetics hurt too much...’
Sounds pretty definitive to . Now I feel bad for wondering why Abigail hadn’t bothered to get new legs. I tell her as much, but she only says, ‘It’s fine, you get used to explaining it... or at least I would if I actually talked to new people other than you. Anyways, as much as I appreciate you spending your morning chatting with , you should really go and get ready. Also, maybe have Opal do sothing about the sll...’
Damn it, it’s worse than I thought. Curse this forsaken castle and its lack of proper ventilation.
Abigail is right, though. Breakfast is squared off, and it’s just about ti to et with Duke Gloomcrest. Best to go and finish preparing, so I thank the Lady for the lovely chat, give Woe another strip of bacon that I saved for him, and go back to check on Opalina.
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