Lyn slumped to the floor; her legs could not hold her up anymore, and the feelings were just too overwhelming to bear. The room itself looked lived-in; plate mail and various swords and daggers were on a large table. Atop the plate mail was a single thick cloth, and on the table beside it was a small pouch of polisher. It was where Gorthan used to work. But now, he was gone.
Why did he have to die? Why did Mort send her away? She remembered the last words he spoke, and they brought unbearable pain deep inside her. It felt like something inside her was clawing at her insides. Her hands clutched at her chest; her heart was shattering. She never would have teased him so much if she had known. If only she had known.
“I love you too...” she said aloud, wishing her words would somehow find him. She cried out between each word; her sobs looked painful. Her legs wobbled, and she put her hands on the wall to steady herself. There was only one place she wanted to go.
“We could have had a family!” she screamed, pounding her small fist on the wall until her hand was bruised. She dragged her feet to the only place she could think of: Mort's room. She pictured it all: Mort reading a book while gently rocking the cradle back and forth. He would have been the best father and husband; it only made her heart ache for him.
It was a plain and simple room, save for the expensive books piled on his desk. His bed was a mess; the comforter was flipped to the side as if he had gotten out of bed in a hurry, leaving it unmade. But really, who cared? The only thing that mattered was the fact that he was gone. He would never make his bed again.
Her hands shook as she pulled the comforter over her head and buried herself in his bed. She could smell him: ink pots, quills, old musty books. She almost smiled from the scent alone. She could remember all the good times with Mort and Gorthan.
She buried her face in his pillow until eventually the pain sent her to sleep. She dreamed of a future she desperately wanted with Mort but never got the chance to act on. She had felt the same for so long but was too afraid to speak up, and now it was too late.
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As the days trickled by, she found herself unable to move from the curtain of his aroma. It was just impossible. By the third day, she could not avoid it any longer. Even if she could not bring herself to eat, the pain from needing to use the bathroom was too much, and there was the lingering duty she had yet to complete.
“I want to die...” she whispered aloud, a monotone escaping her lips that cracked. It sounded like a stranger's voice to her. Her stomach betrayed her, growling louder than she had ever heard it. This reminded her of Mort giving her his meals when she had said, "I'm hungry," on a long journey, only to find out later that Mort had nothing to eat himself. Her tears had stopped, but the feeling was still there; she was numb. As she remembered her reasons for needing him, each memory was a new layer of pain.
She stood up, keeping the blanket wrapped around her. She walked into the bathroom, tapped her fingers on the top of a spigot, and ran her finger along a line, stopping halfway. It was something Mort had made; the glyphs she ran her finger over controlled the water's temperature. Depending on how far your finger was brought to the right, it would change the temperature. The water itself was stored elsewhere.
Water began to pour from it. She cleaned her face with lukewarm water. Looking in the filling basin, she could see her own face looking back at her. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and she looked pale. It had been a few days since she had eaten. Her lips looked cracked; normally, she would have cared about such things. But what was the point?
Stepping away from the basin without bothering to turn off the water, she left the home they had made for the three of them and went out into town. The world here was far too bright. People were smiling, shopping to their hearts' content, chatting with one another as they walked past her.
Moving her way down the street, her feet dragged on the cobblestone. Bystanders saw her and whispered in hushed tones, but she could make out the words, "She is from Triple Threat," until she reached a bulky building that almost looked like a fat cat. It was something she used to laugh about every time they came here, with them.
Her fingers fumbled on the door handle until eventually, someone behind her wordlessly opened it for her. No one spoke to her, but everyone's eyes were on her. She had to at least make a report before she joined him, she thought inwardly.
“Why does she look like that?”
She could hear the adventurers gossiping about her, telling each other their guesses. It was obvious what the why was. After all, adventurers died often. She reached the front desk of the guild hall, and without glancing at the girl in front of her, she spoke.
“Lyn of party Triple Threat. Here to report to the guildmaster,” she said in a monotone, her voice cracking in the process. She continued to convince herself she had to do at least this much before her end, but deep down, she knew she did not want to die. It would be betraying his effort. But it was hard, so very hard. She could think of no reason to live. The woman at the counter smiled and told her to head to the back. She did not bother to look up from the floor.
When she entered the room, she heard a familiar voice. “Lyn, are you okay?” Her head tilted up. Impossible—that was the word that could describe what she saw. Her vision was focused on one thing. Unconsciously, she walked forward, fresh tears she thought had all dried up spilled down her cheeks. She could smell him: fresh ink pots, parchment paper, old musty books.
She ran forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, throwing every bit of her body weight into him. A warmth overflowed, starting from the pit of her stomach and spreading in waves through the rest of her body.
“Mort!” she said before pressing her lips to his. He stumbled backward from the impact until finally he crashed to the floor. Still clinging to him, still pressing her lips desperately to his. He is alive!
“Mort!”
She said it again, still refusing to let her lips leave his, and it more came out as a muffled sound. She forgot where she was. All that mattered was him. She had thought he was dead. She wanted to be mad at him. She wanted to scream at him for sending her away. She and Mort had lost Gorthan, but at least she had him!
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It could not understand; it sifted through countless memories seeking out information on the action this woman was performing. Was she taking nutrients from us? Finally, it recalled a correct memory. Mort had read a book about intimacy, which helped it understand. It continued to process memories pertaining to Lyn, using the kiss as the perfect moment to recall all the information.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
We had to be perfect, it thought inwardly. Discovery was not an option. It pulled her away from him, a fake smile forming on its lips as it spoke using the stolen body.
“I can’t breathe!” he said aloud, his lips and face covered in her tears. She said his name a third time, and he reminded her while panting, “The Guild Master is here.” He said it breathlessly. She had not only knocked the wind out of him but had literally stolen his breath away.
He and Lyn heard someone clear their throat across the room. It was a man seated on a couch, a quite comfortable-looking sofa. He smiled warmly at the two of them, and Lyn’s face instantly began to burn red, but the tears refused to stop. She was just so happy, so relieved. It was like a gift from the gods had been given to her.
She stood up first, but before Mort could as well, she sat down on his chest; he had to be punished for sending her away. “Reporting on the strange cave.” Even as she recounted the events, her mind was wandering to the kiss she shared with Mort, and her ears were still burning.
She left out the details that Mort had teleported her away and the forbidden art he had used. Her smile eventually fell into a frown when she remembered that Gorthan had died or had been taken over by something. Lyn glanced at Mort's face, who just lay there with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. Yes, what happened to Gorthan did not happen to Mort. He escaped, and he was here!
“Mort gave me a similar report,” he said, sighing. His expression looked concerned, but his brown eyes flicked back down to the two of them.
“But he left out the part about Gorthan crawling deeper into the cave. You two have been through a lot. Gorthan's share is included in the reward. Rest well.” He paused, looking at Lyn with a huge smile on his face. “You two make a great couple.”
The guild master rubbed his chin and finally wrote down a number on a bit of parchment, folding it in half. He held it out to Lyn. She took it, not bothering to look inside before she stood up. She knew the amount would be a lot; after all, that job was dangerous as hell. She pulled Mort to his feet, dragging him out of the guild master's meeting room by the hand. They went to the front and placed the paper in front of the girl from before.
The woman noticed the smile on Lyn's face. She had known Mort was in the room, and that was why she had been smiling so brightly at her. She was glad Lyn could smile again. The receptionist opened the folded parchment, and it turned to ash in her fingers. She had used a bit of fire essence from a nearby flame to burn the parchment. Lyn could tell she was a tier-one mage. The girl reached into a bag next to her and said, “Reward bag 36, please.” Pulling her hand out of the bag, she held a pouch the size of two fists.
She dropped it with a loud thud on the table. Guilds were known to have a bag such as this. It was used to store and collect the rewards for adventurers’ quests. It made things pretty convenient for adventurers and the guild receptionist. They could just label the bags with the number, state the number, and summon it from the dimensional storage. Too bad Lyn would likely never afford to buy one for herself and Mort. But that did not stop the smile on her face. The woman at the counter leaned in close to Lyn and whispered in her ear, “There's an alchemist down the street that sells aphrodisiacs. Have fun.” She winked and laughed, she stifled it with her hand. Lyn's face turned a bright red, and she immediately stomped away, dragging Mort by the hand. She could hear the gossip around her again, only now it made her ears burn and her heart race faster.
“Oh, looks like they are finally a couple.” A few others complained about how long it took. She even heard the guild master walk up to a group with a grin on his face and say, “Pay up! She kissed him just now in my office!” Her face only grew a brighter shade as she looked down at her feet, trying to hide her face.
Her stomach growled so loudly she thought it was going to shake the guild hall. Finally, they reached the door and burst out into the open air. She never knew she could feel this relieved, this thankful. They continued on, while she led him by the hand to one of the restaurants nearby. They were told to sit at a table in the middle of the room, but Lyn would not have that. She went straight for an empty booth and pulled Mort onto the same bench as her, then buried her head in his shoulder. She put the pouch in front of Mort. He would know what she wanted. She cried into his shirt, all of her emotions bubbling up at the same time: anger, fear, happiness, grief. But Mort smelled the same; he felt the same; she loved the smell. It did not take long. The smell was intoxicating for her, and eventually, she fell asleep, exhausted from her emotions.
“Roast duck, steamed potatoes for two, miss,” he said, putting a gold coin on the table. She gave a slight bow, jotting down his order on the parchment, and Mort continued, “No onions. She hates them.” His eyes glanced down at her, pressed against him, her fingers tangled in his robe. He could hear the soft breathing of her sleep. He could feel something in his stomach, like a flock of butterflies rising. Was it hunger? “To go, please,” he said finally.
Even when the food came, she did not stir from her sleep. Tears began to bead in her sleeping eyes. “Don’t,” she breathed out, and a whimper escaped her lips, “leave me.” Pain—that was the feeling in its chest. This body felt things it had never known. It was interesting. It wanted to experience more.
He carried Lyn in his arms and hooked a basket under one of his arms. It was thinking about the best method to keep up the facade. It concluded that blending in would be easier if he stayed with Lyn. But—it might also impede its true motive for coming here. They left the restaurant and went back to the party's base, or you could say their home. Gorthan, Lyn, and Mort had lived there for two and a half years. After all, inns were expensive long-term. He laid her down in her bed and set the basket next to her. She was asleep in her own bed for the first time in seven days.
It moved out of the room without a second glance, closing the door behind him. “How interesting.” Its lips pulled up into a sinister smile. His mouth opened wide, and he reached a few fingers inside. From the back of his throat, he pulled something small and silver from his mouth. It uncurled in his palm: six long whiskers, a snub nose, and a snake-like body.
“My little kitty,” it cooed aloud. It wondered why it felt the need to say that. He could sense himself from the perspective of the creature. This silver cat was special. It was mostly an autonomous drone that would return to the hive. After all, the "little kitten" was born to do exactly that after infesting a new host. Mort was not what he seemed to be anymore.
He put the small thing in his pocket before walking outside. He found a beggar near the restaurant he had just left. Looking at the beggar, he could see his fingers were almost blue from the cold. He knelt down next to the beggar and said, “Do you want some money?” They nodded their head, and he continued, “Well, if you swallow this without chewing, I’ll give you ten gold.”
Tears welled up in the man's eyes. That would get him back on his feet; he could live in a tavern for at least three months with that much.
“I’ll do it,” he said, without looking at what he was swallowing. He did so without chewing and stuck out his tongue to prove it.
“Good job,” Mort said, smiling. A man of his word, he placed ten gold coins in the man's hand. But Mort did not leave yet. He watched the man close his mouth, and the beggar looked into Mort's eyes. But it was not Mort— it was something else entirely. It was all there was; it was all there ever would be.
The beggar's eyes dilated as he exhaled deeply and tilted his head back. A soft moan escaped his lips until finally he looked back at Mort, and both of them spoke at the same time. “It's time for that body to return to us.”
The beggar put the coins back into Mort's hand and stood up. It began walking out of the city. As it reached the guards, Mort’s mouth and the beggar's mouth moved again. “Just going for a walk. Please let me by.”
Mort walked away from the spot where the beggar once had been, speaking every word the beggar did. He eventually returned to the house. He could faintly hear Lyn sleeping, her breath coming and going in a rhythm. It was peaceful. He began reading a book in his own room while his newest body made its way toward the cave. Soon enough, the dire wolves surrounded the beggar and protected him along the way. It was important nothing happened to it. It would take a few days, but that was fine; it had all the time in the world. Its eyes were closed, and the book lay flat on his knee. He almost looked asleep, but it was focused on another task.