> Verratung
>
> Noun
>
> Translation: Betrayal
>
> Definition: "Verratung" in Menschen is used to denote the act of betrayal in any form, whether personal, political, or otherwise. It encapsulates the breaking of a moral or ethical code, a turning away from a promise or duty. The term is heavily laden with emotional and moral weight in Menschen culture.
"Love?"
Noctavia’s world was enveloped in a persistent buzzing akin to a swarm of relentless insects. This ceaseless hum, ebbing and flowing in intensity, formed an invisible barrier, isolating Noctavia from her surroundings. She couldn't focus on anything around her.
"Zonnestra!" The voice, more insistent this time, broke through her auditory shroud.
Startled, she turned as a hand gently settled on her shoulder. "My love, are you alright? You haven't touched your food," Yeso inquired, his eyes wide with concern.
"Oh, I..." Noctavia didn't even realise she was sitting at the table.
They were all gathered around the kitchen table, sharing a meal with the newly arrived faeries, Maggie and Maddie, alongside Godmama, who cooked, and Claramae, who will be leaving first thing tomorrow. Orlo slept peacefully, cuddling his little white mouse in his basket beside Noctavia.
"I have this annoying buzz in my ear. It just won't stop," Noctavia complained, her frustration evident as she inserted her pinkie finger into her ear, hoping to alleviate the irritation.
"Let me see," Yeso offered. He gently brushed her golden hair away from her ear, peering closely. "I don't see anything, love."
"Could it be a bug? Maybe a bee?" she speculated, the annoyance in her voice growing.
Godmama rose from her seat as she joined Yeso to inspect Noctavia's predicament. "He's right, dear. There's nothing there," she confirmed, her tone soothing yet puzzled.
"This is driving me mad; I can barely hear," Noctavia lamented, her frustration mounting. She propped her elbows on the table, cradling her head in her hands. "I'm so exhausted!"
"When did it start?" Yeso inquired, his brow furrowed with concern.
"About an hour ago, maybe more, maybe less? It's like a swarm of bees but with a lower pitch," she explained, irritated and weary.
"My Love, maybe you should go rest," Yeso suggested, his tone uncertain, betraying his helplessness in the face of her discomfort. He turned to the faeries, searching for a solution. "Is there any concoction we can give her for this?"
"She is a Menschen, Yeso... she is not sick! We can't get sick!" Claramae interjected, her voice carrying a note of conviction. "She must have something inside. Maybe if we wash it out with water, it will come out?" she proposed, simultaneously heaping more food onto her plate.
"We could try that," Godmama agreed, setting about preparing a pot. She filled it with water and then added oil and salt. "Just getting the water ready. Maybe the girl needs to lie down while we wait."
Yeso wrapped an arm around Noctavia, offering her his support. "You'll be fine. In a bit, we'll be laughing about this," he reassured her, though he could sense the strain she was under, her effort to stave off tears indicative of her genuine distress.
"I think I'll go for a walk," Noctavia finally announced, pushing herself away from the table.
Yeso immediately rose to his feet, his protective instincts kicking in. "I'll come with you," he offered.
But Noctavia shook her head, a wave of independence washing over her. "No, please keep an eye on Orlo. I just need..." She paused, her back to everyone, the struggle evident in her voice. "I don't know what I need. I just want this to stop."
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With those words, she exited the house, stepping into the woods. The sound in her ear was so overpowering that it muddled her thoughts, a cacophonous din that isolated her from the world. Unbeknownst to her, the Howling Night trailed behind a silent, unseen Spirit watching over his Master.
As she ventured deeper into the forest, the incessant buzzing began to morph, slowly forming coherent words that resonated with a haunting familiarity, "I summon... I summon... I summon."
Noctavia recognised the voice amidst the echo of the relentless buzz, now amplifying into an overwhelming chorus. The words, laced with an eerie familiarity, seemed to call out to her. But her despair beckoned her deeper into the shadowy embrace of the woods.
Noctavia wondered why didn't Yeso experience this maddening sensation, too. Weren't they connected, hexed to share each other's emotions and sensations?
The sound enveloping her felt like a suffocating cloak of seclusion that weighed heavily on her spirit. She yearned to scream, to release the turmoil churning inside her, but it felt as if her very lips were stitched shut, silencing her cries.
With each step she took deeper into the forest, her sense of time and distance blurred into irrelevance. The haunting voice grew more insistent, its refrain echoing through the trees, "I summon you, Magi. I summon you, Magi... I summon you, Magi..."
The earlier faint whisper was now a commanding call, resonating louder and more urgently in her ears.
This repetitive summons, barely perceptible at first, now dominated the soundscape, a relentless chant that seemed to beckon her further into its depths, drawing her inexorably towards an unseen force that called her with increasing fervour.
Noctavia fell to the ground. She realised suddenly she couldn't feel her right leg, and then it was her right arm... it just fell as if detaching from her body.
Something was happening to her. She started to not feel the right side of her face, and a current of electricity swiped back and forth through her; she turned to Howl, "Get help! I think..." She fell down and started to convulse.
Overwhelmed by the unseen force, Noctavia found herself losing control, her body convulsing on the ground as an invisible and sinister force took over. She felt an excruciating sensation akin to an invisible needle stitching her right eye shut. Every piercing, every pull of the thread through her skin was agonisingly vivid. Then, with a cruel meticulousness, the unseen force moved to her other eye, plunging her world into darkness.
Panic surged within her as she desperately attempted to open her mouth, to scream, to call out for help. But before a sound could escape her lips, a sharp pain seized her as if a needle had punctured her mouth, effectively sealing it shut.
Amidst her blind and muted torment, she could hear the distant echoes of life continuing unabated. A blend of boisterous laughter and animated conversations reached her, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the occasionally slurred words of those who had indulged too much. This stark contrast between her own harrowing experience and the oblivious merriment of others only intensified her feeling of helplessness and isolation as she lay there, bound by an unseen force in the midst of the dark.
Then, amidst the cacophony of pain and the surreal chorus of distant revelry, the voice emerged, clear and commanding, slicing through her turmoil. She knew that voice!
"I summon you, Magi, mightiest of all. Come forth, heed my call. Bend your power to my will; your purpose is now mine to instil. Together, we shall prevail. I claim mastery over your fate. Answer my summons, from this day until the end of times, be bound to my side, and be mine, the Noctavia, Zonnestra Duvencrune!"
The words, spoken with an air of imperious certainty, echoed ominously around Noctavia. Each syllable reverberated with a dark power, binding and constricting.
It was his voice, unmistakable in its arrogance and ambition, proclaiming his dominion over her essence, her very being. He betrayed her, why? How could he? Why? Why Xendrix?
Treason!
Betrayal!
Verratung!
Yeso?
Someone…help!
Por bitte ajuda mir es! Por bitte…
> I still have a distinct reluctance to teach alchemy, even at a basic level. To me, alchemy is like nuclear power: it's a potent and clean energy source that could solve numerous energy-related problems, but if it falls into the wrong hands, the potential for massive destruction is monumental. The Menschen have their own language and script. Our language is relatively straightforward to teach, provided one has the patience to grasp the philosophy behind the words. Once that hurdle is crossed, it becomes almost child's play. However, our writing is far more complex, a labyrinthine array of lines and shapes forming sentences that are, in essence, translations of Menschen magic--alchemy. My father's last mission was to teach humans to read and write Menschen. But, no human could hope to fully comprehend it within a single lifetime. The case of Xendrix Kaspian, who mastered this script at a young age, is a mystery that continues to puzzle me, and I am not someone who tolerates unanswered questions lightly. My father, for instance, shared a mere piece of paper, similar to how we might leave a phone number or email address today. Tragically, a friend per se, to whom he shared this knowledge, shared his roof and his food, accepting him as family, used it for nefarious purposes, transforming what could have been a miracle into an abomination. I still hate him. I still can't forgive him after all this time. There will never be redemption for anyone who carries the surname Kaspian. If hell is a real thing as per humans, I hope to find them there. ——The Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer