Azor gazed through the shattered remains of the drawing room window.

He had never cared much for the house. His main priority was the garden…and although a few of his precious rose bushes had also been damaged in the recent attack, he was certain that with some pruning and careful attention, they would soon be healed.

It did bother him, however, to see the broken glass all over the floor. It was a mark of shame; a constant reminder that someone had violated the sanctity of his home…like the bullet holes in his scarlet coat.

He stared at the shards until they began to shift, gathering themselves into a thin, glittery line underneath the windowpane. Then he drew the curtain.

Azor’s troubles were not yet over: there would be another visitor that day. He had sensed it since the night before, and now he was certain that the front gate would swing open at any moment.

This next visitor would not be an enemy, however…in fact, he knew exactly who it was. And in the back of his mind, he had always known this dreaded day would come.

He sighed, and went out to the garden.

Meanwhile, Pitch Black strolled up the path to the estate…as well as one could stroll while weighed down by several dozen pounds of armor and weaponry.

She had never actually seen it before: the first and last time she had traveled to Azor’s house, the whole area had been overrun with phantasms. But now, in the peaceful light of afternoon, she could see the faint dirt road leading up to the gate, overgrown with weeds and wildflowers.

Pitch noticed that some of the grasses seemed crushed, as if someone else had come by recently…or perhaps, several someones.

She added this observation to the long list of concerns already bundled up in her mind, and pushed open the gate.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“…Don’t take another step,” said a familiar metallic voice.

Azor stood off to the side, holding a crushed rose in his shadowy hand. His false eyes were pressed into thin, rippling slits. “What are you doing here…?” he asked.

“…It’s good to see you too, Azor,” Pitch replied, smiling slightly. “Believe it or not, I think I’ve missed your rudeness.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, if you must know right away, I am here to ask you for a bit of a favor. A bit of a large favor, actually—”

“I am not interested.”

Azor turned and strode back to the house. Pitch hefted her cutlass over her shoulder and followed.

“…At least let me tell you what it is,” she protested. “This is something that’s very important to me, and I want you to be a part of it.”

“If it requires me to leave this estate, once again, I am not interested.”

“Don’t be interested, then; just hear me out anyway.”

“I don’t remember whether I’ve ever told you this, but I was once a princess…of sorts,” Pitch explained. “And today I’ve decided to return home and take back my birthright. By force, if necessary.”

“How very nice for you,” Azor replied, rolling his tail eye.

“It may not be so nice, actually…which is part of the reason why I wanted you to come along.”

“…Don’t tell me you expect me to protect you. Again.”

“Why not? After all the time you spent boasting about your strength before, I would have thought you would be flattered. After all, I am just a poor, pathetic human being, and you are a…well, whatever you are, with the ability to kill with a single glance. Without you by my side, there is hardly any point in going at all; I wouldn’t—”

“That’s quite enough; you are not convincing in the least…”

Azor picked up a pair of gardening shears. “…With all due respect, I have my own problems at present,” he said. “Perilous though it may be, you will have to fight your personal wars without my help.”

“Is that your final word?”

“Indeed it is.”

Pitch sighed. “I suppose that means it’ll take a little longer to convince you...”

“No, it means that the subject is closed and that you should leave. That is what the word ‘final’ indicates—”

“It’s a good thing I set aside a whole day for this, then.” She set her weapons down on the ground. “So what are you doing? A bit of gardening…?”

“More like salvaging,” he said, cutting away a few crushed branches. “Savages, the lot of them…” he muttered.

“So…there were people here earlier.”

“Invaders. People, much like yourself, who have nothing better to do than to disturb me. And unfortunately, my roses have once again suffered the consequences…”

Pitch glanced at the holes in his coat. “Azor…” she started to say.

“What is it now…?”

“Oh…never mind.”