The rain was relentless, pelting down on Nord as she navigated the city streets, each droplet seemingly intent on soaking her through to the bone. By the time she pushed through the glass doors of the law firm, her clothes clung to her like a second, sodden skin. Her boots squelched with each step, leaving a trail of water behind her as she approached the reception desk.
Nord slammed the business card onto the counter, locking eyes with the young receptionist—hair pulled back into a ponytail, eyes barely visible behind a curtain of long lashes. "I need to speak with him," Nord declared, her voice tinged with an urgency that brooked no refusal.
The receptionist picked up the card, glancing at it briefly before returning her gaze to Nord. "I can schedule you for next Tuesday at 2 p.m.," she replied, her tone brimming with practised professionalism.
"I said now," Nord pressed, her voice rising in pitch, eyes narrowing.
The receptionist leaned forward, her eyes finally visible, defiant, and steely. "And I said next Tuesday," she countered, pushing the card back across the counter toward Nord.
Frustration boiling within her, Nord's eyes darted around the foyer. They landed on a door to her left—bearing the same name that was embossed on the card in her hand. She considered barging in but thought better of it. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked, feigning a casual tone.
The receptionist looked up from her desk, an air of nonchalance casting a veil over her features. "Nice try, heard that one before. Next Tuesday," she said, her voice dry as she slid the business card back toward Nord across the smooth, marbled counter.
Nord felt her hands clench. The air around her grew thick, the ivory walls seeming to move inward, suffocating her. With a tight smile, she pocketed the card. "Thanks, but no thanks."
Ignoring the receptionist's implied finality, Nord turned sharply on her heel, her boots echoing on the tiled floor as she aimed straight for the mahogany office door. She hadn't covered more than a foot when the receptionist leapt up, lunging around her desk with surprising agility to block Nord's way. The palm of her hand slammed against Nord's shoulder.
"Hold up there, speedster," she spat, a mixture of irritation and resolve filling her words. "You're not pulling a Leroy Jenkins on me. Go away before I call the cops."
Nord froze for a split second, assessing her options. She then tried to sidestep the human barricade, but the receptionist matched her move, swift and determined. In a flash, Nord shifted her tactics. Her hand shot out, seizing the receptionist's wrist and twisting it behind her back with the precision of a seasoned fighter. She pushed the woman forward, pressing her against the cold marble counter.
"I said I need him now!" Nord snarled, her voice turning into a guttural growl that rumbled deep in her chest. Her neck muscles tightened, veins pulsing under her skin as she applied just enough pressure to make her point. "Tuesday doesn't work for me."
At that precise moment, the office door swung open with a burst of energy. A man stepped out, his eyes rounding like saucers at the tableau before him. "What the hell is going on here?"
Releasing her iron grip, Nord allowed the receptionist to scurry away. The woman massaged her wrist, sending Nord a glare potent enough to ignite paper. Nord's gaze, however, was already on the newcomer.
"You're Merlinda Allatori's lawyer, I presume?" she asked, her tone icy yet composed.
"Yes, I am. And you are?" The man's words dripped with both exasperation and a flicker of genuine curiosity.
From her pocket, Nord fished out the business card—now slightly crumpled and damp—and extended it toward him. "Merlinda gave me this. I'm Nord Morningstar."
The lawyer's eyes widened further, if possible, as he looked from the soaked card to Nord's unwavering face. A brief, electric pause settled in the air before he blurted out, "Morningstar, as in—"
Nord cut him off. "Yes. That Morningstar. So, can we talk now, or do I need to schedule another wrestling match with your receptionist?"
The lawyer swallowed, suddenly aware that Tuesdays might not be set in stone after all. "Uh, right this way, Ms. Morningstar."
Nord slumped into the leather chair opposite the desk, her body sagging under the weight of exhaustion. The lawyer settled into his own seat, steepling his fingers and leaning forward as if bracing for impact. "So, how can I help you?"
Nord sighed. "What do you know about the Morningstars?"
"Enough to know that when one of you crosses paths with an Allatori like Merlinda, we're probably looking at apocalyptic odds," he quipped, letting out a chuckle as though he'd just told a brilliant joke.
Nord was not amused. She slid her chair closer to the table and rested her elbows on the glossy wood. Time was a luxury she couldn't afford. "I need to change a contract."
The lawyer raised an eyebrow. "What kind of contract are we talking about?"
"Merlinda told me you have an open mind, is that correct?"
"Well, in my line of work, thinking outside the box comes with the territory."
Nord's eyes narrowed, calculating. "I made a deal. In exchange for all my happy memories, I'd be given the tools and knowledge to complete a specific task," she said, veiling the details in calculated ambiguity.
The lawyer leaned back, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Ah, we're dealing in metaphors, then."
"The problem is, once the contract is fulfilled, I won't remember him."
The lawyer tilted his head. "And why is that an issue?"
"We've been together for ten years. I can let go of my memories. We can make new ones. But losing him entirely—erasing him from my existence—is unacceptable. It'll destroy him," Nord's voice faltered, the emotional weight seeping through her usual stoicism.
The lawyer stretched back in his chair, his hand moving to cradle his head as he rocked slightly. "I was never much of a fan of fantasy novels, but let's go along with this. Ten years ago, you were what, eighteen?"
"Fifteen. He was sixteen," Nord clarified.
"Ah, minors then. But it seems legal loopholes aren't what you're after. You're seeking universal law amendments, correct?"
"Exactly."
He considered her for a moment, his eyes sharpening. "So you made a pact. You traded your happy memories for some nebulous 'tools,' and you're okay with that part. But the kicker is he'll cease to exist for you. Do I have that right?"
"Yes."
"Is there a reason other than this love story? You don't seem like the sort to throw everything away for a guy, that's all."
Nord looked at him, her eyes piercing. "Is love not reason enough?"
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The lawyer sighed, realizing he'd ventured into territory that transcended contracts and legalese. "Well, then. It appears we have quite the quandary, don't we?"
Nord nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, we do. So, can you help me?"
The lawyer stood up from his leather chair, moving toward the expansive window that framed a tapestry of city lights and towering skyscrapers. His hands found their way into his pockets as he spoke, his words echoing softly against the glass. "You know, I've been married three times. If those experiences taught me anything, it's that love is rarely, if ever, enough."
He paused, staring at the frenetic world below as if searching for answers in the labyrinthine streets and glowing windows. "Unconditional love is a scarce commodity, often reserved for the bond between a parent and child. And let's be frank, not everyone gets to experience even that."
Turning back to face Nord, his expression was tinged with a melancholy wisdom. "Relationships are transactions at their core. You provide something essential to me, and I reciprocate. That can manifest in various ways: financial support, emotional security, comfort, physical intimacy, affirmation, and so on."
He walked back to his desk and leaned against it, locking eyes with Nord. "They're ugly words for capturing something as complex and beautiful as human connection, but there it is."
Nord looked at him, absorbing the gravity of his words. She couldn't deny the transactional elements in her own relationship, the exchange of support and love, of shared dreams and, sometimes, shared burdens. Yet, wasn't that exchange a part of the beauty, the fabric that wove two lives together so intricately that the thought of tearing it apart was unbearable?
"Maybe you're right," she said finally, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and defiance. "Maybe love isn't enough in the grand scheme of things. But sometimes, it's all we have to offer. And sometimes, it's all we want in return."
The lawyer looked at her for a long moment as if measuring the weight of her words against the sum of his life's experiences. Finally, he nodded. "In your case, love might just be the closest thing to a universal law. Let's see if we can't amend that contract of yours."
Nord rose from her chair, moved to his desk, and began clearing away stacks of paper, pens, and an ugly trinket. Her finger traced a quick rune in the air, and in an instant, a massive pile of documents materialized on the desk with a thud.
The lawyer's eyes widened. "What is that?"
"That's the contract," Nord clarified.
"That's... very extensive."
"Over five hundred pages. Baal went through it meticulously, looking for loopholes, but found nothing," Nord added.
He stared at her, puzzled. "So let me get this straight. This contract, which you've conjured out of thin air—forgive my lack of expertise in fantasy novels—you're a witch?"
"Warlock," Nord corrected.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Warlock. I summon demons. Baal is a demon. I made a pact with him, which grants me certain powers. That makes me a warlock, not a witch."
The lawyer looked at the towering stack of paper as if it might spontaneously combust. "I've never encountered a contract this colossal. You say Baal's looked for a loophole. If he's as invested in changing this contract as you are, why hasn't he?"
Nord's expression tightened with frustration and exasperation. "I told you, he's a demon. Demons don't lie; they're bound by their word. He can't alter the terms of a pact once it's made any more than I can."
The lawyer leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together, eyes scrutinizing Nord. "Well, that presents a unique challenge, doesn't it? And are you sure you want to keep this relationship? I mean, I see you're in love and all, but nothing lasts forever."
Nord leaned in, her eyes intense. "But what if it does? Some couples stay together until death separates them. Why can't Baal and I be one of them?"
It was as if a light bulb had suddenly been switched on above the lawyer's head. "Until death do us part!" He bolted out of his chair as if struck by divine inspiration, pacing excitedly around the room. "You don't want the contract annulled—you want it extended until recession!"
Nord squinted, struggling to keep up with the lawyer's rapid-fire train of thought. "I'm not sure I'm following you..."
The lawyer stopped, planted his palms flat on the desk, and locked eyes with her. "You need to marry him!"
"Marry him?" Nord blinked, momentarily stunned.
The lawyer sank back into his chair, grinning as if he'd solved a puzzle that had stumped the greatest minds for ages. "Yes, go to a Register Office, get married, and make it clear in your vows. That way, you don't just get an extension on your contract, which is due to end in four days, but you'll also get your assets back—your memories. A marriage contract merges assets. His assets become your assets, which means he can't keep your memories hostage. He'd have to give them back until death comes for one of you."
Nord's eyes widened as realization flooded her face. "So, if I incorporate that into my vows—"
"And if he echoes them back to you," the lawyer cut in, "clean, straightforward, then you've got your loophole. You can live happily ever after, bound by a law that not even a demon can refute."
Nord felt a smile stretch across her lips, her heart throbbing in her chest as if suddenly infused with hope. "Wow," she whispered, almost disbelieving. "Just wow."
The lawyer opened a drawer and pulled out a pastel pink sheet of paper, contrasting with the otherwise austere atmosphere of the room. He handed her the sheet along with a sleek, silver pen.
"Here, take this. Write down every word, and let's make sure it's bulletproof, shall we?"
Nord took the paper and pen, laying the sheet flat on the desk. She felt the pen's weight in her hand as if it were a wand of transformation. "Bulletproof, right. No loopholes for a demon to sneak through."
"Exactly," the lawyer leaned back, watching her intently. "Remember, the devil—pardon the pun—is in the details."
Nord looked up and grinned at the joke, then turned her focus back to the paper. Slowly, she began to write, her hand moving as if guided by something greater than her.
"'I, Nord Salomé Morningstar...'"
----------------------------------------
Baal's legs pressed against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, his fingers interwoven in a desperate mesh of hope and superstition. His eyes were riveted to the glass window of the oven, entranced by the tantalizing dance of the soufflé's golden-brown crust.
"Grow, you glorious puff of air. Make me proud, come on, make daddy proud," he muttered, his lips almost grazing the floor. "Come on, you little miracle of eggs and air—grow, grow."
Beside him, Kirara purred affectionately, rubbing her fluffy body against his jeans as if offering her own form of prayer.
Then it happened—the door creaked open with the menacing subtlety of a horror film's score. The soufflé, once poised for culinary greatness, deflated miserably, surrendering to the sudden change in air pressure.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Baal groaned, his voice steeped in disappointment.
Startled by his outcry, Kirara leapt away, her tail fluffed up like a bottle brush.
"Baby, I'm home!" Nord's voice filled the apartment, tinged with a note of urgency that sent an instinctual shiver down Baal's spine.
Scrambling to his feet, Baal dashed towards the hallway, his slippers scuffling against the floor. There, soaked to the bone, stood Nord. Water dripped from her hair, pooling around her feet, and clutched in her arms was a wedding dress, limp and equally drenched.
"Nord, what the hell?" Baal exclaimed, his eyes darting from her dripping figure to the saturated dress she held. "Am I missing something?"
"We need to talk, Baal," Nord's voice quivered her eyes a kaleidoscope of fear, hope, and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint.
Baal moved closer, his hands reaching for the dress. Nord tightened her grip, her knuckles white. "Talk, Nord. You're scaring me. What's going on?"
Tears escaped her eyes as she struggled to form words. "You love me, right?" Her voice was a broken whisper, "You really love me?"
"Of course, I love you. What happened? Are you alright?"
Nord flinched as Baal attempted to pull her into an embrace. "I need a 'yes' or 'no' answer, Baal."
He swallowed hard, his heart pounding audibly in his ears. "Okay, spit it out, Morningstar."
"Will you marry me?"
"Wha--"
"No explanations, just—please, say yes. I'm begging you, Baal, please say yes," Nord tightened her grip on the wedding dress as if it were a lifeline.
His eyes searched hers, every fibre of his being wanting to understand the urgency, the desperation. But in that moment, clarity washed over him. He gently pulled her close, the wet dress squelching between them.
"If it's what you want, then yes, of course, I'll marry you," he whispered, his voice tinged with emotion. "There is nothing else that I want more than to share my life with you. But we don't have rings and--"
"I don't give a damn about the rings!" Nord's voice broke, "I just want to get married."
"Okay, okay," Baal soothed, stroking her wet hair. "What's the next step then?"
Nord looked at her phone, her breath still uneven. "We have, maybe, less than twenty minutes to get ready."
"Twenty minutes? For a wedding? Are you serious?"
"Yes, I scheduled us at the Registry Office. They have a spot in forty-five minutes."
"Registry Office? You've actually booked a slot?" Baal's eyes widened, incredulity and amusement wrestling for dominance on his face.
"Yes, and if we don't hurry, we're going to miss it!" Nord emphasized, her eyes flicking to the wall clock ticking away their precious minutes.
"Alright, alright, I can work with that," Baal muttered, his eyes narrowing in determination. With a sudden burst of energy, he bolted down the hall, shouting over his shoulder, "I call dibs on the bathroom!"
As the sound of footsteps faded and a bathroom door slammed shut, Nord looked down at the white bundle of satin and lace in her arms. She then met Kirara's inquisitive eyes and offered the cat a conspiratorial wink. "It's going to work, you'll see! We are not losing him."