“Are you a faithful man?” the Butcher asked.

The man beneath his blade quaked, quivering as his ichor soaked hand rose in pithy defense.

“I can give you time for a prayer, if you like,” he offered. “But only if you answer a simple question of mine.”

The venison strangled out an answer. “P-Please!”

The blade lifted away. The lamb was already bleeding out- his blade too far to bring his Butcher with him. The Butcher knelt over the living corpse, and beset upon the faithful a query.

“Why is your god so lazy?”

“W-What?”

“I’ve killed so many of you faithful sorts,” the Butcher gripped the head of his quarry. “Yet not a single time have I seen your Lady intervene. I have seen hundreds, no- thousands, of clasped suns, and yet not a single time has its wrath come down upon me.”

“The Lady works in m-mysterious ways!”

“Well, that’s why I ask- what stops her from intervening? From tending to her flock? Do your prayers even reach her?” The Butcher queried. It was then he saw the terror in the lamb’s eyes. A quiver- a moment of doubt. Only then did the blade fall.

Killing a man of faith always left a bad taste on the Butcher’s tongue.

—---

The first night was a fluke. The boy was beginning to convince himself. During his languid waking hours, he focused on defending the pithy exodermal protection his boil skin offered. It would always start with the hair- clumps of rusted locks would still loosen. Had he not possessed the experience of a lifetime before, he would have feared this would be the look he possessed for what remained of his mortal existence. Instead, he focused what stress of anxiety his prickling electric pain offered upon the Periodicals he had on hand.

He did what he could to not appear… interesting.

It was difficult to understand her. Her curious gaze, her attention to detail, she saw a different world than him… and unlike the girl in his memories, this precocious creature was not aware enough to hide her true nature. A lifetime ago, he would have been thrilled to have experienced such a moment of attention. The memories he now possessed, on the other hand, gave him a more informed insight. Her gaze, wreathed in gold, was only locked upon him because he presented a threat. That was the only conclusion he could reach- and thus the only way he could answer her concerns was to do everything he possibly could to appear non-threatening.

But his tactic was simply to appear boring.

He greatly underestimated her curiosity.

Given her perception, Touslaine should have known better- his attempts to appear boring only made him more interesting to her. Had she more people to observe, perhaps his minor acting could have slipped past her notice.

However, she was bored.

And so it began. Every night he would settle upon his bed, a record in hand, and she would simply manifest, brimming with questions.

“You don’t need this one, do you?” she’d start by taking a book he discarded to the side.

“This hardly seems like the easiest way to learn magic,” she’d interject at a random interval.

“If you were studying this hard, why’d you try burning your mana? I doubt that was advised by any of these lectures…”

Her voice would cut in each time he thought he could relax, poking and prodding at his ears where his skin couldn’t take it. Touslaine knew patience was ideal. There was always an easy way out. All he had to do was mention these visits to her mother once. It was already clear she care deeply for the woman. It was only right to do so, but it still surprised him how concerned she actually was.

For all his poor acting, she too was a novice at disguising her true intent. He was as much a mystery to her as the rest of this world was to him.

The lines were blurring again- if this was indeed a test of the gods, then it was intricately put together. Such an accurate representation of a location would have been understandable. But the trick they used to pull her off? That was incredible. She was not mirroring the girl in his past- she was dynamic, chaotic and far more involved than she had been in the memories he had.

Were his memories the dream? Or was this still the dream?

The possibility gnawed at him. There were moments at a time where he believed, if even for a moment, he could find a different path forward. The urge to test it would bubble up whenever Lady Magdelyn would visit him for a checkup, or when the Maid would change his sheets. But he bit his tongue regardless.

For all his faults, Touslaine Verduryne believed he led a full life. Sure it ended… prematurely, but he could not say he died without having left a modicum of a mark upon history. Well, maybe a sentence’s worth of deeds. Regardless, he could hardly imagine leading a different life. If he dared to change anything, then it would surely be…

No. That would be too greedy.

Instead of daring to tell Lady Magdelyn to take her daughter and run at the first opportunity, instead of warning the Maid her job security would dry up in a matter of years, or even warning the cook not to try roasting those strange black seeds from beyond the Holidom’s south on an open flame, he chose to keep his focus on the one thing that should have informed him if this was a purgatory or not: History.

It was a simple theory, really. Could the gods really afford to allow something in their position to reflect a falsehood? Would they allow an impurity to persist in their perfect little cage? The boy could not help but explore the depths of the most delirious tangent in all this trap’s details- the mundanity of academia.

But if this were an illusion…

Touslaine could only respect its craftsman.

Every stupid idea. Every nonsensical proposition. Every single ridiculous speech he could find in the bowels of the serialized ramblings of every presentation held in that academic mecca was preserved. Things like the questions raised about dog brains that would never be answered were raised in parody sessions. There was one at least every three years. Nobody would ever actually follow up on these lectures of course- who would dissect a dog?

Just reading the successive evolution of those lectures, the mixture of parody and serious academic engagement growing more muddled as the joke made way for genuinely insightful observations about loyal companions and steadfast friends. They were a rare highlight in the course of his studies, as he perused each collated collection.

There was a path amongst these lectures. A path back to magic. A path he could pursue and study and push himself far, far away from this land, this family, this place. The longer he lingered, the most he realized he was sinking into the seductive fantasy this illusion created.

There was not a man, woman, beast or fae who did not long for their past. Before experience warped the world around them into something nuanced and grotesque. To relive a life with the tempering they had and the knowledge they possessed, to know in advance what would happen. Hindsight.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Try as he might to deny it, it the notion gnawed at him. What if he could change something? Just to test it? Mention a… lost book or perhaps suggest the Chef shoot his shot with a certain maid. Twist the memory he had to find new variations, new paths, new…

No.

He could not afford that manner of indulgence- if he gave in, the results could have compounded upon the world around him. So instead of changing the lives of others, Touslain Verduryne settled upon changing just one individual element of the tapestry formed of his formative years: himself.

If only a certain element of his illusionary redemption would leave him be.

“What’s ‘Allomium Tea?’”

Touslaine’s hand flew out. His fingers gripped the book in her hand, and attempted to wrench it away from her prying fingers. His hands, however, lacked the grip, tearing at the page and sending shingles of pain up his arm. He recoiled, relenting with a fierce look.

Her eyes shimmered with gold- she had struck upon something worthy of a reaction and she savored the entertainment.

Touslaine’s jaw set itself askew. He knew had revealed himself, revealed a nexus of knowledge that only drove her to pursue his retreat.

But he did not answer her.

“Don’t mention that to your mom,” he simply turned back to his own book.

The girl leaned, her elbows propping upon the mattress as she leaned in. Like a lion, preying upon the lamb, her gaze burned holes through Touslaine’s form as he slipped from page to page, doing his best to ignore the creeping sensation. It was only then that he considered the context and the choice of his words, and realized what drew this reaction.

“It’s not like that,” he slammed his book shut. “It’s… a different type of drug. Nothing to do with… you know.”

Her wry smile indicated that she knew… but she did not believe a word he said.

“Ore- LIA!”

The sharp tone of the healer’s voice cut through the thick inky darkness of the night. The redstone lamp was hardly the best light, but when intensified enough for book reading, the darkness faded into an inky void. Even then, he could see it. Lady Magdelyn’s form, fists knotted to her sides, as she stood in the frame, furious at the lass who she had so carefully raised.

“Lia’s” eyes turned to face her mother- could she see the enraged healer more clearly with those eyes? Her cheeks began to flush as she pulled herself away, and rose from her chair.

The silence grew taut about Touslaine’s throat. He could not dare his tongue to move- how could he, when he was not even responsible for this manner of mess?

“Forgive her young lord,” the Lady’s voice carried through the darkness. Touslaine reached up and brushed his fingers upon the leaves about the lamp- they began to slide down, smothering the red glow. He seated a bookmark in his opened tome and and set it aside, laying it upon his second pillow as he readjusted his vision.

“T-Think nothing of it,” the boy took a moment to compose his reply. “We were both… bored.”

The woman’s eyes were threatening to punch a whole through him- “Lia” must have inherited that glower. It was clear her concerns were more on behalf of the girl she hugged so close.

For some reason, the image… stuck.

Even if all he could see were their silhouettes, he could almost feel the searing glower of the woman that cradled her child. What was mingling with it? The taste of bitterness? A hint of caution? How he wished he possessed the eyes to pierce the veil…

No.

I had already spent a lifetime wishing for things I could never have.

Instead, the boy surmised it would have been more helpful to ponder on the things he did have.

Despite how… short the list happened to be.

From the silence, it was clear Magdelyn thought little of his excuses. Even less for his attempts to excuse himself… or her daughter. The fact she held her tongue indicated there was little he could do to distract her from the trespass.

What stake did she have in this? He supposed her caution was warranted, given the queries she had first posed. His usage of the serials had served an efficient smoke screen with her, but Magdelyn was a healer- unlikely to be side tracked by hypotheticals and odd observations.

Would this be the rest of his life now? Constantly compelled to fear by roaming eyes and twisted logic? Fearful his every slip up would land him in hotter water?

No, he would need a distraction. Not just for her but her Mother as well. Someone he could place the blame for the revelation that lead him to that exhalation.

A part of him dreamed that she would let it go. It had been a mistake, a colossal one by his reckoning- he had yet to make the mistakes that would define him after all. Would he make them again? He doubted it now- not with the knowledge he now possessed.

“Rest now young lord,” Magdalyn’s voice was razor sharp as she gazed upon him in the darkness. Touslaine wished it was that easy. Every breath he took drove his delicate skin against the sheets, every step akin to trampling on nails. Was it not fair to assume this had been a cruel prank of the gods when he first awoke? To relive the consequences of his dumbest mistake?

But now that time was passing, it was easier to fit into his role. His confusion giving way to understanding, his trust growing ever stronger that this was indeed a life he would have to live.

Thus, as the sound of the door slamming shut resonated through the room, Touslaine lay in bed and considered his options.

As the sun rose next, Touslaine found himself simply… staring. He did not quite recognize this ceiling. This was not really his room after all. The way it was structured suggested it was better suited for someone older- the ledge by the window was higher than he could clear with a hop, the bed so large it threatened to swallow him whole at times.

Whose room had it been again?

There were many members of Verduryne family who could have called this space their own. HIs grandfather, grandmother, innumerable uncles, and an almost equal amount of aunts. They were a provincial family at best, with households all across the fertile lands of Aureum. And with that sort of life came a great many hands.

The two that served the annex during Touslaine’s healer-imposed quarantine. There was the Maid. He kept forgetting her name, despite having asked it innumerable times. She was a rare presence, and he could hardly blame her. From what he recalled, for much of his early healing the very muscles of his jaw refused to operate, forcing the poor woman to reach beneath his chin and gently pry the apparatus of his mouth open.

She earned her keep, and the right to not share the room with him.

The next was the chef. Gods he missed having real food. His tongue could not taste, but the site it, the scent of it, the sound of it. To hear cream bowling about a room, the crisp crunch of freshly baked bread. If he had to live life anew, then these were the simply comforts he never wanted to sacrifice again. And when his tongue healed? Oh he was already compiling a list in his head of what to indulge in. Chocolate, Coffee, those little snack cookies the chef would sneak in- they had little deposits of jelly in them that sparkled like jewels and Touslaine for the lives he lived could not recall the taste of them.

But how he so relished the opportunity to savor it anew.

Alas this left the boy with a terrifying problem- neither party were likely to know of Magdelyn’s identity.

To have a child out of wedlock was frowned upon by the Sielsus Church, but no longer punishable with stoning. She could claim such a thing if she wished. Instead, she feigned adoption as an explanation for the presence of her girl.

It was certainly believable, given the nature of her gaze.

But to connect the girl to her father would have required a few conditions- for one thing, he would had to have been graced wit the presence of the Emperor himself. There was no way for Touslaine could have met the man. There was a quality to the gaze of royalty- one inexpressible through art alone. The few frescos he had seen in a lifetime before could start to approach the arresting vision she possessed, but to achieve this effect, the artists had to resort to a level of extreme abstraction.

No, the possibility that he reached this conclusion alone was never going to work.

Instead, he needed a different angle- an external force.

But who did he know that understood the nature of Magdelyn and her daughter?

His father was an option- one who would immediately call out his lie. From what he remember of the stern man, Touslaine knew that Thsoulyn had a soft spot for the golden daughter of a woman he held dear. No, comparatively speaking, Touslaine was a threat. Plus, Thouslyn never spoke to his son about these matters.

Thouslaine had spent half a life in ignorance before. He had no plans to repeat that misstep.

So his father was no option. His mother perhaps? No, the woman was… preoccupied. Distant. Unrelated, divorced from the concerns of the Verduryn household.

Then there was the head staff.

A name came to mind.

A man loyal to the house, but more to the name than the people.

A most seditious smile spread across his features… the sensation of his cheeks searing from the pain of the gesture drawing out a wince rather than the chuckle felt from deep within.