Miranda very carefully, as if handling a grenade, set the Noble Brooch aside, pushed it towards me, and abruptly stood up. She strode across the not-so-crowded tavern hall and, reaching the counter, demanded two pitchers of the finest wine. Immediately receiving what she asked for, she expertly popped the cork off the first pitcher and guzzled down its entire contents. In one go. One and a half liters, without taking a breath.
Everyone in the hall, having watched this peculiar performance to the end, turned their gazes towards me. However, upon seeing the brooch in my hands and fully understanding its significance, they all, without exception, lowered their eyes and pretended to be engrossed in their food, as if they hadn't seen anything.
Miranda, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, grabbed the second pitcher and returned to her seat. She placed the wine on the table, uncorked it, and filled her goblet to the brim. She drained it, refilled it, and then looked at me with a keen and absolutely sober gaze.
"Bitch!" Miranda exclaimed, slamming her palm on the table so hard that the dishes jumped. "Not you," she corrected herself quickly. "Life is a bitch!" An empty goblet descended to the table and was immediately refilled. "You know, Raven, I was, well, content with all this. No, my life on Earth wasn't bad; many would even envy it. But it was..." She snapped her fingers, "...stale. Boring. And here, yeah, any moment some crazy shit can happen, and you're dead. True, but that's what gives life flavor. Real flavor, not the plastic substitute of consumption like on Earth. I even started getting some sort of pleasure from everything around me."
She pushed the full goblet of wine aside and started drilling me with her gaze.
"Especially since in our small company, I'm talking about myself, Ilona, and Flavius, I was the best. And I liked it. All kinds of hell were breaking loose around us, and I would stand there, smiling. Yes, Ilona heals better, Flavius is more skilled with an axe, but in that small group, I was the leader. And I handled that role well until that adventure on Portal Island."
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I turned all ears, letting her vent.
"Even after moving here and meeting other earthlings around Balkar, I didn't fade into the background. Nothing like that - I was better than many, if not all. Then I heard about this exam and, like a complete idiot, rushed here. And..." She gulped down another goblet as if it were water and poured a new portion of wine. "...and I met this 'wonderful Arien'! Bitch… not her, life is a bitch! I thought I was cool, but the way this Arien wiped the floor with me - it was something else. Everything I could do at my best, she did effortlessly while engaged in table talk. And what she could do with minimal effort was beyond my wildest dreams."
Even from my end of the table, I could hear her teeth grinding.
"You know," she lifted her gaze to me, "I even endured that. Endured that comparison. Raven, do you hear me? I endured it! But then you show up... And you spread me thin across this table," the seemingly fragile and tender female palm hit the tabletop, making it shudder, but everyone in the hall pretended nothing was happening. "You spread me out like dough. I strained my imagination to create someone who could, at least in my made-up story, outdo Arien. I came up with the hero Raven. I thought I made you up. But you... bitch... no, not you, life's a bitch. But you turned out to be cooler than my invention. Cooler than a fantasy on a free topic." Pleading was evident in her eyes. "You don't exist, tell me you don't! Tell me that idiot, what's her name - Molly Moon, hit me over the head, and I'm lying in the inn's yard, daydreaming. Tell me that!!!"
She screamed at the top of her lungs, causing the people in the tavern to duck their heads and begin to nervously settle up, clearly not wanting to witness a scandal involving a noble.
One wrong word, one incorrect gesture, and I'll lose her. Forever. Irreversibly.
With a calm yet confident gesture, I take her goblet and drink everything, then lay it on its side and push it towards the girl. Miranda catches the goblet, runs her finger along its edges, and utters just one word:
"Empty."
She nods to herself, places her hands flat on the table like a diligent student at her desk, and drops her forehead onto them. The force of her head striking her folded hands is such that the oak table, which has endured the carousing of rugged men, lets out a pitiful creak.