"Elijah? Are you really sure that everything is alright? You certainly don't seem alright." Agatha tended to Elijah's head with some bandages, strapping the small cut behind his ear shut. She wore a worried expression, glancing at his face every so often to see if he grimaced or winced in pain. But he did not. He seemed to be distracted with thoughts. He didn't seem to be all there. He proved her thoughts right, after he ignored her questions.

"ELIJAH!" she exclaimed with her hands at her hips. "Can you not hear me?" Elijah woke out of the trance-like state he was in as Agatha waved her hand in front of his face. "O-oh. Yeah, I'm fine. I told you already, it was a small trip." He had managed to convince his sister that he had tripped over a mound in the earth and fell on his side.

Only an hour passed since he had heard the voice. He spent almost half an hour searching for both Raphael and the blue dancing lights. After he had exhausted himself, he finally returned home to an anxious Agatha who he calmed down after an extensive explanation. He wanted to tell Agatha about what had just happened. But it occurred to him that she would fall into a mess thinking that he had gone crazy. So he decided to keep it to himself. However, he still needed to know what she thought.

"Agatha, can I ask you a question?"

Agatha raised an eyebrow of suspicion but replied anyway. “Yes of course. What’s wrong?”

Elijah paused for a moment, hesitantly. After a hesitant pause, Elijah sighed before finally asking. “It’s nothing too serious. What do you think about… magic?”

Agatha stopped in her tracks, confused by the question. “Magic? What about it?” she asked, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on Elijah’s sealed bandages.

“I mean, do you think it exists?”

“Does it exist? Magic?” Agatha almost scoffed at the idea of magic existing. “I don’t think so Elijah. Why the sudden question?”

“No real reason Agatha. I was just thinking about it.”

Agatha continued to tend to his injuries, now moving to the deep gash on his knees. “I do wish that magic did exist though…” She worked the bandages pensively. She seemed just as hesitant as Elijah to speak. It was a sad day after all. “Perhaps, it could have brought mom back. Or maybe I wouldn’t like magic to exist. I prefer to live in the moment. There’s a magic in living right now, looking forward to what comes next. So I don’t know if magic exists. But if it does, I would rather it stay away from me. From us. I prefer this quiet and simple life.”

Elijah thought on her words for a few moments. She was right. Although she didn’t know what he was talking about, there was genuineness in her words. Perhaps he should let go of all of this. There was no reason to pursue any of this nonsense for any longer. He was an orphan commoner with absolutely no power or status whatsoever. Trying to find out about something strange could be quite dangerous. However, some part of him yearned to find out. To find out about the enigma Raphael, about the eerie voices.

“And what about voices?”

“Voices Elijah?”

“Yeah, voices, near mother’s grav- OW!” He winced in pain as Agatha tied the bandage too tight.

Agatha grew flustered, and quickly untied the bandage. “My God, Elijah are you alright? I didn’t mean to wrap it so tight.” Elijah grimaced as blood glistened on his knee. It was a strange cut, it hadn’t bled whilst he was outside looking for Raphael or for the voices. But now there was so much blood, it was almost gushing. Elijah sighed a breath of relief as Agatha finally sealed up the wound and let it go. “Voices, Elijah? Perhaps you imagined it? After all, it’s not like ghosts exist.”

“Ghosts? Yeah, I suppose that would be kind of crazy, right?”

“Yes, it would. Now, it’s late enough. Go to bed alright? And don’t mess around with those pages again. Just go sleep.” She inspected the bandages that she had placed on his knee. “No. These bandages aren’t enough. We have to go to Mother Rezeya tomorrow. We’ll pay for some stitches.”

“The church? Seriously? You know I hate going to the church.”

“Why would you ever hate going to the church?”

“Didn’t they make dad leave us all those years ago?”

Agatha met his eyes with a dangerous intensity. “They didn’t make dad leave, Elijah. Dad left on his own,” she uttered, the weight of the revelation settling heavily in the room.

“But, I saw-” he was agitated now. “I saw him, Agatha. I saw him arguing with the Father before he left us.”

“Elijah! You were five! You’re probably remembering wrong. Stop this now. Remember what I told you. This day is supposed to be for your birthday, not for mom’s death or dad’s disappearance. Alright?”

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Elijah’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, his brows furrowing with indignation. “Good goddamn job we’ve done at celebrating my birthday, huh?” he muttered under his breath, his lips forming a tight line.

“Elijah! What was that?!”

“Nothing, sis. Nothing at all.” His voice was so quiet now, that it if not for the sudden pinpoint silence, he wouldn’t have been heard.

“I heard what you said Elijah!” She breathed intensely. “You know what. A little bit of gratitude would do! I’m sick of looking after you day after day. Every single day for the last seven years. I have worked till my feet became red and spotty. I worked evert single day for you. And I hear that you caused trouble in school today?”

Elijah was surprised that she knew already. He had no idea as to who could have told her and this quick as well. “No Agatha, you don’t understand. I had an-”

“Have a what? An excuse?” Agatha’s face was twisted in a mixture of hurt and anger. Elijah had never seen her like this before.

“Agatha, I’m so-”

“I work day and night for you, just for you to talk back to me like this. I’ve come home dozens of times in the last month alone, just hoping that you don’t notice the bruises on my arms and legs. And then there’s your school. You must think I’m daft.”

Elijah felt as if his heart were taking a plunge into a bottomless abyss, the sensation lingering, twisting his gut in a painful knot. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to stream down his face. Don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of her.

“There was always an excuse-”

Agatha laughed bitterly. “An excuse. Always an excuse. That’s the same thing that father said to us when he left us. Left me. Left you. And you know why he left at that time? Because he heard the voices of ghosts.” By now, most of her anger had dissipated and it was replaced by an incessant sniffling. “So don’t you go talking about ghosts and magic, just so you can turn crazy like dad. I want you to stop thinking about all of it. And stop now. You’re only fourteen, don’t chase after stupid things.”

Tears betrayed Elijah's eyes, tracing a salty path down his face. The taste of sorrow lingered on his lips as he tried to wipe away the evidence with the cuff of his tunic. “Why didn’t you just tell me all this time?”

“Because I know you. I know us. I know how our family is. We’re too curious. You would just go chase after dad or this… this-” her face strained, almost as if she was hesitant to say it. “This utter crap. First you go missing for god knows how long. An hour? Two? Then you come in here injured, talking about magic, and voices, and dad leaving.”

She peered at Elijah’s demeanour, and stepped back. Her face contorted into the same expression she wore when she visited her mother’s grave. “Just go. Go sleep now.”

Elijah bolted out of the room, his footsteps echoing through the hallway, not sparing a glance backward, his tousled golden-blonde hair trailing behind him like a desperate plea. His heart felt like it would split into a billion shards. There was something strange with Agatha today, she was more agitated than usual.

As he reflected, Elijah couldn't help but think that other siblings might endure worse arguments. Yet, with someone as sweet and kind as Agatha, it almost felt like his heart was ripping apart. He didn’t know why he said it. Why did he mutter those things? Why did he feel so irritated by his birthday? It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Agatha’s efforts at making delicious food. His intentions weren’t to provoke her with talk of magic, voices, or their absent father. He didn’t even know that it would provoke her.

He rushed into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Panting heavily, he scanned the modest room, seeking refuge. His bedroom welcomed him like an old friend, the creaking wooden door protesting his hurried entrance. It was falling apart. And not only this room, but their very home itself. The wooden window frame was only just holding together, almost reluctant to stay standing. The walls had lost much of it's previous brown fervour and now was a wasted light brown, several hues lower. The entire building hung with an air of heavy dampness; almost too damp; to the point where it was nearly palpable. His eyes adjusted now, absorbing the dim glow of a flickering candle on the small table.

A room with a carpet, blanket, table, stool, and a small cabinet. There were such few things that you could count it on the fingers of one hand, and yet it was picture perfect like usual. This chamber had been painted by the same mundane picture every day. And someday, it became a canvas of monotony, of routine. Every day felt like a repetition of the last. Walking to school alone on the same familiar path, along the leaves filled with droplets of mountain dew. Trudging back home alone on the exact same, but instead his footsteps would be clearer, more pronounced. His solitary cadence would fill his ears until he would reach home.

Returning home to the same unassuming bungalow. Preparing the same potato mash that he had prepared for years on end. Soup that was created with ‘Mother’s love’. It was tiring. There was a certain tiredness in routine that could not be explained. And yet, despite so many repeated cycles, he was still at the same place. This room was his life, his routine, still unchanged from the very day that he was old enough to sleep by himself.

“Agatha says that I don’t appreciate her?” He paced the room, in circles hands grasping at his hair. “I never said that. I was just asking questions. What’s wrong with being a little curious sometimes? It wasn’t like I was going to hurt someone.”

Elijah sat in silence, contemplating Agatha’s words. Did he have any reason to persist in this pursuit? He knew the answer, and it echoed through his mind, urging him to reconsider.

Elijah eased himself down onto the carpet, the bristling fur beneath him a familiar discomfort. If this was his first time, the prickling sensation might have bothered him, but it had become a companion in countless restless nights. His back however attested to the bristling nature of the carpet. Signs of scratches and redness always marked his back. His restless fingers absentmindedly played with the frayed edges of his tunic. And finally Elijah pulled the blanket over himself as his train of thought ran circles in his mind.

His father. The voices. The voices. Raphael. His teacher. His mother. Agatha. The voices. The voices screaming for help. He yearned to go outside again to search once more for the voice. His eyes felt heavy from the endeavours of the day. The gentle moonlight faded as his eyelids shut them out like curtains. And finally, he fell asleep, and a veil fell on both his thoughts and his sight.

That night, Elijah’s dreams tangled with the events that transpired that day. And like most dreams, much of it didn’t make sense. However, there were parts that stuck to his memory. Parts about the very cause of the argument earlier.