“Demonkin diet consists mainly of meat rich in magical energy, and plants that come from mana-saturated soils. Their bodies constantly craving the energy, Demonkin away from home will often try swallowing mana crystals, occasionally leading to their untimely deaths. A good present for any Demonkin household is the fruit of Widowers, which contain an enormous density of magical energy, sometimes even used as a replacement for crystals in magical rituals.”
̶ The Great Cook Book: How to prepare meals for every race of the World, multiple authors, 990 AS
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The female maid gives my husband a cloth, which he uses to wipe his face.
“Come on let’s eat!”
The 6 of us, counting the Imp and the two-headed hound, pass two armored Demons that stand next to the doors of the castle, the Guards nodding and opening the door in compliance. We enter our new residence.
The inside is lit by several crystals hanging from the high ceiling, the interiors of the castle looking empty and sullen, the furniture still being carried around by various Demons and Imps around me. The Demons nod as they pass us, and several ‘greetings’, ‘master’ and ‘lord’ are heard. The maid directs us through the corridors of the castle, the grey walls illuminated by lit torches on them feeling as if we are in the dungeons of the Palace of Frital. I’ve been there once when I was little, accidentally stumbling across it when playing around. A shiver runs up my spine, trying to dismiss the memories.
I shudder at the thought of getting lost in this place, almost instinctively drawing near my husband as we walk, trying to hide behind his wide back, as if a great monster will jump in front of us at any time.
We are led to what seems like a dining room, with a huge table in the middle, dozens of chairs around it. Several suits of armor adorn the walls, a large white crystal on the ceiling providing light to the room. The light doesn’t feel warm; it just illuminates coldly, my thin hair on my arms standing straight from the cold air of the castle.
My husband takes the seat on one head of the table, and I am being guided to the other one. Several feet of dark wood separate us, as we wait in silence for the meal, maids slowly bringing out cutlery and food.
I wash my hands in the small basin presented by a small black Imp next to me; then wipe my hands on the towel handed to me by another one. The Imps are fit into small black clothes with ends that flow freely as the Imps walk clumsily, trying to hold the objects in their hands.
The Shadow Demon and my maiden Demon are standing at the sides of our room, ready to take order at any time. The room, although full of clamor and movement, is silent, no words are uttered between people, only the Imps making an occasional babble.
The large beast that is my husband’s pet is staying by his side, lazily moving around his heads to look across the room. My Imp is trying to make itself as small as possible as it sits on his bottom, occasionally glancing at the two-headed beast, with a glint of fear visible in its small eyes. It’s wearing some small garments, not nearly as clean, only managing to cover its small torso, the limbs branching out of it.
The table is finally a set, several plates of food presented to me and my husband. There are several pies and slices of meat that I can discern, but some foodstuff is just foreign to me.
My husband takes a fork and a knife into his hands. “Have a nice meal, my wife.”
My first meal at my new home has begun.
I slowly taste the meats and pies that I feel accustomed with, their taste almost identical to the foods back home.
The chalice in front of me is filled with a red liquid, my face reflected on its surface. I look at my reflection, noticing my tired face and droopy eyes. I will need to sleep better.
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The liquid turns out to be a sort of wine, pleasant to the tongue, light on the aroma. My head is not as dizzy as when I tried the wines made at home occasionally, this one feeling incredibly juice-like instead.
I spot a small shell on the table, similar to what I’ve seen on the few occasions I have visited the beaches with my parents when I was little. It’s firmly closed, still trying to contain its insides, even after being taken away from its resting place.
I notice a small pick-like tool next to the plate with the shell, determining that it is used to open it. I slowly take the shell in my hand, trying to rest it comfortably, yet keep it in place. It is cold, assumingly to be kept fresh and keep whatever it’s inside from spoiling.
I take the pick tool and try shoving into the small edge of the shell, trying to break it apart. After several tries, it pries open, my hands feeling numb from the effort. I need to start training my strength if I’m going to eat food here, apparently.
The shell opens to reveal the meaty insides, which slowly try to slip out of its now open container. I notice a small pearl buried in the meat, the black surface lazily reflecting the cold light of the crystal above us. I take a pearl in my hand, bringing it close to my face, trying to act like a jewel merchant would inspect his wares.
My husband notices my actions across the table, resting his cutlery on his plate. “Oh, you got a pearl on your first seashell, congratulations. The pearls are a rarity, a real surprise if you find them in your meal. We consider it a sign of good luck, especially when a lady opens the shell that contains it.”
My maiden walks towards me with a small red cloth, as with signaling me to rest the pearl in it. I do so, and proceed to eat the profits of my labour before. The meat of the shell is salty, reminding me of the air around the seaside, slowly drying my lips, as I reach for the wine in my chalice to refresh myself. The wine and the meat mix inside the mouth, the salt and sweet mingling together, as I spread the taste around my mouth, enjoying the pleasant feeling my tongue provides me.
The meal proceeds silently, with my husband occasionally handing some meat to his pet, the beast devouring its meal instantly, waiting for more. I try to do the same with my Imp, finding his babbles of joy cute and creepy at the same time.
My stomach almost stuffed with meat, I gently put down my cutlery and notice a soft looking fruit on one side of the table, yellow in colour, one end dripping purple liquid from the inside.
I poke it with my finger, the fluids pouring out at the response of my touch. I raise a questioning look towards my husband, hoping he will notice me and give me some sort of a verbal response.
“It’s a Widower fruit, you squeeze the fluids out and drink it, or you can just drink straight from it. It’s incredibly sweet and rich in magical energy, a true treat to the tongue.” He takes the same looking fruit from his end of the table and a small cup next to it, squeezing the contents out, the purplish liquid overfilling the cup, small drops going out its sides. He then presses the cup to his lips and closes his eyes in content, as if tasting the Heaven itself. The liquid drips from the end of his mouth, dying his red skin with a purple sheen, the entire scene strangely pleasing to my eyes.
I take my fruit in the hand, pointing the dripping end towards the small cup that I have put in front of me. The liquid lazily oozes out, my gentle squeezing rushing it against its will. Soon, the cup is full, as I try to relax and take the cup in my hand.
The sweetness fills my entire being, energy coursing through me, my mind feeling exhilaration. I can barely contain myself as I gulp the juice down greedily, as if someone were to take it away from me at any time.
I let out a small sound of pleasure, my husband chuckling in response.
“Delicious”.
My first meal at my new home is delicious.