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Nora and I spent several hours in the quiet comfort of my room, both of us content in a companionable silence that needed no words. While she mulled over her first dark mage lesson, I dedicated myself to backfilling my journal. Choosing the events leading up to my anxiety attack over the original novel’s sudden hiatus and panic over my high school essay as catalysts for all the ensuing chaos seemed fitting. At this point, I didn’t have all the pieces to definitively mark that as the beginning of my story, but sometimes, you have to pick an arbitrary point and start from there. I couldn’t recall every detail perfectly, but the emotions tied to those events were still vivid in my otherwise faulty memory. So, I focused on those bright spots that signified they had some deeper impact on who I was or, more accurately, who I wanted to be.
It never occurred to us that Vernie would manage to obtain coffee the same day we asked for it, but late that evening, she and Mother Liora returned to my room with a cart laden with the promised goods. Though drinking so late would likely ensure a somewhat sleepless night, neither of us had the heart to turn it down or delay it. Vernie started a fire in the fireplace while Mother Liora worked a small, hand-held coffee grinder feverishly.
“We’re getting it fresh?” I asked excitedly. “I can help!”
“Just keep doing whatever you were doing,” Vernie declined with a wave of her hand. “You seemed pretty focused on that diary of yours.”
“Journal,” I corrected quickly. “It’s a journal!”
Diaries are for confessions. My journal was a record of significant events—at least, significant to me.
“Whatever,” she said with a smirk. “Just make sure to write how much you appreciate all of my efforts!”
“Of course I will…” I replied. “Coffee is a miracle!”
Vernie turned away from the small fire to scowl. “You better add more than just procurer of roasted beverages..!”
Nora laughed. “That sounds like an official title!”
“Let’s expand it,” I suggested. “Procurer of Miracles. And before you roll your eyes, I include getting and restoring my old armor in there, too, for which I’m very grateful.”
“Now you’re just being silly…” Vernie muttered, her cheeks coloring.
Mother Liora poured some ground coffee into a copper pot with a very long handle. “How much sugar?”
“Ah…” I looked at Nora and Vernie, who deferred to my judgment. “I like it sweet…”
Mother Liora watched me as she measured out the sugar, adding an extra few spoonfuls at my silent insistence. When the pot was put on the fire, we broke the rule and observed it closely until it began to boil.
“Smells incredible…” I remarked, inhaling deeply. “It’s been so long…”
Mother Liora was diligent in serving us, carefully pouring some of the foamy brew into small cups for each of us, herself included. She stopped to give the pot a small mix before pouring the rest slowly so as not to break the foam.
“It’s quite thick,” Nora observed as she peered into her cup.
“Yeah,” I agreed wistfully. “Kind of like how Mother used to make it.”
Vernie glanced at Nora but said nothing, busying herself with serving a few shortbread cookies from the cart.
Look at how yellow they are. There is a lot of butter in them!
It was mildly excruciating, but I did my best to remain patient, waiting for everyone to have a seat before helping myself to the cup of coffee.
“Strong…!” Nora croaked after a sip.
“It’s exactly as Mother made it,” I reaffirmed, savoring the familiar taste. “Even the pot used is the same.”
Vernie straightened and opened her mouth but then flinched under Nora’s stern gaze.
“I don’t really know who she is,” I admitted, hoping to ease Vernie's discomfort. “But she took care of me, so I’ll continue to call her 'Mother.'”
The question about Mother at this point is more of ‘why?’ than ‘who?’ … But I can’t say I was worse off for her actions.
“Maybe… She’s from here?” Nora asked in a hesitant whisper. “Like you?”
I frowned, staring at the last grainy dregs in my cup as if they could tell me my fortune. “I know it’s stupid, but I just have this weird feeling that the answer is no.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Ah…” was Nora’s evasive reply. She took another sip of her coffee, only to choke and spit it out.
“Oh!” I gasped. “Sorry, I forgot to warn you; you don’t want to drain the cup! All the grounds fall down there.”
“That’s it,” she spluttered. “We’re inventing coffee filters!”
As Nora, Vernie, and Mother Liora debated the merits of filtering coffee, which might reduce its robustness, I returned to my journal. It was the perfect way to harness the caffeine buzz, as there wasn’t much else I could do at the moment. While I was just a little hopeful that Relias might have come to see me that evening, I wasn’t surprised he didn’t. It was his first day trying to corral the General Assembly into something functional, and I could concede that in itself wouldn’t have made any other activity remotely bearable. Another two hours or so passed, and I found my hand cramping from all the writing it suddenly found itself in the midst of. I finished off the page I was working on about Raelina and her ghostly parents and then closed up my journal for the night.
“I think I’d like to get ready for bed,” I announced.
“You’re sleepy?” Nora asked in astonishment. “Already?”
“Yeah,” I yawned, feeling unexpectedly drowsy.
“Maybe your metabolism runs differently here,” she muttered. “We’re nowhere near the half-life mark of caffeine…”
"What are you talking about?" Vernie interjected, perplexed.
Nora gestured towards me. "The coffee has already worn off on her!"
“Probably all the sugar she had,” Vernie replied with a shrug. “She ate most of the cookies herself.”
That much was probably true, seeing as how their tiny crumbles remained around only me. With several yawns, I saw them out, thanking them all for keeping me company. Although nobody said it outright, I knew they were taking turns checking in on me while I was confined to the temple. Mother Liora’s motivations were probably slightly different, but at least she was pleasant while supervising my activities.
Settling into bed, I tried to feel secure, surrounded by so many who cared, even if their watch was born from necessity as much as it was affection.
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After hitting the hospital floor, I regained my senses and found myself in an unfamiliar office, a round room with a dark dome overhead that glowed with an otherworldly purple light. Bookcases lined the round walls, filled to the brim with books and scrolls, meticulously arranged to fit perfectly within their designated spaces. The marbled floor had been polished until the gold flecks within it gleamed. However, the lack of furniture suggested that the room was somehow incomplete.
His abrupt shriek from the entrance behind me echoed angrily through the room. “Impossible!”
I turned quickly, only to watch his blazing, oversized death scythe form in between his shaking hands. “I should have killed you while I—”
“Oh, put that ridiculously unbalanced weapon away,” I said dismissively. “I am merely here to ask a question.”
He trembled, clearly torn between rage and confusion. “How…”
“I do not know exactly,” I admitted. “But my question is important enough for me to have found a way here. And I am not here to fight.” I pointed at my hospital gown. “Such attire is not conducive to strenuous physical activity.”
It was an awry attempt at humor since I had no physical presence whatsoever.
He kept his distance, still clutching his scythe as if it were sustaining him. “Ask your question quickly,” he hissed, both eyes glittering coldly. “Knowing I’m under no obligation to answer it.”
I nodded, knowing this was the best I could possibly hope from him. “Is Mother… one of your subordinates?”
A flicker of confusion crossed his features briefly before both eyes snapped shut. “I have no idea of whom you speak.”
“She said she promised ‘him’ she would follow ‘the rules,’” I added slowly, carefully watching for any further reaction.
“And you think I am this ‘him’?”
“I think you…” I paused, my own confusion setting in. “You. Who are you exactly? What is your name?”
He slowly lowered his scythe, the blade dimming. “You… don’t remember my name?”
“Wait! Do not tell me. It is…”
“Not important,” he finished for me. “Do not bother to strain yourself.” He paused, one eye opening in curiosity. “Are you… incarcerated?”
Incarcerated?
I looked down at my spiritual self with a dejected sigh, realizing it must look like I was wearing prisoner garb. “No. I’m convalescing. I’ll be allowed out into the real world very soon, however,” I said reassuringly, though it sounded more like I was trying to convince myself.
The scythe disappeared as he crossed his arms, a dramatic gesture that seemed almost out of character. “I would not put too much trust in this ‘Mother’ being if I were you.”
“You’re probably right,” I conceded. “Fortunately, she cannot send me back because she does not know where I’m from…” I paused again, a thought nagging at me. “Where am I from?”
He swiftly raised his hand. “You said you only had one question for me, yet that is your fourth.”
I realized I had unwittingly lied to him. “Oh… My apologies. I suppose I should leave now.”
“Indeed,” he replied curtly.
I felt our conversation had been overly abrupt, so I added casually, “By the way, I like your new office. It’s very stylish, though it looks a bit empty. Maybe you should get an oversized desk? And a chair—something with wheels so you can scoot around without getting up.”
He appeared quite taken aback, though I was unsure if it was because of my choice of words or their content. “What?”
I tried again to end our conversation on an amicable note. “You recently received a promotion, right? You should celebrate while you still can.”
“Are you threatening me?” he asked, his tone hardening.
“No,” I replied, a little disheartened to see that my novice attempts at friendly vernacular were still lacking. “You have a lot of responsibilities now, that’s all. I hope it works out for you.”
The scythe reappeared in his hands. “Leave! Now!” he shouted shrilly. “And don’t ever come back!”
With that final, unwavering command, I opened my eyes, noting the two horrified nurses staring down at me.
“I take it my discharge to home has been delayed?” I said with an insufferable sigh.
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Chapter inspirations:
1) Turkish Coffee
2) Maya Angelou's 'maybe' quote, "I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
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