As Myra made her way slowly back to her home on the far west side of town, she thought about her interaction with Roam and his promise to tell her more the next day. It was more than she had been expecting when she had started out that morning. She had hoped to get him to answer a few of her questions or maybe get him to tell her an extra story or two. Anything to delay her return home. She thought perhaps she might even get some real answers out of him regarding the gods and their silence towards her. She had not really expected that he would concede and invite her to hear more stories. She wondered what had brought about such an abrupt change of mind in the old Storyteller.

As she pondered this question, head bent low and eyes scanning the worn stone that formed the path she walked, she came to an abrupt stop as her eyes rested on a set of weather-beaten wooden stairs.

Myra hesitated, dreading the coming moments where she would have to walk up those stairs and into her house. With a sigh of resignation, she shuffled up the steps, audible creaks sounding from the worn boards, and slipped quietly through the door.

Myra stopped just inside as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light inside. With another audible sigh, she took a few steps forward and grabbed a lantern waiting on the table nearby, lighting it with flint and steel.

She winced at the sudden brightness brought forth by the lantern and quickly adjusted the shutters to limit the light pouring out. Looking around the room, her heart sank as she saw the figure seated on a bench by the fireplace.

“Hi Dad,” Myra said softly. “I’m home.”

Darius was seated facing away from her, staring into the cold fireplace. Despite the light from Myra’s lantern, the corner in which her father sat was still dark and gloom seemed to surround him.

With barely any movement, Darius turned to catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye before turning back towards the fireplace and responding quietly.

“Hi honey, how were the stories today?”

Myra walked over to his side and sat gently next to him on the bench.

“They were really fun. Mr. Roam is a great Storyteller.”

A tiny smile formed on Darius’s face as he continued to stare into the dark fireplace.

“Mr. Roam huh? Look at you getting to know a Storyteller’s name. I’m sure you pestered him nonstop, didn’t you?”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Myra gave her own small smile as she scooted closer to him on the bench. Leaning over, she rested her head against her father’s arm and contemplated her next words.

“I…I did ask him a lot of questions today, but he didn’t answer any of them. Though he did say that he would tell me some more stories tomorrow.”

“That’s great honey, I’m sure that’ll be lots of fun,” came her father’s absent reply.

Myra hesitated before continuing.

“Dad, I asked him about the gods today. About why I can’t talk to them occasionally like everyone else does.”

Finally, Darius turned away from the fireplace and looked at Myra with a pained expression on his face.

“I see. And what did he say?”

Myra frowned and shifted uncomfortably.

“He didn’t answer. But he did say he would tell me what he could tomorrow.”

“I see,” her father repeated. “Well… if that’s what he thinks is best…”

Myra lifted her head off her father’s arm to look directly at his face. She saw that his expression had shifted from pained to dreading as he anticipated her next question.

“But why should I have to wait? You could tell me right now, couldn’t you? You could tell me what’s wrong with me!”

“Honey, we’ve been over this before,” came Darius’s gentle reply. “It’s not my place to tell you about it. That’s a privilege reserved only for Storytellers. I…” Darius hesitated before continuing. “I’m sure if Mr. Roam decides that you’re ready, he’ll tell you all about it. But I can’t. I just can’t.”

Myra nodded along slowly with her father’s words. She had known that this would be his response. But even still, she could feel the warm sensation of tears forming in her eyes as a familiar wave of frustration washed over her.

She stood up abruptly and turned away to fight back her tears. Clearing her throat, she took a small breath before changing the subject.

“Have you had dinner already?”

Darius grimaced and turned back towards the empty fireplace.

“Oh. Don’t worry about me, honey. I’m not hungry. But Mrs. Bellat brought some supper for you. It’s sitting on the counter.”

Myra turned and made her way over to the tray waiting for her.

Soup. With a side of fresh-baked bread.

Myra smiled and silently thanked Mrs. Bellat. The soup and bread may have grown cold in the intervening hours between its drop off and her return home, but it saved her from having to rummage through their own meager pantry to fix herself some dinner.

Lifting the tray, Myra began to walk towards her room.

“Myra wait.”

She halted and turned to see her father facing her from across the room.

“I…I’m sorry that I can’t give you the answers you want. I hope that the Storyteller can tell you something. Maybe enough to satisfy you. But I doubt it.”

Myra felt the hot tears welling up in her eyes again as she opened her mouth to respond. But an outstretched palm from her father stopped her before she began.

“And one more thing, Myra. No matter what the Storyteller says, no matter what anyone says, never let them tell you that there is anything wrong with you. Okay? There is nothing wrong with you honey. Absolutely nothing.”

*Plop*

A single tear escaped Myra’s eye and fell into her soup bowl.

“Thanks, dad.”

She turned back towards her room.

“Goodnight,” she said quietly.

“Goodnight Myra,” came her father’s soft reply.