In the classic epic poem The Frenzy of Renald, the alluring Seraphine is sought after by many of its characters, including the titular Renald, who was supposed to be a faithful knight, led astray by this unfortunate infatuation. As Damian put his cini book into his briefcase, after the lecturer was done presenting the programs and schedules for the coming academic year, for some reason he found himself unable to think of anything but the image of the valiant knight falling to temptation and leaving the rightful path to pursue his misplaced love.

For a prolonged moment, he hesitated closing down his briefcase. The rest of the students in the room, mostly composed of three chatty groups of girls, plus two more solitary and book-wormy guys, left the room in no hurry, but Damian struggled to follow them. He clenched his fist, then finally left the small lecture hall in the local public library, deliberately not looking at the words "Faculty of Alchemy program" spelled in big, tempting letters on the chalkboard. As he walked out of the library, he felt as if, no matter how deep he breathed, no air actually reached his lungs. Was he sick? Did he eat something bad the day prior? He glanced at the clock tower, emerging over the low roofs in the area. Too early. Too early to go back home. In the past hour or so, he hadn't so much as given a passing thought to what was waiting back home, but now that prospect somehow added even more weigh to the tightness in his chest and throat.

His feet moved mechanically, crossing the village and carrying him all the way to the edge of the fields that lay outside. Only then, when the only witnesses were the stone brick wall he was leaning against and a few cows, peacefully ruminating on the other side of a wooden fence, he loosened his grip over his briefcase and sat down. He showed no concern over where or how the case fell, nor what kind of surface was he about to sit on.

What was he doing? Everything was going according to plan, and yet he couldn't help but feel like some dark and ravenous chasm in his chest was slowly but surely swallowing his heart whole, suffocating it in the process.

He sat there silently for a time, unable to tell whether it was a long or a short time, listening to the sound of his own breath, trying not to think about stuff.

Damian opened his eyes, having forgotten ever closing them in the first place. Some kind of distorted ring, like a distant bell sound filtered through water to the point of resembling a loud and grotesque meow, had awakened him. No constellations were visible in the sky, only a pervading bright purple hue that, somehow, bathed the landscape in an eerie shade of red, turning the cows in the field into indistinct black stains in the field in front of him.

"What's the matter?" Boomed a gruff voice. "Are you lost, little one?"

Damian jumped on his feet, unable to locate the source of that voice. "Who… who are you?"

Something similar to a laugh filled the air. "You could call me a friend, I suppose, since our purposes align."

What did that voice mean? In what way did their purposes align? Damian didn't want to ask those questions aloud, but his mind couldn't help racing to try and find some kind of answer. Only one came to mind: this whole thing smelled of faerie shenanigans. Logically speaking, there shouldn't be any other possible option. After all, was he supposed to believe that this was happening, just by chance, right after he married a fairy? There had to be some connection between his marriage and whatever the fresh hell was happening around him. Was his wife playing a trick on him? Maybe her innocent kid look was nothing but a facade, something he definitely didn't struggle to imagine. Or, maybe, some other magical creature noticed his new wife's presence in the area and got curious. Either way, he couldn't tell without engaging further in the conversation.

"My purpose belongs to me," Damian answered eventually, "and I don't intend to call you friend unless you prove yourself to be one."

The low echo that felt like a voice responded, "Hmm, collaborators, then, might be more to your taste? I don't care much for these subtleties, I just wish for us to work together."

Damian shook off some dust from his pants, trying to project a level of calm he definitely didn't have. "I have everything perfectly sorted out, thanks. I don't need a collaborator. Besides, how would you even know what are my intentions?"

Like a lazy wave in an otherwise perfectly still pond, a gentle wind carried the voice's response through the field. "I have many pairs of eyes, and ears, and nostrils, you see. I'd reckon I know more about you than Mr Leandro Neumann himself, your eminent father, does. In any case, this conversation is starting to veer into boring territory, so, instead of dancing around the issue, I'll cut to the chase."

With a quick wave of his hand, Damian gestured at the voice to proceed. "By all means, please do."

"I have seen the boring diagrams of the stars you drew over the course of the last couple of years, and all the little experiments you carried out in the tiny room you call a study as well. Human magic is so… predictable, easy to read and understand," the voice chuckled.

Damian clenched his fists again, starting to impatiently tap his foot on the dusty ground. "What of it?"

The voice's use of the word "human" very obviously implied that he was right to suspect some kind of faerie shenanigans. It had been clear to him for a little while now that his interlocutor really did know what he intended to do, but he felt like he couldn't give up and just admit to that; doing that, he reasoned, might put him in a weaker position in that discussion.

He met a pair of scowling yellow eyes that snapped him out of his musings. In the field in front of him, one of the dark blots he had thought were still cows wasn't, in fact, a cow, but a massive black cat, silently pacing towards him.

Damian froze. There was no overselling how huge that cat was. Now that it was slowly emerging from the field, it became clearer and clearer that it might have been twice, maybe even three times or more, as big as a cow. Its head alone was as big as the boy's entire torso. And, despite its size, its movements made absolutely not even the slightest hint of a noise.

As the voice spoke again, even though the cat's mouth gave no indication of moving along with it, Damian understood it as being the cat's very own voice. "It means, little one, that your standoffish attitude is doing you no favours, as I know perfectly well what you intend to do. And, as I was trying to tell you from the start, I have every intention of helping you achieve it."

The cat allowed its body to flop down on the ground, causing it to assume a relaxed position, and then started to lick its own paw with disinterested abandon. "Tell me, little one, how do you feel about spiders?"

Damian furrowed his brows, bewildered both by the surprisingly ungraceful and unthreatening attitude the cat had just taken, as well as its sudden interest over arachnids. "Spiders? What about spiders?"

The cat rubbed across its ears and face the paw it had been licking, with a profoundly satisfied expression, then started licking it again. "I don't mind spiders too much, little one, for they are much tinier than even you are and, as such, pose no threat to me. I do, however, find their little webs a bit annoying. And, as I think you might have guessed from the decorations in their castle and on their garments, your wife's family seems to be obsessed with them. I really don't want your mother in law's little spiderwebs all over my home town."

Suddenly facing Damian to establish eye contact again, the cat continued, "You wish to steal the fairy magic from your wife, don't you, little one?"

Again, Damian didn't feel comfortable up and admitting it to the cat's face, but he did realise that his silence was probably as drenched with meaning as any verbal response he could conceive.

"I, for one," continued the cat, luxuriously going back to cleaning itself, "fully support your goal. I don't even care too much about why you want to do it, nor what you intend to do once you have it, I'm just rather happy with the very notion of you succeeding."

The periodic and languid rasping of the cat's tongue on its fur became the only audible sound. Once it was clear that the creature was perfectly content with the new silence, Damian started nervously tapping his foot on the ground again. He opened his mouth to try and respond a few times, but each time he found that he wasn't satisfied with his answer, or worried over what that beast might do if it didn't like what he had to say.

Eventually, Damian cleared his throat. "Is… is this all you had to say to me?"

"Not quite." The huge golden eyes met Damian's gaze once more. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here still. Only, what I intend to say next changes depending on what you tell me now."

"What am I even supposed to say now?"

The cat yawned. "What do you think of having an ally in your quest? Do you intend to accept the help I'm offering you?"

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Damian's throat felt drier than the terrain he was standing over. He knew what he really wanted to say, but he was afraid of that creature's possible retaliation.

For a third time, he clenched his fists, really hard this time, almost to the point of hurting. He couldn't keep cowering in fear, that wasn't becoming of the kind of man he needed to be.

"What…" he croaked, then cleared his throat again, "what happens if I refuse?"

Echoes usually happen after a noise is made, but Damian felt as if he was hearing the echoes of some sound that was only about to happen. Finally, he heard it: the distorted bell ring that had awakened him into the encounter with the cat, the one that almost sounded like a grotesque meow.

The cat chuckled. "There are many cats that walk around the neighbourhood. If you ever change your mind, find one with an M on its forehead, then say my name."

A powerful gale suddenly hit Damian. "What name?" Shouted him, trying to make his voice audible over the howling wind.

The last thing he heard, before opening his eyes, was the gruff voice whispering the answer in his ears.

Damian opened his eyes, having forgotten ever closing them in the first place. The sky was blue again, and the lines of the constellations were faintly visible through the daylight once more. The cows were just cows, and there were no cats to be seen, enormous or otherwise. He sighed deeply.

The bell tower chimed midday. The boy grabbed the briefcase he had left besides him, sprang on his feet and started to leg it. He had promised to be home to fix some lunch and, if he wanted to succeed in his goal, he needed to gain his wife's trust, which he would never achieve if he started going back on his words during the very first day of their married life.

On his way back, he navigated the back streets and alleys of the village with the expertise of someone who had been seeking refuge in them for years. All the while, despite the fact that on that very same day he had finally officially started his Alchemy studies, like he had always wished, school was the last of his thoughts.

That demonic cat he had just met caused every hair on the back of his neck to stand. Despite the fact that it had shown no hostility toward him and even offered its help, the very idea of that creature profoundly unnerved Damian.

He had been involved in the planning for his wedding for months before it even happened and he had managed to stay very focused and calm all throughout that process. He was quite sure that no one knew what his true intention had been from the start, not even his own father. But, no matter how well thought out it might be, a plan is nothing but abstract thought, as substantial as a daydream, until it's time to follow through. Since when that time had come and his plan had started to feel real, the stiffness in Damian's muscles and joints had been building up faster and faster. That whole speech the fairy he married gave him about the glasses he gifted her with had spread that stiffness right down to his stomach. Her looking like any regular kid his age, somehow, just made everything that much harder. And, to top it all off, the idea of that dreadful cat offering help in his pursuit only made the prospect even more questionable.

He stopped for a moment, slightly nauseous. He slapped his own cheek, strong enough to leave a prickly feeling on his own skin. That wasn't right, he wasn't supposed to think that way. He had been pursuing an objective for a long time, and stealing magic from a fairy was only one step in that pursuit. He couldn't let his feelings get the better of him. Nobody could achieve their dreams without some form of sacrifice. He needed to carry on, no matter what. He was a Neumann, someday he was expected to contribute to the family business, and conducting business, like his father always told him, required ruthlessness. He needed to not allow those feelings to stop him, or even to slow him down. He was a child no longer, he needed to think like a man.

When he was finally about to reach his home, the head of the widow next door emerged from a window of her house.

"Good morning, Damian, how was your first day of the new school?"

He had to fight through the stiffness in his body to put on a polite smile. "Good morning, Madame Guillardine. It hardly counts as a first day, we only discussed matters such as scheduling and the use of the cini system to attend classes. We will be required to attend in person on university premises only a few times a month, at all other times we'll be able to attend from remote."

The woman nodded. "Ah, the opportunities created by modern technology. More importantly, however, this isn't just your first day in a new school, it's also your first day as a husband. I met your wife a couple of hours back, you know? She seems like a sweet girl, do treat her well."

Damian felt the need to swallow, but the dryness in the back of his throat made the process laborious. "I sure will. Speaking of which, I need to go: I promised her I'd be back in time to fix some lunch."

She smiled widely. "Have a great day, then."

"Likewise," he croaked.

When he had left the house, it was quiet and somewhat dusty, since he hadn't had the time to clean it at all in the days leading up to the wedding and since he had nobody to help him with it. When he opened the door, he found it almost spotless, but he could hear several high pitched voices yelling and hollering. A tiny figure scurried down the stairs carrying a comically large pile of Damian's dirty clothes, all the while shouting in some language he didn't understand, and then buggered off towards the lavatory, without giving him the time of day. Another tiny figure with a pointy hat scampered through the entrance from the kitchen, presumably headed for the living room, but stopped dead in its tracks when it spotted Damian.

"Madamina Clelia, chi ch'a l'è chiel sì?" The figure yelped, holding an oversized feather duster in its hands.

Clelia came down the stairs, with a smile. "Don't worry, Bepìn, he's my husband. Go on, keep doing what you were doing."

The small creature gave her a military salute, then darted away.

"Uh," started him, unable to immediately put his thoughts into words, "wha… what exactly is going on?"

As she reached the ground floor, she proudly adjusted her glasses. "While going out today, I met the lutin that targeted our wedding yesterday and made a deal with them. Long story short, we now have some help around the house."

Before Damian could respond, he heard some sizzling coming from the kitchen. He glanced in that direction to find a third small figure enthusiastically frying something with a pan it should logically not be able to lift, while loudly singing off-tune in whatever language those creatures spoke.

He turned to face Clelia, then once more to the kitchen, then finally to Clelia again. "Huh. So, you solved the housekeeping problem while I was away?"

"Not only that," she specified, "I also did the offering to the Lar of the Crossroad. Your domestic Lares gave me an earful for not doing that to begin with."

"Wait, did the Lares speak to you?"

She tilted her head. "Is that strange? Don't they usually speak to you?"

"No, only during certain specific holidays the Lares communicate with us."

Damian was about to ask where she had taken the money to offer from, but he decided to check something first. He opened a small drawer from the bureau next to the entrance. It was empty. He shrugged. Probably the three lutin had found the money while cleaning and gave it to Clelia for the offering. He had set the money apart for that purpose after all, he had just forgotten about telling her before leaving.

She bounced slightly on her feet and beamed. "So, how did you morning go? Are we gonna discuss some of the stuff you told me earlier?"

Before Damian could respond, one of the lutin passed in between them, holding a broomstick just above the brush, sweeping so fast that the handle of the broom didn't look more than a blur.

He sighed. "It was a bit tiring, actually. If it's alright with you, I'll take some rest and eat lunch a little later. You don't have to wait for me."

Clelia's smile faded a bit. "Ah, that's fine. Rest well, then."

His jaw stiffened. "See you later."

The door to Damian's study closed with a decisive clack, and the boy let his whole body weigh slide down from the wall all the way to the ground.

The fairy he married was nothing like he imagined. He thought she'd be aloof, defiant, with an air of unreachable power. He thought deceiving her would be hard, dangerous, that it would require time and every ounce of carefulness he could possibly muster. He thought he would best her, the same way the heroes from folk tales managed to outsmart their faerie antagonists. Or, at worst, he thought that he'd have to face a painful end if he were to fail.

He gathered his arms and legs together, hiding his face in between them.

His plan would come to fruition a lot easier than he thought. She was naive and trustful, deceiving her wouldn't pose nearly as much of a challenge as he thought.

Damian got back up. He dragged his feet towards his desk, wobbling next to the library. He stopped before reaching his destination. He hit the library with a single punch, not strong enough to seriously hurt, just hard enough to shake off the numb rigidity that had been taking hold of his body throughout the entire day.

The fairy he married was nothing like he imagined. He thought she'd be snobbish, haughty, that she'd look down upon him and all other humans. He thought she'd be cold, impersonal. He thought she'd only ever smile out of cruelty.

He looked at the library, where he had hit it. Underneath his fist, he found his copy of The Frenzy of Renald. He took it out of the shelf and looked upon its cover. One small symbol on it had always caught his attention: it was a snake coiled around a cross-shaped staff, almost as if crucified to it. Only by getting interested in Alchemy he had come to understand the meaning of that symbol, or, better yet, the meanings, for most alchemical symbols held several layers of meaning. The one he cared for the most referred to an important step in Alchemy: fixing the volatile. It meant letting go of all distractions and focusing on just one purpose.

He let the hand holding the book tiredly slide down to the side of his body. One of the main motifs of the literary classic was the constant pattern of its many characters just barely failing to reach the one goal they'd set out to achieve to the detriment of everything else. That very same day, during the lecturer's presentation, he had thought of Alchemy, supposedly the one purpose he had always wanted to focus on, as Seraphine, the alluring woman leading the faithful hero down the path of corruption. What if Alchemy really was his doomed quest? What if he really was destined to fail again and again in its pursuit, always seeing it barely out of reach? It's not like any of that was new to him.

He raised the book to look at the cover again. He closed his eyes and sighed once more. This time, however, with defiance instead of resignation. He put the book on the shelf where it belonged, but with its back facing toward the wall, so that it wouldn't show the title.

He needed to go forward. What kind of man would he be if he just quit at the first sign of adversity? Fairies were well known to be deceitful beings, and he had only known her for a very short time. He couldn't ignore the possibility that her seeming innocence was nothing but a front. After all, if her family accepted to marry her off to a human, there had to be some kind of ulterior motive there, right? He needed to observe her, make sure of her intentions.

He needed to stick to the plan. Nobody could achieve their dreams without some form of sacrifice. He needed to carry on, no matter what.