It takes over a week until only red marks are left on the burned part of my throat. The frozen side is completely healed and the persistent pain is no longer there. It can burn a little if I haven't used the ointment, but not nearly as piercing painful it had been.

The first days I didn't have to join Clover on the contracts. It was only the last three when the wound was almost completely healed that I didn't have a choice. Mostly it was car accidents, nor was it unusual to see people who had drowned or died at their dangerous jobs, or those who had fell from high buildings or cliffs. It was humans from all over the world. I noticed that, Whether it was a stressed office man from Japan or an old lady from Ukraine, there are small differences between people in death.

Clover knew exactly what kind of soul wanderers they needed, and he played every role perfectly. He'd held an older woman's hand, whispering about beautiful landscapes she longed to see again. But he had been cold and harsh towards a young man. No matter how he acted they always gave him their souls willingly, whether it was out of faith or fear. When I asked why he couldn't leave them there as specters if that's what they wanted, he said it was more merciful to scare them into it. "Lies can sometimes be needed," he'd said. He didn't seem rather fond of his own words.

No contracts are handed out to Clover today. If it hadn't been for the apprenticeship, I'd be able to leave the Eleven. I'm stuck here until that is done. Clover and Artemis plans to bring me to the market later, but I have nothing to do until then.

I sit down and read through the names I had written the night before. I've stopped tearing out pages and use the notebook instead. I kept what was already there, what I had written when I was a child. Some of the pages I'd spilled ink over. Large round circles covered the writing and some of them were even wet and stained my fingers when I touched them. I have no memory of what I had hidden under those large circles of ink.

I had failed to visit the well the last time I explored the Eleven, and it is still something I'd like to see up close.

There is no point in waiting more than necessary. I close the notebook and leave the room, going through the long silent corridor until it takes me out to the Eleven. This time I don't see a lot of the creatures, according to Artemis they're busy setting up the market in the west.

Once I reach into the depth of the moon forest, the closest I've been to the well, I hear a sound. It's not like how the moon-trees melody sounds like. It's not even a melody, but a sound so gentle and beautiful and magical. At the same time, it's lonely and sorrowful. If I close my eyes I can see glitter of different colors cover a sea. It glows in the darkness.

I remember what Clover had said. They usually didn't go there. It's not forbidden, but there is a reason why they stay away. I know that simple fact should make me want to turn back, despite that I continue upwards the hill.

The black stone slabs reflect my face and I don't like seeing the sorrowful eyes that stares back at me. I see dad in them, the sad and tired eyes he had shown us when he told us he had cancer.

I look up at the trees. I cannot nor do I want to see my eyes. It's harder to play alright when this place brings out every thought you have. Here can no one lie and pretend to be someone else. Here you are the most absolute and truest version of yourself.

When I finally arrive the air is so filled with sorrow that it makes it hard to breathe. Yet I don't want to return.

The tower is gigantic and white with small black dots, so small that you can't see them from a distance. It stands in the middle of a round structure filled with blue liquid that reach a decimeter or two from the edge. A white staircase leads up to an elongated platform that extends out towards the tower. Vines have grown over the steps and the structure's wall, but it never reaches far enough that it touches the liquid.

I focus on where I put my feet when I climb the vine-covered steps. The liquid doesn't reflect like water, it's also much thicker. I sit down on my knees and lean forward over the pool of liquid.

I want to touch it. I reach out my hand and let my fingers pull through the thick, glimmering liquid. I can feel my own skin, and some sort of electricity that traverses my fingers. The longer I let it stay, the stranger and more confusing it feels.

There's a piercing sorrow. A lump in my throat and I shake with widened tearful eyes. I can't move my hand, I let it lay there and feel.

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A hand softly grabs my arm and pulls it out of the liquid. When I look up I look straight into the tender-hearted face. I blink a few times and pull my free hand over my eyes. I can feel the electricity when he touches my arm, even though it's only the sleeve. It's similar to the feeling I just felt from the liquid.

"Don't touch it," he speaks softly, "it has enough sorrow as is."

"Cerberus."

He lets go of my arm. I've never seen a guardian in the Eleven before, it was always us who went to them. Yet now one of them stands before me. He looks like he did the first time I met him, dressed in the same white coat that reaches slightly below his stomach in the front, but the back side hangs down like a mantle. The collar ends slightly underneath the broad chin. The pants are white, and the only thing that is black is his tight shoes.

"Orchid," he says and bows slightly.

I turn back to the glittering liquid.

"I could feel," is the only thing I can think of saying.

I can still feel it where the liquid touched my skin, I move the fingers against each other and hope that I'll remember the feeling after it disappears.

"I know. The well has that trait. You have no body left, but some places and items make you remember how things used to feel like."

"Can you feel?" I ask and stand up. "I mean generally, not just here."

I doubt he has ever been alive.

"Not in the same way humans can. I have no human body. No vessel."

He's honest. He doesn't have to answer my questions, yet he does. I don't need to ask if I can lie here because I feel you cannot hide your true feelings. Even if you'd try, you'd see through it.

"But you feel something."

It sounds more hostile than I had planned.

He nods. The jealousy and the hostility must be too visible on my face, yet the friendliness in his eye don't disappear. I have to get a control of my feelings. I cannot show this envy and aversion towards one of the guardians.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

Cerberus looks out over the liquid. "Waiting."

"On what?"

"A visitor."

He uses small, simple answers so he doesn't have to lie, then I'd be able to tell right away.

Maybe it had something to do with the thief and Arkaros. But frankly, that's none of my business. I excuse myself and head half-way down the stairs.

"The well is in every world," Cerberus says.

I turn around.

"It's only these kinds of places, where you can reach it, that ends up this way. Filled with so much sorrow that it brings forth every emotion. Here it's impossible being something you're not and you can see the truth in every lie."

I don't say anything, I simply watch him as he stares at the liquid, almost absent-mindedly.

"One of the things your and my world have in common is suffering. I love our worlds. There is nothing I wouldn't do for them. But that doesn't eliminate the suffering that can occur here. These worlds are not perfect."

"I'm not sure what point you're trying to make, Cerberus."

"We may not be human or know how it feels like being alive in the same way as you, no matter how much we try. But we aren't without feelings and morals. I think we showed you quite the wrong impression of us when we first met, specially Couleur."

I have a hard time believing my impressions of the guardians have been wrong so far.

He continues, "First she might seem cruel and unmoral. But she's one of the guardians that care the most about the soul wanderers. Some of us see you as tools and others as equals. We're not that different from humans in that regard. We have different views and opinions. Couleur takes her role as a guardian seriously and sees herself as a mother."

"And who sees us as tools?" I ask when I finally decided to yield to this strange conversation.

"First."

The man who removes our identity and simplify us to a number. The disgust on my face must be obvious.

"I do not blame your dislike of him. I don't have much love for that man either."

He speaks the truth.

"And you? How do you see us?"

He sighs. "I mostly feel sorry for you."

"Why?"

"You're born in a cold, impersonalized world without magic. You call it the living world, but I think our worlds are much more alive than yours can ever be."

There is no hatred in his voice, just ignorance. Yet I feel offended over his opinions of my world. One I'd love to return to, so I can experience something that has meaning and logic.

"You have a vessel – a body. It's so easily damaged... There is so much sorrow, hate and suffering in your world. Yet you prefer yours over ours... so I don't understand."

"You said that there was suffering in your world too," I remind him.

"There is. Maybe that's why I don't understand." He sighs. "A perfect world doesn't exist. Suffering is needed for a world to bloom."

It feels like he is saying two different things and none of them makes sense.

Cerberus tenses up. He frowns before he looks at me with an apologetic expression.

"My visitor is here."

Behind us a gaunt creature emerges from the path leading deeper into the forest. It's dressed in a black, transparent veil that hangs over its head and reaches down to the dark blue grass. The skin looks grey. Under the transparent fabric three glowing, white eyes are visible. Its mouth is a long line, and its skin is desiccated, like a mummified corpse. It has no hair and the nails are long and ungroomed.

"I'll leave you then," I say and can't look away from the creature below the stairs.

"Thank you, Orchid," says Cerberus.

I pass the creature; it lowers its head as a greeting, I do the same before heading towards the path that leads back to town.

"Guardian Cerberus," it says dragging out the s with its coarse voice. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No," his voice doesn't sound as friendly as it usually does.

"Do you have what I asked for?" the creature asks.

I don't hear the answer, it's silenced by the sound of the well.