The Snarled Circle Chronicles
12. Hopelessly Eccentric
Roderich invites a rumored "miracle man" to come rid him of his past and present nightmares. But rumors and reality don't always match up.
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.
— Robert Herrick
Roderich thought he would die of disgust.
"It wore my daughter's clothes and used her comb. You can't blame me if I wanted to whack it against the lamppost a few times on the way over here. There's not too much blood."
The young notary knuckled the bridge of his spectacles and sniffed with his thin, delicate beak of a nose. He looked from the imp's grotesque true form to his clipboard. Jargon appeared before his vision, and he swam through it as smoothly and expertly as when he carved through seas of f minor. At the bottom of the page was a thick black line, on which he carelessly scribbled his signature. Then he turned the clipboard to the most disheveled of store clerks out of Birngarten and motioned to several smaller lines.
"Sign here and here, then date it here. Provide a brief description of the incident here. It doesn't have to be specific. They don't care. You will then fold it this way," he said, emphasizing it with a spreading of his fingers as he pressed the two edges lightly together, "and send it to the Office of Magical Regulations and Disturbances within two business days. Do not send it to the Office of Magical Affairs. If you have a complaint, do not write to me or to the Office. Bring it up with the patrol. Now take care of that travesty and good day."
He shooed the clerk and his sack out the door and shut it with a grimace. It was the second imp that morning. At least the gentleman had had the patience to wait until Roderich was dressed, but he insisted on the notary taking a long, hard look at the thing. It made him too squeamish to think about now. Breakfast would be a bland egg and tomato again… and perhaps a pastry if he could sneak one from behind auntie Ilse's back. Lately she'd been monitoring his sweets like an owl, and if she caught him with pastries anywhere but already down his throat, he would have to spend another afternoon with her crocheting club.
Service in the morning and penance anon. And still he was cursed!
"I am visiting a dear ill friend," she announced when he was halfway through his lumpy bed of eggs. "Steiner will accompany me. The nanny is here for Otto. You are to keep receiving the gentlemen for your notarial duties. It's a pity Birngarten has finally succumbed. I never thought it would travel this far. They've closed the schools and all the places of worship, and that was a bee in the bonnet what with all the house calls. I can't even buy salt!"
"Well, we'll have to deal with all the salt flying off the shelves and into the garden beds. This infestation travels everywhere. Haven't you read what's happened on the Isle of Rain? The Queen's Council has just passed a movement to ban all uses of high-energy magick, effective end of April. Even the sprites can't stand the imps."
"Do I have to wonder what you're reading all the time? You seem too often interested in foreign affairs."
"Foreign magical affairs only, milady. A pity the Confederation hasn't yet ratified any sort of general statutes. The infestation has tripled its intensity, and I'm just one notary out of a half-dozen in our sorry state. Children are missing. People are hanging scissors above their door frames like they're the victims of the month. Everything's falling apart."
Ilse smirked, her crooked teeth gleaming beneath chewed, wrinkled lips. "The vocabulary of politics! I never thought I'd hear anything of the sort out of your mouth! You're growing into such a fine young master."
Roderich's eyebrows pulled together in that ever-flustered glower. "All young people like politics."
"It's the interest you need," Ilse said, drinking in every delightedly prim and proper word her nephew could dream up.
The past year and some had been painful, what with his bouts of silliness on all fronts. He once spent all day in bed, and now he studied and practiced the piano and accompanied her on excursions and earned his stipend as a notary signing official extermination forms. He'd balked at that for so long, and finally he could look upon an imp without screaming or crying or gagging or completely shutting down — only if the thing was dazed, of course. And to hear he was putting his duties so high up in his priorities was simply the most miraculous and marvelous thing she could hear!
Presently, one of the new maids ducked her head in the breakfast room and announced that a visitor had arrived. It was the "miracle man" Roderich had requested, and he was eager to see the young master.
"Miracle man!?" Ilse spat. "What about a 'miracle man?' What for?"
Roderich didn't duck his head, though the faintest rose bloomed in his cheeks. "I had heard rumors that a "miracle man" was about in Birngarten. A man who understands things we can't see. I wanted him to see about the house."
"The house is not haunted, Roderich, for the thousandth time! I will not let you entertain those fancies anymore!"
"It's merely a consultation—"
"We'll see about a consultation! You know rumors are no way to get your information, especially concerning the, the occult!"
"God, you sound like my mo—"
"Sorry, am I interrupting anything?"
The two of them looked to the door, where the most normal of middle-aged gentlemen stood idle. His coat was pristine, his shoes were buffed, and his mustache was freshly waxed and combed. No wands or herbs or potions were visible on his person, and he neither smelled strange nor radiated any need for alarm. He removed his traveling cap and looked confusedly between the two.
"May I help you?" Ilse growled.
"Yes, I'm looking for a Lord Edelstein? Or a Master Edelstein? He requested me."
"That's me, and I'm neither lord nor master. I'm merely a notary," said Roderich. "You're the miracle man?"
"Indeed," said the miracle man, though his graying eyebrows shot up in the air at the sight of his client.
"Good. Thank you for coming. Let us go out to the garden and discuss what's to be done about the house."
"If you say so."
Roderich immediately left his seat and led the way, his beak in the air and his hands unshaking at his sides. The miracle man followed, and Ilse was ready to follow after, but her friend Herr Steiner had arrived to accompany her to the poor ill soul, and she could only pitch a fit for a little while before her compassion compelled her.
"I half-despise that woman," Roderich said when she was half a mile down the road. "I could manage on my own, but she still lives here and feeds me tomatoes and ties my sleeves too tightly. Not to mention her attitude is a plague in the community, and now that there is a plague… I just… I just… you're... "
The miracle man was twinkling in the sunlight. His face and form shimmered and flickered like he was only half present. Like he wasn't real. Like he was ghostly. Instantly, Roderich's arms flew into position — one shielding his face, the other shielding his stomach. His breath caught in his throat, then exploded into a rush of panicked heaving. His pounding heart consumed him, and for a moment, he knew nothing but the blood in his ears.
"Go away," he choked out. "Not now. Not here. Not… not now. Do it later."
"What's eatin' you all of a sudden? It's okay."
He peeked through the cracks of his long fingers. The smudged spectacles blurred his vision again, so he furtively nudged them down so he could peer over the top of the lenses. He couldn't see the miracle man anymore, and the voice had changed. It was higher and fuller and grittier? Like one of the wild hinterland rather than a modest traveling man in Birngarten. That accent…
Something much too warm and strong removed his hand from his face, and then he screeched.
"You're! Where!? Where did you come from!?"
"Don't get upset. They all act like this. I'm the same person. I just took off my disguise."
"Changeling! Creature of darkness!"
"No, no, I'm not one of them. It was just a disguise. It looks more professional, right?"
Roderich narrowed his eyes and swallowed a great glob of spittle that burned in his throat. He shouldn't be screeching. That was undignified, he could hear his aunt saying. Instead, he took in what he could of his guest. Long, flowing hair. Flushed cheeks. Delicate neckline. Big green doe eyes.
A… a chest… a nice chest… Wow.
"You're a girl!"
"You're a boy!" She shot back.
"Yes I'm a boy!"
"Sure, but when I heard 'Master Edelstein,' I thought I would be seeing another stooped old grandfather. How old are you? Twelve?"
"I'm fifteen. Never mind that I'm small."
"Well, I'll be seventeen in June. Never mind that I'm not what you expected. Sorry for startling you, but 'witch' never sounds good in anyone's mouth around here. 'Miracle man' is more alluring, right?"
Roderich just stared at her. She wore trousers and hunting boots and a greatcoat, and her wild chestnut hair was pulled into a tight braid on top of her head. A heart-shaped silver locket around her neck was the most feminine thing about her, save for her legs and chest, which were far too accentuated by the trousers and the bodice of her dress. It appeared she'd snipped off and hemmed the skirt of it. The slightest pink of her waist peeked out above the belt.
What in all the world was this!?
"Elizaveta Héderváry," she said, offering her hand forth. "Freelance witch. Well, freelance in the sense that my father kicked me out of the house after that wizard turned his toes into chicken claws. I'm showing him that magic can have its good uses. I can do most basic spells and charms, and I've mastered the basics of potionery. And I can definitely reason with most evil spirits and creatures!"
Roderich's mouth finally closed. "Magical creatures? Good. You have to help me protect myself from an imp."
"An imp? I thought you were a notary."
"All that means is I serve as witness to a captured imp and sign for its execution. I hate imps myself. I hate magic, too, unless it's useful. Now come with me upstairs. With my aunt out of the house, we can set up in the Black Study. You tell me what you need, and I'll try to provide it."
But Eliza didn't move. She only looked closely at the paling skin and the right hand which was beginning to lose its composure and tremble with a mind of its own.
"I'm a busy man. Come along."
"You're not a man," she said, "and you're extremely stressed. Look, despite the panic, I don't have much experience with imps. Will you at least explain to me your problem before you begin treating me like a tool? I've just barely introduced myself."
"Wh… I... " He stopped, then shoved his shaking hand in his coat pocket. Why rush? This was just a lady, after all, and he knew how to treat ladies. It was the suddenness of her arrival that drew him away from composure, and she was almost his age, too. And why rush a discussion on his past and present nightmares when a lady needed—
"Pastries! Let me get us some pastries! Do you like coffee, too? I can get us both."
"Both will do. Thank you, Master Edel—"
"Roderich. It's Roderich."
"How about Roddy? That's easier to say."
The thickening eyebrows slanted, and the broadening shoulders stiffened. "Fine," said a voice that was sounding more and more like a duck's.
"Will you keep it still, please?"
"It doesn't like that."
"It doesn't like this? Are you sure this isn't a possession? Body parts can be possessed. I have way too much experience there."
"No, no, it's not possessed. It's just cursed, and stop that! It hurts!"
He was stretched out on one of the sofas in the drawing room — the dusty rose one with beads his aunt insisted on buying when it was far too cold and boring last winter. A plate which had once held three large strudels lay on the table next to him, and for some wild and inexplicable reason his conscience insisted that he suck in his bulging stomach whenever Eliza looked at him. Never mind the fact that she'd prodded him there a few times already with her wand and discovered how soft it was.
She was now kneading and massaging his right hand in every which way. "This would be easier if I were a fairy magician, but I can tell you've had trauma here. The knuckles are swollen, and this bit of skin is stretched. Aaand…" She stuck her wand right in the crease between his thumb and fingers and twisted it until whatever weird energy circulating within made the muscles burn and the skin pinch in places. Roderich fought back a wail.
"Hold still!"
"Stop at once!"
But she had seized his wrist fast, and drawing back the tip of her wand, she pulled a thick cable of glowing red thread from his palm. It was horribly tangled like a birds' nest filled with hair, and when it sparked and burned the fingers above, Roderich was almost back to full panic mode.
"Pull it all out!" He whined. "Just get it out if that's what you're doing!"
Eliza shook her head, blowing those soft-looking untrimmed bangs out of her face. "It's only the shadow of what's going on inside. That's why curses are so difficult. A normal spell is a… sorry. That's hurting you, isn't it?"
She flicked her wand, and the cable turned to a dull red line of smoke. Then she waved it over Roderich's burned hand and chanted a few words. The hot places cooled and closed, but Roderich insisted on sucking his fingers — before he saw her looking at him and wiped them on his trousers. God, what was happening? It had been so unexpected.
Those green eyes looked at him earnestly, as if he were a petulant child who couldn't sit still. "All spells are energy that is bent and shaped until it doesn't act like normal energy anymore," she said. "So you can have a spell that makes plants grow much faster than usual, or a spell that makes things float. A curse, on the other hand—"
"It binds itself to whatever it's affecting. I know. Do you have any idea how many times I've tried to get rid of this thing? It's fused itself with the flesh. I have a magic hand."
"What have you tried?"
"Potions, mostly. Some rituals. But it's imp magic, you see. From a music-casting imp."
"I thought only winged fairies could music-cast."
"There were two winged fairies left with that power, and one has been dead two years. I hear plenty of wingless fairies have it now. And imps, apparently. This imp has it. So it's imp magic, which is why nothing seems to work on it. It's weird even by magical standards."
Eliza pursed her lips and scrutinized him for a minute. Then she shoved her wand into his stomach again and murmured something that made him want to cough up his strudels.
"No lasting damage, luckily. You want to be extremely careful with potions. They affect the fragile organs first."
"So I've learned."
"How have you learned, anyway? Just who are you? You've been a lot more polite than the other ones I wanted to reveal my true appearance to. You're all by yourself, and you know more about magic than all of Birngarten combined. Most of them think imps and fairies are the same thing."
"They are the same thing. Magical cousins. One is just naturally inferior."
"I was testing you. You know a lot about magic for someone who hates it."
"One finds himself obsessing over his hatred."
She screwed up her face and smirked. "Your parents weren't killed by magic, were they?"
"Yes. Them and all the relatives I actually liked. Except my cousin Otto, but he's only a toddler. He bites."
"He bites?"
"He bit his first nannie's… her… when she tried… feeding him once… It was so funny."
She shifted away, and he was forced to focus somewhere else.
"You're really a tragic twelve-year-old, then. I didn't know people like you could exist in real life. But I suppose that wizard did come into my village and disfigure two dozen people. We live in a strange world."
"I'm fifteen," he insisted.
"You are hopelessly eccentric."
There was a pause. Roderich blinked, then gave a little sniff and eyed his uncouth visitor. Uncouth? Was that the right word? Certainly unexpected, what with her flair and pretense, and moreso with her behavior in the last hour. But calling him eccentric? Him? Hopelessly eccentric?
"Would you like anything more to eat?" He asked. His mouth had gone dry. This girl, this woman before him, a woman he had never seen in his life, visiting him and talking to him about things he actually liked.
Well, didn't like.
No, a woman the likes of which he had never seen in his life talking to him about things he actually liked. A woman who wasn't wrinkled in the face or beneath him or too out of range to be interesting. A woman who understood him, to an extent…
She must have noticed he was staring. From her satchel, she drew out a small volume of runes and a polished gray stone. Her eyes grew huge, and her lips pulled into an awkward smile.
"I'm fine, thank you."
They had moved to the Black Study, which was unbearably hot even in mid-March. Now Roderich wished he could take this lady outside where she could admire the tulip buds and the wisteria starting to revive its snaking tendrils about the foundation. The sun was out against the bluest of blues, and though he could observe a wind moving briskly through the aspen leaves, he knew a walk in the sun would put the warmth back in his bones after such an anxious winter. Sunshine on his dark hair was always the most excellent feeling.
"Now here's a curse from my old pal Wiggly Wormsworth! It'll make you cold for eternity!"
Roderich clenched his jaw in annoyance. He'd forgotten this room had the power to make his memories real.
"Cover that window. Light particles disturb the process," Eliza called from the center of the room.
Roderich shut the curtains and climbed down off his stool. He looked to where she was mixing a potion in a cauldron only about the size of her fist in the fireplace. She fixed the logs snugly around it, and a few sparks wafted up a chimney that hadn't seen fresh smoke in a number of years.
Oh, if Ilse saw them now! Roderich with a hinterland witch! She always warned him of witches. Horrible, rotten women who could eat more children than an imp in one sitting and sit fat as frogs until more came along. That was what she said, anyway. But Roderich, whose mind was already back to its usual fantasies, disregarded the eating part and settled on other aspects of the scene which he preferred better.
Such as the way the witch had excellent curves, and god, what was wrong with him today!?
"So all of this was your father's?"
"All of it. He started collecting books when he was your age. He'd never call himself a wizard, though. He was more of an enthusiast."
"There's always that issue with titles. It's like there are two types of people — the ones who introduce themselves with titles and the ones who just tell you their names. The ones with titles are weaker in spirit and have to compensate."
"Which one are you?"
"No one but Eliza. And you're just Roddy."
He pursed his lips. "Just Roddy" didn't sit right in his stomach. He'd been Just Roddy all his life, and he'd finally like to see himself as something other than a mama's boy.
"Roderich," he said.
She looked like she was going to say something, but shook her wild head like a mare and focused on the mixture. Then she spooned some into a little clay cup and offered it to him.
"Drink. It will make the ward stick to your body and prevent all the salt from poisoning you."
"Are you sure this is safe?"
"Don't take me for some hinterland hedgewitch. I know my stuff."
With trembling fingers, he put the cup to his lips and drank it all in one gulp. She refilled it, and he repeated. It tasted not of sulfur and tar and artificial fragrance like Ulrich's potions, but of apples and blueberries and sugar. It was as if all the most delicious pastries had been liquefied and concentrated into this warm little brew. The potion was so delectable he hardly noticed the familiar dull ache and groan of his insides as they reacted to magic. No great pain struck him this time — only a satisfying tingle floating through his body like a cloud of feathers that turned off his brain.
And in that moment, he understood why he'd been feeling so nervous the whole time. It was so easy to see. Eliza was a beautiful woman, and he'd never seen a beautiful woman before, and he wanted to have her for… something. Something exciting. Or, at the very least, a nice walk in the gardens. That was what his parents liked. Because the way she parted her hair from her face made him want to stroke it himself. He wanted to hug her and hold her and tell her all of his secrets and ask her to stay for a while and keep him company because he needed her and—
"Hey, don't go buggy-eyed. It's not even that strong. Wow, you've got a weak tolerance. Focus and wrap your right hand in this saline-soaked cloth. If you're sure that's the only live curse in your body, we can't risk it reacting with a new spell."
He fumbled with it, so she made sure it was wrapped and tied up tightly. Their gazes met, and a warm, wide smile crossed the foolish little master's face.
"You're beautiful, Eliza, and it's making me feel so strange."
"Thank you, but I don't like little pretentious creeps. Let's start putting this ward on you. It's going to sting a little bit, but not more than a bug bite. You're going to be very thirsty afterwards because I'm imbuing you with a net of salt suspended by magical energy. Changeling magic can't penetrate large amounts of salt. Over the next few weeks you'll need to drink lots and lots of water. You'll need to crave water like you crave pastries, okay?"
Roderich nodded. He was squirming in place like a child now, and blushing whenever she touched him. Had she… no, she definitely hadn't used the rosehips for flavor this time. She'd used apples, which were the weakest of infatuants. Oh dear, but combine them with blueberries, and take into account how stuffy and old-fashioned this manor was, the relic of his aunt included…
God! He was staring at her cleavage!
"Close your eyes," she growled.
He did so before stumbling onto his knees. His cheeks had gone completely pink, and he was rubbing his knuckles along his cheeks with a harrowing revelation of all that had just transpired. Eliza helped him sit up with crossed legs. She bolstered him in place with a few cushions and folded his hands under his bottom. Then she took a long silver chain and spread it out on the floor around him in a great circle.
"This will feel cold," she said. She opened the rune book to a character that pulsed with an indigo light. The polished gray stone was pressed onto the character, and the light was transferred to its smooth underside. Eliza then parted the flaps of Roderich's shirt, (he was not happy about this,) and pressed the stone into his sternum. When she drew back, the rune now flickered on his skin with tongues of an intangible fire.
The circle around him was filled with salt until he sat in a layer half an inch thick. Then Eliza stood with her back against the black door. She raised her wand and started to chant something in her own gritty native language. Tendrils of emerald light wrapped around her fingers and swirled about the wand until they condensed and brightened at its tip. Light then burst forth in multi-colored threads that shimmied through the air like feathers as they made their way to the boy in the circle.
Roderich watched and waited anxiously. The warmth of the potion had dissipated. He couldn't even remember its taste. An intense stinging was filling every pore. For a brief moment, he opened his eyes and saw the salt around him beginning to rise and shoot toward his exposed skin. It coated his hands, then tickled as it flowed up his sleeves to cover him everywhere else. Each little cubic crystal bound itself to the others in diamonds and triangles before shrinking down and melting into his skin like a durable mesh. It was like something clicked inside him. This was correct magic. Not painful nor strange.
The stinging and burning intensified, then ceased. Roderich fell over, skin pale as death and head aching. The ward was in place. He could feel a heaviness in his body, like a shield had flexed itself into his shape. The wet cloth fell away from his hand, leaving a crusty white sheen of salt. His shirt was sticky, and his hair was falling out of its perfect configuration.
"Here. I've got some water for you. Feeling okay?"
Eliza came to sit by him. He propped himself up against her, then tried to scooch away again. She pulled him close and handed him a full canteen, which he quaffed until the whole front of his shirt was soaked from spillage.
"Thank you so much," he huffed. "Now I'll be ready."
"Ready for what?"
"For when he comes back and I see his smugly smirk wipe itself off his face."
She cocked her head and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Em, I know I just met you, but isn't that a little extreme? You are hopelessly eccentric, and not in a quaint way. It's almost like you want him to visit you again, just so you have more to be angry about."
"I'm surprised I can conceal just how incredibly angry I am."
The way he spoke made Eliza bite her lip and want to laugh and cry at the same time. Maybe he was fifteen, but she'd been fifteen once, and that was not the end of maturity. Dealing with the things he was talking about… especially if they were real and not the products of a lonely, grieving boy's imagination… she couldn't bear to see him taking on some evil when all he had was this room of dangerous magick and some half-baked, imitation confidence. She imagined with horror Roderich trailing his fingers along the spines of these old, curse-filled tomes and accidentally turning himself to dust.
"It sounds odd, anyway. He doesn't want to swap with you even in these times?"
"No, my father hired some of my uncle's archers to execute him, but he survived, and now he's bent on revenge. So I guess I'm bent on revenge, too. Can I have some more water? Er, may I?"
You poor, poor, weird baby.
She flicked her wand, and a fresh stream filled up the canteen. He took it and drank.
"Er, I'm so sorry about earlier. I said really stupid things. You're not… you are beautiful, but I'm not supposed to tell you that, am I? It's undignified."
"It was the potion. It shocked your system a bit."
It wasn't just the potion. Roderich knew it.
"I've truthfully never met anyone like you before."
"You've never met a pretty girl before?"
He coughed. "No, it's not that! I've never… I've never felt a connection like this."
"You've never had a friend."
At this, he outright laughed, tugging at his stockings and rubbing the toes of his shoes together. "I'm that pathetic, aren't I."
"Oh, no you're not."
"My only friends are my aunt's crocheting club and my cousin who eats all the pastry dough if we don't hide it from him. So maybe I overreacted a bit, but it was nice to have someone interesting over."
Her eyes widened, then. She filled up another canteen for Roderich, then helped him up and led him to the door. "How big is this estate? I didn't even see a salt ring when I came in. You're not using a salt ring?"
"I don't think a salt ring would work. He's too powerful."
"What about the other hundreds who think your wealth and position make you a hot commodity?"
"Please never say that again."
"You can't play blind to what everyone knows," she said dryly. "If you want to keep the darkness out, all you have to do is surround your home with a thick ring of the stuff. It forms a barrier. Keeps out changelings, boggarts, wervees, toadmuffins, and most other evil things. If you put flower petals in the ring, it's stronger against wisps. They're invisible spirits from my country that sit on your shoulders and prey on happy thoughts until you're nothing but a shell."
"I doubt they'd find any happy thoughts here."
"Everyone is happy about something. You certainly like to eat too many desserts. Get some salt."
"If salt is even available, then perhaps."
"If salt is available and you promise not to stare at my chest, then I'll help you."
The sound of the door opening downstairs startled the two. Auntie Ilse's voice rose up through the floorboards, and all of Roderich's sudden fantasies were deflated in an instant.
"Roderich! There are three gentlemen waiting for your signature!"
"They're just embarrassed at this point," Roderich groaned. "I'm sorry. This will be happening all afternoon. What do I owe you for the consultation?"
"It's fine. And you need more than a consultation, so take it no-charge. We're putting a salt ring around this place next time I visit."
"Perfect!" He blurted. "Right, right, then put on your disguise again, and don't take anything Ilse says to you personally."
Eliza patted his head and slipped out the black door. The sunlight streaming through the windows on the opposite wall framed her hair in fiery grace. She was the sun, with the sparkling gold corona, shining her radiance like everything good was warmed and reborn. Roderich could forgive the trousers and the snipped skirt. In this moment, it seemed an answer was provided to his every question. Did the same Fate which guided Gilbert to his window also bless him with visions of imperfect perfection? Of such human divinity? Or was this the spirit of poets and fools, teasing him with a peace he'd never known, in the form of a girl who glowed and floated so frustratingly light? Did she make him feel this way? Was it dignified? Correct? This was completely new, and he wasn't sure what to think of it.
But for the first time in his life, Roderich heard the sound of a pavane in his heart, and in the evening, he played it until he was smiling.
Eliza sat in the crook of a twin-trunked tree, bare feet submerged in the spring mud and pencil in her hand. Her forested friend was having another existential crisis of some degree, and in too many paragraphs, she'd taken the time to assuage his fears and assure him he was not going to die alone. And that he was not a freak of nature. And that the universe did not play games of spite with him. And that it was not bad to be attracted to odd things. And that his definition of what was odd could be different from someone else's.
A sigh of pure annoyance escaped her lips. She curled herself backwards and hung with her toes in the mud on one side of the tree and her hair gracing the grass on the other. The earthy scents brought her back to some lost, magical time, when the mists whispered promises and the sun spoke of countless treasures. With the letter resting on her chest, she considered the meeting with that poor eccentric boy, whose name alone sounded like he was gargling gravel, and wondered how his circumstances could possibly have led him to this.
"Oh, why do I always attract the weird ones?" She whined to a crow rocking its head over the boughs above her. "And why do I always agree to help them?"
It was a question for no one but the stars.
~N~
My first time writing something like this. Review so I can improve! ^^ I never had a teen romance. But I know it feels great when someone nice gives you a shoulder-squeeze. Here's to all the Frying Pangle writers, whether they see her choosing Master or Knight. Here's to me entering the first three paragraphs of this episode into a flash fic contest. Wish me luck 'cause I don't think the guest judge will like it. XD
Please vote on my profile for who gets an independent story next! I am also open to suggestions for new SCC episodes. Give me cute stuff to write or you'll know how it'll turn out!
Next episode: Gilbert just wants to buy Ludwig a pastry. Roderich just wants to buy salt.
Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net March 20th, 2020. Reposters don't eat oranges like cool people.
