Warning! This chapter discusses depression and has a depressed character whose thoughts and feelings I have based off my own experience.

A general message to those struggling with depression: You are not a waste of time and you are not worthless. It is ok to seek help and share your struggles with others and if you don't feel up to talking about it with someone you know (it is hard and scary) I am happy to listen.


Wingding's pointed his index finger at me with his middle finger sticking at a right angle. Then a thumbs up which he rotated in an anti-clockwise circle, runic bracelet clinking against bone.

Are you ok?

It took me a couple of seconds to comprehend his question, an improvement from when we first started but still not good enough. Languages were definitely not one of my strengths, but Wingding's master was right in that learning sign language would be important if our runic communication failed or we couldn't hear each other.

I made a fist, holding it at around my shoulder height and nodding it as if it were a hand puppet.

Yes.

I see the doubt in his eyes as our session ends with the same question and answer as every other night.

"So how's the apprenticeship?" I asked lightly. Wingding's magic quivered at the topic, eager to launch into another full-blown lecture on magical theory and the experiments he had been working on. Even if I don't understand a quarter of what he's saying his enthusiasm makes the world feel just a little brighter. At least one of us is happy after the royal decree.

Tonight though he did not jump to answer the question. Instead, Wingding's hands hesitated and settled from their placement around mid-chest onto the table. He fiddles with his bracelet, a far cry from the energetic movements which characterise the customary detailing of his day.

"How's mage training going?"

I'm temporarily stunned by the question but do my best to cover up my awkwardness at the change in routine with a chuckle. "I'm not very good at it." It's a partial truth. I was unable to form a working relationship with even one of my weekly partners. How did everyone else make friends so easily? However hard I tried it was like I scared away everyone around me or as if I wasn't even there unless I did something wrong. I force a sheepish smile on my face and rub the back of my head as I tried to avoid seeing the disappointment he would feel at my failure. "I'm not like you, Princess," I don't even know why I'm defending myself "you're a genius and I'm just a hyperactive kid with no idea of what they're doing."

My statement is met with the rustling of Wingding's tunic as and the faint warmth of his soul approaching as he walked towards the door. I froze as he swept past me in pursuit of his goal, instinctively shrinking into a fetal position before forcibly adopting a relaxed posture. Showing my fear would only be troublesome for others. I was enough of a burden without dramatizing my emotions.

I didn't expect solid arms to wrap around me and pull me towards him.

Wingdings disliked physical contact. Always complaining about how unnecessary it was or how awkward it felt, he avoided it as much as possible. So why was he hugging me?

"I'm not sure where you got the absurd idea that you are 'just a hyperactive kid' or that I am superior to you," he shook his head "I am terrible at this," he murmured. "Those thoughts are irrelevant. Everyone is of equal value regardless of academic grades, personalities or other distinguishers society has created." Wingdings shifted a little but still held me close. It's certainly not the most comfortable hug I've ever had but it's kinda nice. I don't deserve this. "You keep saying you are fine and ok. You smile and redirect the conversation away from yourself." He sighs and guilt rips through me like a tsunami.

I've tired him. Hurt him. "I know you are hurting. I do not mean to force you into telling me anything and I may not know how to help … but I promise to always stand by your side and listen when you are ready to tell me."

His words gave me too much hope to be the truth. A beautiful lie that I wanted to believe for all that I'd heard it before. "But won't it be troublesome for you?"

"I don't think so, and even if I can no longer aid you we are not without support. I would bet my soul that our parents are worried about you and I certainly know …" He pauses, "You know you can cry if you need to, right?"

I huffed a laugh at the question and pulled myself closer, nestling my face in his chest, "Flame elementals can't cry silly."

"Then why are you smoking? Are you sick?"

I'm so selfish to worry like this. He had better things to do. More important things like the soul research that the scientists were starting.

"Grillby?"

A sixteen-year age gap and he's the one worried about me? Guess that goes to show how messed up I am.

"It's fine. I'm just a tad tired is all." I felt his skull nod against my flames at the half-truth.

"That is an acceptable explanation. So to summarise, fire-elemental smoking is the equivalent to skeleton eye-bags?"

"Sounds 'bout right. You can let go now, don't want you burning out on me."

"Do you want me to?" he asked.

I knew what I wanted, but when was that important? I opened my mouth to say the correct answer. I'm such a hypocrite for hating liars. Liar, hypocrite, just another two marks on my record, two more drops in my ocean of sins.

"I may not show my backbone often, but I am not among the category of people who would desert a friend in need."

"I'm not –"

"I have a hypothesis that the higher the magic level the clearer monsters broadcast their emotions. Grillby I have no clue on how to phrase this nicely but you feel like you are drowning in negative emotions."

"Sorry I –"

"You have nothing to apologise for. I am merely informing you that I will be staying here until I have found conclusive data to draw a conclusion on my hypothesis."

"Dings?"

"Yes?"

"For all your bony exterior you have a soft heart." I tease. Can't have him getting too serious, he was enough like an adult already.

"What soft heart? This is an important experiment."

I laughed at the indignant tone in his voice knowing that there was too much bias to make his proposed 'experiment' plausible. "Thank you, princess."

He relaxed a little at the nickname, conveying his relief at this little return to normality. My little skeleton was only nine.

He was far too young to have to deal with my mental trauma, but if he wasn't willing to be reasonable and let me go after another week?

Well, he'll get saddled with being my reason to try.