14
Her new form is diminutive, barefoot, and framed in soft edges of baby fat, with a voice like a tinkling bell. It's somewhat remarkable, then, that he can be as frightened of her as he is now. He would like to believe it's due to the new facade that accompanies her; rather than towering over him, she takes on the same threat carried by a drop of poison, a particle of virus, or a plague-baring flea.
"There must be a secret vault hidden somewhere in the school. You can start by finding it."
The truth is, he knows perfectly well what she's demanding.
"I'm counting on you, Crona," she says with a smile, and his throat clenches. Having given the command like she has no doubt he'll obey, suddenly she's counting on him.
But there is something else, and Crona knows it now.
"W-wait!I have friends here...I can't betray the school..."
"You'll do it for your mother, won't you?"
Honey-laced. Gentle, pitiful. And even as another face dances on the back of his vision, even as he can hear her laughing, he knows Medusa has him.
For the briefest of moments, he remembers sitting on her lap, the smell of milk surrounding him. This time he cannot fall back on the illusion of a child thinking it's being given something sweet. He sees beyond the colorful vessel of what she offers him and knows that it holds only poison.
Despite all of this, he takes her words and drinks them in anyway.
He thought he'd run out of reasons to hate himself.