Warmth, light, and voices softened by distance was what Nightshade woke up to. With closed eyes she felt the warmth of both her covers and, supposedly, sunlight that shone into the room. She could hear voices from somewhere underneath her… downstairs, she thought. She had no memory of walking upstairs, but from the sound of it, that was where she was. Her body felt heavy as she rolled on to her back, every movement sluggish and her muscles ached from the movement. But she was still breathing, and she was breathing easier than she ever had before. So, despite the dull pain, she opened her eyes with a soft smile on her lips.
The room was full of warm light. The night before she did not pay attention to the room. Now, slowly sitting up, she drank it all in. The room was beautifully decorated, though thoroughly in chaos. In the bed there was a mountain of pillows and at least three blankets in various thicknesses and materials. The bed itself was a fourposter bed, squeezed into a corner up against the window, which had been covered with loose hanging curtains dulling the sunlight – consequently making the room terribly stuffy and warm. More curtains adorned the bed, they were currently tied up, but if they were to be let down, Nightshade could imagine the bed imitating a cave – or perhaps a pillow-fort. Have I ever made a pillow-fort? She looked around the room, her eyes landing on the chair which had the folded clothes Warlock had put out for her before she drifted off to sleep. The floor was covered in thick, soft carpets, which she greatly appreciating as she stepped out of bed, but book stacks also stood like small towers all around. She reached for the clothes and knocked over a stack of books as she moved forward, sending the tower scattering to the floor.
“Shoot!”. She hurried to collect all the books, but in her hurry managed to knock over two additional book-towers. She sighed and, now taking care not to mess up anything else, carefully gathered the books. Instead of placing them on the floor, she made use of the vacant bookshelf, which was also cramped into the room. She placed them on the shelves hurriedly looking them over and making sure none had been scathed. They seemed worn from use but not ruined. Her hosts must have heard her downstairs, not that it made a very loud noise, but if she could hear them, then they could probably hear her. She looked back at the clothes, she must better hurry and get clothed as to not to overstay her welcome. Warlock had put out an underdress, a shirt, a set of pants, and a skirt, along with a pair of socks. Nightshade dressed in the underdress, the shirt, socks and the skirt. She was about to reach for the door when she was blinded. She blinked at the light and traced it to one of the closets. The closet door was slightly open and something inside reflected light out at her. Guessing at what it was she opened the door and found a mirror. It was attached to the backside of the door and was as tall as she was. She looked at her own frame. Though she had gotten a full night’s sleep and a bath she looked sickly. Her dark skin pale, with dark patches under her eyes. Her hair was matted and fuzzy, her braids coming undone. And her eyes… she thought they should’ve been brown, maybe with a hint of gold. But they were black. And they were full black, the whites of her eyes and the iris and pupil all the same blackness – and she knew that was how she looked. Knew it and had known it the very first day she woke up. With tears again burning her eyes, not knowing if it was from sadness or anger, she closed the closet door and stepped out of the room.
On the other side she found what she guessed was the common room, with a small table, some chairs, as well as a small sofa – and plants. She wanted to look around the room, to linger among the pots of flowers and greenery, though she knew she couldn’t. Her hosts were downstairs, and she could not force herself into their home more than she had already. So, she looked for the stairs, but there were none. Instead, there was a hole in the floor and a ladder. On unsteady legs she made her way into a room she did recognise – even if her first impression of it had been heavily influenced by her hazy mind. It was the room with the many shelves and book towers. More book towers. Now, in the daylight – despite no windows invited that into this room – and with a rested mind, she took in the room again. She could hear the voices of the three others in the side room where Magic had gone into yesterday. Her purpose of coming downstairs had been to seek them out, but now… now she felt her heart trying to escape from her chest just thinking about interrupting what sounded like a pleasant conversation. Forcing herself not to eavesdrop she looked around the room instead. The table was still flooding with papers and items, she lifted a small flask with a yellowy liquid inside. The liquid was thicker than water, and as she shifted it, it did not linger on the inside surface as oil might would. She put it down again, not wanting to drop it by accident. The papers seemed to have to do with finances, at least most of them, others looked more like communications. Nightshade turned around, lest she read some private letters or just letters – it seemed rude to pry like that, intentional or not. As she turned around Warlock walked out of the side room.
“Oh! I’m so s- I’m sorry”, said Nightshade as she stepped away from the table, “I didn’t-”.
-“You’re awake! Glorious!”, she said with a broad smile and closed the distance between them in an instant. She took her hands and gave them a quick squeeze.
“How’d you sleep?”.
“Fi- fine, thank you”, Nightshade couldn’t help but glance at the table again, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I just- I just didn’t want to interrupt, and- and-”
-“Love”, stopped Warlock her, “you are totally fine, okay?”. Warlock rested a hand on Nightshades cheek. “Now, how about tea and proper introductions? The boys are in the kitchen”. Nightshade simply nodded and let Warlock guide her to the side room.
She stepped into the kitchen and was immediately overwhelmed by senses. Smells, light, colour and the sound of boiling and frying and stirring and – it was a lot. Nightshade stood stunned in the opening, Warlock had let go of her and passed further into the room. The very small, very loud room. Shelves had been put up on every wall and they brimmed with herbs, jars and flasks – all containers full of colourful every things. There were powders, liquids, insects, plants, and much more Nightshade did not linger on. There was a small window – open now, and steam flowed out of it from the four different pots and pans currently in active use, not counting the kettle. And forced into the small, overfilled room was a little table, currently crowded by four chairs, of which two were taken. Bard looked up from his conversation with Magic, who also looked up. Both young men smiled at her, and Bard got up from his seat.
“Morning, good to see you up”, he pulled out the chair beside him and invited her to sit. “How are you feeling?”, he asked as she profoundly overwhelmed sat down. The room smelled both sweet and spicey and like… like earth? She looked around, unable to take her eyes of the many shelved objects, and finally resting her eyes at Bard, forced herself to answer his question.
“Better”, she looked down at her hands, “thank you”, she added quietly.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better”, Bard said, and though she wasn’t looking at him she was certain he smiled.
“D’you want tea?”, Warlock asked loudly as she retrieved the kettle and placed a teacup in front of Nightshade – the others already had cups. Nightshade met the woman’s eyes as she refilled her own cup and then her friends’.
“Can I have tea?”, asked Nightshade, glancing at Bard whose expression softened at her question.
“I dunno. Do you want tea?”, asked Warlock back. Nightshade looked dumbfounded up at Warlock, who patiently waited for her answer. Do I want tea? She nodded. She would try tea.
“Great”, said Warlock and poured Nightshade a cup of tea, before she sat down in the last chair.
“I think we might move Specialist Dreams to the front of the shop, y’know? Make it part of our window display”, said Warlock as she took a gulp of tea – and burned her mouth.
“Just last week you discarded the idea. Remember?”, Magic’s voice was calm as he talked over Warlock’s rather loud complaining about the hot tea. He reached behind him and found a glass; he filled it with water from a water jug placed on the table and handed it to the still complaining Warlock.
“We have already made plans for the display, both for this coming month and the month after”, added Bard, “and you argued against specialist as it’s not exactly flashy, we attract more customers with the simple and potions sections”, he continued. “Besides, is that really important to discuss now?”.
“Oh! No, right”, Warlock said after draining her water glass, giving Nightshade a broad smile, and then looking back at Bard, “Just thought of it”. She picked up her tea again and sipped it, clearly still burning her mouth. Bard turned to Nightshade, who had both hands around her own cup and eyes locked on the tea.
“We wanted to talk with you-”. She had to go. They were kind enough to take her in, but now they wanted her out.
-“I- I really- thank you for helping me- but… I know I can’t stay, it’s- it’s okay, just let me know when-”
-“Nightshade”, interrupted Bard softly, “we’re not kicking you out”. They’re not? She looked up at him, he wasn’t smiling, she saw to the rest, they smiled at her, and she saw back to Bard.
“We would be happy if you wanted to stay”, he said, smile returning.
“Oh…”, she said and went back to looking at her tea.
“You don’t need to answer right now, or even today”, he said, “for now, we might owe you proper introductions”.
“Especially if you do decide to live with us, you deserve to know what you’re walking into with these two”, Magic smiled at her, his voice crisp and jovial. She looked up at him and tried her best at a smile back. She caught his eyes and noticed the dark bags beneath them and his slouched shoulders. He looked tired, the kind of tired that comes with multiple nights of too little sleep. She hadn’t given him much thought the day before, not about his grey coloured skin, his light-grey irises and his near white hair and stubble. He was completely devoid of colour. Burn out.
“Exactly”, agreed Bard, not acknowledging the jibe, “we want to formally welcome you to our shop”, he continued and crossed his arms on the table.
“Welcome to The Charm”, he smiled at her, “as you know, I am Bard, that’s Warlock”, Warlock waved and gave her a broad smile, “and that’s Magic”, Magic raised his teacup and nodded a smile to her.
“Me and Warlock own this shop and founded it…”, he looked to Warlock.
“We founded it four years ago”, she helped him.
“and we specialise in selling magical items as well as helpful potions and other mixtures”, he continued after giving Warlock a ‘thank you’ smile.
“Magic helps me with creating potions and such, while also assisting Warlock with determining items’ connectional value”, he looked to Magic, who took over the storytelling.
“And I’ve only been around half a year”, he gave her a comforting smile, “so you won’t be the only new one”. Nightshade sat and listened to them explain the shop, their costumers and what she might expect if she stayed with them. Warlock emphasised that they would not under any circumstance ever force her, or Magic for that sake, to be in the front – which she understood from context was the shop proper. They would not expect her to engage with customers at all and would find something she could see value in doing, but first, she was to be comfortable.
“Now”, said Bard after their explanations, “will you be okay with us talking about you?”. Nightshade nodded, still looking at her tea, which was slowly getting cold.
“First, how’s your ankle doing?”. She froze. She hadn’t noticed until he asked. Nightshade stared up at him. The pain was gone. She had walked on it this morning; she had climbed down a ladder.
“Completely fine”, she said, her shock apparent in her voice. Bard smiled broadly at her.
“I’m glad to hear it”
“How?”
“Told you I was a healer”, he said, but reached for something on a shelf, “This”. He handed her a jar with opaque greyish paste. “Is a healing mixture Magic helped me concoct, it has proven quite effective in handling sprains”. She gave it back to him, and he placed it back on the shelf.
“You don’t like tea?”, he asked. She shrugged, she thought she might. And could remember what tea should taste and feel like, but she wasn’t able to recall ever drinking it.
“Don’t know if I can drink it”, she said, “if it’ll hurt me”, she added quietly.
“It won’t hurt you”, Bard reassured her.
“As long as you don’t drink it straight from the kettle like Warlock”, added Magic with a smile. She glanced at him and then looked to Bard, who gave her an encouraging nod. She looked back to her tea and lifted the cup. And with a feeling like she had done this a million times, while not having a single memory of drinking tea, she put the cup to her lips. Not bothering blowing on it, for it had gone cold some time ago, she took a sip. Cold, bitter, and sweet. And… and nice. It felt normal, she felt normal for a beautiful second while she lowered her cup to the table. She blinked back tears and sniffed as she felt new sobs beginning.
“So… do you like tea?”, asked Warlock sweetly. With a half sob and half laugh Nightshade answered.
“I do”, she looked up at the woman, “but… but I think I like it better if it wasn’t cold”. The three broke into laughter. Not roaring, not exploding, but soft laughter, that warmed something inside Nightshade.
“Let me get you a new cup”, said Magic and took away her cold tea. He refilled her cup and placed a now steaming cup of tea in front of her. “Here”, he said smiling. She nodded thanks to him, and – this time blowing on it – took a sip from the hot cup of tea. I am drinking tea. She thought, not able to believe it. She lowered her tea again and looked up at her three hosts, letting her eyes rest at Bard.
“You wanted to ask me some questions”, she said, not knowing if she was truly ready for their questions. Bard nodded.
“How much…”, he studied her, “how much do you know about your condition?”, he asked her. Despite being dead Nightshade felt her face flush. She looked away from them all when she answered.
“I… I guess I know what most people know”, she said, “that I’m… dead… and…”, she took a breath, “and dangerous to people”. She glanced up at her hosts. They exchanged worried expressions before Bard spoke again.
“First of, you’re not dead”, he gave a pause, “and you’re not dangerous either”. She looked up at him disbelievingly. What feeling of normality drinking tea momentarily gave her had disappeared. She knew she was dangerous. Normal, safe people didn’t wake up over a dead body. They did not wake up over a person they had killed. Bard sighed.
“Okay, let me rephrase, leechers are not dangerous”, he locked eyes with her, “okay? Leechers are people, and people can be dangerous”. They didn’t know her. Didn’t know what she had done.
“Safe people don’t kill people they touch”, I do, she thought, “leechers do”, she said.
“When they decide to”, Bard corrected. She looked away. Not always. Tears stung her eyes. She just stayed quiet. Tightening her grip on her teacup. She could feel Bard’s eyes on her.
“People… people will act violently sometimes when they are scared”, he said quietly, “leechers are no different”. She felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t immediately continue speaking but let his hand rest on her for a moment before lifting it again. She felt like she should respond, but she couldn’t. Instead, she nodded.
“People call leechers dead”, she said softly.
“People are stupid”, said Warlock at the same time Magic said, “People are wrong”. Nightshade just looked up at Bard, who kept his eyes on her.
“People…”, he started, “people do what they can to avoid thinking about leechers as people, and making someone a something…”, he looked towards the table, and Nightshade thought he might be holding back tears, “it’s a way of excusing terrible acts of violence”. He looked back, smiling softly, almost apologetically, “if someone is dead, they can’t feel anything and then you don’t need to feel bad about treating them ill”. He took one of her hands.
“So no, Nightshade, you are not dead, despite people claiming you are”, he squeezed her hand, “after all, dead people can’t drink tea”. His smile turned warm at his last comment, and it helped unfreeze Nightshade from the despair that had overcome her as Bard talked. She had known her situation was desperate, but hearing someone tell her straight how it was. How long people would go to hurt her, to condone their own violence against people like her. It sat in her like a knot of terror, it stabbed at her, clawing in her chest. Unblinking she felt tears running down her cheeks. She turned towards the table, looking down, still with Bard’s hand in hers.
“Oh, love”, Warlock got up from the table and came over to kneel beside Nightshades chair, “here”, she said and pressed a handkerchief into her free hand. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this love”, despite having handed her a handkerchief Warlock started wiping the tears away from Nightshade’s face with her hands. “But you’re not alone, not anymore, not if you don’t want to be”. Nightshade sniffed but nodded, trying to stop her tears. I don’t want to be. I don’t, I really, really don’t. She looked up at Warlock, the woman wasn’t smiling. Her brows were furrowed and her eyes serious. “You’re not alone, love”, she repeated, and Nightshade believed her. She nodded to her and Warlock gave her a soft smile, then she hugged her. Warlock wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her tight. “You’ll be fine”, Warlock whispered to her. Nightshade tried whispering back, but her throat was a tight knot and speaking was impossible. Warlock released her again, gave her a soft smile before returning to her chair again. After a short time without any of them speaking, Nightshade spoke up.
“I- I would like to stay”, she said. Throat still sore from holding back sobs. Without looking up she saw smiles on the faces of Warlock and Magic, and she felt Bard squeeze her hand.
“You are more than welcome to”, he said, “We are glad you want to stay”, she could hear his smile on his words. She looked up at him and shared his smile. She couldn’t believe her luck. What he had said about people, how people viewed leechers, she had never thought there might be someone who didn’t think like that. Even she had thought like that. And here were three people who had no idea who she was, ready to help her.
“Thank you”, she said to the table, knowing she would break into tears again if the saw any of their soft smiles.
“Theres no need to thank us”, said Bard and slowly extracted his hand from hers. “However, if you are to stay, we can’t have you not feeding”, he said. Again, Nightshade felt herself flush. She shut her eyes, trying to banish her memory of yesterday. She shook her head.
“I- I can’t-”
-“Nightshade”, Bard interrupted her softly, “Warlock, Magic, and I, we have already talked about this”, his voice wasn’t scolding or strict, it was as soft as it had been in the alley, “we can’t have you staying just for you to die here”. She didn’t respond. Truly, she didn’t want to die, but… but she had no control. Despite what Bard told her.
“We want you to stay, but you have to live too”, there was no arguing in his voice. So, she nodded. She wanted to live. “Do you know how much you need to feed to stay healthy?”, Bard asked. She had no idea, she just looked up at him, expecting him to tell her, but he waited for her to answer. So, she shook her head. He nodded and looked to the two others.
“Then I guess we work with the second plan”, he said. So… maybe he doesn’t know. She thought he might have known, as he seemed to know so much about her condition. The other two nodded to him. Magic turned to her.
“To be honest, we don’t know either”, he said with an apologetic smile, “we know you don’t need to eat foodstuffs or drink, but we also know it won’t hurt you to do so”. He folded his hands on the table and kept his eyes on her. “And we know that you will die if you stop getting energy, and that starvation for leechers is just as uncomfortable as for any other person, turned or not”. She nodded to show she followed the conversation.
“Unfortunately, actual studies of your condition are far apart, and those that do exist are either too old to be trustworthy or completely build on pre-existent bias without any study of the physiological nature of leechers, or something as simple as asking leechers about their experience”. The way he was talking sounded almost like he was tutoring her… or he was reading aloud from a source book. She nodded again, to let him continue speaking. “Despite this, we have an idea, based on before mentioned questionable studies, and what is reported on news about leechers, about how long leechers can survive without replenishing their energy”. He paused, took a breath and continued.
“You can go without draining energy about three weeks at most, but this depends on how much energy you got”. Three weeks. She had truly come close to dying then. Much like she felt herself flush before, she felt all warmth disappear from her face. She nodded, she understood what he was saying. It was a wonder she was alive – and that she had not killed Bard.
“Nightshade”, Bards voice. She looked to him, he looked worried as he studied her expression. “Before yesterday, when was the last time?”. She had been running three days before she came to this city. Before that she had hid in in a wagon full of wares for about a day or two, and when she had nearly died of freight to be discovered she had fled. But she had been running for longer than that, and that wasn’t the first wagon she hid in. She escaped the city first. And she escaped the city the same night she woke up. Last she fed had been...
“When I woke up”, she answered. “I don’t know”, she continued, “just- just know I had done- just knew I had energy”. He nodded.
“Do you remember how long ago you woke up?”, he asked. Too long.
“Little over two weeks ago”, she said. The kitchen became quiet, save the continuously boiling and frying. “I think- I think it’s around, maybe seventeen…”, her voice got even quieter, “maybe twenty… days ago”. She looked away. “I’m not- I’m not completely sure… A lot- a lot happened”. Bard sighed and shared a look with the two others. She could have killed them. She should have. Shouldn’t be able to control anything when starving.
“Okay”, said Bard, “let’s- let’s make sure you never go that long again”. She nodded.
“I’m-”
-“Don’t”, said Bard, “don’t be sorry”, his voice again carried his soft smile, “everything’s alright”. She looked up at him and saw that he was smiling again. “Goes to prove you have more control than you thought”.
“Okay”, she simply said. Still stunned at learning how close she had come to kill him. Trying to distract herself, she drank some more of her tea, hoping it would give her a sense of normality as it did before. It didn’t. She sat down the cup again and looked to Magic.
“You had a plan?”, she asked. He didn’t smile, but neither did she, instead he nodded.
“Yes. We thought we could start out with you draining every third day, changing between Bard and Warlock”. She nodded, waiting for him to explain more. “Again, we don’t know much about your condition, but we don’t want to shock your system with too much energy, especially when you have been starved for so long”.
“Okay”, she said.
“If you feel like it’s not enough, we will simply add another day”, he kept explaining, “similarly, if you need less, then we adjust for that”. She nodded, the more he talked about it the more comfortable she became with the idea. It became less scary, less monstrous as he stated things as facts.
“Can… can I ask you something?”, she asked Magic. He nodded.
“Why… why aren’t you…”, she tried to ask but cut herself off, “why is it only…”. She trailed of, not able to properly formulate her question.
“Why’m I not part of the schedule?”, he asked for her with a smile. She nodded, forcing herself to hold his gaze.
“I’m a burn out”, he said. “And… burn outs, our link is burned. The link that connects everything of Everiall to itself, mine is gone”. He explained, and she thought she saw pain in his eyes as he spoke. “And this link is what you are draining, yes, you are draining a specific person’s energy, but it is actually through their link that they get the energy which you drain”. She nodded, thinking she understood. She thought she knew about connection and creational energy, that was what the link was for, right? The link which Magic described was a person’s link to the creational energy of the world, of Everiall.
“So…”, she said, “since your link is gone… I can’t drain you?”.
“Not quite”, said Magic, seeming to get a more comfortable as he got to talk theory, “you can drain me, the trouble is only for me”, he gave her a smile, “unlike Bard and Warlock, whose links are intact and therefor will be replenished with energy over time”. He gestured to Bard and Warlock as he talked, and then to himself. “I won’t, at least not naturally”. So, being drained would for most people be a minor inconvenience, lest I kill them, but for people like Magic, they would be permanently affected by it.
“Oh”, she said, “that makes sense”. He smiled to her. She wanted to ask him how he became a burn out, she was almost certain no one was born that way, but she couldn’t decide if it was insensitive to ask. The pain she had briefly seen in him, made her think it might be, so she thought better of it. Maybe she should keep painful personal questions for second or third days, not the first day of living together.
“D’you remember why you turned?”, Warlock interrupted the conversation. Nightshade looked to her. Remember why? Darkness. She didn’t think so. Screams. She didn’t want to.
“Warlock, don’t you think that was a bit insensitive, she-”
-“It’s fine”, Nightshade interrupted Bard and looked back to Warlock, “I really don’t”. Darkness. Screams. Fear. “I just, I just know I was afraid when I woke up”, she added. “And… and I knew what had happened”.
“But… I don’t remember anything else”. The three sat and studied her quietly.
“Nothing?”, Warlock broke the silence. “Not from before you turned? Not even family or friends?”. Nightshade shook her head. She didn’t. She had emotions, she knew things about the world, but no people. No places, well, she knew about geography, but couldn’t recollect any emotional ties to any city or something like that. No connections.
“I don’t- I don’t even think I remember my old name”, she said. It hurt less to call it old rather than real. She knew that even if she did remember her past life, it didn’t matter. She might not actually be dead, but she would be to those people. Better not to remember.
“So… Nightshade?”, asked Warlock.
“It was engraved on-”, my locket. Her hand shot to her neck. Where is it? Panicked she looked to Bard. She had had it on when he found her. When she entered the shop. All her things. Her heart raced. Were they gone?
“Hey, hey”, Bard soothed, “what’s wrong? Breathe”, he said. She tried and managed to not enter a panic.
“My- my things”, she almost cried, “my locket, where- where-”
-“It’s okay”, he said calmly, “we put them aside for you, they’re not gone”, he assured her. “Warlock, can you-”
“Already on my way”, she said as she walked out of the kitchen. Nightshade forced herself to breathe easy again. Scolded herself for being so easy to panic. These people had saved her, and allowed her to live with them, to regularly drain them. They wouldn’t steal or take her things from her. Despite this her thundering heart only slowed when Warlock returned with a small box and handed it to Nightshade.
“Here, love”, she said as she handed it off. Nightshade wanted to thank her but was too overwhelmed at the thought of losing her things – few as they were. Still shaking she opened the box and found her jewellery. There was her locket, earrings, rings and bracelet pendant. However, both the bracelet ribbon and ribbon for her locket was missing.
“The- the ribbons?”, she asked forcing her voice not to break.
“They have been washed”, answered Warlock with a soft voice, “alongside your other garments and your jacket”. Nightshade looked up and hoped none of them could see the tears in her eyes. Warlock’s soft expression told her they could. “They are hanging in the garden drying at the moment”, she assured her.
“Thank you”, Nightshade managed to say. She meant it, but fear still sat in her. She clutched the locket in her hand. Without knowing why, these items were dearer to her than anything else in this world. She felt she could almost remember things when she held them – especially the locket. There was joy, tenderness, and… and something sad she thought at times. But the sadness she only felt when it was night.
“I, em... I”, she looked up at the three worried faces, “I got my name from the locket”, she said. Trying to focus the conversation away from her panic. She held the locket out for one of them to take it, if they wanted to see it. It was very dear to her, but now she knew where it was, she had no issue letting them see it. The word nightshade was etched into the back of it, it didn’t look like a person’s name, just a word. Perhaps a memory or inside reference, but it was all she had, and she had taken it. The inside could hold a picture or maybe a small item, but the locket was empty. It was round and made of silver, the front was enamelled with a design of the moon, Isenya the white, as a new moon on a dark night sky. Bard handed the locket back to her as he was the last to see it.
“There’s nothing inside?”, he asked. None of them had opened it. She shook her head and opened it with a soft ‘click’. It reflected light back at her, but there was nothing but the shining insides of the locket.
“I was quite disappointed”, she said with a smile. “Hoped to find a picture, or a note or something”, she admitted. They smiled back at her, but didn’t say anything. She put the locket back in the box and closed it. Happy to know it was safe.
“Do you know how old you are?”, Warlock refocussed the conversation. Again, Nightshade shook her head.
“No, but I think”, she looked at the three young people around her, “I think I am around your ages”. Warlock nodded while she studied Nightshade.
“Right”, she agreed, “I’m twenty-six by the way, Bard’s 25, and Magic’s 23”. She pondered for a moment. “Guess we’ll just have to pick a date”, she said. Nightshade furrowed her brows confused.
“For what?”. Warlock's face lit up when she answered.
“For your celebration day of course!”, she said joyfully, “just because you have memory loss doesn’t mean you should lose your celebration, that would be cruel of us”. Nightshade flushed again. “You can have some time to pick the day, whichever date you like best”, Warlock continued. Nightshade simply nodded.
“But maybe a day during summertime would be best, not a lot happens-”
Warlock was interrupted by pounding on the door.
