“I’m sorry, Great Ring, for doubting you. For a moment. I didn’t mean it. I was emotional. I’m sorry,” I quickly whisper in hopeful penance. “I just wish that you put me on a thread to find the love that’ll bring me to you.”
My mouth quivers. Love is optional; it always has been. I can’t access the Ring because I rejected it. I could at any point choose to take its blessing. I’m just a terrible worshipper. Unfaithful in my heart of hearts.
I throw open the doors to the parlour, seeing Mistress Vincenza talking with Piero, both smiling. A brand new radio on the counter plays a Lawrinian audio drama I can’t understand.
“Oh, did your apprentice go ghoul hunting!” Piero leans back, bellowing with deep laughter.
Mistress Vincenza turns around, curiosity turning to soft, warm giggles. “Stella’s going to be proud of how well your dress held up.”
I grab the side of the dress and pull it into the air, pushing out all the warmth she put in my lungs to say, “it was a great gift.”
“Only when you’re wearingit.” She steps closer, bending down towards my height. “I thought you could use a radio, in case you ever bring… Did it go well?”
“The—the… the—“ I toss my head aside and swallow. “The hunting?”
“Your date,” she clarifies in a hushed tone.
“It went… It…” Please, Great Ring, give me the air to say something. “I—No.”
The first huff fills my lungs back up. The next one overfills them. By the third, I’m hyperventilating. I don’t need to avert my eyes; I can’t see my mistress as they turn blurry and wet.
“I f-fail—I failed.”
Like a violent hiccup. Not even two words are worthy of passing through my lips without embarrassing me.
“No, it’s fine. Come…” Mistress Vincenza yells at Piero, “you’re on the desk.”
“What?” his voice asks in the distance.
“Get on it,” she spits, grabbing my arm and gracefully pulling me into the back.
I’m not graceful. I think I spotted at least two other patrons in here who could’ve seen my display.
She takes up the stairs, unlocking the room to the right.
Shame and curiosity fight, and my shame wins. I barely pay attention to the room we enter, other than the fact that it’s decently spacious, as she escorts me onto some sort of couch.
I burrow my head in my hands. Why can’t I just stand the prick? Take the bite of someone else’s lips if it means I won’t be in tears?
All I wanted was to see Mistress Vincenza smile at me with pride. I wanted to earn it. I wanted to live up to the impossible expectations that I could be a necromancer. I guess… I thought I could be something. More than a rounding error on some factory’s salary cards.
Fuck, I wanted my parents to know that I could live well-off without them. I wanted to impress them by being so independent that I barely even said goodbye.
Deep breathes. The hitching is slowing down.
I wipe my eyes and lift my head. My jaw is shaking, but I feel like I could maybe talk if I tried.
Photographs. Pictures. All framed and placed everywhere. In the kitchenette where Mistress Vincenza boils something that smells truly awful. On the table in front of me. Above the mantle for a fireplace.
All of the same two women. Mistress Vincenza, smiling and holding onto someone I do not recognize, the pink of her eyes aglow. Dark skin, bright eyes, sharp features and hair black enough to make any necromancer jealous. Mistress Vincenza holds the woman like she’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and I can see why.
I blink and stare up at the one on the mantle, oil painted. The woman she’s holding onto seems to be leaning on her shoulder. The wilting carnation is laid right under the unknown woman. “Who—“
Fucking jittering jaw. Dammit.
I try again. “Who’s that in the painting?”
Mistress Vincenza’s body tenses. She silently finishes pouring noodles into two dishes, moving to place them on the coffee table in front of me. “My wife. This was her favorite meal.”
