“Aren’t most people queer?”
“Sure, bisexuals. But, they’re actual queers. If either of them could’ve put up for a man, no Roversella-Lawrin.”
“Yeah. I can’t even imagine how people disliked it so much back then. My dad is always pushing for me to finally get a girlfriend to marry.” I bite into some popcorn. “But, my parents were like four and six respectivelywhen the Queens married, so they probably don’t even remember a life before their soldiers watched us.”
Without any intention, my eyes land exactly on a pair of undead soldiers walking through the garden, kids gathering ’round them.
“You’re… a queer?”
“Mostly.” I cover my cheeks. “There’s a woman who I—I know she’ll never reciprocate, but there’s this woman I… have eyes for.”
It feels nice to say that. It’s not specific, not a confession. It’s just comforting. I can’t tell her without breaking her heart, so this is the next best thing.
“Oh.” He silently looks back to the play.
The radiomancer and the necromancer both put down their fighting for a kiss, causing the entire crowd to cheer.
The conductor raises their hands, causing corpses to climb out from the dirt and join the stage as backup dancers. They must be extremely proficient with how nimbly those corpses move.
I stand up to clap when the dance concludes. “That was a great show!”
“Maybe foryou,“ he scoffs.
“Come on! Necromancy is fun! You wanna go watch the salamanders with me?”
“I actually gotta hang out with someone. Good luck though.” He skips past me in nearly a sprint.
Did I do something wrong? What did I say?
He’s gone before I can get him to tell me.
I go drown my feelings in glowing salamanders. They don’t run from me. They like my pets.
“They really seem to like you.” A kind lady walks up to me. “Would you consider adopting one?”
“Oh, wha—“ I shake my head out of its ruminations. “I can take some of them?”
“Yes! These three here are rescues from an animal fighting ring.”
I bite my lip in penance for thinking that sounded fun to watch. Poor things must’ve suffered.
“Are they a lot of maintenance?” I ask.
“Not at all! They’re perfectly happy with little room and don’t need much attention.” She hands me a thrice folded pamphlet. “The hardest part is washing your hands before handling them.”
“That sounds nice.” I flip through the paper. “I don’t have a tank or anything.”
“This is just a popup for charitable donations; our permanent rescue lounge is on South Onisko Street. If you wanna come by and pick one up after getting equipment, that’s heavily encouraged.”
“Oh, nice. I’ll think about it.”
I return to petting the salamanders in silence—Oh, they left. They’re somewhere in the ground now. Fuck me.
Still, a pet would liven up the parlour. And those little things sound like they could use a comfortable life. Great Ring, keep the ones I cannot take with me safe.
Do prayers make sense to the Great Ring? If it already planned out a… I’ll ask Vincenza. Her answers don’t hurt me as much.
Wash my hands and… back to wandering.
