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Chapter 2 A story for a story

  The

  silence after my question was total. It made the distant,

  ever-present wails of the Mistlands feel unnervingly close. She

  didn’t move, and the black veil masked her expression, yet I felt

  her undivided attention. The pressure was suffocating.

  It wasn’t

  until what felt like minutes had passed that she managed a faint

  shrug.

  “I am but naught,” she sighed, raising her head. “Of

  what importance is mine bygone to thee?”

  It took me a moment

  to parse the archaic phrasing. I

  turned toward my rucksack, to the faint glow of the device

  within.

  “Since I came to this place,” I said, “I’ve

  recorded

  everything. From images to sounds. If I die here, at least the

  record survives.”

  I turned back to her. “Your story is the most important thing in

  this hellscape...maybe that’s why I’m here. To ensure it isn’t

  lost.”

  She bounced the idea around in her head. I had to lay my cards on the

  stone floor.

  “Not

  only is my FloCaster broken, I

  can’t even raise my Flo output without my mind shredding, and I

  don’t know how much juice my equipment has left. But you,” I

  gestured frantically, though

  she couldn’t see it. “you

  sit here like you’re above

  it all!”

  She

  managed a quiet, sarcastic scoff.

  “Teach me.”

  “…Doth

  thou deem that a fitting query?” she replied calmly. She was

  right.

  “..Please. Are you willing, or able, to train me?”

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  She smiled, a kind of smile. “And what,”

  she asked, tiltting her head, “would I gain from

  this...transaction?”

  “Do you have anything else to do?” She fell quiet as I look past

  her, at the tendrils binding her arms, at the forgotten armour in the

  gloom. “And frankly, I am terrified of you. But if I get stronger,

  under your guidance, maybe I can help us both.”

  Silence stretched until she broke it with a hearty, warped laugh.

  “An

  amusing gamble,” she said. “It is well thou didst not touch my

  bonds. Else, thou wouldst have been as dust.”

  I asked if she was joking. She was not.

  The reality of my situation was almost idiotic. Stranded between a

  rock and a hard place,
I scoffed in my mind. But a resounding

  pity settled over me. Maybe what they both needed in their isolation

  was a friend.

  “It’s been said,” I offered with a shrug, “that some things

  are better when you’re not alone.”

  Unbeknownst to me, the words made her freeze. A single tear traced a

  path down her veil. I asked if something was wrong.

  “Thou reminded me of someone,” she whispered.

  “So, what do you say,” My voice softer and steadier than I felt

  as I picked up the recorder. “You talk. I’ll listen and learn.

  And when you wish...I’ll talk too. A story for a story.”

  She looked up, her expression one of pure surprise. “Thou

  wouldst..share thine own tale?”

  “It’s only fair. You’re entrusting me with your history. So

  I’ll trust you with mine.”

  She looked down at the floor. “A story for a story,” she echoed,

  weighing the concept. “Very well.”

  She straightened her kneeling posture as much as the bindings

  allowed.

  “I shall start at the beginning. Where I was considered the

  Church’s abomination.

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