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I
(It was a decision he made, a long time ago. No regrets, no take backs. An absolute decision.)
Norton Campbell was born as a strange child in a normal village. A child with an affinity for magic. He interests himself in the magical properties of rocks, in the spells and potions crafted by witches written in books, in curses and anti-curses that heal and cause plague. The townsfolk believe him to be unnatural. Sometimes they avoid him, sometimes they approach him. They do not know what to think of him.
He has a friend, once upon a time. The villagers call her Naiad, but he is sure none of them knew her birth name. They never called her that way, not even her adoptive parents.
But not him. Norton called her Grace. It was a pretty name, one she gave him when they became friends.
Grace is also a strange child. She cannot speak nor write, so she made her point across with her movements. Norton grew accustomed to her motions, understanding her without the use of words. But at some point, he picked up a quill and a parchment, and taught her how to communicate her thoughts.
The two of them weren’t the village’s favorites, but everyone still tolerated them. The townsfolk believed Grace bring good harvest, believed that Norton has the blood of a witch whom they can use to cure their illnesses.
One day, t’was a storm that killed the fishes and pulled out the crops from its roots.
The ocean is angry, the village elder proclaimed, pointing a quivering bony finger at Grace. The gods are enraged for we have been worshipping a false god!
It was before his very eyes did he witness his first and only friend be tied on a net as if she was but a fish. He vividly remembered the dancing of the flames, anger burning in the eyes of the people as they call out what they want. With an anchor tied with a rope, the girl sank down the bottom of the ocean, not even allowed to utter a single word of defense in her case.
It didn’t take long before their peering eyes turned to him. Grace was long gone, the storm was long gone. They did not wish for another instance of bad luck befalling their village.
He, Norton Campbell who had the blood of a witch, who cures illnesses and curses, may eventually turn on them. That was probably their line of thought, right?
And so without any more time to waste, he spun on his heel and fled.
II
It was a strange woman who helped him.
It is not easy to shake off an entire village of enraged men. They came after him with more ferocity than the wild dogs that roam the woods at night. Than the angry snakes that bit him after he accidentally stepped on their nest. He was tired, hungry, and out of magic to use.
Then it was that green woman who came, the trees moving with her will and shaking off those pursuing him. She carried a powerful yet confident aura that sent him falling into his butt in a mix of fear and shock.
She brought him to a village to the far north, a quiet place on the edge of the woods where the wind is chilly and the sun is lazy. There, people did not care nor fear his love for magic. They welcomed him, took care of him, and helped him start his own Magic Item Shop, him now known as its Keeper.
It was a good life now, and he wished Grace could’ve lived the same life he currently is living now. Sometimes he’d look out any form of water and bring himself to wonder if she’s watching over him somewhere. Was she proud of him now? She has always been supportive, of his decisions, of his interests, of his magic.
And then that time came, when his door burst open, hinges almost flying off from the violent force.
For a split second, he thought those from his old village had finally caught up to him. But why would they try, after all the years that passed? It did not make sense. He grabbed a round device called a magnet from his shelf and approached the doorway cautiously.
To his surprise, it was a person who collapsed inside his shop. Still breathing, albeit rather faint. A trail of blood stained his left side, as well as trailing down from his forehead. A blue butterfly flapped its wings weakly over the man’s head, leaving a trail of blue dust that made it seem like there was a halo over the stranger. What an odd creature, although he could feel the magic it emits.
How odd. He wasn’t the type to help out strangers who destroyed his door, but he supposed he could make an exception. Just this once.
Norton dragged the stranger to his couch and laid him there. His movements were fast, precise, and practiced. He has helped out the village’s medic a few times, a woman named Emily Dyer. A rhizotomist who knew a terrifying amount of things about herbs and plants. From those that could poison, to those that can give a terrible rash, to those that could suffocate a person to death.
It wasn’t long before the stranger opened his eyes. And truly an interesting event, it was.
He didn’t even have time to react. He was already knocked down on the floor, left staring at the blue haired man glaring at him with much hostility. He seemed to be trying to grab something from his back. Presumably the knife he had with him. How unfortunate it was that the blade was the first thing Norton took.
“What do you want from me?” the man rasped. Having been unconscious, his throat was too dry. It was commendable that he didn’t start a bad coughing fit.
The blonde shot him a look of deadpan. “You, sir, were the one who broke into my shop and destroyed my door. Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”
A snarl escaped those lips, and he shoved himself away.
“I’m leaving.”
The Magic Item Keeper would greatly not recommend that decision, but he said nothing as the other stormed off his shop. It didn’t come much surprise when the other collapsed again, not even a few meters away from the building.
Back to the couch, the stranger was.
III
The blue haired man was too injured that he was forced to stay in the house for a long time. It was in that span of time that Norton has gotten to know him better. From their conversations, to the words the other muttered in the middle of his nightmares, to the things he picked up from the man’s movements.
His name was Clarity (although it wasn’t his real name.) He was an elf that was part of a clan that owed a kingdom a massive favor after they have been saved from being wiped out the map. As a recognized figure among his kind, Clarity was sent for that favor, to protect the king from the war between kingdoms that rages on for years now. One event led to another, an unfortunate series of events that led him to a bad state, half-dead on the doorway.
This village knew nothing about that war. It was too far past the woods. It knew nothing of the life outside its barrier of trees.
On the day after the elf’s complete recovery, Norton found him getting himself ready to leave the shop.
“Must you leave soon?” the blonde asked.
Clarity nodded firmly, but the hesitance in his eyes is clear as day. “I have a duty, of course I must.”
Norton knows not much more of the blue haired male. Not even his real name. But it does not matter. Names only mean attachment, and attachment makes everything harder. Right now, he wouldn’t care too much if the other has to leave.
Or so he told himself.
He thought Clarity thought the same thing too. He was gravely mistaken, though. Because a few months and an end of a war later, the blue haired man was knocking on his door, more radiant than he last saw him. He wore a pretty, pretty grin on his face, wiping out as soon as his blue butterfly slapped its wings on his face.
“Hello Clarity. Did you get stabbed again?” Norton asked.
“Contrary to popular belief, Mister Item Keeper, I do not make a habit of getting myself stabbed,” Clarity scoffed.
Or so he said.
Because not even an entire year later, Norton was left staring blankly at the body slumped over the wall. Blood trickled on the same side where he cured the elf months ago. Blue crystals also gushed out of the wound, so very small that it seemed to scatter with the wind. Clarity’s spirit, reincarnating to be with nature, perhaps.
Naib Subedar, Clarity smiled brightly at him, although it looked more like a grimace. That’s my True Name.
How odd indeed. He did not remember Emily saying something about his eyesight worsening. He should consult her later, maybe she has a cure for bad eyesight.
It didn’t even occur to him it was tears clouding his vision.
“I thought you said it’s not a habit to get stabbed?”
It was on Clarity’s—no, Naib Subedar’s deathbed did the memories flash back into his mind. And oh boy.
It was just his first life, he discovered.
IV
The Lady is a fair person.
She only has one absolute rule that never has been broken. She is just, she watches over her people and views them equally. No one exceeds the other, and no one stays at the bottom. As long as you follow her rule, you exist under her watch.
As long as you do not break her rule.
Soul Catcher is a being that existed only because of the Lady’s will. She was the one who brought him to life. He carries out his tasks everyday, collecting souls and guiding them to the underworld. It was a mundane, boring, repetitive task he had to do tirelessly.
Or at least, it was. Until he met a certain spirit.
This spirit…he seem to know nothing but to enjoy himself. He thrives in mischief, loves stirring up all kinds of trouble. This was probably why he sometimes took the form of a grinning cat. He still lingers on even in the mortal world, maybe because of an unfinished business. But not even Soul Catcher knew what that business is. He just cannot drag that soul down to the underworld.
They call that soul as Cheshire Cat.
He once made the mistake of approaching this soul. He talked to him, tried to know what this business was. Their first meeting turned to two, to three, until it became embedded in his schedule: visit Cheshire after collecting the souls of the dead. Cheshire Cat became the one who brought entertainment in his plain existence. He didn’t regret a single moment he spent with the almost-feline spirit.
Now, as someone who collects spirit, he also gets to hear all kinds of tales, from far up north or from the land where the sun rises. Spirits love to talk, to boast of their achievements. But at the same time, they love gossip just as much as living humans do in their living life.
It was in the middle of his journey between the underworld and the mortal world did the word reach his ears.
Have you heard? Cheshire Cat broke the Lady’s rule.
To be quite frank, no matter how many years would pass, Soul Catcher has never known what it was that Cheshire did. But it matters not, for the cold feeling in his gut told him bad things. His job was hurried, done in much haste as he wanted to reach the Lady as fast as he can.
When he stopped by his abode, Cheshire was no where in sight. It was the possibility of what happened that made him worry so much more.
“Where is he?” he demanded upon coming face-to-face with the Lady. Not even an ounce of respect to the one he serves. The safety of a certain spirit matter more than his does in the present.
She turned to him very, very slowly. Her eyes pitch black, upper half of her face covered by a bird’s mask of what appeared to be gold. Her headdress, her shoulders all made use of feathers, dress an ensemble of black and gold.
Lady Nightingale.
“So you have come,” she spoke to him.
But he cares not. An idle chat with the Lady is not what he wanted. Perhaps he is being brash, but he could not bring himself to think about it. “What did you do to him?”
Her eyes glinted as she stared down at him. There was an overwhelming amount of power that hung in the air, so pressuring that it took every ounce of his willpower to not crash straight to the ground. “He must learn his lesson, child. Not even you can stop it.”
“To hell with that!” he growled. “Give him back to me. Now.”
Suddenly, he cannot breathe.
The pressure on his figure was gone. It all concentrated on his windpipe, pressing down to cut off his air. How was that even possible? He was a spirit, he does not need to breath to live. But the Lady’s power…it ignored that fact and made him suffer so.
“Stay out of this, Soul Catcher.”
“N—no—” he choked out. “I’m not—leaving—”
A strong gust of wind sent him flying back. So far back that he found himself sliding back past the massive doors that flew open, outside the room of the Lady. No matter how hard he tries to keep himself steady, there was no way to fight back. The pressure on his throat it gone, just as the massive double doors closed on his face, locking him out.
He didn’t even get to see Cheshire, did he?
It was so unfair.
What was it that the Lady had said? A lesson, for breaking the rule? He highly doubt it was one, probably more of a punishment. And punishment means Cheshire suffering. Just thinking about it…it send an unpleasant feeling in his gut.
The Lady wouldn’t allow him to interfere, would she? Was it because he has nothing to pay for? No lesson to learn, because never has he ever broken her rule?
Then there’s only one thing to do.
(“You are a fool, Soul Catcher. You allowed yourself to be blinded by your fondness.”
“You would’ve been better off as you are now, but if you truly wish to share the pain of the sinner, then share his pain you will.”)
V.
In his twelfth life, he was still born carrying the burden from his past memories. There was a short period of relief in which he remembers none. But past a certain age, all the repressed memories jump back into his mind.
In this life, it happened in the middle of the battlefield.
He was caught in a bomb explosion from the enemy side. It left half of his body an angry red, in constant pain, the tissues having been burnt and turned into nothing but an ugly patch of skin. No doubt about it, it would end up becoming the scar he had always had, just like in his previous times of living.
Suddenly, it was difficult to stare at Colonel Dax in the eye. The man was in charge of him, as well as many other soldiers. He was a busy man. Hundred other soldiers get injured all the time. But for some reason he cannot comprehend, it was Norton Campbell that he chose to waste his time on.It was Norton Campbell’s bedside that he chose to stay beside every night since he got treated.
It was him, whom Colonel Dax waited for.
That was why it came as much surprise when the brunette sat down next to his bed, a deathly serious demeanor clinging to him.
“Quit the military, Campbell,” he stated. “This war is not for the likes of you.”
Nor was it for you, but there was no way Norton could tell him that straight to his face.
It took much arguing, but he did as he was told. He left the military, searched for his father, dyed his hair and changed his name. This time around, maybe he can find a way to end the Lady’s punishment. He changed himself. No longer was he Norton Campbell, the man cursed to live through different times in his life. He paraded himself as the new rising actor of the Golden Rose Theater, the man of mystery himself: Ronald of Ness.
Years passed, and it was Colonel Dax knocking on the door of the theater, a death of two leading actresses, a leg injury, a new name and profession later. Ronald could almost laugh at how familiar this situation is. Mr. Inference returning to him, after a long time fighting in a war that shouldn’t have involved him in the first place.
The man was an amazing person indeed. Successfully solving the case of Madame Bella’s death and saving the face of the theater. Having Scrooge fired as director and allowing Ronald to step up as the new director for the theater.
It was going fine, so Ronald allowed himself to hope. Even for a little bit.
Perhaps it was being Norton Campbell that allowed things to change. Perhaps deserting his former self to be Ronald of Ness was the answer to ending the curse.
With such confidence in what he believes to be the correct answer, Ronald allowed himself to love the soldier-turned-detective. It wouldn’t hurt, right?
Yeah, he definitely thought so.
He knelt down on the stage, not bothered by the glaring spotlight on his face. The audience has left hours ago, and the staff of the theater is nowhere in sight, more than willing to allow Ronald a little bit of privacy with his dearest detective. He scooped the cold man in his arms and sighed, uncaring of the blood that seeped into his clothes. Not that it was noticeable anyway. Red cannot stain red, can it?
“Hey Naib Subedar,” he whispered to the shorter man’s ear, although deep in him he knew said person would never hear these words. “Can you please, please stop getting stabbed?”
It was Ronald who left his guard down and forgot both he and Inference still had enemies out there. A fatal mistake that cost him a precious life.
He wrapped his arms tight on the unmoving body and buried his face in the brown locks. His grip was tight and his arms were trembling so much, but he was unwilling to let go.There on the stage, with no one to stare nor judge, Norton Campbell allowed himself to mourn yet another life he lost.
With the spotlight being the sole thing keeping them on the center of attention, Norton laughed quietly through his tears and said,
“A story to put Romeo and Juliet’s to shame.”
VI.
Sparrow is always crying, even more than the other kids his age. From the moment he was born, when he took his first few steps, most especially when he met another child named Spring.
He was always in tears.
Once his mother asked him what was wrong. Sometimes, Sparrow would simply cry harder than he already was, snot and tears blocking both his vision and his nose. Sometimes, he shakes his head, sobbing about how much it hurts.
He was inconsolable when it got like this. Not even his two uncles knew what to do. It was so hard to watch the child cry and cry, for reasons nobody but him knew. They tried to take him to a doctor, but they couldn’t help. It was not a physical problem, and psychologists came to the conclusion that it was probably trauma. But what would a newly-born child be traumatized about, none of them knew.
When Spring first visited their teahouse, trotting after his guardian, it became a little bit easier to handle. In their first meeting, Sparrow accidentally dropped the tray full of boiling hot tea, successfully burning him in the process. He was crying again, but his massive grin through his tears was more concerning when he stared up at Spring.
Both Lady Thirteen and Sparrow’s uncles had come to a decision to have Spring visit the teahouse frequently. When brought up to the boy’s guardian, the tall man immediately agreed. It was then observed that Sparrow’s fits are easily calmed by the brunette boy, no matter where they are or what situation they are in.
The boy himself, though, has a different circumstance. He would cough frequently, and sometimes they get so bad that he ends up vomiting blood. His guardian, Jack Whistler has searched everywhere for a cure, even stopping by the teahouse to see if there was any herbal tea that can cure him. Alas, it was futile to cure a sickness that a child is born with.
It was better for a child to enjoy his life normally than to be burdened with the knowledge that he might not live very long.
One time, after the tears had finally stopped gushing from his eyes, Sparrow stared down at the yellow flower in his hand. It was one that Spring had given to him as an attempt to cheer him up. The color was really bright. (“To make Sparrow happy!” the young boy said with his cheeks puffed and eyes covered by his hat.)
He grabbed his friend’s sleeve and tugged to get his attention. All he got was a short glance, but that glance was enough to know he caught the boy’s full attention.
“Don’t leave me, please,” he pleaded.
Spring’s eyes scrunched as if trying to decipher the meaning of those words. “What are you saying?” he grumbled. “I’m not going anywhere. Um…except when it’s my turn to fly, anyway.”
Sparrow’s wide, glassy eyes stared at him in confusion. “You can fly?”
“No, silly! In Steam City, everyone makes these cool things! I talked to someone there, and they said they would make this super cool thing that could fly! He said it was air…air…uh…air—air—”
“Air?”
“UGH!” Spring threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “I can’t remember! Anyway, I will be the first one to try that air! It’s my dream!”
“…Can I come with you?”
“What? Then I’d not be the first one…”
“It’s fine…I’ll just be the second!”
“Ooh! Cool idea!”
A small smile crept up to Sparrow’s face. His nose was still a little bit stuffy, but his features lit up to give his friend a happy smile.
He really, really wants to be the one to fly with Spring. At that moment, he thought to himself, maybe the nightmares he has been having really were just nightmares after all. There’s no way Spring would be leaving him.
Spring has this dream of flying in the skies. But Sparrow’s dream was to grow old with Spring.
Spring laughed heartily at him, pointing a finger at his face. “Sparrow, your nose is so red!”
“Don’t laugh at me!” he pouted.
How very sad that their dreams are now nothing but a wish in the air. To the present, where the last time Sparrow has seen his friend, he was too pale, too thin, and coughing up blood in his usual spot in the teahouse.
VII.
On his forty-fifth life, he came to the conclusion that perhaps he should stop getting himself attached.
At this point, he has forgotten why he even bothered to allow himself to get cursed. His thoughts seem so far away now, and he cannot find it in himself to understand his actions. But there was one thought he came to. As much as he wanted to stay by Naib Subedar’s side…maybe he was better off not getting too close to the man.
Surely, it would hurt less that way. Not just for him, but for the other as well.
On that same life, his family left him once again. But this time, they allowed him money and connections. He took full advantage of this. Built himself a name with it, hoping to gain enough power to drive away others attempting to get close to him. To gain enough fear. It wasn’t long before the name Mr. Mole became known ruthless to the people in the underground.
Everything was going smoothly.
Until it wasn’t.
Only because apparently, Naib Subedar wasn’t one to make things easy.
He strides into Mole’s office, full of purpose and pride, clad in an ensemble of black and red. Heterochromatic eyes bored holes into him, as if he couldn’t be bothered to be in his presence. He was as scarred as he always was, personality more prickly than ever, but Mole’s heart jumped at the sight of that short figure.
(Faintly, he remembered that same person falling off the bridge, pushed off by someone chasing after him. The fall was too tall, no way any person could’ve survived it.
Norton remembered staring down the spot he fell down from, heart empty, wondering when did he start getting used to this.
In truth, he never got used to it. He’s just grown too accustomed to the pain he could barely feel it anymore)
“You’re my employer?” the short man asked him, as if finding it hard to wrap his head around this fact.
Mole raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What ‘bout it?”
Eyebrows furrowed, but his head shook instead of answering. “Nothing. So, what’s the job about? Better be worth it.”
The darker haired male allowed himself to grin sharply, ignoring the pang in his chest when he felt the familiarity of their interaction. It has always been like this, right? But as much as he wants to grab and hold it close, he knew he can’t.
Don’t get attached.
The pain will be worth it, he told himself.
It was that life’s motto. Don’t try to be something more, lest it be something more painful for both of them. And…what if that was the answer all along? Maybe everything will stop once he pretends he doesn’t care anymore?
At least, he thought he doesn’t.
Some nights, Hound will come back, hissing from the bullets embedded deep in his shoulders. Sometimes, he'd stumble inside Mole's office, drunk out of his mind, babbling nonesense. Sometimes, he'd rant to his own boss about his one-night stands, how some of them were too boring or unexciting as he originally thought.
One time, he collapsed on Mole's door, heavily drugged and barely able to keep his eyes open.
In the end, it didn’t hurt any less when Hound chose to drink the poison meant for him. It didn't work immediately, meaning he had to suffer long, excruciating hours as the poison slowly worked its way on his body, ultimately killing him. Mole sat next his bedside the whole time, disregarding his paperwork to wipe away the sweat and to change the wet towel on the man's forehead every now and then.
Despite keeping the other at arm’s length, somehow, he still managed to worm his way into his heart.
It will never stop.
VIII
It never stopped.
He was a racer stuck an endless loop of a race, Steam Teen was the city’s hero who accidentally stumbled into him, heavily wounded and all from his latest fight.
He was an asylum patient under high surveillance by the staff, driven insane by the images in his head, Eagle being one of those thriving in his mind.
He was a vampire. He was a curious child solving riddles, a miner…he was…someone...
Who was he?
In the end, it was just an endless loop of torment and death.
Why can’t he just be the first to die?
Why Naib? Why him? Why…why…?
All these whys, but they never really came with an answer.
He's forgotten his reason for being there.
“Campbell!”
A harsh slap on his cheek made him look up, at crystal blue eyes gazing down at him with immense worry. It took him a couple of minutes to understand where he was, breaking into a laugh when everything came flashing back. Plainly colored walls, dirty clothes laying on the floor here and there, a magnet in his nightstand...Right, he was in that manor. He just finished a particularly terrible match, didn’t he?
"Oh fuck. I'm sorry for slapping you—"
He was still laughing and hiccupping, lost in his own delusions and memories, when he felt a hand snake past to cup at his cheek. The man before him knelt down, Norton sitting on the bed, the shorter kneeling on the floor.
“Hey now,” Naib Subedar, a mercenary in this life, asked tenderly. His pretty, pretty eyes roam all over the dark haired man’s face, trying to find an answer as to what was wrong. His touch was soothing, too much like home that Norton wants to just cry. “What happened?”
Norton stared at him, a grin creeping to his face. He was aware, fully aware of who was before him. But the images pass by his mind too fast, he can no longer distinguish each face from the last.
“Who…” he croaked. How strange. His eyes felt heavier than usual. “Who are you, really?”
“It’s me, Naib,” the brunette muttered back to him, but not asking what he was seeing, nor tmwhat his words meant. He was willing to listen, not really knowing what to do. He has been there when Norton gets flashbacks of the mines, but the situation right now…his gut told him it was something else. Something deeper, more horrific than the past.
“Are you, really?” Norton’s grin grew weaker. “The Mercenary? Or are you Hound? Sandwolf? Spring?”
Naib remained silent. He does not understand the words babbled to him.
“It’s so confusing,” the taller man inhaled. The pang in his chest was back. It sent his head reeling, made him feel like someone punched his gut and knocked the air out of him. “I did it all for Cheshire, y'know? Cheshire…you reckless, reckless cat—Soul Catcher liked him so much, I think. Like how Shopkeeper loved Clarity…for years and years…it hurts, y’know?…I don’t even know anymore. I believed, time and time again, I’m here for you. Through years and lives. But…are you still him? Or are you someone I mistook for him? Time and time again…I don’t even…know why I’m still doing this…I don’t even know myself anymore…”
…
…
Naib was silent for a long while, digesting the words spoken to him.
Frankly, he barely understood some of them. Time? Years?
Why would Norton not know himself?
Who was Cheshire?
Thinking wasn’t much of his forte, and so was expressing his feelings. But if there’s one thing he hated the most…
It was seeing his loved ones suffer.
The hand on Norton’s cheek slowly fell down, but not without caressing his scarred face. Naib gingerly wrapped his arms around the larger man. He buried his face close, hugging his stomach and feeling him breath.
“You are Norton Campbell,” Naib said, making sure his words reaches said man’s ear. “You like annoying me when I’m happy, you always tease me about my height. I think you’re really clingy, especially when we cuddle at night. But all the same, I…care about you, Norton. More than anyone can possibly imagine.”
Norton remained silent.
“I don’t know who the fuck this Cheshire is…or this Soul Catcher, or Shopkeeper, or Clarity…but you, Mr. Prospector…I know you. Even if you like someone else, you’re still you. The you in the present, the you in the past, even who you will be in the future. And I love you. Everything, who you were, are and will be.
“So don’t…don’t think too much about things, m’kay? Don’t hurt yourself. Please.”
He barely even noticed it, until something dripped down from his chin, down the top of Naib’s head. The slow realization that it was his tears brought forth even more of them. He was pretty sure he was crying an entire ocean now. All of the pent up frustration, pain, fear and loneliness…all of it just escaped him. He laid all of it out, where Naib can see.
Let me be weak, just once, please.
Naib’s warm embrace answered him wordlessly, asking him to melt into him and not bottle everything up.
And so, Norton, for what felt like a thousand lifetimes since he last did, allowed himself to cry. He allowed himself to believe.
Everything will be fine.
IX
“Don’t you think it’s about time?”
The Lady stared at the image before her, of two men talking in hushed voices behind a shack wall. There was only the two of them left in the match, it was either one escapes, or no one does.
Humans truly are curious beings. They willingly throw themselves into harm, just for the sake of another.
“Baron,” she called out to the owner of the manor. Truthfully, she had far greater power than this man, but she found it far more interesting to act as someone lesser than him. Strangely though, the Baron never took a toe out of line, never dared disrespect her. “Do you think a soul born from my power has the capability to love another?”
She heard a hum. “Normally, not,” he answered. “But seeing Soul Catcher proves otherwise, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” the Lady smiled. “Perhaps souls are souls, after all. Regardless if they are born of a human’s will or of power.”
She turned around to face her conversation partner, hands crackling with power. She let out a tune, closing her eyes as the music filled the air.
“Perhaps it’s time we release them.”
X
“Hello? Mr. Barista~?”
“H–huh?”
“You’ve been staring at my face for fifteen minutes now,” the brunette laughed, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Liking the view?”
Norton’s face heated, and he cleared his throat and looked down on his paper. “So, uh, what was your order again?”
Naib chortled heartily at his question. Norton allowed himself to get lost in the sound of that laugh, before snapping out of it as quickly as he can. “Come on Campbell, you’ve asked that for like, the third time now. Stop zoning on during your shift lest your pay gets cut.”
He squinted at the list of orders, and his eyes stopped on top of a certain name, as well as the order written next to it. A loud groan escaped his mouth. “No way.”
“Do better next time,” Naib grinned at him. Norton looked up, willing his flush away, just as the brunette slid a Tupperware on the counter. “Also, you forgot your lunch when you left this morning.”
“Oh,” he stared dumbly at it, then glanced on the line of costumers behind Naib, who seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him. “Oh right.”
“See ya, Campbell!”
He stared at the brunette’s back as he retreated back to his table, seemingly in a daze. Norton only snapped out of it when he felt an elbow dig to his side. A yelp escaped him, shifting his eyes to glare at his coworker.
“No heart eyes in the café,” Demi shook her head in faux disappointment.
Their next costumer, however, just seemed too amused with his entertainment. “Don’t worry Demi, it was fun watching them,” Luca Balsa snickered. “Bunch of fools in love.”
“Anyway!” Norton raised his voice and sent a warning look to the costumer, but it proved to be ineffective. “Just tell me your order, will you?”
“Yes, yes, sorry sir…”
-
end.