"1049… days left" by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

Zora studied her reflection, the mirror framing her from head to toe. Her dress—a cascade of white fabric embroidered in red—hugged her waist and flared into elegant layers at the skirt and with lace teasing from the edges of the revealing blouse.

The whiteness of the dress contrasted with Zora's dark skin. But marks around her neck, stretching across her arms and legs and dipping into her cleavage, told a darker tale—remnants of Shuri's whims.

They were loud, visceral echoes she couldn't silence, making her feel like a beautifully crafted doll stitched together yet torn at the seams. Despite the picture of her pain, she felt none; her body bore the history, but anything else was numb.

Each visible scar on her skin mocked her, like open wounds that refused to heal, to disappear. She could see already the eyes darting with pity and curiosity, whispers swirling around her like a cloak of unwanted attention. The very thought tightened her chest with the urge to vanish, to run away right now.

The door's hinges moaned a soft warning as it swung open, Darra stepped inside. "Good, you're already dre—" Her greeting stumbled into silence, her voice catching on the air as her eyes widened at the sight of Zora.

The shift was immediate: Darra's face went from relaxed to taut, her body rigid as if the shock had rooted her to the spot.

Under the weight of Darra's gaze, Zora felt every scar screaming anew.

"Zora... what happened to you?" The words floated from Darra. She closed the space between them with careful steps, her hand reaching out to gently cradle Zora's arm. Her fingers delicately traced the bitemarks written on Zora's skin.

"Nothing." The dark elf pulled away, her fingers hurriedly attempting to tug the short sleeves down.

"You are completely… marked." Darra's hand moved to gently sweep Zora's hair aside, exposing more of the scars that wrapped around her neck like cruel jewellery. "Who would do such a thing to someone? Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Zora, talk to me."

"I can't feel anything. The Trial didn't change that." Her voice was calm, almost detached, as if discussing someone else's ill fate.

With a sigh, Darra reached for the red shawl she had brought and folded it into a neat triangle, draping it gently over Zora's shoulders. "It looks lovely, but it won't hide everything. Maybe I can talk with Muna and ask if you can wear your robe."

"It's not needed," Zora murmured, "It's just for one day."

"She will have to concede," Darra countered, unwilling to let the matter rest.

"I want her to be happy. I can just not go and stay in my room. I don't think she wants me there anyway. I just... don't want to ruin it for her. I just... I just want to..."

"Did they pay for it?" Darra's hand reached up to gently wipe away the tears that had begun to streak down Zora's cheeks. "Who or whatever did this to you… did they pay?"

"Yes, yeah… they did."

"At least that," Darra whispered. "I will see if there is a way to hide those marks. A healer would be the best choice, but I don't know one who could come on such short notice."

"It's fine," Zora attempted a smile.

"It's not fine, sweetheart, this is not fine at all."

"1048 days left…" by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

As Orlo walked down the corridor, the muffled sound of voices grew louder with each step. He recognized Darra and Redfred's unmistakable tones. Nearing the door, he could hear Darra's voice rise, "You never listen, Redfred! How many times do I have to repeat myself? Zora is marked! Almost from head to toe!"

"I don't know what you want from me, Darra. I'm not a healer," Redfred said in a loud but unexpectedly calm voice.

"Don't you have someone in the area who could help? Even a White Cloak?"

Orlo could almost see Darra's face, contorted with frustration, and Redfred, trying to maintain his composure but clearly struggling under the weight of her expectations.

The Magi's response came as a low, incredulous scoff that reverberated through the wooden door. "You want me to invite a White Cloak into our house? Are you losing it, woman?"

Orlo's grip tightened around the handle of his cane, his knuckles pressing white against the polished steel. His breath came in nervous bursts, and his eyes were fixed on the door as if he could see through it. He couldn't shake the uneasy twist in his gut, wondering what could have happened with Zora in her Trial. She had seemed so composed yesterday.

Darra's voice cracked, struggling to keep its calm, "Zora was—"

Redfred's voice cut through. "I understand, but I don't have a solution. I'm not a healer, and I will not summon a White Cloak to my home! Not for Zora, not for you, not even for Muna!"

"Then talk some sense to your daughter because I will not humiliate and expose Zora like that in front of everyone. She deserves better than that—much better!"

"Zora is one of the strongest warriors you and I will ever meet. It's not just some eyes on her that will shake her," Redfred countered, his voice struggling to remain steady amidst the chaos. "For fuck's sake, Darra! She is a Magi now!"

Orlo, his back pressed firmly against the wall, shut his eyes for a brief moment.

His fingers instinctively brushed against the edge of his blindfold. The cool fabric was a self-imposed distance, a barrier between him and his raw connection with Zora.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

The temptation to lift it, to feel Zora's reality, and reconnect with her on all levels surged within him. His heart ached with the longing to experience the bond that only Hexes have.

"What are you doing in the middle of the hallways?" Muna's voice snapped Orlo from his thoughts. "I thought you were studying for your exam."

"I was picking something to drink," Orlo replied, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly.

"Standing in the middle of the corridor?" Muna raised an eyebrow.

"Yes..."

Muna chuckled while rolling her eyes, the sound light and teasing as she stepped closer. She wrapped her arms around him. "I think you've had enough studying for today," she said, her smile playfully. "Maybe we could find something fun to do, you and I."

Orlo let out a breath, leaning into her touch. The tension of the Dargustea's conversation seemed to dissipate, replaced by Muna's tempting presence. For a moment, he allowed himself to be distracted, grateful for the reprieve she offered from the storm swirling in his mind. But...

The conversation he had overheard about Zora still clouded his thoughts. Her name was like a persistent drum beating, getting louder and louder.

"Muna, I'm not in..."

Her eyes softened as she looked at him. "Orlo, you've been so tense lately. Come on, let's take a break. We can worry about everything else later."

"Muna, I..." Before Orlo could finish his sentence, Muna leaned in, pressing her lips against his. The kiss caught him off guard. Instead of the usual warmth, it felt wrong—cold —dull, even with her strong lips saturated with mint flavour.

He gently pushed her away. "I need to continue studying."

Muna's expression shifted from playful to hurt, her arms dropping to her sides as she stepped back.

"Orlo..." she began, but he shook his head.

"Later, Muna. I promise," he said, attempting a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I have an important exam. I need to study," Orlo repeated firmly, turning to walk away. He could almost feel the anger radiating from her.

"You've studied all day. I mean, I need—" she started.

Orlo turned back to her, the blindfold not hiding the challenge of his eyes. "You need what?"

"I..." she faltered under his intense gaze.

"I told you what I need, and I've told you before, and I'll tell you again, your bratty, spoiled attitude is not cute. So please, leave me alone today."

Muna stood there in stunned silence, the echoes of his words lingering in the hallway as he disappeared from view. "I need you. That's what I need."

"1047 days left…" by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

Two knocks echoed, a short, insistent sound that sliced into Orlo's room. He sighed, his hand poised above the notebook, fingers wrapped tightly around his pencil. His voice reverberated off the walls, "Leave me alone, Muna!"

Another set of knocks followed, persistent and irritating. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Orlo grumbled, pushing himself up from his chair with a groan. He grabbed his cane and limped towards the door. When he opened it, Muna was not on the other side; it was Zora holding an envelope.

He smirked, his annoyance tinged with irony. "I get my letters now?"

Zora didn't reply. Her face, partially obscured by her blindfold, was unreadable. "It's from Claramae... I think you shouldn't read it alone," she said.

"You know Claramae?" Orlo's impatience flared as he snatched the envelope from her hand, eagerly tearing at it. As he was about to yank out the letter, Zora blocked him with her hand: "I mean it. Don't read it alone. I can call Muna... or... whoever you need in a time like this."

"Why?"

"It's not my place to tell," Zora replied.

"What could Claramae possibly say that I shouldn't read alone?"

Zora didn't answer immediately. She withdrew her hand, hesitating for a moment. "If..."

"Come in, then. I'll read it here with you. It can't be that big of a deal. Probably something about me being an ungrateful child for never sending news." He gestured for her to enter, a reluctant invitation at best.

Zora quietly took a seat on the bed, her posture tense as she watched him closely. Orlo unfolded the letter and read. But as if it wasn't good enough, he swiftly pulled off his blindfold.

Zora had forgotten how beautiful his eyes were. She followed his gaze, which was of an indescribable shade, and scanned the lines once, then again, and then repeatedly. As he read, his expression transformed; the initial scepticism slowly gave way to growing pain.

His eyes became watery as he repeated to read the words. It was clear he was struggling to maintain his composure.

"Do you want me..."

His gaze pierced through her as if searching for an anchor. Overwhelmed by his intensity and unable to comprehend how he felt, Zora decided to understand it as best she could, so she removed her blindfold.

As the fabric fell away, a sharp surge of warmth enveloped her, her skin prickling uncomfortably as if each nerve ending were being prodded by a fork. Her stomach churned with a hollow hunger, and a profound sadness washed over her, soaking into her very bones. Yet, she fought the urge to cry; this moment wasn't hers.

"Claramae, she, how…?"

"She was completely destroyed when she got the news," Zora replied.

"I can imagine," His voice was rough as if he struggled to breathe around the lump in his throat. "What was she doing in Ormgrund?"

"I think I should call..."

"Why?"

Zora paused, unsure of Orlo's intent, but chose not to move when he sat down next to her. The sudden warmth of his hand encasing hers was an awkwardness that filled the space between them. They were physically close, their shoulders almost touching. She sensed his struggle, a desire to speak etched into the tense set of his jaw, yet no words broke the silence.

Zora wanted nothing more than to reassure him, to tell him that it was okay to let his guard down and express his grief. Before she could find the words, her eyes drifted to the bedside table, where Maggie stood.

"She looks really pretty."

He gripped her hand more firmly. "She does. She grew up a bit. Godmama will be planted at Adelberan, and in a few moons, she should look like Maggie. I'm not sure how long it will take for both to sprout."

"Claramae thinks you're mad at her for what happened to Maggie. I think... when the time comes, she would like to hear from you," Zora ventured cautiously, her words slipping out before she could gauge their impact. As she spoke, she felt a twinge of regret, and her eyes dropped.

"When the times come?" Orlo echoed.

"I shouldn't have spoken... I'm sorry," Zora murmured, attempting to rise from her seat. However, Orlo's grip on her hand tightened, anchoring her in place.

"What does that mean?"

"She... went on a mission, and I don't know when she returns," Zora replied.

"Where?"

"Orlo, I can't..."

"Where?"

"Whitestone."

"I can send a letter..."

"No." Zora cut him off.

"But..."

"You would blow her cover. She changed her name. She doesn't even present herself as a faerie," Zora explained.

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you write back to me?" Orlo's voice cracked.

"I never..." Zora started, her explanation caught in her throat.

Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted her.

"Orlo, Orlo, are you sleeping?" Muna's voice called from the other side,

She knocked again, waiting for a heartbeat before pushing it open when no answer came. Her gaze swept the room—empty. She quickly mumbled between teeth and turned, closing the door behind her.

Above, Zora pressed against the ceiling, Orlo hovering on top of her with wings fluttering in near silence. They held their breath, trying to remain undetected. The delicate fragrance of Zora's petal-like scent filled the narrow space between them, momentarily daunting Orlo.

"I think you can put me down now," Zora whispered, her voice barely breathing.

"What?"

"She's gone."

Dois-Trae

Noun

Translation: Twenty-Three

Definition: "Dois-Trae" represents the number twenty-three, but it holds a far greater significance in the Menschen tradition. It symbolizes the celebrated rite of passage from adolescence into adulthood. Marking this pivotal year, a grand festivity known as the "Dois-Trae" which is thrown in honor of the teenagers reaching this milestone.

Cultural/Contextual Background: The "Dois-Trae Fest" is a vibrant and joyous occasion filled with music, dance, and the display of handkerchiefs and dresses. It is tradition for young men to select a handkerchief that matches the colour dress of a girl they wish to dance with. If the colours align, it is customary and mandatory for the girl to accept the dance, and it is often a time for potential courtship. The success of a pairing at the "Dois-Trae Fest" is seen as an auspicious beginning for a suitor's prospects— [editorial note: this is the official approved meaning.]

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.