"1044 days left…" by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

Orlo occasionally lifted his gaze to watch Zora as she savoured her meal. The roasted potatoes drizzled with lemon juice seemed particularly to her liking, and he couldn't help but smile, especially knowing the chocolate cake that awaited them for dessert. However, his quiet enjoyment was abruptly disrupted by Redfred's cough.

"So, Orlo, have you revisited our alligator issue?" Redfred's voice cut through the peaceful clink of cutlery.

Orlo's reaction was instant, his eyes widening in disbelief at such a blunt reference to Zora's private struggles. At that moment, Zora's cutlery clattered onto her porcelain plate.

"Alligator issue?" Zora's voice trembled slightly, her gaze fixed not on Redfred but on Orlo. "You told him?"

"No... I... not like that," Orlo stuttered, his words tumbling out awkwardly.

"Zora, darling, there's nothing to fret about. We just wanted to..." Redfred attempted to soothe the rising tension, but his words seemed to only fan the flames.

"You can't just talk about it like that... it's private!" Zora's voice rose, her emotions cresting as she stood abruptly, her chair scraping back loudly.

Muna, unable to contain herself, jumped into the fray. "Just calm down. Nobody mentioned you!"

"Muna, please don't meddle!" Darra ordered.

But Muna was relentless. "You always have to make a big scene about everything! Can't you just be normal like everyone else? Everyone is trying to enjoy the evening, and here's Zora, doing everything to draw every eye to her. Just calm down! This isn't the circus!"

"Circus?" The word seemed to ignite something fierce in Zora. In a defiant, swift motion, she began to unbutton her robe until the garment slid from her shoulders, tracing the contours of her body as it fell. The room fell into a shocked silence.

Muna's eyes widened for a moment, revealing a flicker of discomfort, but she quickly masked it with a dismissive scoff. "So you had rough sex. For fuck's sake, Zora, just grow a pair!"

Zora faced Muna, her expression turning cold, her voice chillingly calm. "I was raped, Muna. By someone I trusted. I don't even know if it was 'rough,' as you so lightly put it because I can't feel it."

"So what are you complaining about if you didn't even feel it!"

"Complain?" Zora's voice rose, her frustration boiling over. She slammed her hands down on the table, causing the silverware to clatter. "I was raped!" Her shout echoed a raw and harrowing declaration that cut through any remaining pretence, leaving an odd silence in its wake. "I was fucking raped!"

As her confession echoed through the dining room, the shadows cast by the light bulb on the ceiling seemed to retract, shrinking until they vanished completely. The atmosphere thickened, charged with ominous energy. Zora's eyes turned as dark as the Long Night, void of any light.

The chandelier overhead began to tremble, and the cutlery and other stationary objects around the room rattled.

"Someone turn off the switchboard!" Orlo's command cut through the mounting tension before he turned back to Zora, his voice softening to a plea. "Zora, look at me. Zora."

But she remained unresponsive, her gaze fixed on some distant point, lost in her inner storm. Muna, initially dismissive, now sensed the escalating danger, her movements cautious as she slowly edged away from the table.

"Zora, please, look at me," Orlo nearly begged.

In that instant, all the lights flickered and died, plunging the house into darkness. Amidst the confusion, Zora's footsteps were the only sound, quick and light, as she fled to her room.

"What was that?" Muna's voice broke the dark stillness.

Redfred's response was stern, "Young lady, you and I are going to have a serious conversation. I didn't raise a child to be an insensitive..." He paused, searching for the right words in the pitch black, before raising his voice for the maid. "Lisa, you can turn it back on." The Magi then turned his attention back to his daughter and finished his sentence.

"Cunt."

Zora's retreat to her room was a flight to sanctuary, but even within its confines, peace eluded her. With trembling hands, she locked the door behind her and staggered into a shadowed corner. There, encased in solitude, the storm of her emotions broke. Rage, pain, and humiliation churned inside her, a tumultuous sea that threatened to sweep her away. She felt contaminated, a deep loathing for herself more piercing than any external disdain.

She hated herself more than anything. More than Shuri.

In a burst of lucid fury, Zora flung open her closet and seized the dress that Darra had carefully prepared for her—the colourful outfit that she was supposed to dress for Muna's Dois Trae.

Her hands became instruments of destruction, tearing and shredding the material with relentless energy. Each rip echoed the tearing of her own composure, leaving nothing but tattered remnants scattered across the floor.

Exhausted and hollow, she collapsed amidst the ruins of the dress, her body folding into itself on the floor. She wept her sobs, the only sound in the silent room, the only action left to her in her pain.

A knock at the door pierced the thick curtain of her grief. "Zora?"

Her voice pushed through clenched teeth. "Leave." She wasn't ready to face the world outside her door—the world that now seemed impossibly alien and painfully aware of her deepest shame.

The relentless tug at the door handle came with Orlo's plead, "Let me in!"

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"Go away!"

Silence fell again as she ignored his subsequent pleas, her only desire to dissolve into the oblivion of sleep, to escape the incessant pain that gnawed at her saatgut. She buried her face deeper into the fabric remnants, and she cried. She only had the strength to cry.

Then, a faint clinking noise disturbed her tears. Zora's fog of misery thinned slightly as she lifted her head, her attention caught by the sound emanating from the closet. One by one, nails began to give way. The planks that discreetly connected her room to Orlo's loosened and finally fell with a dry thud onto his side.

Blinking away tears, Zora watched as Orlo's figure appeared, squeezing through the narrow opening. His face was slightly embarrassed as he crawled toward her, dusting off his clothes. "Geez, I used too many nails," he muttered, half to himself.

Orlo found Zora crumpled on the floor, her vulnerability laid bare in a way that stirred a protective anger within him. He remained crouched, keeping himself at her level.

"Darra told Redfred, and Redfred came up with an alligator story," he began. "I did the math and knew something happened to you."

"Only Muna didn't know," Zora murmured, her voice low.

Orlo nodded. "I don't know what's wrong with her lately, but she's changed. She was always a bit snobby, but lately, she's just mean and strangely addicted to expensive perfumes. Was she always like that? Anyway, I don't care about that, I don't give a fuck, but I do care about you and—" he paused, taking a deep breath as his voice threatened to break.

"The truth is, Redfred and I came up with a solution. It won't fix the biggest wound you have, which is inside. I can feel how broken you are and..."His eyes tried to hold back the tears. "I wish I could fix it, but I don't know how. And I don't want us to stay like this... hurt; otherwise, none of us are going to heal. I want to heal... and I would very much like you to heal with me."

"How?"

"Would you like me to remove her marks? So we kill her once and for all."

"Did Darra told you?"

"My Hexe is a powerful Magi and Shadow Dancer. I would be very disappointed if she let a villain go."

"How will you do it?"

"Would you mind if we went over to your bed? I think it's easier to talk and explain things there. Are you okay with me to... see?"

"Do I have a choice?" she whispered.

"I can blindfold myself; I don't mind."

"It's okay," she said, standing up with a quiet dignity that left her vulnerability and strength equally exposed. She was naked, the soft light of the room tracing the contours of her body.

Orlo rose from the floor, keeping a respectful distance as he followed her to the bed. His eyes, though open, did not search for scars or marks. Instead, he saw her for what she was: beautiful.

She sat in the middle of the bed, and Orlo settled in front of Zora, his legs crossed in an informal, open posture. He was careful not to let his gaze linger on her body, wanting to preserve her dignity and avoid making her feel exposed or violated. Instead, he focused intently on her eyes.

"I need to touch where you have the marks," Orlo explained. "Then, I will perform a time spell to accelerate the regeneration of your skin cells. This can be very dangerous, so you must tell me immediately if you experience any pain or discomfort, and I'll stop."

"What could happen?"

"The skin might die..." Orlo's admission was blunt.

Zora managed a weak smile, "It's better than carrying her marks."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable... you should place my hand where it needs to be. And..." Orlo trailed off, contemplating the right words to use.

"And?"

"You might end up with a tiny mark at the place," he explained further. "It might be a small visual."

"Like what?"

"A mole, maybe freckles. It's because of skin ageing. I can't be sure. But they are not my marks... it's really your skin. I hope this part is clear."

Their eyes locked, the intensity of their gaze unbroken as they communicated almost through whispers; they could feel the rhythm of each other's hearts, the warmth of their breaths. The room was filled with a nervous sense of intimacy, a shared vulnerability that seemed to draw them closer.

"Are you afraid?"

"Very. I don't want to mess this up. I don't want to make you feel... you know... I don't want to do something that makes it worse. I just want you to feel good about yourself. Because everything that you are feeling about yourself isn't fair, Zora." Orlo said, almost whispering. "It's really not fair."

"I'm okay," she reassured him, guiding his hand to her neck with a calmness that belied her nerves. Orlo's gaze remained fixed. His lips moved silently, likely reciting the spell. His finger delicately traced a rune over her skin, invoking the magic with a soothing touch.

Zora felt a gentle stretching sensation, a subtle tingling as if her skin was awakening from a long slumber. The moment stretched, filled with Orlo's quiet magic.

After what seemed like an eternity, Orlo gently withdrew his hand, his voice tentative as he asked, "Can I check?"

Zora nodded, the gesture slight but clear, as she tilted her head to expose more of her neck to Orlo.

"It's a little dark mole," Orlo observed softly, his finger brushing the spot gently, ensuring the transformation was benign.

"It's gone?" She asked.

"Yeah, do you want me to continue?"

Zora didn't speak; instead, she guided his hand to her shoulder, then to her legs, ankles, and several spots on her back. She had a few more marks across her chest, and with each new placement of his hand, Orlo found himself swallowing hard.

To distract himself, he began mumbling random words—"apple pie," "Maggie," numbers, formulas—anything to maintain focus and keep the atmosphere professional.

Finally, after each mark had been replaced by similar small moles, Orlo looked up, his voice gentle. "All done?"

"One missing," Zora murmured, her face heating up with embarrassment.

"Where?" Orlo asked, though her hesitation and the flush of her cheeks gave him a clue.

"Down."

"Down? How do you want me to do this?"

"You do what you've been doing... is that bad?"

"No, no, I just... okay, okay, I can do it. I am mature enough to keep my mind out of trouble." Orlo straightened his back, taking a moment to gather his composure before he asked, "Show me."

She took his hand gently and guided it between her legs, directing him with a quiet "To the left."

Orlo froze, his heart racing. He was terrified to move yet aware that he needed to draw the rune. Closing his eyes for a brief second to muster courage, he resignedly murmured, "I need you to open... your legs a bit... I need to draw... I need space to draw the spell."

Zora complied silently, the air thick with discomfort. The awkwardness was so obvious as both struggled with the intimacy of the moment.

Trying to distract himself and regain focus, Orlo found his thoughts scattering wildly. Then Zora, sensing his struggle, offered a distraction. "Tell me what your letters talked about."

"Dear little spider..." Orlo began, his voice trailing as he focused on the intricate motions required for the spell.

"Little Spider?" Zora's curiosity piqued, a hint of a smile in her voice breaking the tension as she latched onto the nickname. Shuri called her that, so now she knew for sure. His letters did arrive.

"Yeah, I called you that in every letter. I was unsure what alias you were using, and I thought that pet name suited you well. At least you never complained. So, I would write, 'Dear little spider, I just finished my day. My feet are sore, and university is too big.' And..." His voice trailed off as he mumbled the spell again, his focus returning to the task at hand.

As he worked, Orlo lost himself in Zora's eyes. He loved them, and as much as her absence had hurt, he hadn't realized just how much he missed the little things—the simple banter, the half-jokes, the way words were often unnecessary between them. He missed being seen and felt for who he was, not what people wanted him to pretend to be.

"I think it's gone," Zora whispered.

He removed his hand and, with a shy smile, suggested, "Go check in the mirror."

Zora slid off the bed and inspected herself, examining each bit of her skin where the marks had been. "She's gone!" Her voice broke through the room like sunlight through clouds. "She's gone!"

As she announced her liberation, a sudden burst of golden light sprouted from the ceiling, walls, and around her bed, swirling in a spiral of golden bloom of lilies.

Watching her, Orlo felt a deep happiness. He had once said to himself that nothing made him happier than feeling his Hexe happy.

"Zora, can I sleep here?"

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