Levi is diagnosed with paracosm - a disorder that paints a complex and deeply felt relationship with this subjective universe, which may incorporate real-world or imaginary characters and conventions, in someone's mind. How will he cope with that?
A...
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It was Monday, and alas, the alternate chore rotation had yet again fallen into my hands.
Mondays were the worst, packed with errands like checking the mailbox, scrubbing the stables, feeding the horses and my favourite, laundry.
"Go complete your duties!" mom scolded through the kitchen, then had to apologise to Agatha for being too loud.
Reiss waved back at me, offering me scant motivation.
I let out a huff, hauling along the hefty bucket of drenched clothing across our front yard. The heat was far more oppressive today, feeling a myriad of lassitude flogging at my back. Sweat was trickling into their eyes and stinging them. These trifling fusses eventually led to my breakdown.
"I swear it wasn't this troublesome weeks before." I grouched to myself.
The moment I reached the clothesline, I collapsed onto the safe landing beneath me.
"Mmm, the grass is dewy." I twined, but continued to wallow against it. Foiled, I rubbed my hands over my face, cussing into them after a whirlpool of impatience struck me.
What a bad start to the day.
I just wanted to spend it with Agatha, why didn't they let me? She seldom visits nowadays because of her hard-pressed schedule. The King is overworking her again.
Is she still conferring with my father about the case?
Knowing him, he's probably still too cowardly to shift into a titan. He doesn't realise that he'll contribute more to society if he becomes one, and that he'll save another's life. Working for the royalty? Can't he just wake up and see the assets?
I hurled the clothes over the rope as I struggled to get onto my feet.
"The quicker I finish this, the quicker I get to hang out with her." I noted, and brusquely got to work.
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A couple of hours later, and I return from my final chore to spot a group of men in suits mingling around the fore of my house. Five of them encompassed our patio - their appearance was uniform: a temple undercut tallied with a fundamental suit. But the sixth member stood out to me. His build was palpably taller than the rest; his black overcoat bringing that trait to spotlight. He looked much older too, aged with wrinkles splayed over his side-profile. He sported a bowler hat with a white band around it, much like Agatha's butler. Were they hired chaperones?
But there was no need for this commotion just for a single person's escort.
I searched for any peculiarities when my eyes landed on the man's bayonet, sunken in blood. And as he slouched over to guffaw, the revelation of the calamity got to me. Sprawling over the pool of redness was my mother's exanimate body. The gash transpierced straight into her chest and another through her neck.
