Afraid of the Dark

Chapter 17: Deal With The Devil

They remember carefully painting over the crack in that porcelain doll's face. Again and again.

They'd fix it, let it dry, let it sit.

Then repeat every time it broke again.

The crack would heal, but never for long. For every scratch and chip, they'd cover it with a fresh coat that they knew, every time, was just temporary.

They remember feeling... frustrated.

Why did he keep breaking it?

Avinalyn paces back and forth with a knot between their brows and tightness in their jaw, all while Mog silently watches, standing tense in front of them. She's trying not to make too much noise, afraid that so much as a breath would tip them over the edge.

They woke up and went to apologize to Reela, only to find her gone.

"I told you..." they growl through their grit teeth. The resentment in their voice gets Mog to tense even more than she already was. "...to stand and watch. That's it..."

Mog swallows back what feels like fear and slightly raises her hand, but she stops when Avinalyn stops in their tracks and whips their glare onto her. "No. You will speak when I permit you to," they rumble and take a step towards her. "I gave you a simple task of making sure that Reela didn't escape..." they take another step towards her and lift their hand at their side, snap their fingers which sparks a small flame at their fingertip. "So tell me..." they stop in front of her.

"Why... did you let her go?"

Mog glances at the flame and laughs nervously. "Well... Um..." she clears her throat. "About that—" she's cut off by Avinalyn pushing her back into the wall and lifting the flame close enough to her face that some of the stubble on her chin sizzles.

"And why did you give her one of the shards?" they demand. Their voice alone is enough of a threat as it is.

Mog shies her face back from the flame and holds up her hands in surrender. "The instructions were unclear! You said that you couldn't let her go! I'm not you! As for the shard, I..." she shrugs stiffly. "I wasn't just going to send her out the door! The not-Mog orc camps would've caught her!" she closes her eyes and holds her breath. "I was just trying to help! Please don't kill me, I'm too young to die!"

Avinalyn makes the flame on their finger grow a little, but they flick it away and raise their hand as if to strike her across the face.

("Please... Leave her alone, Father... I'm warning you.")

They stop themself.

Their hand tightens into a fist that they slowly lower to their side. They step back and shake their head as they lightly tug at the cuffs of their sleeves. No. They are above such bitterness to punish someone who couldn't possibly have had the mental capacity to follow simple orders. Perhaps it's best that Mog comes from Conarita.

Varagores would have ripped her apart.

Avinalyn takes a deep, calming breath. Anger won't solve this. It won't bring her back.

"Forget it. The fault is mine for expecting too much of you," they sigh and shake their head. "Tell me. Were you, at the very least, successful in learning anything about Reela's second father?" they cross their hands behind their back and straighten their shoulders as they resume their pace at an unhurried speed.

Mog releases her held breath and laughs awkwardly. "Okay, cool. Thank you for not killing me—"

"I still can," Avinalyn growls. "And I will if you stop proving yourself useful. Which I'm beginning to suspect might be the case," they glare their warning.