I can’t do anything right. Even while I am trying so hard to be careful for my mate’s sake, I still mess up. I still misjudge what isacceptableto others. I still put a knife through my own hand.
By the time scents of horror hit me, I’m sure I’ve already missed a thousand visual cues. I can’t stay blind like this. I can’t handle knowing it’s already too late for me to fix whatever I’ve done wrong by the time my love’s fear crosses my tongue.
My logic doesn’t work. It never has.
I am so…exhausted.
These past few days, I have never been happier.
But I have also never in my life been both this tired or this scared.
Turning my phone back on, I go to Zahra’s message stream instead of Pollux’s.
Me: Razah. Do you remember when you offered to help cure me once you became fully fae?
Me: After my theatrics this past week, is there any chance you’re still willing?
Breath held, I wait a long time. Finally, she replies.
Razah: Castor. It is two in the morning.
Me: You have an infant. You’re up all hours of the night.
Razah: Yeah. And I’m up for more of them when my phone rings.
It’s hardly my fault she doesn’t bother putting her device on Do Not Disturb when she doesn’t want to be disturbed. I’ve barely had a phone, and I’m rarely in a realm where it has reliable signal, but evenIkeep it on silent.
Honestly. Some things I can hobble my way through understanding where others are coming from. The putting a knife through someone’s hand thing, for example. I can somewhat comprehend where any action involving blood and pain might trouble a creature.
This, though? This is dumb.
If you’re going to complain when someone contacts you, don’t make yourself able to be contacted.
Me: Answer my question.
Razah: Yes, Castor. I’m happy to help.
Razah: We can talk to Pila any time you’re free.
Pardon.We? As in,bothof us?Weare going to talk to the dryad I keep antagonizing with my poor children skills? That woman does not like me very much. She’s been clear about that. I might not be the best withpeople, but even I know that if someone tries to put a tree through your chest it means they don’t much care for the fact you’re alive.
Me: Are you not overestimating my social abilities?
Razah: You’re going to have to make your case to Pila yourself. I can’t speak for you, and I’m not going to ask to form a contract without explaining why I want to.
In all my ages, only Pila has managed to look me in the eye without turning to stone. I’ll not find another person with the power to bypass, and hopefully fix, this little character quirk of mine so easily. Whether she likes me or not, I am no longer above pleading. Even if I’m not sorry for what I’ve done that has harmed her, I can beg, and I can reason, and I can bargain.
There is very little I wouldn’t offer for a chance to spare my feather from pain.
Me: Perhaps we should make these plans on your schedule.
Me: Given your raging extroversion, I’m certain it is far more cluttered than mine.
Razah: Fair enough. Me and my raging extroversion can clear next Sunday. I’ll see if Pila’s free and get back to you.
Me: Okay.
Me: I appreciate it.
