“Perhaps, but it doesn’t exactly imply unity or togetherness—a full cloaking of light.” Castor lifts his pedestal glass. “I’d like a name that resonates with our mannerisms, given that I believe it will only ever refer to those present at this precise moment.”
I resume my internet search. Then I giggle. “Penguins are called a waddle.”
“Are they now?” Castor exhales a short laugh. “That’s delightful. I shall not be.”
I find myself smiling with him. “How about amuddle? That’s guinea pigs.”
Frelsi falls over laughing. “Muddle!”
Castor murmurs, “What, pray tell, did you type in?”
I beam. “Cute collective nouns!”
“Ah.” His head shakes. “Try, perhaps,coolinstead.”
I do so. “A conspiracy!”
“Which are?” he prompts.
I murmur, “Lemurs.” Very cute animals, lemurs. Very conspiratory, too, now that I’m thinking about it. They have judgy eyes and look like prison cousins to the infamous raccoon.
“Maybe not,” Castor suggests, sweetly.
Because he’ssweet. Sweet and chaos and…
I try looking up collective nouns forbirds.
“Pandemonium,” I say.
Frelsi launches upright. “Ooh.”
Lifting my attention to my soulmate, I ask, “What do you think of that one?”
Low and slow and steady, Castor recites every consonant and vowel, echoing, “Pandemonium… Wild and noisy. An uproar.”
“Chaos,” I say. “A charming word for chaos, which is a wonderful word forfreedom.”
He nods, abiding. “I like it.”
“It’s coolandcute!” Frelsi cheers. “Perfect.Now, rules. All good kingdoms have rules. And taxes! Should we charge our subjects to pay their homage to us in sweets?”
“Why, what would we do with all that sugar?” Castor ponders, sarcastic. As we have not a single subject to provide us with a drop of sugar.
Frelsi does not seem to register the sarcasm. Very seriously, she looks at him and says, “I will eat it all.”
“Why are you so sweets-oriented, hatchling?” he asks.
Chipper as a parrot, she says, “Sugar makes my brain gobzzzt!”
He hums. “No one introduce her to caffeine.”
If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure she couldn’t be medicated on the stuff like some people with ADHD are. Nevertheless, I share Castor’s unwillingness to find out right at the moment whether it would help or make things ten times worse.
While the two of them continue discussing customs and laws and matters of government, I return my attention to the flickering flame of the candle before me and take another bite of my food. Many human warnings in my head suggest I shouldn’t put my entire hand into the fire. When I ignore those warnings and inch toward the flicker, I find it warm. I get closer; it becomes hot. Closer, and it threatens to burn me, because it’snotwhatever magic fire erupted from my own hands the other day.
That fire startled me, and my brain swore it hurt.
For some reason, this fire is even more dangerous, because this fire isother.
