“So you’re saying I’m not pretty while I’m awake? How nice of you.”
“By the Muses, no! You’re obviously an ethereal creature while awake as well.”
To his credit, he looked horrified at the idea of me being offended. I laughed. “Kidding. Leave, though. And if I wake up to find you staring at me, I’ll…”
What would I do to the orc? No threats would hit home when I was a quarter of his size.
“I’ll make sure you’ll never see my tits.”
Not that he would either way, but the threat got him up and out faster than any other one I could have come up with.
Alone with my now-cold oatmeal, I relaxed my tense body. My physical reactions were getting less intense, and I could joke with the men now, using my words like a normal person. One who isn’t afraid of her own shadow. There was still that hint of tension when any of the creatures were in the same room, though. They could decide at any moment to attack me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
With every iteration, I was becoming more comfortable with the fact that they wouldn’t.
Yes, I died every twelve to twenty-four hours, so at least one of them had it out for me. But none of them had ever been violent or rude or cruel to me, not even now when I’d kicked them out of their own living room. And, to the murderers credit, my deaths were quick. Painful, but I was gone within a minute at most. A truly cruel, sadistic person would do something like gutting me or letting me bleed out as opposed to piercing my heart or head immediately.
The thought made me shudder.
Let’s not give my killer any ideas.
Shoving the last of my food in my mouth, I placed the bowl on the coffee table and laid down, curling around a stiff throw pillow. It didn’t take long for my brain to shut down, drifting off into the sweet oblivion of sleep.
***
I woke up in the bathtub.
At least I felt well-rested. They must have let me sleep for a few hours before killing me. The short reprieve from a painful death was also a bonus — I hadn’t registered my death as it was happening. With a sigh, I lifted my head when Zan said his usual spiel. “Oh no, I wonder if she’s alright…”
“I’m fine. Please leave, though. Ghosts make me uncomfortable.”
“Ah, well, um, I’m glad,” he said, floating backwards.
His blush was quickly becoming the cutest damn thing I’d seen in my life. The glowing cheeks. I’d never thought I could find anything about a ghost endearing, but he was. Not just his blush, but everything about him. My guilt over always kicking him out made me want to get over my fear of ghosts, at least where he was concerned.
Today my heart was pounding less than any other previous Zan encounter, my goosebumps only a faint prickle on my arms. The stiffness in my back could almost be attributed to sleeping upright in a bathtub, as opposed to any bodily reaction to my fear of him.
Maybe next time I’d be able to look at him for over thirty seconds without my panic rising in intensity?
When he was safely outside the room, I changed into a sweater I’d gotten from Solstice. It was the most fashionable item I owned, when most of my clothing were sewn of cheap fabrics by my mother or purchased from second-hand shops. The one piece of joy I got out of my repeated days was being able to wear something different. I had about ten more reincarnations worth of outfits before I had to start repeating them. Look at me, trying to see the bright side of having my entire life with me in a haunted prison mansion.
Kirin was seconds away from bursting through the door, like he always was, when I opened it. This time around I went through the motions of introducing myself, giving half-hearted quick answers to the questions they pummelled me with and asking nothing in return. Then I headed up to the library to research something I hadn’t considered until now.
Them.
Since my progress on deciphering the string of numbers was non-existent, I might as well look into who I was living with. I’d read up on each man by perusing the documents in Felix’s office, but there hadn’t been much. Doing cultural research might give me a better idea of why each man was here.
Even if I didn’t want to know.
I started in the bottom corner of the library, opting out of going on the ladders after my near-miss my first time in here. Most of the books were surface level information; nothing I didn’t already know. I’d read a lot while working at the Grand Library. After thumbing through about thirty tombs of boring common knowledge and putting back countless fiction novels, I found a crisp new hardback that held some promise.
Characteristics of Inhuman Creatures and Their Impact on Mage Society.
The first page started off by claiming the literature surrounding monsters and magic was wrong. That could either mean this author was a conspiracy theorist who had no clue what he was talking about, or he had a different perspective than the common literature. I took the book and curled up into an armchair, tapping on the lamp to illuminate the pages in the yellow glow, complimenting the daylight streaming in through the skylights.
Since you’re picking up this book, you know the way mage society treats inhuman creatures is wrong. Or, you’re about to know. By inhuman creatures in this instance, I’m talking about half-breeds, orcs, giants, wolfmen, shifters, demons, and many more. Specifically, the ones who don’t seamlessly integrate into our society. Creatures with horns or tails or discoloured skin, who can’t blend in.
This far in, the book was making my skin itch. There was something in the tone of the words. I couldn’t place why it made me uncomfortable, but it did.
