I don’t ask because Nora is not to be questioned.
A familiar chill slides down at the edges of my periphery. Shadows coil in the farthest corner of the room. It pools, spills, and slithers down the walls. They creep across the floor and stretch toward the low table in front of me.
Then, they twist.
A spiral of darkness spins itself in a small cyclone, whirling in a tight vortex, before the shadows abruptly snap inward.
And Ollie materializes. He twirls with the shadows, his body spinning like a giddy little tornado before he finally skids to a stop.
“Haha WHOO-ahahahahah!” He giggles and then strikes a dramatic pose, his stubby fingers snapping into the form of small sling shots aimed at me.
“Me Misses! Wow! Upgrade!” he gasps, his round black eyes glistening with wonder as he takes in his surroundings: the plush furniture, the oversized bed, and the fireplace. Our room is simple back home. Small and cozy, well-aged with time. This room alone must seem like a palace to him in comparison.
I smirk. “Welcome to the Southern Kingdom, Ollie. We’ll be living here for a while.”
Ollie’s wings flutter while his tiny feet kick off the ground as he flings himself at me.
“Me Misses in a castle? My QUEEN!”
With a wail of adoration, he throws himself onto my lap, nearly making me laugh before his pudgy weight knocks the wind out of me.
“Keep your voice down,” I whisper, still happy to see him.
I cup his chubby cheeks, tilting his head up until his beady black eyes meet mine. “They do not know I am the heir, and I want to keep it that way.”
Ollie immediately salutes. His tiny claws click against his forehead.
“I SEAL AND HAVE NO LIPS!” He declares proudly, puffing out his chest, but, in reality, it’s just his stomach bulging even more.
I snort, shaking my head. My frustrations—my lingering emotions with Cage, Nora’s damn owl—fade away, swept aside by Ollie’s erratic personality and his poor language skills.
Ollie always does this. There’s no one else like him.
He speaks in broken, absurd English but refuses to learn anything. Yet, he sees the world in the most unfiltered, unhinged way imaginable. To him,we’rethe strange ones, bound by ridiculous rules like “you can’t drink wine all day,” “you can’t run around naked,” and “you shouldn’t screw whoever wherever.”
It never made sense to him.
And I love him for it.
“Very good.” I lean forward, peppering kisses on his cold, soft skin. He dissolves into a fit of giggles, kicking his stubby feet in the air.
Ollie is—gods, what is he?
A mix of a child, a dog, and that one friend who’d waste no time giving you secondhand embarrassment.
But he is also mine.
He has been with me since I was only five. My closest companion outside of Arcadia, my best friend.
And despite everything—despite the chaos, despite the commentary, despite the fact that he humps things when he likes them—I wouldn’t trade him for anything.
Ollie climbs off my lap, wobbling dangerously before his chunky three-toed feet find purchase. He sashays across the room, his tail flicking behind him as he pokes at everything.
I let him roam, his giddiness infectious as I set about arranging my room the way I want it. With Ollie’s help, if you can call it that, I slowly settle into my new space.
The sun begins to dip below the horizon. Dinner should be soon.
As if on cue, a knock on wood echoes at my door.
