Madness is a matter of perspective. To your world, you may seem mad, but from your viewpoint, the world appears mad in return.
"Hey," I greeted the cold stone.
I put down the alcohol I brought with me and sat.
"Everybody's been nagging me," I began quietly, "They haven't let up since the party. I'm sick of all this fancy friend-making."
I sighed. "Even Mose has started following me. You know, Misfortune Mose."
I laughed a few dry chuckles. "I'm sure that as uncomfortable as I am, you'd find the situation funny."
"I brought you something," I said suddenly. "Cherry-flavoured vodka. It's so sweet I couldn't stomach it, but I'm sure you'd love it."
I remained silent for a minute.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered to the wind. "I'm so sorry you can't be here."
I felt like Joe deserved to be here more than I did.
I spilled the reddish alcohol on the grass around the gravestone. The dry earth sucked it in greedily. It looked a little like spilled blood, but not. It was too dilute.
After that, I just sat in silence. I have no idea how long it was before I had company. But it didn't matter.
Coffee sat down next to me in silence. Actually, we met there most of the time. Perhaps because of the Halloween party, we were both a little more somber than usual.
"Why do you smell like alcohol?" asked Coffee, almost accusingly.
With a dry half-smile, I held up the empty vodka bottle. She looked at me, shocked.
"You didn't drink it all sitting here by yourself, did you?"
I shook my head. What was she thinking?
"I mean, it's okay..." she added quickly, almost defensively, "I mean, no, it's not okay but everyone has problems."
I sighed. I held the bottle closer so she could see the label better.
"Hm, I didn't think you had a sweet tooth."
"Because I don't," I said. "Joe did."
Coffee's eyes sparkled with understanding. After that, we just remained silent.
Alex arrived shortly afterwards. He gave us both some pictures from the Halloween party. I just sighed. I didn't necessarily want Joe to see me like that in the afterlife.
Anyway, I got out my lighter and lit the first picture. I held it in my hand for a while longer and looked at the grinning, heavily intoxicated figure in it, who looked deceptively like me. Finally, I dropped it into the bowl to burn it to ashes.
My first picture was followed by Coffee's own, in which she looked rather uncomfortable in our company, yet smiling slightly. Many-many pictures followed the first two, and we watched silently as the flames consumed the smiling figures.
(...)
The real disaster was yet to come. It wasn't until around 5:30 the next morning that I woke up, groggy and still half in my dream state, only to spot a message written on the cold, ice-blue glass of the window. From the inside.
I froze for a moment, trying to convince myself it was just my imagination, but no, it was definitely there. My heart started racing as I scanned the apartment, but there was no one. No sounds, no signs of life. I grabbed my jacket, practically bolting out of the place as if the walls were closing in on me.
At school, when I opened my book, the same eerie message was scrawled across the first page. I flipped to another, and sure enough, there it was again, written along the edge in jagged letters. I slammed the book shut, feeling a chill crawl up my spine. No way was I opening that again.
When I flipped open my exercise book for English, the message reappeared. I snapped it shut and glanced at my phone in a desperate attempt to distract myself. Just my luck. A text message popped up—no sender. I deleted it without opening it. But then, another message, and another. The same cryptic words, no sender, just a constant stream of beeping notifications.
I yanked the battery out of my phone, but even then, the screen lit up, flashing that same message. At that point, I could feel the air thickening around me. My heart pounded in my chest as I bolted out of school like I was being chased by an army of mountain trolls.
Rolo sat alone, as he always did. It didn't seem to bother him, though I suspected he had grown accustomed to people avoiding him. His classmates, at least, kept their distance, but the teachers seemed to like him just fine.
Rolo never quite fit in with the other students. First off, he wasn't human—which, let's be honest, is a pretty big difference. It also made him particularly uninterested in humans, which only set him further apart.
Then, there was his height. Rolo was the shortest by a noticeable margin. Barely a hundred and sixty centimeters tall, he was a far cry from the others. When asked, he'd always claim to be exactly that height, but I'd do the mental math and figure it was a very optimistic estimate.
But the biggest difference, the one that caused the most tension, was his age. He was only fifteen, younger than everyone else by at least two years. And that, I think, was why people didn't like him. The envy—a yellow-green demon that never took its eyes off him—was almost palpable whenever his classmates looked in his direction.
I can't really say that Rolo cared about it. Maybe he accepted it, maybe he just didn't notice. Whatever the case, it only seemed to make people angrier. After all, it's hard to accept defeat, especially when your opponent is younger, smaller, and appears to win effortlessly. That kind of arrogance is hard to swallow.
Rolo never tried to blend in, either. He didn't fake it. It would've been too exhausting to pretend to struggle or feign ignorance. It was easier for him to zone out, watching the clouds drift by through the window, then quickly scribble down the right answer when it was his turn. Maybe he liked proving that he could do it effortlessly. Maybe he needed that proof to remind himself of his own worth.
Either way, he sat in his usual quiet solitude that day, eyes distant as he followed the slow dance of clouds outside. The teacher's voice broke through the trance, calling his name for the third time—louder now, as if he expected Rolo to magically snap to attention. Rolo raised his eyes, slow and deliberate, looking up at the teacher as if irritated by the interruption.
The teacher repeated the question, now sounding exasperated.
"We know the following about the first three elements of an arithmetic sequence: the first element is a two-digit number, the second element is obtained by reversing the digits of the first, and the third element is obtained by placing a zero between the digits of the first..."
The teacher barely finished speaking before Rolo answered.
"Sixteen, sixty-one, one hundred and sixteen," he said flatly, not even a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"Can you write the solution on the board?"
"But it's the right answer, isn't it?" Rolo frowned, clearly not seeing the point.
"No doubt," the teacher replied reluctantly, "But no one knows how you worked it out except you."
Rolo stood, shrugging nonchalantly, before making his way to the board. Despite being a genius, the strict math teacher didn't seem to appreciate his skill. Rolo didn't care—he didn't need their validation.
As I stormed into the room, Rolo was caught halfway between sitting and standing, glancing up at me as I entered. The moment my eyes scanned the room, I found him—those emerald eyes immediately locking with mine, their gaze both curious and utterly confused.
I turned to the teacher, flashing my most disarming smile.
"I apologize for the intrusion," I said smoothly, "I'm Rolo's brother, and I need to speak with him on urgent business."
The teacher hesitated, clearly sizing me up. I could practically see the snarky retort forming on his lips.
"May I speak with him for a few minutes?" I pressed, my gaze locking with his. I let my eyes drill into him, a subtle power pulling at him like a snake hypnotizing its prey. Or perhaps, a snake with its charmer. It's all in the perspective.
After a moment's hesitation, the teacher nodded, unwilling to press further. Without another word, he turned back to the board and resumed his writing. The entire class was in stunned silence. Rolo blinked, his surprise quickly melting away as he stood. Soon he seemed to show some willingness to walk out of the classroom before the end of time arrived.
I handed him the phone, and he snatched it from my grasp.
"You speak Italian, don't you?" I asked, my voice smooth and deliberate.
"What's going on here?" Rolo demanded, his frustration mounting. "It's not normal for someone to get messages from the Mirrorworld! What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?!"
I paused, feigning uncertainty. "I'm not sure..." I trailed off, letting the words hang in the air.
"What do you mean you don't know?!" he snapped, his voice rising in disbelief.
"They were just dreams, Rolo. Nothing more. Simple, innocent dreams," I said, offering him a calm, almost dismissive shrug.
Rolo's eyes widened. The pieces clicked together, and the shift in his expression was immediate.
"You have to break off all contact with him!" he commanded, his voice firm and resolute.
"Well, I think it's already done," I replied casually, "I haven't had a dream in weeks."
Rolo stopped, his face turning red with a mix of anger and disbelief.
"You're not taking this seriously!" he shouted, his voice low but intense. "You have no idea what you're dealing with! You don't understand the danger you're in!"
"Then explain it to me so I can understand it too," I shot back, my patience thinning.
He stopped abruptly, his anger seemingly dissipating, though his mind was clearly racing. What to say, what to hold back—he was calculating his next move carefully.
"The Mirrorworld is also called Purgatory," he began, his voice quieter now, more serious. "The people trapped there have all committed sins. They serve their time as Wraiths, and if the necromancers believe they've earned it, they're put to the test."
"That's why they bring the Wraiths into our world... that's why they want to escape."
Rolo nodded gravely. "The necromancers aren't just summoners. They're judges. They decide whether a soul is worthy of rebirth or if they'll remain imprisoned forever."
His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in slightly. "But you need to remember one thing, Shay: there are those who are forever imprisoned. Souls who've committed sins so unforgivable, they can never be redeemed."
Despite his warning, my thoughts remained on Lordling. I didn't believe he was one of the unforgiven.
Rolo hesitated, his gaze heavy with concern. "I'm worried," he said, his voice betraying more fear than I expected.
I raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue.
"If that Wraith can pull you through without a necromancer's summoning..." he trailed off, his emerald eyes locking with mine, piercing. "Then it's likely he can leave the Mirrorworld whenever he wants."
The words hung in the air like a dangerous truth. Rolo turned toward the door, but before stepping back into the classroom, he paused, giving me one last look.
"I hope we're not in the middle of an orbital disaster," he muttered, more to himself than me. The words were so faint, they could barely be heard, a whisper too soft for even a human ear to catch. It was as if he feared speaking them aloud might summon something terrible.
Then, without another word, he slipped back into the classroom, leaving me alone in the empty corridor. For a moment, I stood there, the weight of his warning settling in. Slowly, I turned and began to walk, the echo of Rolo's final words resonating in my mind.
"Look for the regalia."