GGE 11 \\\ Grey Skies

“Eeee~!” Priscilla squeaked as she flung herself into the snowy fallow.

Balls of snow exploded around her, sending puffs of white to settle over her freshly bought winter clothes. The rows of dirt in the large field were just high enough that Priscilla was hidden from view. All around her, joyful shrieks of children danced in the air. A figure passed through her field of vision up ahead. Graceful and beautiful; it held a snowball in hair as her angelic hair chased after her.

The children screamed louder and a herd of children passed dangerously close to her. She nestled into the rut, trying to avoid detection. The children cried out as the figure gave chase. Then, deeper voices joined the fray. Priscila dared a peek and rose just high enough to see past the snow. To the west, on the village side, ten teenage boys were bounding across the field; careful of their steps and picking up snow to toss.

She turned to look back, where small children were scattering in every direction. At the epicenter, Cyril stood like a valkyrie, adorned with a prideful grin. She looked around in an exaggerated manner, then she bolted after the one. She ran at a speed that outpaced the little ones, but it was slow enough not kill everyone’s fun. She had done it at first, then, she had learned how to control herself.

Because this was a children’s game, snowball tag.

And it was everyone against Cyril.

However, as they all found out, no one can fight Cyril. While she was clumsy and often lacked precision; she made up for it in reaction and movement speed. She couldn’t hold herself back in the heat of the moment, and thus, she didn’t throw any snowballs. She opted for pressing them against the others. Softly at that. She’d slow down before she attempted to tag. This presented the biggest advantage to the children.

Also dressed in fresh winter clothes, but lighter dressed than anyone else; Cyril slowed as she came upon the child, her breath a stream of wispy smoke behind her. She reached out to tag him, but he dropped herself flat on the group. Cyril missed by several inches as she tried to stop. She sprinted past him nearly ten feet before she was able to turn. By the time she did, the boy had already managed to get up and sprint away.

A hail of snowballs came sailed through the air. The other children covered the boy’s retreat. The newcomers dared to advance on Cyril, unaware of her prowess.

“Easy!” One of the teens snickered as he closed in on her.

“Go soft on her!” Another said.

Cyril jumped back to avoid the volley of snowballs. The children took the opening to wider the distance. The teens advanced to death – obliviously. With grace, she avoided the first snowball the teen through. She made a wide birth around the group. Slowly, she closed as she kept low to the ground to make herself a smaller target. The boys, agitated and surprised, began to hurl loosely packed balls of snow.

Some turned into puffs of snow as they left the hand. Others fell apart mid-flight. very few stayed intact long enough to join the snow around Cyril.

“Shi–!” One of the boys cursed as Cyril appeared in front of the leader.

She halted in front of her for an instant, her flowing hair swung forward from the momentum. With it, the smell of a gentle summer night whiffed between the group. A pair of exotic golden cat eyes, matched to smiling pink lips on her small face. Then the snow in her small hand slapped against his wool overshirt. The small, and angelic girl tag felt more like a punch.

The boy grunted ass it fell over on his rear. It was over for the teens at that moment.

Priscilla burst into laughter at the pitiful scene. She almost broke out in tears from how funny it was. Then, two orbs of molten gold locked onto her. The laughter quickly died as they stared at each other. Priscilla felt a chill. The wolf had found its rabbit. Priscilla scrambled, and as if on cue, Cyril broke into a full-on sprint through the snow.

Pricilla wasn’t as strong as Cyril and had to fight with the terrain of the farmland. The girl, on the other hand, tore through it like a raging bull. There was about a fifty-foot gap between the two girls. Cyril was gaining on her as if she was a turtle. The harsh crunching of snow grew in the young noble’s ears as the goddess gained on her. She peeked back and saw the sheer expression of ecstasy on her face. She felt another spurt of speed in her step.

Then the only the sound of her steps called out. She turned around and only saw a small wisp of snow circle upwards before it fell to the ground. She turned forward, and Cyril was there.

Time seemed to slow to Priscilla’s surprise. She saw as her pure white hair began to slowly settle around her shoulders. The hems of her undyed cotton shirt puffed outward; Slightly revealing her milky toned stomach beneath. Black leather pants, stained with dirt and snow with her brown boots. Commoners clothes, yet, even she made them seem noble. Those two feline eyes, narrowed and intense, seemed to smirk at her along with her lips.

Yet, with the slowing of that moment, so did her reaction – and thus, she crashed into Cyril. The two girls toppled over into a ditch.

And the field went silent.

The smell of a gentle, loving summer, drifted into her nose. Wide-eyed, Priscilla stared into the, also wide-eyed, Cyril. Eyes, brown as fertile earth, stared into pools of polished gold. Each girl stiff in awkward shock as their lips were pressed together. By instinct, Cyril had caught the girl in her arms as they fell. Priscilla felt Cyril’s warm arms around her waist. The young girl’s cheeks began to slowly burn with strange emotions. One thought floated in her mind.

Her lips were softer than anything I’ve ever touched… 

The moment was over and Cyril had been the first to react. She broke away and helped Priscilla sit up. Just as that happened, the others arrived.

“Are you okay!?” One of the children asked

“Yes!” Cyril answered. “We’re fine. Right?”

Cyril turned to Priscilla. She nodded with vigor as everyone began to crowd around. Neither girl would meet each others’ eyes.


≤ — ♥ — ≥


“So, me’ Ladies… Err..” Alderman Joseph stalled; now noticing he hadn’t asked their names.

“Priscilla Hammel,” Priscilla bowed her head as she lightly sipped at the stew.

“Cyril Bailey,” Cyril said absently.

Cyril’s eyes examined the small cottage that the Alderman lived it. It was small, faintly lit by a hearth to their left – pressed into the corner. The man’s wife sat beside him, both dressed in thick wool attire. With Cyril in the cottage, the temperature began to rise higher than any mere serf hearth could ever do. It was like an autumn night rather than a winter day.

“Alderman Joseph.” He gave a weary smile. “What brings you girls to our small hamlet?”

Serfs held no last names, only job titles at the most. He was the village alderman, and thus, he was Alderman Joseph. He became slightly more nervous now though since both these young girls held last names. One, he even knew off. The Hammel Family. A Warrior family, one who’d served the Empire for nearly two hundred years; a prestigious bloodline. If this was a daughter of that family, then he’d be damn sure to beat those kids up. If they had hurt her or offended her, or… Or…

He dared not to think the wrath that’d fall on all their heads…

“My friend here wanted to ‘play’ in the snow,” Priscilla smiled.

Priscilla wore a lovely dark blue dress with its hem tied up; forming a makeshift blouse. Beneath were thin leather pants, made from earth lizards. To finish her look off, she had brown boots that’d been pressed with ornate design. It’d been topped with normal brown bear fur. She also had a complimenting black robe with the same fur rimming its hood.

“Play?” Alderman Joseph repeated.

“Yes, play.” Cyril jumped in slightly annoyed. “We were playing in the field, then when the others joined; we played with them too.”

Alderman Joseph was more scared of this fairy-like girl – Cyril. She was unnaturally beautiful, flawless with a milky complexion. Her white would’ve blended with the snow if the snow didn’t glitter. Yes, it was not the albino eyes that’d made Alderman Joseph unsettled. No, all of that was quite charming. It was the inhuman eyes she held. They glowed slightly in the faint room, like too polished gold coins. No matter which angle he looked at it from, they were always clear. Just bright enough to see their beauty.

Her eyes fascinated him; yet, were repulsive.

“I had heard of the game that took place in the fields.” Alderman Joseph commented the moment Cyril caught him staring. “It is kind of you both to play with our youngins’, but they’re not too bright. I’d like if they not offend you g–”

“They were fine,” Cyril’s eyes narrowed on the elder. “Quite more pleasant that you.”

Alderman Joseph set a silent prayer for protection, in hopes this… Strange girl, would not kill him. Nobility did things like that to the serfs, and he’d had hoped never to suffer a fate like that. This act sent a shiver up Cyril’s spine, and the sheer audacity of him to do that… Cyril was fed up with this man.

“Let’s go, Priscilla,” Cyril said as she stood from the table – her golden eyes never leaving the old man.

“Wait, can we just warm up a little more?” Priscilla protested weakly.

“We can warm up back in town.” Cyril huffed.

“Please, forgive my husband for what–” The Alderman’s wife tried to apologize for her husband, but Cyril cared little for whatever excuse she had for him.

“It’s obvious that I’m unwelcomed here,” Cyril said. “We’ll be leaving now.”

“Excuse us,” Priscilla said

Both the girls exited the cottage, the Alderman and his wife too shocked to do anything. Priscilla felt horrible about what Cyril had done. Though, she was sure there had been a valid reason for it all. Still, she felt bad for the serfs. Her eyes scanned the village as they stepped out into the snow. Straw roofing. Poorly constructed walls, and a single sorry lone road – covered in a thin layer of snow.

Sadly, in this backwater hamlet; she’d had a great time…

That game had been the most straightforward and honest activity she’d had the pleasure to participate in. The children and teens weren’t trying to gain valor. Neither were they looking for a favor, or trying to win her hand in marriage. It was pure. Unlike the petty games nobles played each other. Political maneuvering, verbal dominance, and other grey games. Friends became enemies, enemies became friends. Yesterday’s alley was now trying to bring down your house… It was a filthy game.

Having experienced that, this game had meat more to her than Cyril would’ve ever known. It had liberated her mind from the darkness. It forced her lungs to breath in nature. Her muscles ached from the effort, and it reminded her that she was still alive.

“Its her, mum!” A boy cried out as they passed the last cottage by the river. “Its the Fairy!”

“I told you there were no such things as–” The mom froze as she went to close the shutters the boy was by.

She caught sight of the two girls as they trudged down the road. Cyril and Pricilla smiled.

“See!” The boy exclaimed. “Come play again!”

“If we’re ever in the area again,” Cyril promised.

They waved to the family that’d watched them leave the town. On down the snow road, they went; following the large river back towards the bridge a few minutes down.

“What happened back there?” Priscilla asked.

“With?” Cyril asked, her golden eyes glued to the grey rushing river beside them.

“With the Alderman, what did he do?” Priscilla asked again.

“He kept staring at me like I was a freak,” Cyril said, then kicked up some snow. “Then he dared to pray for protection from me!”

“Wait, he –”

They both stopped in the middle of the road.

“He prayed to some Alistair for protection,” Cyril said with a frown. “As if I was going to reach over and fucking cut him open like Jack the Ripper or something!”

“Wait, a minute!” Priscilla raised her voice. “How did you hear him? He hadn’t said a single prayer in front of us!”

Cyril set her jaw stubbornly. She hadn’t met to air her grievance out, but it had hurt her. Not physically, or mentally, but on some deeper level. That it had been an affront to her. Priscilla looked at her with worry. Cyril wanted to tell her, but how could she had told her about her “dream” last night. Or the fact she’d been hearing people… Praying… It felt like some sort of privacy violation at the least. Abuse of administrative powers at most.

That was if her administration powers were manifesting. She hadn’t even thought about that. A slow return of her powers. Still, though, it was too much to explain to this little girl. It was why she had to get out of Gulley’s Port. All the voices, so many pleading voices… It was tearing at her very being.

“Please talk to me,” Priscilla took Cyril’s hands in hers. “I know you’re troubled.”

“How?” Cyril’s lips pursed.

“Becuase in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve practically worn your heart on your sleeve,” Priscilla confessed. “We thought you were just aloof, but… You’re hurting too, aren’t you?”

Cyril was hurting, but that wasn’t what she took up.

“I do not wear my heart on my sleeve.” Cyril protested.

“Yes, you are.” Priscilla chuckled at how childish an Angel could be.

Cyril was quite childish and prideful. Wrapped in a beautiful husk of a woman who’d had an insane amount of power. It stirred a strange feeling in her heart.

“Yes,” Priscilla smiled.

“No!” Cyril protested again.

“When we kissed earlier, it was written on your face too,” Priscilla said proudly.

Cyril stiffened. That had been Cyril’s first real kiss. Not some virtual pressure or animation. Despite it being an accident, they had kissed.

“It was an accident!” Cyril blushed for once.

“But we kissed, so you have to marry me to repair my honor.” Priscilla half-teased.

“No! You’re too young!” Cyril raised her voice and began to walk away while throwing her hands into the air.

“I am not! I’m thirteen!” Priscilla laughed.

“I’m seventeen, I’m too old for you!” Cyril was heating up, more from the topic than any romantic feelings.

“And? Fourteen is the legal age of marriage in the Empire,” Priscilla said. “It wouldn’t be odd if I married a forty-year-old man.”

Priscilla lied. It would have been weird. She was young, and he’d be old. She’d still be a young maiden when her husband was in the grave.

“Ew!” Cyril turned around. “That is disgusting, and I am not a pedophile!”

“Pedophile?” Priscilla repeated the odd word.

“I’m not into kids!” Cyril said.

“I’m not a kid!” Priscilla was beginning to feel hurt. Was she so against me…? Am I unattractive…?” 

Cyril saw the look of hurt on her face and winched. She hadn’t meant to hurt her. Still… It was not apparent to Cyril that Pricilla was sore about this topic. The young girl in question had regretted teasing Cyril now.

“Look, I get it…” Cyril said softly as they stopped. “Look… Where I’m from, the legal age of marriage is eighteen. Children are still children until that age.”

“Heaven has laws like that?” Priscilla looked at Cyril.

“Yeah!” Cyril lied. She didn’t know what she wrote for that piece of shit place!

“You’re lying!” Priscilla pointed at her. “It’s written on your face!”

“N-no!” Cyril stumbled over that and looked around for an escape.

She then bolted down the road towards the stone bridge in the distance.

“Hey!” Priscilla screamed. “You get back here and tell me the truth!”

They ran down the road. Cyril ran only fast enough to keep out of finger’s reach. Priscilla was hollering for her to confess her sins to her. They followed the river, it’s grey waters rushed as melted snow drained into it. To the east, the forests crawled up the sloped lands towards the mountains. Its trees brushed with white along with the mountain tops. The clear day held no passing clouds, and the sun smiled upon the cold lands.

To the west, the suburbs rested against the City’s outer curtain. It’s wooden canopies thick with fallen snow. People were roused by the distant laughter of girls, but they quickly went about their day. Even the shantytown was thriving with life as the poorest of them tried to survive in winter’s first fall. Amongst the beauty, humans struggled for survival, but today… These two girls set aside their woes and took in some of that beauty.

They crossed the stone bridge, still chasing each other as the bored guards looked on with interest. Some entertainment in this weather was good.

It was only when they reached the eastern gatehouse did they stop. Priscilla nearly out of breath, and Cyril helped her by warming her up with her magic.

“That burns.” Priscilla panted, sweating from the effort.

“Burning is good.” Cyril smiled.

“Hey…” Priscilla said. “Thank you for bringing me with you. It was fun.”

“I”m glad you have fun, ” Cyril’s smile became mischevious.

“Why are you smiling like that…?” Priscilla felt worried now.

“We’re going to have to deal with Randol now.”

“Why?” Priscilla asked.

“Becuase I didn’t tell him we were leaving.” Cyril giggled.


≤ — ♥ — ≥


“You should have told us!” Prince Randol yelled as he slammed his fist on the tavern’s table. “You’re lucky the barmaid told what you were up too, or we’d have the entire City Watch looking for you two!”

“Why?” Cyril groaned. “I killed a fucking dragon, I can handle myself.”

Randol then gestured to the thirteen-yeard old normal mage girl.

“Err…” Cyril couldn’t say anything about that.” She was with me?”

Randol took a deep breathe as his gauntlets groaned. Priscilla had bowed her head in shame. She felt guilty for not checking with Cyril if she’d told Randol about their outing. Now, they were being reprimanded for it. Well, Randol was attempting to do so. Cyril seemed to accept that she should have said something. However, she also was pushing back against him.

“That doesn’t matter.” Randol sighed. “You can’t protect her if you’re busy!”

“Yeah I can?” Cyril said, not so sure she could, but she refused to give any ground. If only because he was shouting at them.

Randol rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingers. Mai was repressing her laughter, but Desmond was also annoyed with the girls as well. During the time the girls had spent out of the town, the other three had already purchased the supplies to last them until the next town. Winter wasn’t good on the villages, thus, Desmond wouldn’t rely on them for any of it.

“I swear, I could have handled it,” Cyril said innocently.

“Why are you being stubborn?” Randol asked.

“Why are you yelling at me?” Cyril fired a question back.

“You both fight like cats and dogs,” Mai finally spoke up. “Just let it rest. I think it’s time for us to leave the city anyway.”

“But the snow is still deep.” Randol shook his head. “And Cyril needs to–”

Mai leaned over the table.

“She killed a dragon,” Mai said.

“And what does that–” Mai cut Randol off.

“You can’t kill a dragon.” Mai smiled.

Randol glared at her, mulling over his response before finally, he gave up on it.

“Fine,” He said. “I’ll be the adult in the room and leave it be.”

“Well yes, you are the oldest here,” Demond said. “I do believe that’ll be quite appropriate.”

“Don’t be snide, Little Brother,” Randol hissed.

“Look, chill, okay?” Cyril spoke up. “I get it. I should have told you, but why are you being an asshole?”

Randol glared at Cyril now. His pride and honor had been trampled, though, he knew he was blowing it out of proportions. He couldn’t help himself though. While these four were off galavanting like everything was normal, it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Nothing was fine.

“Look, dude.” Cyril held her hands up in resignation. “Really. I. Am. Sorry. I get it, I really do.”

“Do you?” Randol said as he got up, and stomped off.

The group watched him before Mai spoke up.

“Just… Forgive him.” Mai sign as she ran her fingers through her hair. “He’s… Going through stuff.”

“I don’t think that’s a good way to handle stuff though.” Priscilla, worried, stared after him. She debated if she was supposed to go after him or stay with everyone else.

“Randol, despite how he acts, is rather prideful.” Desmond came to his defense. “He was the leader of security for our group. He thinks he failed his duty. It hit him hard. He’s going to be really irritable. He’ll work it out, just… Give him some time.”


≤ — ♥ — ≥


Long black nails tapped clicked against the pristine wood of the throne’s armrest. Deep emerald eyes swam with repressed rage; its serpent pupils daggers. Before Akyryss, was the Theocracy’s Ambassador to Haven. He was a young noble, handsome and well-bred – for a human. His short crop blonde hair was oiled back, revealing a slightly tanned face. Blue sapphire eyes stared back at the dragon in human form. A welcoming smile was posted on his face.

And all of it was a facade.

The old dragon could smell it. The fear. The arousal. The anxiety. He was a young human at the age of twenty-four. Dressed in the fashion of the theocracy, modeled after a European fashion, or so her big brother had told her. She wished that old Wolf was here now. Because she was close to tearing this human’s head from his neck. She grappled with the urge – pushing it down. Killing this pest was more trouble than she wished to afford to him.

“The G-Great Alistair also apologizes for the destruction of the statues on the coast.” The Ambassador said.

His voice shook as he read off the words on the parchment. If she voiced her actual thoughts, it’d mostly mean war. A war she so desperately wanted to wage. One she could not afford anymore. Her mistress was back, and Haven had been created to welcome her. To be her new home since Fable’s End was left in ruins… That was the purpose Haven served. The Ambassador knew it. Alistair knew it.

That was why he did this. Never had so many statues been destroyed within two days. This meant Alistair was trying for complete dominion over his lands. A being risen by faith into godhood, that was heresy in of itself. The presence of the Creator’s idols, faith-based gods would lose power. Having those litter his domain acted as a floodgate. Now that they were gone, he held complete control; at least, more control than when they were there.

A fickle thing of faith was that, no matter how many you purged, there was always another. With the Theocracy’s Inquisition in full swing hunting down non-believers, they’d at least stop pestering her island. She had enough with hanging them from the guard towers.

“Tell Alistair, that if he wishes to remain untouched.” Akyryss paused to regain control over her emotions. Smoke billowed from her mouth. “That if one more statue is defiled… Even if it meant the destruction of this Island, I will personally pay him a visit.”

With that, the Ambassador was allowed to retire from the audience chamber; after some gentle persuasion of a broken armrest. The young man scrambled away when the armrest was ripped from the chair. When it exploded against the wall as he exited the chamber, it had put a skip in his step. And a squeak in his voice. A minor victory.

“Four statues…” Akyryss’s sweet voice shook with rage and despair. “Four irreplaceable statues… O, how long it took us to place them all…”

“A true blow to our world’s history.” Sicuro Tantillo, the High Priest and Akyryss’s Governor of Haven, said as he appeared a moment later.

Akyryss glared at him, and he cleared his throat.

“I mean, a devastating loss to the citizens of this world,” High Priest Sicuro said before adding. “I’ve spoken with the Ambassador, and the remains of the statues will be delivered to the island by the end of the year.

“If they haven’t thrown them into the sea already,” Akyryss snarled, revealing pearly perfect teeth. “The statues weren’t created to withstand abuse. They’re normal stone, just enchanted.”

“My Great Dragon, they’re made with Elven Stone,” High Priest Sicuro reminded her. “They’re no mere stone. They’re quite valuable and, frankly, take quite the beating. I’m sure it took them quite a bit of magic and force just to break the enchantments.”

Yes, Akyryss agreed. She hadn’t remembered that in her anger. She took a mental step back and thought about it. The statues themselves would’ve taken at least half of her strength to break. In those standards, it was around two times as strong as normal stone. This placed it around the A-rank in strength. It was hard to gauge it all into a measurable system.

What wasn’t hard tell, was that this had been ordered from high within the country. Alistar was the only one in there that had the power, and the inclination, to waste resources on such a thing. Especially when he had to contend with Death Valley to his north.

“Shall I call off the warships?” Sicuro asked, breaking Akyryss from her thoughts.

“Ah, yes.” Akyryss sighed. “No point in having them wait any longer. But do keep them on alert. I feel that things are going to change soon. For once, I cannot place my claw on it. I just feel it.”

Her green eyes looked down on the priest, his white robe emblazoned with a golden dragon and an orange rose. The sigil of Haven. She stared at her sigil for a moment longer than turned to the priest, a new thought came to mind.

“Any word on locating my master?” Akyryss asked.

“The report stated that the agents had arrived in Fable’s end,” High Priest Sicuro said. “They said the summit was full of dead fish. The pond and the house were empty.”

“She’s out in the world…” Akyryss sighed.

“It seems that way.” Sicuro agreed. “But I highly advise against trying to find her. It seems that Alistair is not taking you seriously anymore. That was your fifth threat.”

“I know, I know,” Akyryss said as she pushed herself off the throne and strode forward.

“You will have to act upon this one,” Sicuro said.

“Yes, I’m very much aware of this.” Akyryss agreed. “However, I will speak with Lord hades first.”

“My Great Dragon, I highly object to the notion of bringing the Evil God Hades into this dispute.” Sicuro grimaced. “I do not see how he fits into this.”

“You don’t?” The dragon stopped on his left, staring at the open doors.

“No,” Sicuro said.

“I never told you?” The dragon now turned to him with a look of mischief in her eyes.

It was an odd shimmer in her eyes, one that he knew would often lead to headaches. She was regal, demanding, and tyrannical. But when she got that look, it was almost childish – unlike a dragon. Sicuro didn’t think this was just her. This must have been an inherited trait. Like a child who carried a few habits from their parents. The first time it happened, he was dangling upside down. From the top of the clock tower. Midday. For an hour.

“Cyril, my Mistress, and Creator of the World…” She paused dramatically before she leaned in close to his ear. “… Is his daughter.”


≤ — ♥ — ≥


Cyril’s eyes shimmered with delight. Mischief and payback were one and the same right now; Priscilla highly disagreed though. They stood in the tavern’s hall as they argued.

“This is madness!” Priscilla protested quietly.

She looked over her shoulder to Mai. Both her and Priscilla had been roped into this by Cyril. Priscilla being the objecting one. Mai had strangely been willing to do it.

Cyril was a madwoman!

“It’s not!” Cyril giggled sweetly, like a devil trying to trick a mortal into a deal. “It’s just a little payback.”

Mai grinned at Priscilla.

“It’s harmless,” Mai said. “We’re just going to throw leftover food on him.”

“Yeah, and its fresh,” Cyril rolled her eyes.” And, I made sure to make sure the food wasn’t hot or disgusting. Look! It’s mostly just leftover bread and vegetables!”

Cyril showed her the bucket full of garbage.

“I would like to state for the record that this is the worst payback ever.” Priscilla groaned.

“How?” Cyril asked.

“For one, isn’t this to tame of a prank, or payback?” Priscilla said.

“No? I’m not trying to get him too dirty.” Cyril stated matter of factly. “He’s training and he’s going to have to bathe afterward; or is it not a custom to bath after getting sweaty?”

“He bathes after practice every time,” Mai stated. “Desmond told me.”

“For one, aren’t you suppose to use real garbage?” Priscilla asked. She felt the thought process here wasn’t lining up.

“Of course, but I don’t hate him,” Cyril said. “It’s just a little payback for yesterday.”

“You’re still mad about him yelling at you?” Priscilla asked and grasped Cyril’s arms. “Please, let it go. I swear he–”

“Psh, no. ” Cyril said. “I got over that, and he had a point. No, I’m mad about him saying we were leaving yesterday.”

“Wait…” Priscilla paused. “How is that a good reason to do this?!”

“Tis the only reason we need!” Cyril gloated and raised the bucket.

“Err…” Mai looked troubled.

“What?” Both the girl turned to her and asked.

Mai pointed to the front, and both the girls looked. There at the door to the tavern’s courtyard, Randol stood – shirtless and sweaty – with a rather displeased expression. Mai began to slowly retreat. Priscilla’s face began to turn beat red. Cyril’s expression cramped up as she tried to slowly hide the bucket behind her.

“H-Hey!” Cyril gave a weary chuckle.











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