26: Care? How Disgusting

"Are you okay?" Amelia unhesitantly asks as I slump against a wall and massage my temples.

I'm surprised that essentially a complete stranger — who knows I'm the Primordial Sovereign — is concerned about my well-being. Am I really acting that weak? Hahh… I need to get it together.

I can't tell if she just doesn't know or understand the true weight of what I've done, or perhaps she has not seen some of my more graphic livestreams… but she's concerned for me? After only knowing me for a day — most of which was spent fearing for her life? Is she right in the mind?

Well, no one in their right mind would seek me out for help, anyways… That, or the truly desperate.

She's so caring, even about me. How disgusting. No wonder she gets bullied.

Still, I can't help but smile a little under my mask. This hint of 'realness,' of genuine feeling and connection, is what I've been searching for.

"Ugh… I'm fine, thank you. You really shouldn't concern yourself with me. You do know who I am… right? You didn't forget… right?" I ask.

"You are trying hard for me when you don't have to at all… and you have done so much to help. I feel like it's only natural. Even if we have to stop now, I'll be forever grateful that you've shown me how to use my powers… even if it was really scary." She adds a small, sheepish giggle as she looks at the floor off to the side, suddenly shy.

"Quite the charmer, are you? Don't flatter me. This is nothing, and it's only the second night, yet I'm already leaving," I say.

***** ***** *****

Heavy breaths fill the dimly lit, cluttered room.

A series of light knocks adds to the noise, but goes unheeded.

Another round of now impatient knocks announce themselves in the night. Once again, the inhabitants of the room do not respond to its summons.

A light scuttling whispers in the air, masked by the rhythmic creaking of the bed as I dash under the door as a cockroach. After a few moments, the scuttling turns into the patter of light footsteps. Hidden in the shadows cast by the clutter, I stand near the bed in human form, watching the couple.

[Struan.]

[...]

[Struan!]

[...]

[STRAUN! I will NOT be ignored.]

[Once again, impeccable timing, Ama. You chose the perfect time. Bravo.] He drawls out, his sedated voice so saturated with sarcasm it's dripping.

[What cult were you talking about earlier?]

[...]

[Struan!]

[Would this be the right time to redirect you to the phone you oh so love to carry to perform an online search?]

[Just tell me.]

[You just had to choose now to ask?]

[...]

I hear a slight change in rhythm with some additional shifting from the bed.

[You know… most people would frown upon your current activity, Ama.]

[... As with most of my other activities as well. What about it?]

A mental sigh accompanied with a series of images flood my mind, mostly of a phone screen held by Struan's hands and locations pointed out on his map app.

[Thanks.]

[Do I have to spoon feed you everything?]

[It's easier to just ask.]

[Can you leave before she notices?]

[... Kaaay.]

Once more, quiet scuttling scratches through the air, too quiet for the original inhabitants of the room to hear as I make my leave.

***** ***** *****

I precariously perch on top of a chapel. A gust of howling wind pelts me with rain and ruffles my feathers.

I fluff up, quite unhappy with the weather, yet it is perfect for what I want to do.

With a silent swoop, I swiftly glide after a group of cloaked figures, heedless of the buffeting wind trying to push me off course. Apparently, they must have thought this was the ideal weather to make a move too.

My large yellow eyes pierce through the darkness, and my sharp ears make out what would have otherwise been inaudible through the pouring rain and thunder.

"... Primordial Sovereign… sacrifices… must achieve… for the Lord… power… cannot be stopped… too late…"

Great! Look what we have here — nutjobs! Who's been shakin' the peanut jar?

A flash of lightning punctuates the darkness of the night, before vanishing just as fast.

With the return of darkness, the cloaked figures and owl are gone.

The cloaked figures turn into an obscured alleyway behind a tavern and descend down a series of steps.

Following them, I glide into the narrow passage.

When I'm four feet above the ground, my wings and body elongate down to the wet, filthy cobblestone. My brown feathers turn pitch black as they grow and meld into each other, looking like an inky mass is being poured from a never-ending, floating, pint-sized pitcher.

I straighten myself from my crouched position and follow the group of six through the closing door, squeezing through just before it shuts.