Chapter 36: Woe, Oh Glorious Fate.
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~~~ [START]
"Are you going to the dance tonight?" Miss Kinbott asked, eyes turning to Ash, who was drinking a can of soda while leaning back in his seat.
Ash nearly choked when he heard her question. He straightened up immediately, placing the can on the coffee table and fixing his posture.
"Uh, yeah," Ash replied, then instantly regretted it when he noticed the spark in her eyes that followed his words.
"Who are you taking…"
"Oh, look at that!" Ash stood up, almost laughing. "It's 3:00 p.m.; time's up."
Miss Kinbott almost stopped him from leaving, nearly preventing his retreat.
But she said nothing.
She just watched as he walked to the door, opened it, and yelled, "See you next week!" before it shut.
THUD.
Silencing her completely, leaving only her inner voice to speak the loudest.
Was it curiosity? Interest? Or perhaps a defense mechanism against a failed attempt at breaking him.
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{ELSEWHERE} {03:20 p.m.}
THUD.
"Xavier, baby!" Ash shouted as he walked through the diner's door. He made his way to the seat closest to the counter and rang the bell with little restraint. "Bring out the leftovers!" he called out.
And as though summoned by the intensity of his voice alone, Xavier walked out with a tray filled with the morning's leftover pancakes.
"You know, the only reason the owner lets you eat here is because he treats you like a bin," Xavier said, setting the tray near Ash, who opened it while grabbing the scrub and tomato paste nearby, pouring both on top.
"Free food is free food, man," Ash replied, unfazed by what most would call an insult. "And by the way," he grabbed a fork and a knife, cut a chunk from the pancakes, and ate it, "where's Stinky? Haven't seen the guy in a while."
"I have no idea." Xavier leaned on the counter, watching how carelessly Ash ate. With each cut, droplets of scrub and crumbs scattered around. "I heard he took sick leave. He hasn't clocked in for days."
Ash giggled quietly when he heard that, his voice so low that Xavier didn't notice.
Then he paused, turning toward Xavier, waiting, as though something was missing.
Xavier sighed, moved to the fridge in the corner, and handed him a can of Coke.
"I heard you're going to the dance with Wednesday," Xavier said, returning to his spot. Noticing how Ash's movements stopped, how his biting was growing slower by the second. "That's what she told me when I tried to ask her out."
Ash dropped his utensils, sighing as he stared at Xavier. He wiped the bits of scrub from his lips before speaking.
"Look, man."
"No, it's cool," Xavier assured, grabbing an apron hung near the oven. "If you…" He hesitated, unfolding the apron neatly before tying it around his waist. "Just don't hide stuff," he added with a weak smile. "It doesn't really suit you."
Ash couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head before taking another bite.
"So…" Xavier continued, trying hard to keep his expression neutral, "do you like her?"
There was a pause, and then another.
Perhaps Xavier realized too late that Ash would never answer that question.
"Wednesday's old enough to make her own decisions," Xavier sighed, perhaps trying to answer himself. "Honestly, I tried fighting against it as much as I could, but at the end of the day… Wednesday doesn't like me like that."
His words made Ash burst into soft laughter. He shook his head, opened the can, and took a long sip.
"I feel you," he said, as though he'd forgotten all the questions he hadn't answered. "Truth be told, I don't think Wednesday likes me either."
They giggled, laughing and breaking chains thick enough to start wars between powerful kingdoms.
Feelings forgotten for the sake of a lasting brotherhood.
One fate hoped would remain strong and unshaken.
But fate can always change. Fate could never be everlasting.
Fate was not God, the decider of all things.
Or was it?
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{ELSEWHERE} {06:00 p.m.}
A boat slammed against the dock as the ocean protested in respect of the rising moon.
And walking out, steps too immaculate to be ordinary, came a woman, her heels moving across the wet wooden ground with unshakable conviction.
She was old, with white hair that nearly reached her shoulders. Her whole body adorned in armour, as if ready for a fight to the death.
"How far is the witch?" She asked, her voice so sharp that it seemed to make the waves pause their cry for just a fraction of a second.
"About an hour or two, my queen," answered a guard, his wrist holding a long blade. Yet his skin seemed agitated by the sun that was now setting over the horizon.
"How many will that broom of hers carry?"
"About ten," he answered without hesitation. "But for an extra two million, she might allow five more."
The old woman turned her gaze toward the ocean behind her, the siren voices from the mirror still echoing through her mind.
The sacrifice. The prophecy. All of it repeating like a broken record.
She wasn't stupid; she knew what it meant. She knew what it implied for her life.
But she was too arrogant to accept it.
"'Can never be changed,'" she spat under her breath, low enough for only her ears to hear the sound of her voice. "Bullshit."
~~~ [END]
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