She was making spaghetti. It seemed utterly pedestrian for someone as extraordinary as her. Tharrus stood there on the sidewalk, juggling his misgivings like chainsaws. He could just leave; she seemed happy with her new life.
She’s only happy because you’re hiding the truth, he reminded himself. The years he’d been free were the best years of both their lives, and he wasn’t going to keep her in the dark any longer.
He knocked on the door before he could stop himself. The wait was agonizing, and for a moment he wondered if she’d open the door for who she thought was a complete stranger. As he was beginning to back away, the door swung open, and her smile brightened an otherwise gloomy evening. “Hi.” She said, regarding him casually. “Do you need something?” Tharrus wasn’t sure how to respond. What’s the best way to say ‘You are my creator’ without freaking someone out?
Tharrus elected not to speak until he’d restored her memory. He took the stone out of his pocket, feeling the miasma surge through its etched runes. The girl took a step back, but Tharrus thrust the stone to her, pushing the inscribed side to her forehead. Once the runes made contact, she stopped resisting, and a blank expression washed over her face, her eyes glazing over as the stored memories found their way back to her mind. Tharrus had to admire the handiwork of the inscription; Myron certainly knew what he was doing.
The stone stopped humming, and its gentle thrum of power ceased. She took a stumbling step backward, her mouth, stuck in a perpetual gasp. Hey eyes focused, looking at Tharrus with a new familiarity, and Tharrus looked back into his mistress’ eyes, smiling. He had to duck to avoid the lamp she’d thrown at him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She commanded, searching for something else to throw. Tharrus moved closer, but she backed away, acutely aware of the sigil stone still in his hand.
“Just let me explain,” he started, putting the stone back in his pocket. “Detainment knows who you are, even if you don’t...or… didn’t. You’ll need to relocate before they-”
“Stop. Just… stop.” Tharrus was obliged to obey. His mistress rubbed her temples, warding off the headaches that plagued her when she was troubled. “You’ve somehow attained the sigil stone I trusted with Myron, then you went against my orders and restored my memory. You have ten seconds to explain.”
“I’ve tried to help the rebellion as much as I can, but I’m nothing without your guidance. Our enemies know of your involvement, and you’re a wanted rogue summoner.” She looked complacent. He stepped forward, holding her hand in his. “We need you, Jaime.” She looked him over, then broke their contact and pushed him to the door.
“Lead on.” She said, grabbing a purse on the way out. Tharrus looked around, making sure nobody was watching, before shedding his jacket and shirt. Black miasma seeped from his pores, coating his skin in black scales. His arms grew muscular and clawed, and wings sprouted from his back.
“It’d be quicker if I flew us there.” Jaime’s expression warmed, her eyes glowing with their usual joy.
“Always looking for an opportunity to show off.” She made sure her purse was secure before taking his hand. “Take me back to Glyph.”
“Is that an order, mistress?”
“Everything I say is an order, Tharrus. Now fly.”
Tharrus couldn’t help smiling. “Your wish is my command, mistress.”
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