Chapter 59: How Was She

"You had better sit down."​

The stairs leading down to the entrance of Remigius' lair are lined with demons in a state of collapse or lingering inebriation. Your procession is constantly punctuated by jeering, hollering, obscene gestures and so much derision from every single creature that lays eyes on you that you shut out the abuse after only a few minutes.

Red flesh and bone looms through a straight route, many closed doors, and their cries and moans in imitation of you from the night. The sound follows you long after you've left the building. You try to focus instead on moving, on the relief of your body being unburdened, of the absence of pain or unwanted pleasure, and on the looming sun.

To your extreme relief, the owl at the ticket booth doesn't acknowledge you. Your steps pick up as you pass her by. You estimate it's early morning by the time you reach the exit, though you have no idea what day it is.

In absolute silence— alone and without a prayer— you step through the door.

The red moon hangs overhead as merely a sliver in the sky. It is unbearably dark, but there are many lights dancing along the grain before you. Idonea's daughters seem to be playing tag in the field. The gentle radiance of their forms punctuates the tall stalks, in stark contrast to the steady bright light coming from two sources further beyond.

There seems to be a campfire made entirely of grain. The shadows of two women are before it. One is utterly inert, likely deep in the thought. The other is smaller, sparring with herself, and her familiar shouts can be heard across the field.

They didn't leave. May all the Gods be praised.

There's a sound of heavy panting, as someone holding a lantern aloft moves towards you. A skeletal shadow cuts through the darkness. The panting draws closer.

Within seconds, there's 200lbs of your best friend all over you. You're knocked to the floor, but happily scratch behind Ray's ears, and permit your dog a few moments to enjoy himself before Yech closes the distance between you.

"Easy, boy! Easy! I'm glad to see you too— come on, Ray, get off of me! It's alright! Who's a good boy? Alright, come on, Ray— sit. Good boy. Stay. Don't give me that look. I'm not going anywhere."

The demon lord offers you a hand to get up. You take it, are picked up effortlessly, and are altogether relieved by the ease in which you get back to your feet. Yech's smile is punctuated with a moderate amount of disgust. He elbows your side. "You fucking bastard. You look terrible. Again."

"It's nice to see you, too, Yech. Thank you for looking after Ray for me. Did he behave himself—"

The mastiff is looking up to you expectantly, and sits obediently by your side. You gesture for him to relax, but he refuses to budge. You kneel down, scratching him with mild concern.

Yech looks down to you, shrugging. "Yeah, yeah, he was fine." The demon lowers his torch, kneeling down next to you as you see to your dog. "Hey. Richard." Yech jerks a gloved finger towards the light across the field— towards your two other companions— who have not made any attempt to move. "They were pretty fucked up when they got back. Haven't said a word to me in two days—"

"What—?!"

"Yeah."

Panic sets in. Your eyes flit up to the moon overhead, and back down to Yech.

Today is your last day to complete Idonea's task.

He's obviously disgusted, but there's a tease and no judgement towards you as he elbows you again. "We got time for this, though. How was she?"

Your panic intermingles with crushing dread.

"...you had better sit down."

Yech doesn't initially oblige your request, but you tell him everything. By the time you're done, you both are sitting next to each other in the grain, and he's got a flask in hand.

The lack of any interruption, your mutual respect, and the way that Yech is looking at you by the time you're done is beyond reassuring.

You take a few deep breaths once you're finished. The gold in your hands is warm simply from how much you've been fidgeting with it through your retelling.

Your friend puts a hand on your shoulder, and doesn't offer you anything to drink.

He is very generous.

You look to Yech earnestly. Angst and shame intermingles with your comfort. "She was awful, Yech. Awful— and wonderful and— I— I don't know what you expected."

"You did the right thing, you know. She's a sick fuck, and I absolutely have to kill her for this— The Fuck Zone, why the fuck wasn't I invited—? But that's besides the point. You did good, Richard. You're fucking insane, but you did good."

"...thank you. I think. I mean, I did, didn't I? Ultimately."

"The bitch is crazy—"

"I know."

"No one can blame you for trying to look after your fucking self. Fuck the consequences! You've been through worse, right?"

"Right."

"No one's going to listen to any fucking demon's word over yours, anyways. You showed her, right?"

"I did."

"Outpaced a fucking succubus, right?"

"Right! Mercy, Yech— if I don't eat anything for the next age I think I'll be content—"

"No one's going to make you do anything. You'll be alright."

"Right..." The thought of having to do something again so soon— of facing another demon again so quickly— has you reeling.

"You're not fucking alright. You need a minute? I can grab Idonea, maybe we can work something out. Get you some space, or some air, or something. I don't fucking know."

Remigius explicitly asked me to not mention any of this to her Mother. I didn't necessarily agree to it, but would I be jeopardizing my mission to ignore her request? Idonea never gave me the impression that the time I have to work with was even negotiable.

I could take this time to prepare myself.

I could rely on Yech and Ray for support.

I could get information, I could not have to deal with any other women, I could do anything for myself...

You sigh deeply, and look to the two figures across the field. They've made absolutely no attempt to approach you since you came back.

"I need to get this over with."

"You really fucking don't, Richard. The whores aren't worth the trouble." Yech moves to stand at the same time as you. He's either been drinking out of an endless flask, or has several identical ones that he's been rotating while you spoke. You've been too wrapped up in reliving your trauma to tell the difference.

"You weren't there, Yech. I can't stand the thought of them being any more upset with me." There's no need to call Ray to your side as you remove yourself from the demon lord's presence. Your boy follows you closely, whining and nudging your legs. He's trying to reassure you. Your anxiety must be all over you. "Excuse me."

No excuses. No whining. This is my fault.

As you approach the makeshift camp, the light of the fire catches on Ofelia's face, the bags under her eyes, and her pallor from weeks of enduring subterranean travel. Though you're unsure how it rivals your own, strain is written all over her as she practices throwing a number of daggers into a makeshift demon made out of some of Yech's supplies.

Celegwen is situated across the fire from her, with her staff in hand. There's a faint aura of something resembling starlight around her that reminds you distinctly of a shield. You haven't seen her use the spell before, and assume she's recalled something new. The elf is otherwise immaculate.

There's no sight of the jacket you left her with, though you catch a few scraps of gold-trimmed cloth at the bottom of the campfire's embers.

No one speaks for several moments.

Just as you're about to break the silence, Celegwen drops her spell, strides across the camp, and slaps you squarely across the face.

You can't look at her, bite down on your lip, and suppress the noise you want to make with every fiber of your being.

You remain silent, having to permit Ray to bark at the elf for a few moments so you can maintain your composure.

You do eventually shush him.

"I understand that my compulsion may seem illogical, Father." Celegwen's voice is utterly methodical and devoid of all the anger you suspect she's feeling. "I have been contemplating the matter, and concluded that this was the only acceptable course of action." She takes a step back. You aren't looking at her, but you can feel her glare. "You clearly had no qualms accepting more assistance from a demon. I did everything in my power to aid you, to warn you, and now—" Ofelia is clearly listening silently to the outburst, though she's stopped her weapons practice. The sorceress clutches onto her staff so tightly you hear the wood complain. "Now I suspect you will want to apologize."

You don't make any excuses.

Her voice catches for a moment on emotion. "If you have any respect left for me, hold your tongue. I struck you— knowing you would enjoy it— because I need to know just how far you have tarnished your connection to your Gods. If you claim to be unable to show affection to another, yet willingly accept the abuse you so badly crave from anyone that will give it to you, then I have clearly found only one way to show you—"

You dare to lift your eyes up.

She's been crying. "To show you that I did not want to leave. But not because of you, Father. Because this is so much more important than just you. I promised to help you, Father— and unlike you, I value the company I keep—"

"Gwen..." Ofelia starts to interject, but stops herself. Crossing her arms, the halfling looks up to both of you. It's difficult to read her expression as you are having an unbearably difficult time looking at either of them.

The interruption seems to have taken all of the wind out of Celegwen's sails. She doesn't finish what she wants to say, obviously too upset to continue her train of thought, and diverts the subject to what's actually been on your mind. "You have a mission, Father, and I am a distraction. We both are. We always have been. I cannot hope for someone so young and naive to recognize when they are being held back—"

"Gwen, that's enough—"

"No, Ofelia. Leaving would have been enough, were we able to. Yet here we are—!" The elf gestures with her staff to the demons running amok, the looming red moon, the impossible spread of hundreds of isolated doors, the grain and a campsite made entirely by a skeleton. "Surrounded by insanity, with no other options! Father, tell me, are you still enjoying the abuse? Would you wish for me to be more honest still? Shall we waste the rest of your limited time, or do you have a convenient excuse to leave us again—?"

"Leave him alone, Gwen. Seriously. Richard, she doesn't mean it—"

"Do not pay her any mind, Father, she is merely terrified of dying here, with no one ever finding her body—"

"You don't know the first thing about me, Gwen— or him— and you need to shut it before you say somethin' you're really gonna regret—"

Mercy. After everything we've been through together, they deserve better.

...but I legitimately do not have time for this.

"You don't need to listen to me. I— I don't deserve for either of you— just, please—" Fists clenched, unable to look at your friends, you dig your gaze into the soil under your feet. It scarcely stills the sting on your cheek or the salt in your eyes.

Both women stop their arguing.

"I can't imagine salvaging this. I don't expect either of you to forgive me, to follow me, to want to do anything more than hate me—" Your breath hitches. It's everything you can do to keep the tremor in your hands from showing. The out-pour is giving you absolutely no catharsis, but you can't stop yourself. "I deserve it. I've done nothing to warrant your loyalty. I've risked both of your lives— time, and time again. There's no way I can say that I understand what either of you have gone through because— because of me. I barely— I barely know who either of you are."

Their silence is hardly encouraging.

You don't dare to look up and see the looks on their faces— but you can imagine it's of resentment, anger, and justified frustration. "Apologizing isn't going to fix anything, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If you want to leave— when we can leave— I won't stop you. You should go. You're right to be afraid, to be angry, to see— to see that I'm a fool and that I have no idea how to properly express anything that I want towards either of you."

You have to close your eyes. Your self-hatred and regret falls like so much desperation from your lips. The sting of your emotion blurs the ground. "You both mean so much to me, and I've never shown it. You deserve better. You both have done more than even saving my life. You've kept me grounded. You've shown me so much Mercy that I am ashamed to try and call myself your friend. I don't deserve you. Either of you. I'm so sorry."

A few long moments pass. Neither woman is saying a word. Ray has been right by your side, and you scarcely feel like you deserve his company, either.

"I've deserved everything that's happened to me. I've deserved to come down here to die—" Ofelia makes a sound to interrupt, but you your self-pity reaches a boiling point. You continue over her. "I've deserved to have been kept to the church. Watched— forced to pray, forced to endure— forced to ruin my body, my mind, my soul—! I've deserved to be alone. Everyone has been right to be afraid of me— to want to stay away. I've pushed everyone away— I've been so afraid of anyone getting to see how I've let the torment ruin me—" Looking to Ofelia and Celegwen, you're so despondent that it takes you a moment to register their faces.

Their eyes are dry. Celegwen's lips are tight. Her knuckles are white as she clutches onto her staff and stares at you with little sympathy. It's comforting that she's at least held her complaints, permitted you to speak without interruption, and isn't attempting to slap you again.

Ofelia looks heart-broken. It's written all over her face that she wants to come and hug you, but she's exhausted, on-edge, and altogether unable to interject with her usual sass and verve.

A sob catches in your throat as you hold your ground, clutch onto your own arms in a desperate attempt at comfort and reassurance, and look to both of them with conviction. "I want to change for the better."

Celegwen's voice cracks. "I know."

You realize that despite how stern she looks, she's still sympathetic. She still wants to help. Her words are far softer than her appearance, and you have to question just how much mental strain the elf is under, too.

Ofelia takes her hand. Looking up to her friend earnestly— then back to you— she sighs. Her voice is ravaged with fatigue. "I really don't want to die here, Richard. I don't want you to go killin' yourself, either. I— I don't think I want to know everythin' you've been through, after the way you acted back there. I don't want to hear you beatin' yourself up. I just want to go home."

"I'll take every— any step necessary to make this right. I—" With how tightly you're clenching your fists, you're hurting yourself— and you don't care.

Celegwen sighs so deeply that you cut yourself off. "Please stop."

Ofelia takes a step forward towards you. She extends a handkerchief, and doesn't place it in your hand. Her arm is trembling. You want to draw back, but force yourself to hold your ground. To keep your word. You take it (begrudgingly), wiping the shame and self-pity off from your face.

Her voice is level as she looks up to you, and says something that almost gives you hope. "There'll be time for us to feel sorry for ourselves once we get back to the surface, Richard. Keep yer chin up." Her lower lip is trembling. She's keeping her voice steady and putting on a strong face, but every inch of her is trying to not betray how upset she is.

Is it with me? With where we've wound up? With what I've said?

Celegwen confirms your suspicions. "You are absolutely right, Father. You should do everything in your power to set this right— but there is nothing within your power that can change this for the better. We can only keep moving forward."

We?

There's a despondent and entirely nihilistic look in the elf's eyes. It's the same vacancy you saw in Remigius' lair. The soft glow of her skin and her immaculacy seems muted. It's almost as if she's been through a nightmare of your making, and is trying to not show just how badly it's affected her.

"Do you know what the promise was that I made to you, Father? It has astounded me that you have never once asked."

"You're right. I've— I've never once asked. After all the time that's passed since— it's wrong. This is all wrong. It was wrong of me not to."

You hang your head, dreading with every fiber of your being the ease in which Celegwen and Ofelia are listening to you. Something is wrong, and you still have no idea why.

Are they simply afraid of me, like everyone else?

Something has to change. I have to change. I can't stand another second of this.

"I won't dare to make any more assumptions. May I— please— can I ask what the promise you made was?"

There's an extremely long silence between you all— punctuated only by Ray's whining as he leans against you, trying to give you someone to hold.

You wipe your eyes again. Constant strain is pulling hard at your sanity.

Celegwen finally answers you. Her voice is so level that it's terrifying. "I promised to help relieve your pain, Father. Your pain, and the pain of so many others. I promised to help you find your Relic no matter where it might take us. I promised— with a bond I dare not break— to give everything that I have without question; in the name of aiding a human man— a leader, a priest— on a journey from the very Gods. I do not worship your deities, but I would be a fool to not recognize the power that you wield through them. I would be a fool to not try to aid you. I have been a fool to not recognize how ill-equipped you are for your task and how conflicted you are. I have been a fool to not recognize how much guidance you truly need."

Daring to look up at the elf is a mistake. There's so much pain written across her face that you want to recoil. You still yourself, repress the urge, and try with all of your might to not make matters worse.

"Father, I have done less for you than these demons have— despite having far better intent and making far greater sacrifices. I have failed you, as well."

Ofelia starts, placing her hands over Celegwen's. "We've been over this, Gwen, you've done everythin' you could—"

"I have been utterly inadequate. Beyond sparing you both the loss of your memory and a few fleeting parlor tricks, I have been nothing but a liability. I have imparted no wisdom, shared no experience, and granted neither of you anything that my people have to offer. I came here to learn— to grow— and I have lost nearly everything. Even now, I am taking precious moments away from the task that I have sworn to defend. This is folly."

The elf straightens up and pulls her hand away from Ofelia to clutch at her staff. You can feel her gaze searing into you as she speaks, scarcely taking a breath. Though her voice is level, her words are rushed. You know her well enough to at least tell when she's distraught.

"I would still accompany you, Father, if you would have me— but I fear that I will do nothing but continue to tarnish your mission. I have been diligently working to better defend myself in your absence, as I fear that protecting us all is the least I can do. I would lend you my word, my wisdom, my companionship— to see this through to the end, to uphold my word, and to better guide you— but only if you will not stray so far again from your Goddess. I fear for your ability to wield this Relic, Father. I cannot fathom you being capable of harnessing an item from your Goddess, if your demeanor is any indication of what you've been through."

"Gwen, I just said I don't want to hear it. Don't encourage him—"

"Let him speak. I have had enough of pleasantries and omissions. We have wasted enough time."

"You're right."

I'm trying to show them I can change. They can't see that if they just go.

"The time for omissions and pleasantries has passed."

The only way to prove I'll change is to show them, not to push them away yet again.

"If I may— if I could ask one more question before we set off—"

There's no winning here. No matter what I do, they're going to be hurt. How has this gone on for so long? How has there been so little consequence for my actions? This entire time we've traveled together, we've all been dragging each other further down. Even if I had turned back— if if they had left— would it have been all for nothing?

"...why haven't you both left yet?""

The two women look to each other. There's something unspoken between them, their immediate reluctance to elaborate, and the clipped and entirely unsatisfying response you get from them in turn.

"I've already told you." Ofelia is rapidly talking now that she's found the will to explain. "What you're lookin' for will help me, too— and there's no way I can get out of here alone."

Celegwen almost talks over her. "Because I have believed in you, your mission, and have been seeking knowledge from the moment I have entered these ruins."

Unease sinks into you.

They're going to leave as soon as they get what they want.

I can't change at the drop of a hat. There's nothing I can do here.

I'm going to get them killed.

They've been afraid of me this entire time, haven't they?

"You both— neither of you have any idea what I have to face. Beltoro is allegedly a demon of Spirit. You know what She can do to a person with honest intentions. You've seen how the Goddess has affected me. I can't ask you to follow me after a demon who's been corrupted in Her image."

You ball up Ofelia's handkerchief in your hand. You've dried your face, but the vessel of your own Spirit is cracked and leaking. It pains you to have to say it aloud, but you force yourself to keep talking. "I don't want to keep making the same mistakes, no matter how much I want your help."

Both women are utterly silent. Their lack of protest completely solidifies your resolve.

You turn to leave. "I'll see to it that you both stay safe. I will return. I won't disappoint you both again."

Though Celegwen remains completely silent, Ofelia starts after you. "Richard—" You move to walk away from both of them, but a hand catches your arm. You have to look almost straight down to the halfling, who takes back her handkerchief, and offers you a pained smile. "Hey. Hotshot. Listen— you know we can't leave that easily, right? Even if I was going to run home with my tail between my legs, I wouldn't want to quit now. Not when we're nearly outta here."

"I may still need your help when I return, Ofelia."

"Yeah. I know. We'll be here, alright? Try not to fuck up so bad with this one, while you're at it. I don't know if I can take anymore of this."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be. You're not a bad person, Richard."

You immediately want to cry. You can't remember the last time you heard someone say something so nice to you.

I don't deserve to hear this.

It takes everything you have to tense, to still your tears, and to pull away.

Ofelia only tugs slightly on your sleeve, letting you go. She calls after you. "I know you're not a demon— but you gotta stop actin' like one, okay? Good luck!"

You shut out the sound of her voice, turning away from both women once again.

It's better this way.

In the grain— less than a minute's walk away from the camp— you crash into Yech. He was obviously hiding nearby and listening to the entire conversation.

Stumbling, you are righted by the skeleton— who promptly grabs you by your collar and drags you even further away from the campsite.

In a hushed voice, once you're a safe distance away— possibly even out of Celegwen's earshot— he pulls you in and aggressively ruffles your hair. Ray doesn't growl at him, to your surprise and moderate dismay. "Well wasn't that a long time coming? Nice work. Fuck 'em! Fuck 'em and let's hit the road."

"Please let go of me, Yech—"

"I'm not letting you deal with this nutcase when you're like this. You're not going anywhere 'til you agree. No fucking way."

All too acquainted with having to wrest yourself away of the arms of someone bullying you, you worm out from Yech's grasp with ease.

"Aw, come on, Richard, don't be such a square—"

Standing upright, you pull fully away, smooth out your hair, adjust your holy symbol and frown at the demon lord. "I have to do this alone, Yech. I can't keep relying on everyone else to help me. Please, try to understand."

"I understand perfectly! You're fucked up, Remi got into your head, those bitches are playing you and you don't want to fucking hear anything from me either—"

"Yech, as much as I treasure our friendship— and I do want to listen to you— I have to sort this out on my own."

"You aren't even listening to me now, you fucking asshole!"

"I'm listening. Really. You know Beltoro in some capacity, don't you?"

"I mean— yeah. Don't toy with me, Richard. I'm not some fucking woman or a gossip—"

Your frown deepens, as Yech takes a long pull from his flask. It's one of half a dozen that he's strapped to his vest while making a show of cycling through them. Though you have no idea what the contents may be, he doesn't appear drunk. Yech's words are strained. His demeanor is on edge as he continues. "I don't want you seeing them alone."

"I can't let another opportunity like this pass me by, Yech. I can't keep ignoring every chance I have to improve myself. I need to do better. I need to do this. You can still help me— you can tell me what you know. You can look after Ray. You can stay here— stay safe— for me to come back to as soon as I've finished my mission. As much as I would like for you to accompany me, I have to learn how to—" You realize you're holding onto yourself again. Your hands are white from tensing so hard, but you force yourself to relax them, and drop your arms. "I have to learn how to look after myself."

"But you're terrible at it, Richard. And don't go thinking I'm trying to coddle you. I just don't want you to fucking die. You're too— you're too decent to go getting fucked by another one of these bastards. You don't deserve it, no matter what you think—"

"It doesn't matter what I think. I'm incapable of seeing anything clearly. I've been through too much to stop now, Yech. I have to do something right."

"You've already done plenty right."

"Even if that were true, it's not enough."

"Bullshit! Am I not enough? Are you just going to leave me, too, after everything I've tried to do for you?! I'm trying to fucking help you, you ungrateful shit. Don't— don't fucking leave me alone down here again, Richard—" There's a hand on your shoulder again. The gloved bone is so tense, you almost think Yech is about to punch you with his other hand.

You soften your frown, placing a hand over the tension, and gently remove it.

Yech huffs, crossing his arms. You imagine he'd roll his eyes if he could. "Fine. Fine! See if I fucking care. Go get fucked, go do your job. If you can't take it, don't say I didn't warn you—"

"You haven't told me much of anything, Yech."

"What's there to say that they can't?! I can't help you if I stay here, Richard. They know how to get in your head. You— I mean, fuck, Richard, you're a fucking mess, and this is the last thing you probably need—"

"This might be exactly what I need, Yech."

You kneel down to Ray, and hug him as tightly as you can. He places his head on your shoulder, whining, and obviously still upset from your last absence.

"I love you too, Ray. Be good for Yech while I'm gone. I'm going to find a way to make this all up to you. Be a good boy. Stay."

Standing taller than you ever have, you command your dog to sit, to listen to your friend, and to not follow you multiple times before he complies. With a frown you turn from Yech, and only call out to the demon lord over your shoulder. "Don't forget to feed him!"

"Fuck you too, Richard!"

"I won't let you down, Yech!"

"FUCK OFF RICHARD!"

"Really, Yech, thank you—!"

"I'LL FUCKING FIND YOU JUST TO KILL YOU MYSELF IF YOU DON'T COME BACK—!"

You wave behind your shoulder without the sensation of a break. Without pain or pleasure.

You have no idea how to feel as you leave your friends behind, and make your way to the entrance of your final task within Idonea's domain.

With a deep breath, your nerves aflame, and clutching onto your holy symbol, you approach Beltoro's door. It's stark white. There is no handle, no indication of how it opens, no incantation, and no sense of another being on the other side.

Without any idea of where you are headed, how you've come this far, or whether or not you are ever truly alone, you step through the door.