Breakfast is awkward, to say the least. Well, for me anyways. After all, someone who nearly killed me less than a day ago, and literally just threatened me, is now casually sitting at my dining table after having cooked a meal for us. And the worst part of it all? It actually tastes good. It would have been easier to hate her had it tasted bad, but it was good. Like really good. Loaded potatoes with chicken broth, spiced in herbs, giving it that homely, rich aroma...

I shake my head, refusing to be so easily sidetracked by food. I keep my entire body tense and on high alert, like I’m expecting a fight to the death to break out at any moment. All the while, I periodically shoot glances at Lila, watching her hands, waiting to see if she will signal anything dangerous. Conversely, Lila herself seems oblivious to my presence. Instead, she spends all breakfast long engaged in conversation with Kraig and my father, mostly about their old adventuring days.

“-and remember that time in Gonbridge? With the merchant?” Lila asks laughingly, touching my father lightly on the forearm.

To my surprise, my father likewise lets out a hearty chuckle. “‘I said, “Flour”, not flower, you nimwit wizard!”” he mimics in a deep, booming voice.

In reply, I see Kraig cover his face in shame, his peach colored cheeks turning a bright red. “M-m-mister G-Grunoc t-teased me for a whole! month afterwards. E-everytime we passed by a flower, he, he’d say, ‘Ey, Wizard, try making some bread. Pwahaha.’”

“That was a remarkably accurate impression, Kraig,” my father says before turning to Lila, “By the way, where is Grunoc? And Coco, for that matter?”

“They decided to stay the night in town. I was going to go find them after breakfast. Come with me, Thomas. I’m sure they’ll be wanting to see you,” Lila replies. Then suddenly turning to me, she adds, “You too, Samuel. It’ll be fun.”

Spending more time than necessary with someone like Lila did not seem like my definition of fun, and I’m about to politely refuse when my father suddenly interjects. “That’s a great idea. It’ll give my son a chance to familiarize himself with everyone and vice versa. Well, Samuel, what do you say?”

I want to say that I already know the woman plenty well enough, but I bite my tongue. Instead, I force a smile onto my face and chirp, “I’d love to, Miss Lila.”

Given what I’ve seen thus far, she shouldn’t try anything as long as someone else is with me, so… what’s the worst that can happen?

****

Who famously said that things tend to go from bad to worse? I don’t know, but whoever it was, they were a genius, because as it turns out, not only is Lila an old friend of my father’s, apparently, she’s an old friend of every single soul in town it seems. The number of times we stop, just so a townsfolk can greet her, compliment her, speak of how great she is, like some paragon of virtue, I’m surprised we moved at all. Heck, her name was called out more than even my father’s, and he’s the mayor of the town, for crying out loud.

All of this, of course, is bad news for me. Fat chance I’ll be able to convince anyone, let alone my father, of her guilt now. One glimmer of good news however, if it can be called that, is that my assumption was largely correct. Lila wants to maintain her pristine image, and so she won’t try anything with me while other people are present. So that’s a relief. But that only begs the real question of why me to begin with. What does this supposed “Mother Teresa” have against me, to reveal to me such hidden animosity? What did I ever do to her? I don’t understand.

I can tell you what I do understand though, and that is the deep emotional cut that blindsided me in all this- Wendy.

If you recall, she’s the baker that frequently gives me food when she spots me passing by. I’ve never seen her offer it to anyone else, and so I thought it was a special little gesture, a secret moment shared just between the two of us. But this time, this time… she gives some cornbread to Lila! Fresh out of the oven too! And you know the worst part? The worst part of it all? After she gives it to Lila, she turns and says, “Ho, young Becker, didn’t see ye there! Here, have a bread too.”

In her eyes, I’m just an afterthought. Second to Lila.

“S-something wrong, Mister Samuel?” I hear Kraig ask, and when I turn, I find him munching away on some cornbread, not a care in the world it seems.

I sigh. “Kraig, have you ever felt betrayed before?”

The young teenager looks up, his emerald eyes appearing in thought. “H-had a parakeet once. My sister, sister’s actually. Thought we were friends, it and I. I fed it, told it my secrets. Then one day, it flew atop my head, shat on me, and then flew away. Never saw that bird again.” He turns to me. “D-does that count, Mister Samuel?”

I can’t help but burst out laughing, clutching my stomach nearly in tears.

“S-s-s-sorry, Mister Samuel! D-did I say something weird again? S-Sor-!”

I hold up a hand. “Kraig, it’s fine. Really, I’m fine. And please, stop calling me ‘mister’. It just sounds silly. If we’re going to be friends, then I’m just Samuel, Sammy or Sam, whichever you prefer.”

“F-f-friends?” he asks, and I can see his eyes light up, “R-right, Mister Samuel, I mean, s-sorry, S-Sam, sorry-”

“Kraig, you don’t need to apologize everytime-” I begin, but then, a sudden shout coming from a nearby building draws my attention away.

“Well, screw you! Yer ale tastes like piss anyways! And yer mum’s a mole on a goblin’s tush!”