wicked choices
2-It is my responsibility to discover what is going on
“Pfaff, responsibility.” The voice snorts back and forth at you.
But still, you can feel deep down that something fishy is lurking there, a strange glee in the mysterious voice background. It’s hard to describe, there is sarcasm. Certainly, but beyond that, there is pain and a metallic echo like a ventriloquist moving everything with his bloody strings.
“You have no idea what responsibility or sacrifice means. None of you non-magical understand what keeps this universe alive, what makes this city fly, or why the bubble cities of the water elves stay forever underwater.
“For the empress! Everyone knows that it is magic that moves the world.” You mumble, biting your lips, until you feel the iron taste of your own blood.
You focus on keeping a meek tone; insulting someone with magical powers is a death sentence, police or not.
“What you know does not even fit in the eye of a needle. The voice begins to almost rap. After a moment, he chants again between laughs.
Oh, I can see… The guilt that dominates your heart, John!”
Your right boot starts gently tapping on the murky road. Your throbbing muscles are ready to run away. Your lungs breathe heavily.
“Your animal instinct understands what’s going on better than yourself. Running away might have been a quicker and more honourable death for you. A smug silence gloats over you like a poisonous fart. But I am not entirely insensitive, and something we mortals and demons have in common is that we both like chance and choices.”
“If you’re going to make me a proposal, at least have the decency to show yourself.”
“Ha, ha, oh, Ave, honourable flea-ridden peasant! A slender golden elf appears, making a bow so exaggerated and false that her enormous curly mane looks like the fringes of his crimson robe embroidered with changing magical figures. Each brocade changes and spins in thousands of brilliant colours, as if her robe were his own night sky.
You turn your head, trying to escape the hypnotic swirls of light and magic. Each pigment is calling you to do its will.
“No!” You clench your fists, gripping your electric baton’s rough, sweaty handle. Are you going to let me choose not to die?"
You wish!” His smirk is as bright as it is full of hatred.
A golden elf of the woods A noble, like every individual born with magic in their veins.
“Three magic cards will appear before you. Each will bring you a death sentence, some even more pleasant than your current existence. Certainly, no one can call life what you rabble accept here.”
