“You’re not human,” the regent stated as she sat down in the High Priestess’s chair and set me with a look of something akin to envy. I could feel her wishing to be like me so desperately that it nearly hurt. When I remained silent, uncertain what to say when someone accuses me of not being human, she motioned towards the uncomfortable chair opposite her. “I know that’s going to come as a bit of a shock, Delia. Please, have a seat,” she crooned as she ducked behind the desk and pulled a large, heavy tome out of her carpetbag.
“Uh, I don’t know that you need to waste your time on me, Your Excellency,” I murmured, feeling my face turning crimson at the attention. Ever since I was inducted into the magical society, I had managed to keep my head down and keep out of trouble; this seemed like a lot of trouble to me.
Smiling with only her lips, the woman cleared her throat and continued, “I really must insist, Delia.” I felt something come over me when she looked into my eyes, and I sat immediately. “We humans have this innate ability to take something abnormal or special and turn it into something commonplace so we can be comfortable with it,” she explained as she flipped through the large book. Each page was handwritten in tiny, perfect script; the pages themselves appeared very old but were in near-perfect condition. Upside down, I couldn’t make out a single letter of the fine print.
I pushed past the lump that had formed in my throat and asked, “Look, Your Excellency, I have duties to perform with an important ritual tonight and I really do need to get going.” When I spoke, there was a calmness that I didn’t think I could manage at this moment; being an empath, I found I was in a unique position to lie to people using their own signs of truth against them. In most cases, it was a simple tick they considered truthful, but with the regent, the whole sentence felt foreign in my mouth.
“So, not a fey, then,” she murmured, pursing her lips as she read pages in a blink.
“S-sorry?” I asked, unsure why she might even consider that I was a member of the fey; I would know if that were the case.
She looked up from the book and explained, “You just lied to me, very well, I might add, which means you can’t be even half-fey.” Back to the book, she went to pour over page after page of minuscule print. After a minute of careful consideration, she stared at me with an air of uncertainty spiked with the seed of anger. I’d found that most people in power felt that way when they didn’t know or understand something. “Oftentimes, I have found that a rare blemish or aberration is a sign of great power or importance; your eyes are nothing different from that,” she continued as she turned the book on the desk so I could see it.
Pointing to a line halfway down, she lit up the text with her finger and the words glowed like liquid gold in the sunshine. “Here, they state that grey eyes are very rarely seen in humans,” she explained, translating from the Latin of the text. I suppose I might have let her know I was fluent, but she was excited about what she read. Without her eyes leaving my face, she continued as the gold flowed into the next words, “They used to believe it was some kind of curse of the family to have the absence of colour; like it was some sort of cruel punishment. Nowadays, they say it’s simply different levels of melanin in the iris.” Only the first part was written, which confirmed that the tome was old.
“Yeah, that’s what we learned in school,” I replied, wishing the regent would stop staring at me. Sitting up straighter in the chair, I added, “I only started learning magic a few years ago. Before that, I was in normal school.”
She softened in appearance and emotion; the realization that I wasn’t indoctrinated into magic until later seemed to be a clue and solidified her assumption. “Which is why I am sure I’m correct in saying that you are not a normal human or even sorceress,” she continued as she turned the book to face her once again and gently stroked the page. “That golden fleck in the very center of your iris is the final piece of the puzzle; you are an angel’s soul in a mortal body,” she explained as the book closed of its own accord.
For a full three minutes, neither of us spoke or moved. The regent stared at me with a strained concern brewing. I, on the other hand, was in a full-on panic within.
“I uh, no, I uh, I’m just not that,” I stammered finally, sitting awkwardly at the edge of my chair and begged the universe to create an emergency to make this meeting end. When the woman didn’t say anything, I babbled, “No, I mean, I didn’t even know about this and, no, I mean, come on. That’s just, that isn’t remotely, just, no.” Finally, the nervous energy forced me to my feet, and I began to pace behind the chair.
“I understand that this is a shock, but I am quite positive on the matter,” the regent replied, remaining calm. Holding out a hand, she stopped my pacing and continued, “I’m sure you hide a lot from your peers, even here, and your empath class is likely more than a little confusing.” When she dropped her hand, I stayed standing.
I nodded and sighed, “None of them can understand each other. It’s like a feedback loop so an empath can never read another empath. Can never really understand one another like they can understand someone else.” We both knew what the next part of that statement was.
“And you can,” she added quietly. When I didn’t reply, she persisted, “The only way they can understand the reason behind someone’s emotion is to be focusing on that person completely, to block everyone else out, yet you instinctually can understand the meaning of emotions as you’re in a crowd.” It was like she knew exactly what I was feeling; like she’d met someone like me before.
Touching the solid wood of the chair in front of me for stability, I asked, “Have you met someone like that before? Someone like me? Or are you just assuming from some book and you could be completely wrong?”
Honestly, I don’t know what answer I was hoping for, but when she spoke, it really hit me, “When I was in school, there was a mage’s daughter who was like you. She had a completely different power, but it was heightened just like yours. She could alter people’s minds and implant and destroy memories. She was amazing.”
I wanted to meet this woman, but a sadness had come over the regent and she was staring down at the book. “What happened to her?” I whispered.
“The society destroyed her because they were afraid,” she murmured, melancholy dripping from her words. Taking a breath, she forced a smile and stated in earnest, “This will be our secret for now. I won’t let that happen to you, Delia.”
To be continued…
Pretty Twisted Mirrors 