Round IV of an Excerpt from The One True School Master of Vault 41
Let’s just say I was inspired by Soman’s short story, “The Prince’s Club.”
“Yes,” she reasserted. “You’re dead. I know it. I’ve proved it again and again, every single time I’ve doubted it. Just because my senses are telling me you’re real doesn’t mean I can trust them or you. This hallucination will not undermine the truth. You can’t exist. You only exist in my head. You’re a product of my mind.”
Rafal decided to defer to her for the time being. “Well then, while I'm still here, as long as I last, for my temporary stay in… your head, why argue? Why not make the most of the time we have? And, why bother to send me away? Am I not fit to hold a simple conversation with you?”
“You inhabit my dreams and nightmares,” she scorched. “That’s it! I’m still not awake.”
“Really? What is it that you dream of, when you dream of me?”
“Ah, well… it usually vacillates between you kissing me and me killing you,” Sophie confided.
“What else? Go on,” Rafal prompted, treading lightly. “ I want to know.”
Sophie hesitated. “All right.” She looked away from him, and began her recitation.
“There have been others, far more bizarre ones, I suppose. Er, in one, I refused your ring and you jumped to your death. You’ve fed me to Stymphs, you’ve imprisoned me in an enormous bird cage, you’ve chained me to the ground by my ankles, and I don’t know why, it was not the worse one by far, but I wept, and you told me to shut up because you had a migraine. I kept sobbing, and finally, you handed me a pike and told me to run you through the head because you couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve driven a letter opener through my throat because you weren’t having enough reading my mind as it was and thought you could pry open my vocal cords and cut out my tongue. You’ve… ahem, taken me down with a literal scythe, you’ve flown me into the center of the sun… and uh, you’ve serenaded me with a lute while wearing these horrendously obsequious pantaloons. I was wearing a lovely, lavender hennin, decked with tulle in that one. Some of my classmates pelted you with spoiled fruit. And, in another, I stood by while Tedros carved out your eyes and then turned you into a stone statue for Merlin's Menagerie. I cleaved off your ears because you hadn’t listened to me about getting a haircut. Agatha did not partake in your mutilation, but she did cheer exuberantly. Can’t blame her though—it wasn’t the real Agatha. Then, I planted a pomegranate tree in your honor. That nightmare was rather lurid. It still haunts me. Come to think of it, your hair does fall into your eyes. I think it would look better if it hit a bit higher above your brows. Yet another time, you were unspeakably upset for no particular reason, stamped your foot until you opened a rift in the ground, tore yourself into two like you were made of gingerbread, and then, the split parts fell through the earth. I was also mad because you’d eaten the honeycomb for one of my beauty routines, but I didn’t get upset like you did,” she accused. “Another night, I tied you to a bedpost and gagged you with a satin pincushion. You looked quite comical, but wouldn’t stop mumbling. My nails were bloody and I had torn cuticles for some reason. I think you ruined my manicure. And all the Old villains and the New students besieged you and got a good whack in while you were restrained, and the whole bed frame creaked until the bed collapsed on itself. You’d broken free from the binds, splintering the wood. You blew them to ashes. Then, you put me in a glass bauble. Everything looked colorful and distorted, and I think I must’ve died of suffocation because I don’t seem to recall the rest. One night, we sat atop the framework of a gallows where the waxen corpses were still strung up, with very fine sewing thread, no less, and you told me you thought my glass slippers were a laughingstock and that I was no match for Cinderella. Then you smoked a pipe. We went ice-skating, and you fell through the solid ice and simply disappeared. Or was that the one where you drowned in a pit of ashes, compressed into diamond dust that I used to decorate the borders of my stationary with? All that aside, I laughed and then some force sucked me down after you, as if it were a portal to Hell. Agatha grew wings and tried to save me to no avail. I swallowed the glacial water and, and, um… then I woke up. And… uh, that’s most all of them. The recent ones, at least.”
She pinked egregiously, and glanced back at him nervously to gauge his reaction.
Rafal wore an exaggerated scowl, to keep his laughter at bay, and he’d bitten down on his lip hard, dribbling blood. He wiped the blood on his sleeve.
Sophie curled her lips at the sight of yet another stain, but it didn’t truly matter because his jacket was already doused in blood.
Rafal cleared his throat breathlessly, and tried to speak, but no words came out. He started again. “Hmm… well then. That confirms you’re a Reader.” Disarmed, he scratched his neck as it reddened.
“Yes,” she agreed awkwardly.
Any reactions anyone? And did you catch the references I made? I’d love to get concrit on this one.
