I stood at a corner, anxiously watching the clock tick. Charmeine has invited me to the temple this evening to watch the Sky Wales float by our island. Winter is upon us and the creatures won’t want to be iced down where the snow falls the heaviest.

I did not see them but I was not surprised when they appeared. Yael and Tien simply couldn’t leave me alone.

“Melek~” Yael sang. “How is our favorite weirdo?”

I did not answer, I couldn’t.

Tien sneered, clearly delighted. “What did you do to get your tongue stolen by the White King, Huh Mute?”

Ah, The Legendary White King of Ignais. It is said that he was born without a voice. To compensate, he stole from those who did, cursing the most unfortunate of us at birth. I was not born voiceless myself, he spared me that, at least.

Nonetheless my cheeks heated and I stuck out my tongue to show them I still had one.

“Cursed.” They began to chant, crescendoing from a whisper to a ringing yell.

Patience utterly lost, I raised my books above my head. One of which was a thousand page volume with a sturdy cover and gilded corner protectors; a weapon.

They didn’t flinch, daring me to try but it had been enough to quiet them.

Then, Like a Guardian, she appeared, running to my aid. A strawberry blond wearing a white satin dress embellished with shades of light pink that don’t quite match the hue of her eyes.

The books flew from my hands, striking the ground rather than my tormentors’ faces as I had originally intended.

The sound was like a crack of thunder, echoing throughout the hall. If I could not speak then the expressions on my face will be my voice; and so will my actions.

I scowled bitterly. I might have snarled too, a dead tongue can produce the most peculiar sounds if you’re determined enough to force them out. She taught me that - diligence - though she likely stole her lessons from Castiel and the other courtiers.

Charmeine guided me from them. Another crisis averted thanks to this god-send of a girl. Only 4 months, only a single season has passed and I feel as though I’ve known Charmeine a lifetime. She’s met my parents, she’s met my birds, whom I adore and she’s adored with me.

The distant rumble of thunder is accompanied by the approaching call of the Sky Wales as they swim closer. A chilly breeze kicked up some leaves and blew over the edge of the island that lay but a few feet from us.

I extracted a notepad from my bag. Thank you, I wrote and turned it to her. Charmeine smiled, something precious in her eyes; those soft carnation pink eyes.

“Of course,” She began. “It was nothing, really, I’d do anything for a friend.”

Humility, no doubt her manners were conditioned by Zerachiel. She did not know it but her words stung: Friend. Curse it.

I smiled through the bitter after taste of it, the gesture feeling awkward on my lips. I wished she could see it but clearly she never would, she never expected a second meaning, note could she give one, could never lie, her own curse likewise to mine.

When will Zacchaeus return? I wrote.

“Oh, so you noticed.” She trailed off. “I wish I knew.”

I gave her the most sympathetic frown I could manage, hoping she could see it through the dark.

Charmeine fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “So why do you think the Whales are late this year?”

I shrug. Late whale migration, impending devastation, a rhyme drilled into us as children. Morbid and still fascinating how superstition is never without reason, nor lacking in truth. I think of all the ruined lives preceding late migrations, it is inevitable.

The moon has risen to its apex, a sign that we should head home. It was getting quite dark and the street lanterns would burn out soon. We packed up and made our way towards the street.

A man headed our way, the opposite direction of our journey towards my home. I recognized him as the brother of Evangeline: dark skinned and plain-white wings, cold mint eyes. I caught him going through my room once. A spy of the Lady Ivory’s.

I’ve seen Zacchaeus with him before, I began to wonder then. If Zacchaeus has been accused of inversion, Evangelos would have known and there would be no hope for him now. I couldn’t bare to picture him cross-bound, and even more unbearable: the execution that commonly followed. A fate I’ve evaded all my life.

As casually as I could, I switched to Charmeine’s other side, before he passed. She doesn’t give my strange behavior a second thought, I do this sort of thing often: shielding her from boys as we strolled through the halls between classes.

It was strange for her not to worry about her brother, he’d seemingly vanished and it felt out of place to ask about him. For a second I feared that perhaps the spy who’d just passed may have been watching us, or maybe just me.

If Zacchaeus were a spy, it was to protect Charmeine... No, that’s impossible, Zacchaeus is a terrible actor. I’d know if he were a spy.

Charmeine rambled on like always until we bid farewell at my doorstep.

No matter how she hurts me, whether she means to or not, I will always yearn to hold her in my arms. I feel empty without her presence.