Given that the shopkeeper had left them little room for argument, Seraphina returned to snatch their cargo before juggling up the precipitous helix of stairs, chasing the azimuth of twitching tails as Alistair glissaded up to the topmost floor. He meandered down a short corridor and pawed open the door on the furthest left until the old wood gave with a delicate groan. When Seraphina ingressed, she took in the compact but cozy space, minimally furnished and consisting of a wardrobe in the back, a freshly ironed flower-printed bedspread that was situated next to a curtained window, spots of infringing twilight illuminating her surroundings in a searing glow, and a vacant writing desk. Seraphina left her bags on the ground and maneuvered to seat herself on the lip of the mattress, untying her hood in the process while Malphas flapped over to guard the bedpost.  

“I stored the majority of his old things already, so feel free to use the facilities as you like,” Alistair commented, and after Seraphina docked the thick book next to her thigh, the small demon abruptly pounced onto her lap, fuzzily massaging her legs while Seraphina smiled and scratched the underside of his ear, eliciting a pleased series of purrs. “Say, I’ve been meaning to ask... I get the feeling that you aren’t very well accustomed to magic,” when Alistair noticed her stiffening like a board, he rectified this by bumping his snout into her stomach, both to assuage her worries and to indirectly request more attention. “Don’t worry, Seraphina. I’m not going to rat you out to the Embassage or anything... I think I’ve already made my general stance on them abundantly clear.”  

“... Yeah, I have a feeling you wouldn’t,” she rewarded this by maneuvering to knead the flocculent slope of his spine. “I’ve... actually been looking for a teacher to cultivate my magic so I can safely enter Saintridge when the time comes, but... I haven’t had much luck on my end.”  

“A teacher... I also sense that your familiar is powerful,” Alistair remarked as he fleetingly appraised the birdlike demon. “If the Conservatoire caught onto the fact that you were in possession of such a bond, not only would you be penalized for using forbidden magics, but being a pureblood as well... you possess qualities unseen in most mortals. I have heard... secondhand rumors about the Conservatoire... and even the royal family fooling with powers beyond their control... experimentation, specifically... it could be a recipe for disaster if you don’t tread carefully.”

“Human experimentation,” Seraphina analyzed, trying to disinter the obscured jigsaw to complete the full picture, but the edges of her memories were unavoidably misty yet. “... Do you have any ideas?”  

“Well, my social circle is... nonexistent to say the least, and Milo’s acquaintances have already long passed on themselves, so I don’t really have anyone I can personally recommend... but I do have an idea as to how you can maneuver around without drawing too much attention to yourself,” Alistair then rocketed off her lap to dart over to the ornate wardrobe in the corner, scratching until the doors gave and pushed it open with his nose. After a bit of rummaging, he eventually returned to Seraphina while dragging what appeared to be a pointed hat between tiny rows of teeth, comprised of beauteous black lace that enringed the brim like a dark feathery halo; the base adorned by an enormous emerald ribbon. Seraphina crouched down to examine the accessory firsthand while Alistair sat at her feet patiently.  

“That hat used to belong to Milo. I kept it in here along with his old uniform... he received it back when he was still a student. But since it’s just been collecting dust... I think it’d be better if it went to a meaningful cause. Since it was officially registered by the Conservatoire, people will mistake you for a traveling student.”  

“I... are you sure, Alistair?”  

“Of course! It’s just a piece of clothing; I don’t have any use for sentimentality,” it was difficult to ascertain in this form, but Seraphina was sure that she saw his little mouth perk up in the semblance of a jovial smile. “I’ll do some more brainstorming in the meantime in regards to your little situation, but for now... why don’t you focus on getting some well-deserved rest? I’ll be downstairs if you need anything!”  

When Alistair darted out of the bedchamber afterward, Seraphina stole a long second to deeply interrogate the article, from the gossamer ring of dark lace encircling the trim to the silk jade bow and smiled to herself as she thus relocated it to her head. She untied her cape in the process and stepped around to review her person in the simple vanity that was nestled next to the wardrobe and adjusted the brim like so; her heartbeat quickening with wonder. She discerned approaching movement as hoary planks creaked, foreshadowing a retransformed Malphas as his colossal shadow ensconced her from behind and taloned gloves settled gently on her shoulders. Galvanic warmth clouded her cheeks when a smooth timbre hunched over to drawl in her ear.  

“... So, I was right... ‘neath all that wariness lies a cheerful young girl, after all. Hm,” she traced the amused smile that unfolded over his features in their shared reflection before Malphas opted to creep back out of her safe bubble. “I find myself appreciating this side of you, little sparrow.” 

Overrun by abashment, Seraphina fiercely tugged down on the brim to duck under a protective shroud of lace, crimsoning darker when Malphas unleashed a velvety stream of mellifluent laughter as he docked himself on the lip of the mattress. “... I am thankful that you managed to come across a trustworthy acquaintance, though. If anything, it’s a start. And since we’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable future, an appropriate wardrobe change might at least divert any such lingering suspicion while we work on sharpening your craft. If push comes to shove, you could learn the apothecial arts from Alistair and deceive the Conservatoire into thinking you are a traveling medical student... but I also have a feeling that you wouldn’t be entirely satisfied with that alternative, no?”  

“... I’m still trying to take it all in if I’m being honest,” she crept back over to rejoin her familiar as soft cushion dipped next to him, legs crisscrossing while hands tied in her lap, absentmindedly twiddling her thumbs. “... I’m not exactly... used to receiving unwarranted charity like that... I told you before that I’ve spent most of my life hooked on the presumption that there was no such thing as mercy in this world and only ever set out to protect myself and my values while completely undermining others... but I was never given a reason to... care about the people around me when I knew I would always be the odd one out, as it were... so, I’m uncomfortable, but... at the same time, it... I’m thrilled. Giddy, even. Honestly... it could be that I just wasn’t looking thoroughly enough beforehand.”  

“... Good deeds are oftentimes met with good karma, as they say... and I know for a fact that he must feel every bit as indebted to you for extending your hand to him when no one else would. Well, it was either that or bankruptcy, I suppose. Still,” Malphas caressed his transparent beard in contemplation. “... It was a sight to behold, that is... the relationship between Alistair and his previous contract... As I have stated before, my kin are selfish creatures at heart... while there are indeed exceptions, it seemed like their particular case went far beyond what you would commonly expect from a witch and their familiar. Choosing to continue his business well after death and after unshackling oneself from their obligations... is it simply fealty, or is it an unwillingness to let go?”  

“Oh? Then,” shoulders were playfully knocked together as inquisitive crimson eyes were thus drawn upon her impish smile. “I’m curious,” Seraphina raised her knee to hug as she propped a cheek on top. “How does the infernal archdemon Lord Malphas feel about us simple-minded mortals, then?” 

“Vying for information again? Tsk,” Malphas tutted with disapproval. “Cheeky girl.”  

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”  

Though hesitant to relinquish that proverbial olive branch, the archdemon yielded to her eagerness and let out a perfunctory sigh, which he paired with an overexaggerated shrug. “... You may not be content with the answer.”  

“I’m a big girl; I think I can handle it. I mean, after having my heart ripped out, I’ll gladly applaud you if you happen to surprise me,” Seraphina negotiated. Her familiar shared her incisive stare for a beat longer before sliding up from the bed to which Seraphina proceeded to disentangle herself, hands splayed lazily across her thighs as she watched the archdemon stride across the short circumference of the room, his ghostly form irradiating in the burnt sunglow.  

“... If you want the short answer... I find your kind utterly reprehensible,” Malphas professed, and although it was carefully monitored, Seraphina could tell: the subtle, sneaking rage that dared to crawl to the surface, to disturb and drown those placid waters; the magma seething quietly; the bloodthirsty hunter waiting to pounce. She watched as the man clenched and unclenched his gloved fist for stability, unbreathing lungs needlessly inhaling to smoothen out the telltale cracks.  

“... I loathed it at the time... the false sense of amicability you lot pursued with the Consortium after the war, supplicating like brainless mutts... I thought it was the epitome of weakness. Truly, I had hoped that both sides would end up eradicating each other amidst the crossfire... but instead of blindly chasing vengeance and becoming a furious dog myself— I decided to stifle my resentment and sheathe my sword... I won’t... not when she cherished this world so, in spite of its flaws... begrudge her dream of peace merely to appease a misguided grudge…” 

Malphas raised his hand, talons chasing after iridescent sunbeams; and though his profile was turned, Seraphina could sense his confliction; the rickety boat combating the torrent as he debated whether to crawl painstakingly toward the craggy shore, blood and splinters under the nails and heavy rain in his lungs— or simply succumb to the murky tomb.  

“... And have those flames reach those who are undeserving of its judgment.”