Chapter Five: Dicentra

Lords, Ladies and Luminaries* of the Aralax Realm,

              You are invited on behalf of Her Majesty, Queen Seren, to a dinner party in celebration of her birthday. The dress code is formal, and although you are not obligated to attend it would be very much pleasing to our queen.

              The party will take place at the Cosmic Palace in two weeks, in the Court of the Cosmos, and the time of arrival should be no later than 4 o’clock in the evening. Any gifts that are brought for the queen must be handed in at the front desk or placed on the gift table near the entrance.

              If you have any questions or concerns about the dinner party, contact myself or Lady Unova. We truly hope to see you there.

                Sincerely,

Lord Caian, Chief Advisor to Queen Seren, Head of the Court of the Cosmos

I scrunch up the letter and toss it away the moment I finish reading it, wanting nothing to do with the Cosmos. As much as I respect our queen, I cannot tolerate the pompous ass bitches who prance around her city, flaunting their talents and riches and whatnot and making everyone else’s lives a misery. Besides, going to that party is a death wish. Or rather, just another opportunity for Unova to humiliate me. And I know better than to give her ammunition.

Suddenly my office door flies open, and Philus comes running – well, hobbles at great speed – through it.

‘Mistress Dizzy!’ he exclaims, his pudgy face bright red from the effort of sprinting.

His presence is enough to worsen my mood, but I try not to let it show. ‘What? I’m busy.’

Philus pauses to catch his breath, panting quite dramatically. I roll my eyes, already losing my patience with him.

‘Well?’ I push, desperate to get this over with.

‘There’s… another… case… for you… to handle,’ he huffs out, then proceeds to collapse to the floor.

‘I see,’ I reply, ‘How serious is it?’

‘Grade 2 case, Mistress.’

‘Grade 2…’

I sigh, knowing that no matter how hard I try there’s no getting out of this one.

‘Alright,’ I say, getting to my feet, ‘I’m on it.’

I walk with deliberate reluctance, hoping that Philus – being the clingy man he is – will get off the ground and follow me. But even when I’m leaving the room he doesn’t move an inch, which only increases my irritation.

‘Philus,’ I say, and he sits up almost immediately, ‘We’re going.’

‘Oh! Right, of course, Mistress Dizzy.’ He scrambles up in an instant, rushing to my side.

‘And Philus?’ He looks up at me with his eyebrows raised in a muted anticipation. ‘If you ever lie on my floor again, you’re fired.’

He doesn’t say a word for the rest of the day.

***

By the time I make it back to my apartment, I’ve sentenced a shitload of Marionettes, and have a shitload more work to do than I did a few hours ago. Already my mind is straining from the weight of it all, which is something that I don’t particularly want to deal with. If I let it get to me, it can destroy… well, everything. That’s an outcome I’d like to avoid.

So I decide to distract myself with the only distraction that is distracting. And while it’s not my favourite, it’s probably the best.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ says Marceau’s silky voice on the coreglass**.

‘Take a wild guess,’ I reply bluntly.

‘Ah.’

‘Be here in ten.’

Then I close my hand around the coreglass and slump onto my couch, slipping into a state of almost unconsciousness. Just as I’m about to drift off, the door opens and in walks Marceau.

‘How’d I do?’ he asks.

‘Not bad,’ I say, standing to greet him.

Marceau stares at me, his stormy grey eyes searching mine. Sometimes I forget just how rare his beauty is.

‘Not bad? But I got here in under ten minutes!’ he whines in mock offence.

I shrug my shoulders. ‘I’ll be impressed if you can undress in thirty seconds...’

A sly grin creeps onto his face, and though my heart beats a little bit faster and my blood pounds in my head a little bit more I tell myself it’s fine, it’s all fine. This is the kind of thing I do. He knows it. I know it. And if it means that I can sleep without wanting to crawl out of my own skin, then I’ve got to do it.

‘Done.’

He closes the gap between us, crushing his lips against mine, and all thoughts are gone from my head in an instant. I feel it all: the longing, the want, the desire. It burns inside me, so scorching and feverish that it’s almost painful. I try to savour each moment – the linger of his lips, the tenderness of his fingers against my skin, the yearning in his movements. Because as long as he’s touching me, as long as he doesn’t give me a reason to think, I can make it through life. I can fake it for just a little bit longer.

I can escape the reality that deep down, in the bottom of my withered heart, I’m the one person that I despise.

Me.