“Sheba!” he calls, recognition dawning on his face, and you cringe. If you had to be ugly, why couldn’t Fireball made you have look like someone else—like this brute, how about him? Instead you’re trapped inside your own body, forced to watch as Rostislav puts two and two together (none too quickly, either), and you tense as you wait for the mocking laughter you are sure is to come. After all, had you been he, you would have been taunting you mercilessly by now. You weren’t the most pleasant during your last encounter, and unwittingly, you’ve given him the perfect opportunity for revenge.

…But the laughter doesn’t come. He merely stares at you for a moment or two, dog at his side, then shrugs halfheartedly. “No, I haven’t seen him around.” You groan inwardly. You should have expected as much help from him. But then you wonder—what if he had seen Fireball? Then what would be worse: your current predicament, or actually being indebted to him for the information? Compared to the hypothetical you’ve just conjured up, you suppose that his answer is the best you could have hoped for.

And then he really throws you for a loop. “Is there any particular reason that you are looking for him? You seem so upset; have you been wronged by him?” Rostislav asks, with…is that genuine concern in his voice? His unexpected empathy startles you visibly, and the sour response you had ready withers and dies on your tongue. Dark lips twitch as you return his gaze dumbly, and you struggle wordlessly for a moment. Then, you decide: why not? And the barrier between you crumbles as you succumb to the pull of kindness and take a handful of hesitant steps towards him.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” you begin—not exactly warmly, but there is no sting to the words, only self-pity and the quiet, very subtle desperation of one who has been lonely for far too long. “As you may remember, when we met, I didn’t look like this…” And you’re off, explaining to him in so many words how the sun god took your beauty away for the promise of a gift you’re sure to never receive. “I was a fool,” you conclude bitterly, loathing yourself even as you admit it. You never expected to show Rostislav such vulnerability, but really…what more do you have to lose?


@[Rostislav]