“1,839 days left…” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  Since his arrival, Orlo's mornings began with a peculiar routine; he never woke up in his own room. Instead, each day greeted him with the sight of a small window, filtering in the outdoor lampost, and a cluttered desk that seemed to barely contain its burden and the floor strewn with articles of girls' clothing.

  Orlo's own blanket and pillow were with him as always. As he adjusted to the artificial light, his gaze would invariably drift to the aquarium. Within its glass walls resided a black spider with only seven legs, almost always immobile, but he felt like he was being watched by the creature.

  Finally, the ajar closet door discreetly revealed a secret passage that connected directly to his own bedroom. Orlo had spent over two moons sharing the bed with Zora, waking up without a shirt and her fragrance lingering on his skin. Yet, he never saw her.

  Like any other morning, he arose from the bed, stretching his arms wide. Over the chaos of her desk, he saw the homework he had handed to Monica just a couple of days before. Clutching the papers, he left, walking his way back to his own room through the hidden passage that brought him here.

  Returning to his room, Orlo found his bed in disarray, with yesterday's clothes neatly draped over the back of a chair. He distinctly remembered falling asleep in his own bed, and no one had ever mentioned him sleepwalking. Godmama and Claramae would have told him if he did.

  Approaching the window, he greeted a potted plant, "Hey Maggie, how do you feel today?"

  He lifted the watering can and gently watered the soil around her, "You look very pretty today. So green, and I see a new leaf about to sprout. Very nice!" He said with a smile while tenderly caressing her largest leaf.

  "Today, I will finally meet Zora," Orlo mused aloud, addressing his silent pot, "It's nothing like that! Stop saying I have a crush. Well, I do have... but... you know, is... Muna. We talked about Muna the other day. She is really fascinating. Did you know she can memorize everything she reads and sees? I think that's probably her magic skill."

  As he spoke, Orlo began to change out of his trousers, continuing his one-sided conversation. "It is a form of magic! Why would you say it's not?"

  Of course, Maggie offered no response, but Orlo found comfort in pretending that his childhood friend was somehow still with him, engaging in these everyday dialogues. He wasn't ready to fully accept that Maggie was just a plant now, clinging to the notion that one day she would sprout back into this world.

  "Well, I have to hurry; I'm off to the circus," Orlo said, glancing at the pot as if expecting an answer. "I wonder if I should take you. But Muna drives really fast, and I can't imagine what would happen to you if we had an accident. You know?" He lingered for a moment, half-expecting a reply from the silent observer.

  As he prepared for the day, Orlo dressed carefully, his wings concealed by the corset hidden under his clothing, ensuring they remained secret and safe from prying eyes. He placed Zora's homework in his bag, planning to review it maybe during the trip before his anticipated visit to The Mir Lune circus.

  Today, he would finally meet the person he had unknowingly shared so many nights with. The thought alone filled him with an almost silly excitement as he readied himself for the day ahead.

  Rushing down the corridor, Orlo made his way to the dining room, only to find it already being tidied up by Lisa. Out of breath, he could only manage to ask, "Where is Muna?"

  The maid offered him a warm smile and greeting, "Good morning, young Master. Miss Muna is waiting for you outside." Then, with a playful smirk and a whisper, she added, "You are late, and you weren’t in your bed. She wasn't very happy."

  Orlo, momentarily puzzled by her comment, quickly pieced together the implication of his tardiness.

  "Oh, shoot!"

  With a slight nod and a rushed word of thanks, he hurried towards the exit, eager not to keep Muna waiting any longer, especially with the circus visit planned for the day.

  Orlo dashed from the mansion and across the patio, his eyes immediately drawn to the sight of Muna's car, its engine humming and headlights piercing the Long Night. Her head poked out of the window, a playful chide in her voice, "You're late, Mr. Teacher."

  Quickening his pace, he moved towards the car with his head bowed in a haste of embarrassment. Slipping into the passenger seat, he muttered, "I'm sorry."

  He settled in and turned to face her. Something unexpected stirred within him. For the first time in what felt like ages, his magic sparked to life, a dormant part of him reawakened by the sight of her face. This sudden resurgence of his magic, silent until now, caught Orlo off guard.

  As his magic awakened, golden lines and text began to blink around his vision, concentrating particularly on Muna. He could see details he had never noticed before and now flashing with lines and circles with all the information: her red lips, flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, even the numbers indicating the pulsation of blood through her veins, and the rhythmic beating of her heart.

  This flood of information was overwhelming, yet it oddly focused his attention on the minutiae of her appearance, prompting an unexpected question.

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  "You put on makeup?" he asked.

  "What?" Muna responded, clearly taken aback by the sudden question.

  "Makeup, you know, for..." Orlo trailed off, realizing how odd he must be sounding.

  "I know what makeup is, and no! I didn't put any. Why are you asking?"

  Orlo found himself at a crossroads: he could reveal the truth about his sudden magical surge or seize the opportunity for a different approach. Opting for the latter, he said, "You look pretty, that's all."

  As the words left his mouth, Orlo's magic allowed him to witness the immediate effects they had on Muna. Her heartbeat surged with the impact of his compliment, and the saturation of her cheeks deepened to a vivid red.

  Vivid red, not blue.

  The journey to the outskirts of Quebaca lasted several hours, during which Orlo and Muna delved into an array of discussions, their conversation flowing seamlessly from one topic to another. Notably, they found themselves engrossed in the rumours circulating about humans crafting blueprints for a vehicle capable of soaring through the sky. The very thought of such innovation sparked a lively exchange of ideas and speculations between them.

  As the conversation shifted towards literature, Orlo found himself utterly captivated by Muna's recitations. Listening to her articulate complete pages from memory was an experience he found profoundly enchanting. There was a certain magic in the way she breathed life into the words, her voice painting vivid imagery that danced in Orlo's mind.

  The more Muna shared, the deeper Orlo found himself drawn to her. It wasn't just her intellect or her ability to recall and recite literature that mesmerised him; it was the seed into her soul that these moments afforded him. With each word she spoke, he saw more of her: her values, her dreams, her fears, and her joys. This revelation of her inner world was intoxicating, and Orlo realised that he was becoming increasingly smitten with her.

  Unexpectedly, Muna broached a more personal subject. "Does it bother you that I'm older?" she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

  Orlo, taken aback, responded with genuine curiosity, "Why would it?"

  "Well, I'm older. Soon, I will be twenty-three and will make my Dois-Trae," she explained, though Orlo sensed an underlying concern he couldn't quite grasp.

  "As Menschen, I imagine there comes a point where we don't really remember how old we are. So, I don't see how it matters," Orlo replied, his thoughts meandering as he tried to focus despite the onslaught of information from his magic coming from right and left and a speed he couldn't comprehend.

  "Well, you are seventeen," she pointed out.

  "And in a few moons, I will be eighteen, and then nineteen, and so on, and so on," Orlo quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

  However, Muna remained serious, pressing the matter until she bluntly clarified, "You do know what a Dois-Trae is, right?"

  "Yeah, it's a party to present you to society or something like that. Right?" Orlo ventured, feeling the onset of a headache.

  "It's mainly to present me to possible suitors. Mama has a few in mind."

  Orlo's attempt to maintain focus on their conversation was becoming increasingly difficult as his headache intensified, accompanied by a piercing tinnitus that seemed to drown out the world around him. Yet, through the discomfort, he managed to ask, "Can you choose your own suitor?"

  Muna's response came after a moment of silence that felt heavier than the words themselves. "I could," she finally said, her voice trailing off, "But he is younger than me." She glanced at Orlo, searching his face for a reaction, but found him bowed, cradling his head in his hands.

  "Orlo, are you okay?"

  "It will pass," he muttered, struggling to reassure her despite the pain that clouded his senses.

  "I'll stop the car," Muna declared, swiftly manoeuvring the vehicle to the side of the road. Her concern deepened as she watched Orlo open the door, stepping out only to retch and cough violently.

  "Orlo, maybe we should forget about this circus and bring you home..." Muna's suggestion faded into the background as she observed him staggering away from the car. His entire body was trembling, his head bowed as if bearing an invisible weight.

  Yet, what Muna couldn't grasp at that moment was the profound significance of what was unfolding. It was a pivotal moment for Orlo. The intense sensations he was experiencing — the headache, the tinnitus, the overwhelming surge of his magic — were not just random afflictions. They were heralds of a change, a crucial step in his journey that neither of them could have anticipated.

  As Orlo walked away, lost in his turmoil, the gap between them was more than physical. Muna, left behind, could only watch, unaware that the time had come for Orlo to face a destiny far greater than either of them could have imagined.

  At that moment, a familiar yet elusive voice echoed through the turmoil swirling within him, reciting lines that felt both comforting and cursed—the words of the hex.

  "I hex with whispers soft as night's own hush.

  Feel my highs, my lows, the push and shove,

  In every quiet, fleeting rush, I hex you."

  These words, resonating deep within, were like a lullaby entwined with damnation, a known voice he couldn't quite place.

  I hex, I'll taste the same, the skin, the tear

  I hex your ups, your pull, your touch and your tongue

  While speaking, screaming or hiding. I will be there,

  I hex you with my laughter and tears,

  With every beat of life's in my blood.

  As he knelt, overwhelmed by the cacophony of whispered hexes that promised eternal connection and inevitable separation, the boundary between reality and the ethereal blurred. The intensity of his reaction—wanting both to silence the whispers and to surrender to their haunting melody—left him teetering on the edge of consciousness.

  If you stray, we'll share the fears, I hex

  Until back into my arms you come near.

  I hex your children, and the children of your children

  with this love will cling to their children of their children,

  I hex you to death and never leave you alone

  And should you fall forever asleep, I hex and I hex myself

  to sleep by your side, and trick death until the end of time.

  "Orlo?"

  Muna's concern wrapped around him as she held him close, noticing, "You're trembling terribly. We should go back home."

  "No," he countered firmly.

  "Orlo, this isn't normal. You're unwell," she pressed.

  "I'm okay," he insisted, striving to reassure her. "I'm simply the legacy of both my parents," he explained, turning to lock eyes with her, "I assure you, I'm alright. I think… I’m close to my Hexe."

  

  Losing my eye was not merely a loss of sight but rather a profound opening of perception—a harsh awakening. Until that moment, I had perceived my Little Mouse as nothing more than a pet, a delightful companion fond of cheese. Only through this loss did I see Little Mouse—Marie-Hex, The Dreamer—for what she truly was: not a mere animal but a powerful Spirit with a purpose intertwined with my own. Her presence in my life was no accident—as I believed until then—she was a guide, a protector, and a participant in the grand mission I had crafted for myself—a mission aimed at birthing a new world. Remarkably, my Spirit never once demanded recognition of her true nature. She bore her role with humble grace, never once chiding me for my ignorance or insisting on the respect her power warranted. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer