Elina

"So who did you meet, hmmm?"

Staying quiet was not an option. I had to say something.

But why this reaction in the first place? Was she simply curious? Jealous? Some kind of emotional reaction men could not understand?

I said, "I just went to see an old friend."

"A friend with long wavy hair?"

"Yes."

"A friend who embraces you and leaves her mark?"

"Her mark?"

Elina leaned down, her hair tickling my nose, covering my eyes. Her nose on my shoulder, sniffing. She moved upwards. I could feel her breath on my neck, the faint warmth of her lips.

She said, "Right here...you smell like her."

Did Rosaly really do that? She only touched my shoulder.

But. Elina had a heightened sense of smell. It was possible that she could detect even the faintest scent. Especially if she started looking for it.

I said, "And what do you smell?"

"Hmm…a human woman. Someone who wants you."

"Huh..."

Elina kept moving upwards. Her lips against my ear. Her chest against mine. Her hand on my throat.

"So, who did you meet behind my back? Hmmm? A woman. But not any woman. A woman who cares about you. A secret lover? No...I don't think so. Maybe a former lover? You missed her? But why go to her now? Unless..."

I stared at the ceiling.

"You do like the kind with long hair, hmm?"

Her grip on my throat tightened. She breathed into my ear.

"Will you confess? Or should I torture the truth out of you?"

Then: her grip loosened. Her breath became gentle.

For a moment I said nothing. Elina didn't move. Didn't say anything.

"Elina?"

Her forehead was resting on the floor. She was asleep.

I breathed out. Saved by alcohol.

--------------------

ELINA: Some say comfort is found at the bottom of a bottle. Some say it is found in prayer. I know the latter is a lie, so I decided to try the former.

I never had wine before. Maybe it's because my father never drank. Or at least he never drank in front of me. I never felt like I had a reason to drink. Until now.

I woke up in the middle of the night. The last thing I remembered was talking to Salem. When he came back. With another woman's hair. Another woman's scent.

Heh...how embarrassing. For me to have said those words, done those things...

Maybe that was why father never drank. Or at least never in front of me. Wine brings out the shameful side of a person. The side which was too honest for the world to see.

Got up. Rubbed my eyes. Everything was quiet. Not even the sound of drunkards on the street. Like the whole world was asleep.

He turned to me.

He said, "You're awake."

I averted my eyes. It was embarrassing. Maybe tomorrow when tonight was a distant memory.

He got up. Poured a cup of water. Gave it to me.

He said, "Drink, or else you'll have a headache tomorrow."

I took the cup and drank. Said nothing.

He turned his back to me and returned to his chair. I looked at him from behind the cup. I wondered what he was thinking.

We sat in silence. The stillness was overwhelming. As though the air demanded us to stay quiet.

But eventually Salem spoke.

He said, "You said you never drank before. Why start now?"

I said nothing.

He said, "What happened after you walked off?"

I kept drinking water.

He looked at me. I looked away. Eventually he realized that I wouldn't answer. That it was too shameful for me to admit. A moment of thought. His expression changed. Like he realized something.

Something about women.

Something about witches.

Something about me.

He said, "Before you left, you said you took your father flying before."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why..." I glanced at him. I suppose it's alright to tell him. "My father said my mother used to take him flying. When they were alone. They used to embrace in the air, far above the world, far from everything. He said that was where he felt at ease."

He said nothing. He waited.

I said, "He said he wanted to fly again. One last time. So I used my magic to take him up there."

"Hmm..."

Salem looked at me. Intently, thoughtfully.

He said, "What is the most valuable lesson your father taught you?"

I raised an eyebrow. What a strange question. Out of nowhere. But it was a good question. The kind I liked.

I said, "I told you before. My father said this once: the world is cruel. Be kind to those who are kind to you. Kill those who try to kill you. And when you are uncertain..."

"Then what?"

I smiled.

"When you are uncertain, it's better to kill. Because that is the only way to ensure your own survival."

He said nothing. Seemed to wait for something. And he was right. I hadn't told him everything.