15/16.
in which important people owe you.

"I've made influential friends? Fuck. We're only people, Giles."
"I know. We'll need soldiers—sacrifices—too."

What is your gut reaction?

>_

16/16.
in which none of this is real.

Something about Giles' voice throws you. "You don't mean that."

"Am I wrong?"

"Of course!" You whirl on him, grass crunching under your heel. "Might as well make a family business outta murder, if you're so keen on answering bloodshed with more."

"You're overreacting."

You don't recognize those empty eyes. Giles is many-flawed, but 'cruel' isn't among them.

"Listen here." You grab his collar. "What animal got loose at our wedding and trampled the cake?"

Giles pries at your hand. "Let go of me."

"Answer up. What trampled the cake?"

"Let go, Eloa, lest I force you."

"I will when you answer me!" Your voice distorts; your blood feels leaden. The universe warps at the edges. "What animal? What? You wouldn't forget!"

...Hᴍᴍ. Sᴜᴘᴘᴏsᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ.

Not-Giles' eyes blacken, and you recoil with a curse. Smoke and laughter billow from Its mouth.

Vᴇʀʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ.

Nausea wrenches your guts. Reality liquefies beneath you.

'The rot stains your soul,' the healer said, when you surprised her by surviving the waste. 'You're marked now, poor thing. The hallucinations come and go.'

Then you return to your body, slumped against his. The rot must have got you mid-conversation.

"...Giles?"

"There you are. God, you frightened me. How do you feel?"

"Fine. Question." Your eyelids weigh elephants. "What got loose and ruined our wedding?"

"A mudyak. Black."

Embarrassed at your weakness, you pull away. "What were you saying before I fainted?"

"That we'll need to raise forces. The situation's bleak, but—"

"Right, right." You have to take charge. "I think I know where to start."

==>