Chapter X: Twelve Long Days
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Poète pulled a box of matches out of the shallow drawer in his desk and with a flick of his wrist pulled out a match and struck it.
It had been twelve days since the incident.
At least, that’s how many he thought had passed.
The days and nights had long bled together, almost like water colors.
He had started keeping track of time with candles.
One candle typically lasts around two and a half days when burned at a constant and a candle has just burnt out.
Twelve long days.
He lit another candle.
Another two and a half day timer.
He picked up his quill, which was now frayed at the top.
He was muttering poetry under his breath.
His poetry.
Just a few lines that hadn’t managed to completely slip his mind.
“Whilst the nobles sleep the peasants sweep…”
He breathed, scrawling on the paper.
The sheets of paper had become wrinkled and brittle from being wet then drying again.
Vide walked up behind him, her hands behind her back.
She leaned down to his level, her eyes flicking over the page.
“You’ve started to remember, Petit Shakespeare.”
She remarked, whispering into his ear.
“Indeed.”
Poète replied, his eyes scanning over what he had written, fiddling with the fraying top of the quill.
“May I?”
She murmured, brushing the edge of the paper with a single finger.
He hesitated for a moment.
“Yes… yes, you may, Vide.”
“Thank you.”
She slid her hands under the cover and gently lifted it off the table, her thumbs tracing small circles on the cover as she read the few lines that he wrote.
She carefully turned the page backward, her eyes flicking to Poète then back down at the book.
She nodded once, slowly.
“So… this is your most valuable possession.”
Poète’s head snapped up to look at her, his eyes wide.
“How did you know that…?!”
He asked, his voice cracking.
“I’ve never told that to anyone before.”
Vide chuckled, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Indeed…”
She replied, tracing Poète’s swirling letters with the tip of her right pinky finger.
“But it is extremely, painfully obvious.”
She placed the notebook back on the desk with a flourish.
He dunked the tip of the quill into the ink well, small black droplets splattering across the tabletop.
“Oh dear…”
He chuckled sheepishly.
“I didn’t know it was thatobvious.”
“Everything is obvious if you pay attention.”
Vide muttered, adjusting her tie so it was straight.
Personne appeared in the doorway.
“Bonjour!”
He giggled.
Vide chuckled.
“Hello, Personne.”
Personne’s eyes glanced around the room before landing on Poète, his hands still on the doorknob.
He tilted his head to the left, a half smile playing in the right corner of his mouth.
“Oh goodnesses!”
Poète laughed quietly in confusion.
“Oh dear… what is it?”
Personne trotted over, disregarding the door.
“Your injuries have started healing!”
He said, touching the places on his own face where some of the other boy’s healing wounds were visible.
Vide padded over and closed the door.
“Indeed… but there will still be scarring.”
She remarked, running her fingers through her feathery black hair.
Personne padded closer to Poète, looking at the page the notebook was open to, tilting his head farther.
Poète could feel the warmth radiating from Personne’s slightly vibrating body.
Personne let out a squeaky hic-up before he could get word out.
He laughed behind his hand.
“Oh go- Hic! Oh goodnesses! How- Hic! Lovely!”
He chirped, reading over Poète’s head.
“Thank you, Personne.”
Poète murmured, brushing his fingers over the words.
“I’ve tried.”35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBxmUfQik2O
and then Add to home screen.