Abbernathy and Magick's End

(6) - The Secrets of Stars -

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THE rusted shackles tore into his wrists. Whenever he shifted in his seat to better glimpse the door at the far end of his cell, they constricted, the metal digging deeper. Thin rivulets of black blood stained the ruffle cuffs of his sleeves.

Axion winced. With all the enemies he had accrued over the ages, he knew the absolute pain it was removing blood stains from finery. He'd have to have his garment hand-washed a dozen times before the stains even budged, and then afterward, a bit of magickal polish would need to be worked into every soiled thread to achieve the clean he demanded of his wardrobe. Someone like him, needed to look his best. Anything less, and what was the point? Even the greatest stars needed help shining their brightest, and he was no different.

Having had enough bleeding over his favorite blouse, and being fed up with the abomination of wood and screw and faulty engineering biting into his back and thighs, he decided it was time. Margo wanted a confession; he'd confess. Be the black-hearted rogue they all took him for. It mattered little. Dead magicks, like dead realms, could not be revived.

Raising a hand in the air, and ignoring the sharp sting as the manacle bit into his wrist, he called out, "Oh Mouse-wizardess, your prisoner is ready to spill his soul, should you desire it."

No response.

He watched the door. A piece of wood, no bigger than his palm peeled back. Margo's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

He grinned.

"You haven't wanted to talk for weeks," she said.

Axion swallowed the urge, what came so naturally to his person, to remind Miss Mouse-Wizardess, that he was very well aware of the many insufferable, silent weeks he'd spent rotting away in Darkmoore's dungeon. He'd counted his hours in drops of blood. He'd watch the stars on his flesh advance and retreat on his skin, an army both conquered, and conquering. A galaxy had bloomed on his right hand, only to now be nothing more than a darkened scar - the price of extinguished life, tempered emotions, betrayal and emptiness.

He would tell Margo none of this. She would not listen to him besides.

"I've changed my mind, Mouse-Wizardess." His stars momentarily darkened. "So much time to think and re-think."

Margo's eyes had already been plenty narrow, but somehow, for him, they'd managed to narrow further. Far beyond what Axion thought humans and human-similars could manage. Magick, maybe it was. He'd never learned the limitations. But despite her eyes being no more than brown slats, they burned with that familiar aggravation.

The kind he'd savored when it filled his brother's expressions, after Axion had spilled that evening's wine, foiling one of their clumsy attempts to assassinate him. The same aggravation had pitted the many faces of tavern owners, all who had amassed towers of Axion's debt, and had come to realize it only too late that he had no intention of paying it pack. It was with the same aggravation, those same tavern owners,  swindled out of their due, had hired thugs to chase Axion from their bars and into back alleys, where repayment was forcibly taken - in flesh, blood and coin.

Now too the mouse-wizardess had grown weary of him.

"Why?" was all she asked.

"Why?" He lifted both hands. The fabric of his sleeves had grown stiff with his blood, and the pastel blue had turned a muddy brown. "Because I'm done bleeding out on my finery. Why look at this mess! It will take a delicate, masterful touch to address all these stains. And the cost, I'm sure, will be exorbitant. Certainly, more than the pittance you make doing her royal brightness's dirty work."