The Night We Met Pt.1 [Edited]

The letter came at night.

Monastery nights can be a real pain—always so chilly. I stared at the envelope in my hand, feeling the heat from the hearth warm my cheeks. Part of me wanted to just toss it in and let it burn.

But I knew better than that.

The wax seal was a bit much. Gold trimming and angels guarding a gate. The Himmel way of shouting, 'we’re above you,' without bothering to raise their voice.

Using my nail, I sliced the seal open then dragged out a chair and flopped down on it.

“Might as well get this over with.” Yes, indeed, I already knew the script. Another tiresome round of ‘follow the Burnwake God’ and a reminder that we're straying from their ‘chosen’ path. “It's always the same. We're not even allowed to think for ourselves.”

“My dear sons,” it began. “We have decided to sacrifice the donor's organs to you, our precious second child, who will now carry on our family's legacy—”

The first line. I read it again just to check if maybe, just maybe, it would suddenly start making sense on the second try.

It didn't.

The words were simple enough—even a child could understand them. What didn’t make sense was how easily he wrote them.

Guilt should show on the wrist you know? But nope, no shaky lines. No trembling hand whatsoever. Father's penmanship was impeccable.

“Precious... second child.” I regretted those words as soon as I said them. But they were already out, and I couldn't take them back.

I stared at the letter, at the words written on the page.

“...Prick.”

Slumping back in my chair, I listened to its creaking sympathy. It too had had enough of this constant dance between us.

Most families pass down, say clothes, shoes, jewelry.

Organs. And if I had to guess, the source hadn't consented. I could already see Father grinning like a saint, stitching him up. “They live on in you,” he’d say. And me? I'd smile, applaud, pretend it was noble.

Then again, who was I to judge? Without us, my parents would've never felt the need. I was just as responsible.

With a wasting body, choices weren’t exactly lining up to shake my hand. If I’d been born top-tier, sure—any god, any Ward, take your pick. But reality isn’t some wish-fulfillment novel. I couldn’t even stay with my parents.

Deep inside me, there was a part that wanted to...

To scream.

But I couldn't.

A sharp knock at the door made me jump.

My brow knitted, and I let out an annoyed sigh.

Another knock. I didn't bother responding. It was my room, and the one thing I had control over.

Predictably, the door opened anyway.

Sister Haila walked into the room with such confidence I genuinely forgot that, technically, this was my room.

“Less charismatic brother.” She smiled. It was a title I'd come to accept. I was, after all, a poor conversationalist compared to the others. “I need your help with something.”

I slouched deeper in my chair, the edges of the letter still biting my palm, with a mood lying somewhere between 'leave me alone' and 'why her?'

But I'd long since learned how to hide my displeasure. I sighed, “I don't remember inviting you in.”

Her smile only widened as she shut the door. “Knocking is more of an informal social custom, a gesture of politeness if you will. It’s not legally binding. And I remember clearly saying I need your help. What, are you just going to ignore the request of a girl?”

My eyes remained on the letter, reading the words over and over. Request of a girl my ass. “I'm busy.”

She looked at me, cocking her head before speaking: “I see. You're in one of your moods again.”

Walking over to me, her eyes combed over the hearth, the chair, the books, as if waiting for the room to magically match her intellectual acumen.

“There there.” She gave me a pat on the head.

“Mm?” From my peripheral vision, I could see her head moving closer. “We have decided to—”

I shielded the letter with my palm, and for a full minute, neither of us broke eye contact...

“So,” I hastily offered: “You mentioned you needed help with something? I’m all ears.”

A smile sat on her face and I instantly knew. That was an 'I'm about to screw you over' kind of smile.

Strolling towards my bed without a care in the world, she sat down gracefully, crossing one leg over the other.

“Yes, I actually do need help. But,” she leaned into my face, her striking blue eyes on mine. “The letter interests me much more.”

She was close enough that I could see every curve and dip of her face—not a single blemish in sight.

She was... beautiful.

Yeah, no. Not happening. This was Haila. The girl once hired a mouse with breadcrumbs to jump-scare Brother Linus into launching a tray, then pulled a slow-motion plate save while casually robbing his dessert. Linus applauded. She ate his pie. I witnessed a crime.

That's her MO—she could talk a Plague God into curing their own plague. And there was zero chance she'd get her hands on my secrets.

“You're stalling. But it's alright. Slow thinkers are often the most thoughtful.”

I glared at her. “I'm not stalling. I'm just savoring the silence between your sentences.”

“Now that I think about it,” Haila tapped her chin. “It's not like you have any suitors, is it? I mean, seriously, who would even consider sending you letters?”

I shrugged with an indifference I didn't really feel. “Yep, you got it. Sarcasm and keeping to myself aren’t exactly aphrodisiacs. Shocking, I know.”

Then I looked at the letter covered by my hand, sighed. “But maybe some secret admirer out there is completely smitten by my complete inability to make eye contact. Tragic. You'll never know.”

Ignoring my comment, she just patted the space next to her. I didn't budge an inch.

“You're so dense it's almost endearing. But, I digress, we'll hold off on the letter for now. However, do keep in mind I expect full disclosure, eventually.”

"Eventually? You mean you'll badger me about it until you get your way, then?”

Looking around, her eyes fell on the other bed in the room.

“Yes, that. Where is your brother? I have some business with him.”

“Under my bed, of course.” I waved to the mentioned space.

I'd expected her to call my bluff, but she actually bent down and peeked underneath, her expression serious.

“You... you're actually checking?”

She sat upright, grinning. “No, you idiot, I was just seeing if I could get that constant scowl off your face. And look at that, it seems like I've achieved my goal.”

Facepalming mentally, I watched her giggle at my expense. Her laughter was almost... NO. I took my eyes off her.

“Oh, don't be so serious. I'm just enjoying myself. Anyway, since he's not here, you'll have to do. I need you to sign this.”

“Don't get your hopes up, I'm not some pusho—”

But she wasn't listening. Obviously. She pulled out a folded paper from her sleeve holding it out to me like a good little lapdog.

I eyed it with suspicion. “What is it?”

“A letter of character recommendation. For me. From you.”

Speechless, I gaped at her request as she rose, rubbing down the folds of her robe, as if preparing to argue with me about this ridiculous demand. “Are you serious? Me, vouching for an egoistic girl like you? No way in hell that's happening.”

She sighed, brushing off invisible dust from her shoulder. “And why is that?”

“Wasn't it you who used a mouse to give Linus trauma, just so you could eat his dessert?”

She stopped, turning her head, a single shine of moonlight catching her lashes. “I shared that pie with you.”

That... that was technically true. I scratched my cheek, suddenly finding the fireplace very interesting.

“And if memory serves,” she cleared her throat. “This… this is the best damn pie I've ever tasted. Though I wouldn't put it past you to have spiked it with something.”

Okay, that was exactly how I said it. But...

“I also once drank ink, thinking it was a great goddamn tea. So, take my opinion with a grain of salt, alright?”

I rolled my eyes. “But fine, I'll think about it.” I snatched the letter and shoved it into a book.

“Take care,” she said, walking out. “Say hello to your brother for me.”

I groaned. “Stop trying to marry into the family.”

“Understood, future-in-law.”

The door closed.

Silence.

The bed beside me was still warm.

My eyes remained on it for a second longer, then I turned to the letter—the one I’d folded and shielded with pathetic reflex.

A sigh.

I got up with the grace of a man thrice my age, shuffling my feet to the window.

The frost on the glass chilled my fingertips before I’d even touched it, but I leaned against it anyway.

Outside, a large Wall extended far into the land. Up atop it, I imagined he was still out there, scouting Wards, sneaking past curfew, knowing full well I'd cover for him. Again.

He was annoyingly good at that; getting into restricted areas. If it were me, I'd alert the entire Wallwatch, break my leg, and somehow start an inter-ward crisis.

He was talented, confident, and popular with everyone he met.

Everything I wasn't.

He made playing life look so easy. He always ran ahead, never once looking back to see if I was okay. I was always the one left behind, responsible for cleaning up his mess.

I hated that.

I hated him.

...

I pressed my forehead to the glass. It was cold.

“Idiot,” I whispered. It came out soft. Why? I couldn't say.