So, My Best Friend is Basically a Human Life-Support Machine

Morgan

For two exhausting days, Natalia and I had been imprisoned here, and my patience had already frayed to its very last thread. Who in their right mind could possibly enjoy an endless cycle of cleaning from dawn until dusk and back again? I certainly couldn't. To be fair, my duties extended far beyond merely dusting forgotten corners and scrubbing floors until they gleamed. My education now included the delicate art of sewing, the precise intricacies of braiding hair, the complex rules of fashion, and a hundred other skills that constituted the life of a Lady’s Maid. Yet, it wasn’t until today that I finally gathered the nerve to confront my instructor, Markus, with the question that had been relentlessly clawing at the back of my mind: why had he brought us here?

At first, his answer was chillingly simple. He claimed I was present for the sole purpose of providing Natalia with companionship. That wasn't the truth I was searching for, so I pressed him. What I received in return was a story.

“Long ago, when the old King was just a boy, a great famine fell upon the kingdom,” he began, his voice a low, solemn rumble. “Countless lives were being lost. To the castle came a famished witch, desperate for any work she could find. The Queen, taking pity on the woman, gave her a position as a maid. But the King, a fearful and arrogant man, eventually discovered her true nature and demanded she utter a prophecy concerning his unborn son.” Markus’s gaze grew distant. “The witch warned him that the future is a river of many currents, that an unspoken prophecy can bend and shift. ‘But a told one,’ she cautioned, ‘is unchangeable, set in stone forever.’” His eyes darkened as he spoke the words. “The King, heedless, insisted she reveal it.”

And so, the sorceress obeyed. She foretold that his son would grow to be a ruthless despot, a malevolent shadow whose reign would plunge the world into an age of darkness. His subjects would live in constant terror of a monarch who cared for nothing and no one. Loathed by all, his life would be cut short at the age of twenty-two summers, ended by a single arrow from an unknown soldier piercing his cold, black heart. He would be cast into a pauper’s grave, unmourned and forgotten by time.

“But there was a sliver of hope,” Markus said, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If, before his twenty-second summer, the son could find his true queen—his other half—and if she could learn to care for him, to soften his hardened heart, he would not become a tyrant. Instead, he would become the greatest king the world had ever known.”

Enraged by the witch's dreadful vision, the old King had her beheaded. He then summoned more sorcerers and mages, commanding them to find the girl from the prophecy. But she was never found.

A cold dread washed over me. “Natalia is the girl he needs, isn’t she?” I whispered, my eyes fixed on Markus. Oh, Natalia. She detested being tied down. She prided herself on her independence, shunning relationships and deliberately keeping her distance from anything that didn’t concern her directly. This situation was her absolute worst nightmare.

Markus nodded grimly and continued his tale. The King, the Prince’s father, passed away when his son turned eighteen. Upon ascending the throne, the prophecy was revealed to the new King. He summoned the palace enchanter, pleading for help in locating the girl. She was found, though she existed in another world. The young King was granted the chance to see his other half, but only as a fleeting shadow. “He told me—for I am one of the few whose counsel he trusts—that he saw her in the midst of a terrible storm, lost in the darkness, screaming and terrified,” Markus explained. “For the first time since he’d learned of his fate, a flicker of sympathy stirred within the King, and he found himself comforting the spectral girl. He then commanded that a way be found to bring her into his world. When a method was finally devised, it was discovered that the process would take two full years to complete.” Markus paused, looking directly into my eyes. “Morgan, do you know what a ‘soul twin’ is?”

“A soul twin?” My brow furrowed in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Markus just shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it,” he said with a dismissive air.

After a moment of charged silence, he added, “You know, you and Lady Natalia both bear a striking resemblance to the late Queen.” He stopped there, clearly unwilling to elaborate. I didn't press him for more details. I finally understood why the King needed Natalia, and for now, that was all that mattered.

Natalia 

The following morning, I awoke to a room buzzing with frantic energy. No fewer than four maids bustled about my chambers; one presented me with a small dish of fruit, another retrieved a gown of shimmering silk, and a third drew a steaming bath. Throughout this whirlwind of activity, they murmured about how fortunate I was to be here. Fortunate. Right.

The flickering torchlight from sconces on the walls filled the room, and the sight of it washed over me with profound relief. I had no desire to be plunged back into that suffocating blackness. In the endless dark of the previous night, with imagined monsters stalking the halls and shadowy creatures slithering in the corners, the only proof I had that I was still alive was the violent trembling I’d forced upon my own body. My relief curdled into rage, however, when my eyes fell upon a fireplace with a cold, black hearth. The realization hit me like a physical blow: that jerk had deliberately left me to freeze in the dark all night. As I sank into the bath, the hot water began to soothe the deep aches in muscles sore from the previous day’s labor.

It felt deeply unsettling to allow the maids to wash my hair and dress me as if I were a doll, but I couldn't tell which bottle held shampoo and which held oil, nor could I begin to fathom the intricate lacing of these elaborate dresses. A sharp twinge from my broken arm as they guided it through a sleeve sent a jolt of pain through me, but I bit down hard on my lip. I would not show any agony. I refused to give him, or anyone in this place, the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply he had hurt me.

After they had finished, the maids curtsied and departed, the heavy click of the lock echoing behind them. I didn't have to wait long. Within minutes, Mr. Psycho himself entered. This time, he seemed pleased that I was properly attired, and I scowled at the smug look on his face. He gestured for me to follow. A defiant urge to refuse, to simply sit there and challenge him, rose within me, though I knew the man would likely just wrench me along by my injured arm again. Reluctantly, I obeyed. For a time, we walked in a blessedly peaceful silence. We soon arrived at a pair of towering double doors, which were pulled open by two guards who stood as motionless as statues. I wouldn’t want their job; they just stood there opening doors all day. That must have gotten dull very quickly.