Good morning!

"WHO MADE ME SIGN THIS?!"

I hurled the letter across the room and clutched my head.

"This is insane... There is no way I have memory loss, no..."

How many times had I reread this letter? Twice? A dozen? Again and again I tried to comprehend what I'd read, but the meaning only slipped further away with each line. The letters dissolved into a chaotic stream of ink marks, and my ears rang from the flood of information.

I picked up the letter and lowered my gaze to where my own signature gleamed in gold: broad, executed with geometric precision. I would recognize my handwriting among a thousand others — after so many years filling out idiotic reports... Beside it stood a wax seal with the Eldenburg coat of arms. Forging handwriting was possible, but forging a royal seal...? This didn't seem like a prank.

Damn it, I don't remember writing this letter! What if someone learned to copy my handwriting, my magic, even my seal? They want me to believe I wrote it all myself!

Or... I simply don't remember writing it? Could someone have cast a spell that even the king's court mages couldn't break?

I rose from the bed and approached the mirror to examine myself for any changes. Indeed, a hieroglyph the size of my palm had appeared on my back — that very rune that had landed me in this ridiculous situation... There was your proof.

Feeling the influence of foreign magic upon myself was unpleasant. After all, this rune was a brand, a reminder that someone had managed to corner me, Selena Lowrmark!

Besides, there was a bruise on my right shoulder. I bruise easily, of course, but where had this one come from? And such a large one...

A strange, anxious feeling came over me, as if I were looking at myself from the outside and didn't recognize what I saw. After some thought, I decided to trust what was written and play my role for the time being. The most important thing was to keep my eyes peeled, and we'd see what happened...

I ran my finger along the edge of the parchment, feeling the familiar resistance of the material as it fought against the compression magic. Then I focused my mana, and the sheet, obedient to its mistress's will, began to curl. The ink rippled as if coming alive, gathering into a clump at the bottom edge, while the paper darkened and became glossy. A moment later, instead of a sheet, a small paper tag lay in my palm.

I returned the note to its place, feeling the remnants of magic pulsing at my fingertips. Now the letter looked like a simple decorative charm pinned to my dress — a safely hidden message. In the world of mages, such things are called runes. They are tags bearing hieroglyphs that serve as anchors for sealed objects. One need only draw the proper symbol on a surface, and the item obediently compresses into a mark, ready to regain its true volume at any moment at the mage's command.

I put on the dress and checked that I had my weapons sealed into runes. Well, just in case…

So, my name is now Vasilisa, and I am the mistress of "The Last Firefly" tavern.

Gathering my courage, I shook my head, unlocked the door, and stepped out of the room. I descended the spiral staircase to the lower floor and looked around.

Below lay the most ordinary tavern with a nauseatingly classic menu. Traditional folk decorations hung on the walls, and even a beast’s hide.

I stood by the stairs, somehow hesitant to go further, as if I'd sneaked into someone's home.

"Good morning!"

Startled, I squealed and fell on the floor hard. My right shoulder slammed into the counter boards, and the pain flooded through my entire body, causing me to cry out.

"Oops! Sorry!” a voice squeaked in my ear. “You're usually not so jumpy. Sorry, sorry! MiMi didn't mean to scare you!"

I stared at the source of my fright, still catching my breath. Two blue eyes appeared before me with sharp teeth glinting in a grin...

"AAAAAAH! DIE, YOU DAMNED MUTANT!!"

Driven by pure instinct, I grabbed the first object at hand and threw it at the creature.
The creature calmly dodged. I drew my dagger and finally managed to make out who stood before me.

A mutant girl, wrapped in a blue cloak with a fur-lined hood. Hair braided into two fluffy pigtails. She stood there, batting her eyelashes, with an eerily innocent expression on her face. Only the protruding fangs and inhuman eyes betrayed her as a mutant.

"You are... MiMi, right? Why would you sneak up on me like that?! Trying to kill me?!"

MiMi watched me panic, but apparently was already used to my hysterics.

"Sorry,” She helped me up. “it's just that lately you've been waking up earlier than usual. And every time you get scared when I approach you from behind."

I see, so that's where the bruise came from...

"Maybe don't sneak up on me from behind if you know how it usually ends?!"

MiMi blinked several times.

"Right, I didn't think of that...” She clenched her hands into fists. “MiMi will do better! Won't approach you from behind anymore!"

I frowned. And this wonder in boots is my companion? Is she even useful for anything?

"The tavern opens in half an hour.” MiMi informed me, picking up the candlestick I had thrown in my act of self-defense. “I made some sea buckthorn tea, it usually helps you calm down!"

Is she our healer too?

"I'm going to the Amber Shop for supplies. I'll be back by evening."

She put on a backpack twice her size.

"Wait, first explain—"

"Good luck!"

MiMi fluttered out of the tavern.

With the deepest resignation to fate, I sat down at a table and closed my eyes. My shoulder stung, and the bruise had probably grown even larger. Oh well. I wanted to think everything through, compose myself, finally drink that tea, but my thoughts were interrupted by the jingle of a bell. I turned my gaze to the door.

In the doorway stood a young man in a tall fur hat and dark coat. Shaking snow off his boots, he removed his headwear, and only then did I see that his hair was as white as snow.

We looked at each other for a few long seconds. He must have been expecting some words from me. And in my head — emptiness. An absolute, sterile zero!

"Elisei," the stranger said, somewhat sadly.
It took me a moment to realize he just gave me his name. I immediately jumped up.
"Welcome," I stammered, feeling like an impostor.

"Sorry, Vasilisa, I... I know the tavern isn't open yet, but…” He awkwardly twisted his hat in his hands. “I just need... need to distract myself, you understand? Very..."

I nodded. That was my only trick — nodding as if I understood what people were telling me.

Elisei walked past me and slumped onto a stool, dropping his head into his hands. I was somewhat embarrassed, not knowing how to react.

"Are you... all right?"

The young man only groaned muffledly into his sleeve. I felt I had to do something to help him. Right, the notes!

"Wait, I'll... just a moment!"

I hastily tied on an apron and ducked behind the counter. There lay a notebook with a yellow bookmark — the very one mentioned in the letter, with information about visitors.
I found Elisei's name. Attached to it was a description:

"Elisei Lesnoy. Excellent bard. Sensitive to criticism. Usually comes during a creative crisis. Requires lots of attention and hearty food. Favorite dish: rabbit stew."

I dashed to the kitchen and quickly surveyed the shelves of runes, searching for anything useful. I grabbed what seemed more or less appropriate. In my nervousness, everything kept slipping from my hands, and all I could do was curse the kitchenware.

I felt absolutely out of place. The very thought of serving someone was simply cosmically absurd, but I pushed it aside, immersing myself in the process.

In the stove I found a fire hieroglyph and activated it. The rune responded instantly: the stove pulsed like a human heart. Flames enveloped the alder chips. I immediately pulled the damper lever, and the stove responded with a deep, satisfied rumble — the draft kicked in, driving heat throughout the stone vault.

I set down a pot and began adding ingredients: mushrooms, onions, pumpkin, cream, lemon... There was no recipe; guided as usual by my darling intuition.

Then, as my aunt used to say, it was time for magic. After rummaging a bit in the notes, I took a rune with the needed hieroglyph from the shelf. Sealed within it was the property of the density and softness of mist. I tossed the rune directly into the pot and snapped my fingers. A thick, slowly swirling steam rose from the surface, while the broth acquired a creamy texture. The pot bubbled. Occasionally I adjusted the coals with a poker so that the flame wouldn't become too aggressive.

After some time, I set a plate of steaming stew before the guest. And I did so with such a clatter that Elisei flinched.

"Eat," I blurted out, shifting from foot to foot. "I added... well, lots of things."

Elisei raised his head. His eyes were wet, his nose red. He looked at me, then at the plate, took a spoon and scooped some up.

A few seconds passed. His pale face suddenly twitched, and down his cheek, right across the delicate, almost translucent skin, rolled a tear.

"Did I add too much salt?! Sorry!!” I cried out in horror. “I'm such an idiot... I'll take it away..."

"It's... It's... very delicious."

Elisei scooped another spoonful, and tears flowed in streams. He ate so greedily, as if he'd been starving for a week, and at the same time he sobbed, smearing sauce across his chin.

I stood there, staring at him in shock.

"Don't mind me,” He sniffled. “It's just... one person in the square today said my songs are 'musical garbage for deaf donkeys.' And that I should go be a shepherd, because at least sheep provide wool."

He sniffled again and added more quietly:

"And here... this dish... and you... always... so glad to see me..."

I stood with my mouth open. Was he serious? What a weirdo. Though, creative people are a special breed, what can you expect...

"Wow, you're quite the sensitive one.” I scratched my head. “Listen, if that guy shows up again, tell him to stop by, I'll spit in his soup. Or hit him over the head with a poker. I'm sure you... uh..." And so as not to sin, I quickly flipped through the notebook and read aloud, "You... uh... 'EXCELLENT BARD'! There!”

I awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. Elisei raised his tear-filled eyes to me and smiled like a child.

"T-thank you, Vasilisa! Thank you!"

I smiled back at him, thinking how unfamiliar this foreign name sounded. And how strange that he's known me for half a year already, while I don't remember him at all...

"But... I... ‘Elisei looked at me, his eyes brightening. “Oh gods, I have no money to pay! And you... tried so hard... And I... already ate half the plate! Oh, wretched me!"

He burst into tears again, genuinely, with anguish. I looked at him and felt two things fighting within me: pity — and a cold, calculating fear. What if he fools me like this every day? The letter had clearly stated that I owned a tavern, not a shelter for sufferers.

Then shame pricked me. Since when had I become so greedy? As if I didn't know what it was like to be left with nothing...

"Hey-hey-hey! Enough with the sobbing! You... eat on my tab today. That's enough, stop it!"

He raised eyes full of gratitude to me.

"Oh, Vasilisa, you're so kind! My next song will be dedicated to your creamy stew with the taste of morning mist!"

At that point I thought: no thanks, please don't... However, I didn't get a chance to say so. From beyond the door came a rising rumble, sounding something like a horn. Elisei leaped up.

"What's that?" I asked. "Some kind of celebration?"

And then I realized the young man's face had gone completely pale.

"It's…” He whispered. “It can't be... No, not for so many years..."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The horn.” He muttered. “They blow the horn when m-mutants... Mutants in the city!"

A blast wave, hot and unstoppable, threw our bodies aside like rag dolls. I was lost for a torturous moment, disoriented by the impact, darkness swimming before my eyes.

The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was Elisei's distorted face leaning over me.