>>6108923It’s been almost one hour after Master finished explaining what he knew of Carnaval’s feather to you, and you sit on your room’s floor, the only light a wavering candle. You scratch the floor with the feather, noticing how its edge just cuts through the stone with little regard for how hard it is.
It just cleaves through the material, as if it wasn’t even there.
And yet, when you hold it in your hand the edge does not bite you. If you squeezed your sword with the same strength you could probably say goodbye to your fingers already, but the feather just pleasantly thrums with its hidden heartbeat.
<span class="mu-i">Carne levare</span>, Soralisa’s words echo in your mind. And you shudder, even wrapped as you are in a thick blanket.
You have heard of the fury of Carnaval, but Master painted a picture of wanton destruction. Something you could perhaps even describe as lustful.
“Not an amulet, for sure.” You grumble, thinking of what’s inside the feather and how you could use it. What the Angel gave to you — a knife which edge can cut through stone with better ease than even your sword — and most importantly — a cup of the bitterest blood. You tap against the crystal to see the crimson liquid inside bubble and shift, as if eager to spill out and start its spiral of death. The only substance that’s known to harm the Adversary… and she gave it to you.
You wonder if such a thing will be useful to you over the course of your mission. You hope not.
You really hope you won’t have to use this.
Still, its presence is strangely soothing. There is something beautiful in the way the blood seeps and shifts inside the feather, filling up all its inner cracks.
You could probably spend the entire night smashing the feather against the floor and it wouldn’t even chip. But as Master said, when aided by your intent, the feather would know when to bloom. And spill its contents.
But not for now.
There’s a knock on your door. You put the feather inside your backpack and go to open it, finding Rubida and Salicera’s face level with you, and, slightly lower, Soralisa’s.
“Come on in,” you whisper, stepping aside from the door.
[cont.]
