Malady
This is a work in progress. Names, events, titles, etc. are subject to change
Rook slowly wandered the great halls of the new Ledan university.
As much as he’d prefer to be with Stella, she was busy giving one of her lectures. Today’s talk isn’t about kindling (much to the dismay of the students) but, rather, life studies. An intriguing topic to Rook, but the attention he gets from other people make him nervous. Sitting in on the class was not an option. Whether they’re in awe of him or disgusted, Rook would rather not interact with any of them. Birds, fish, trees, simpler creatures tend to make him feel more relaxed. The poking and prodding of the intelligent ones make him want to hide in Stella’s coat.
He turned a corner into the accolade hall.
Not that he can actually fit in her coat, anymore. Early on, Rook grew irritated by his lack of reach and general ability to travel on his own. He didn’t want to be a burden to Stella and have her carry him everywhere, but he also didn’t like the idea of not being carried…
He looked up at the portraits of the nobles on the wall and studied the wrinkles on their faces.
Rook quickly figured out he could simply add more clay to his body to increase its size. He periodically added more clay and sculpted his shape until he felt he was big enough. He tried his best to keep the original face Stella gave him as best he could.
The magic by which he is conscious and animated is yet to become science, but Stella said she’s close to figuring it out. The same as she’s said for the past year. She also told him she’d like to celebrate his “birthday,” but she doesn’t really know how. When asked what he wanted for his birthday, Rook stared at her blankly. The same as he’s done when she asks him most things.
She had offered to try kindling him, but it was a strange and uncertain process. Nothing inorganic had been kindled before. Stella gasped and stopped just before the kindling completed. Rook recalls being disappointed, thinking he could be more useful to her if he could be more like her. But she explained to him that, without a soul, it would burn him up slowly until there was nothing left. She couldn’t lose him. He was satisfied with that.
He thought about her face. Her soft features and warm skin. Her cheeks would make happy shapes, but her eyes would betray the facade. Rook was never deceived.
He thought about the games she taught him. How she’d laugh when he’d won. He thought about the things they’d make together. How she’d get lost in the moment. He thought about all the nights she’d spend awake, rambling about her past, her lonliness. How she’d cry until she fell asleep. He thought about how little he understood. He wished he could do something, anything, to help her. She said just talking to him helped, but it never stopped her from crying.
Rook, satisfied he’s absorbed as much as he could from the hallway paintings, opened the library door and made slow deliberate steps inside. He made sure to close the door behind him. The room was filled with rows and rows of shelves, each heavy with as much knowledge as could possibly be gathered. It grows every day as the people of the world materialize their thoughts, feelings, struggles, and hopes into words.
Many of the books here were donated or written by Stella, herself. These were the ones Rook sought out, hoping to feel closer to her as they were apart. He made a straight line to a shelf in the middle of the bright, echoey room. A neat pile of books he set aside for himself last time he was here sat safely, waiting for him. He struggled to lug the pile of books to the nearest table. Rook begins to think it’s time he added more clay again.
What’ll he learn about Stella today?
Hours pass. The sun has long since set. The pile of books he started with is looking a bit smaller. If anyone asked him, and if he’d respond, he’d say, “Yes, I did read all of these books, cover to cover.” But no one would ask. And Rook couldn’t respond. And he mostly skimmed them, anyway.
A resounding clunk interrupts Rooks flow. Mildly annoyed, he gets up and walks toward the sound. He hears footsteps and muffled speech, “..lla will cause..” Around the corner of a bookshelf he sees a couple well dressed people with fancy hats conversing all hush hush. Rook, curious little thing, decides to sneak closer and listen. He’s gotten pretty good at staying silent and out of sight.
“You’re certain no one is here, Sirius?” said the older looking one of the two. Rook recognizes him as the “archbishop.” He always seemed nice but spoke as if every word was carefully chosen. Rook tries to remember his name. He recalls it to be… Betel?
“There’s no need to be so paranoid. This library is off limits at this time, except to a select few. Miss Stella is being occupied by Sir Matar as we speak, so we are safe.” This Sirius is an unimportant man of status. Unimportant because Rook doesn’t believe that the circumstances of one’s birth determines who you are.
“That witch needs to be dealt with,” Sirius spat. “What is taking so long? God is furious.” Rook felt his chest tighten. He knew what “witch” meant.
Sirius hushes the old man, “Sh sh sh. No one’s here but the walls aren’t made of iron, Your Grace.” Betel grumbles. “Miss Stella-“
“She’s a witch,” Betel interrupted.
“Fine, Your Grace.” Sirius clears his throat. “We can’t do anything about her yet. There’s still so much we need to learn from her.” Rook strains to listen closer. “We still don’t know how that repulsive creature was made. That duckling that follows her everywhere.”
“Well, hurry. We can’t very well use that knowledge while she’s around. She would never allow it,” Betel growls.
Rook begins to feel something he’s never felt before. He’s read all about emotions but it’s completely different than actually feel them. He is overwhelmed. He is angry.
He is afraid.
What are they going to do to his Stella?