You open your mouth to tell Tzah-Tzie it’s okay–that you’re no saint either…

But the words die long before they reach your lips, the hesitation only digging the pit in your gut into a chasm. You’ve always been quick to let the blame fall on yourself, but in this case, well… Can you really say anything Tzah-Tzie said isn’t true?

Sensing your hesitation, the musician peeks through her finger fortress with her big, bloodshot eyes.

“... Anton?”

It’s not an act, you can surmise that much, but you can tell she’s waiting for you to do something… anything.

As usual.

The thought dips into your mind for a moment, tops, but once it does the whole thing is poisoned. she said it herself: you’ve been a paragon of patience! Constantly reeling her in! Putting up with her petty crimes! Adapting to plans SHE told you to follow! And for what? A roll in the sack? A kind word here and there? You’ve been turning down girls left and right–hell, you’ve gotten more action here in Zoral than you ever did at home!

“Ant…”

It’s only after she says your name a second time that you realize your teeth are clenched–fists are balled up at your sides. What’s she playing at here, really? Did she really want to have a heart-to-heart?

Or is she just feeling possessive?

Every question you ask yourself brings you back to the same, gut-wrenching moment: your conversation after barely escaping the casino.

When she said she wasn’t sure if she loved you.

Taking a deep breath, you level your eyes with hers and tell her what’s on your mind: she said before… that she didn’t love you.

Your words hit her like a boulder–her eyes widening as she realizes what you just dropped into her lap. Wiping the tears from her soggy face, Tzah-Tzie’s eyes find a spot on the wall across from her as she digests what you said.

“You’re right,” she croaks with a weary look on her face, “I hurt you there too, didn’t I?” She steals a sad glance at your face and sniffs. “It left a scar.”

You stay silent. It certainly stuck with you.

“Do you know how many songs there are about love?” The Spinner asks, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Stories? Poems?” Her eyes sink to the floor as if she’d stopped to do a recount. “I lost track growing up… spent my days getting lost in some dusty corner of our two-story library when I was able to slip out of my lessons.” A rueful laugh wriggles free of her lips. “I can still feel the soreness on my claws from feeling so many words… must have spent years hidden away in that forest of fiction… stories. Music. Art. They kept me alive.”

A nostalgic smile works its way onto her damp face. “Never really understood art’s version of love, though. The hero beats the monster, he whisks the princess away…”

She pauses as if waiting for an answer.

“... and that’s that.”

‘Happily Ever After’...

>CONTD.