Alice let out a laugh, unable to hold back. Shew found herself giggling at her warmhearted friend.
“What are you laughing at?” Cerené snapped at Alice, waving the case in the air. “This is between me and my friend. You’re not friends with her. Are you, Shew?”
“Alice? Of course, not. Alice is not my friend. She is only helping.”
Cerené smiled. Shew was worried if she’d told her otherwise she’d burn Alice in the furnace.
“So what’s that in the long case?” Shew asked.
“This is my gift for you,” Cerené looked happier than a woodpecker with a handful of trees. “I made it myself,” she knelt down, laid her blowpipe aside, and opened the case.
Something glittered from inside the case, something long and shiny, a handmade sword.
“See?” Cerené, still kneeling down, held the sword with both hands, presenting it to Shew like a Samurai swordsmith to a king.
Shew and Alice were both enchanted at the beauty of the sword. Cerené had forged it from her molten glass, using the Heart, Brain, and Soul. Shew couldn’t avoid thinking this sword had Cerené’s breath in it. It had part of her life in it. Shew had been given emeralds from across the ocean before, diamonds from the heart of Africa, and even exclusive mirrors and masks from Venice. But never had she been gifted with such a valuable sword. The glittery blade looked as if Cerené’s breath waved upon it. She wondered if she’d be holding a piece of her best friend’s life in her hand if she held it.
“Beautiful?” Cerené wondered, afraid Shew wouldn’t like it.
Shew nodded at a loss for words, her eyes shiny.
“Friends!” Cerené squeaked like happy doe-eyed girls in a Manga. The word ‘friends’ cut through Shew again. It made her want to stay in this dream forever, and slay dragons to take care of Cerené.
Shew held the sword by its grip. The Pommel was glass. She held it in front of her, feasting her eyes with its beauty, feeling spiritually connected to Cerené.
The blade was made of glass, not any glass, but Cerené’s secret ingredient glass. The edges were sharp enough you could feel a light cut in your eyes if you stared at it too long. The glass itself wasn’t transparent. It was white, milk white.
“You used Mermaid’s Milk on it?” Shew wondered.
“All of it,” Cerené bragged, standing up. “It gives it incredible strength. I wanted the sword to look like you.”
“Like me?” Shew wondered.
“Black hair, white skin, and blood red lips, so its grip is black and the blade is white.”
“But I don’t see any red?” Shew wondered, carefully flipping it around in case she missed something.
“I thought I didn’t need to add red. That will be your part,” Cerené giggled. “The red on the sword will be the blood of your enemies.”
“But I’m not going to use this sword,” Shew said. “I don’t plan to kill anyone.”
“I think you will,” Alice said, her eyes reminding Shew of Loki. “The perfect sword for the perfect ending,” she whispered behind Cerené’s back. “We’re wasting time.”
Shew realized that this was part of her memory when Cerené designed the Chosen One’s ultimate sword. She had once heard her father say ‘if you’re going to show me a sword, you better use it.’ Suddenly, she remembered all the training her father gave her. She’d been trained to ride horses and kill with her sword. Her father had prepared her for war.
So my power isn’t just my silly fangs and scary looks?
“You have to kill Loki,” Alice insisted again behind Cerené’s back.
Shew shook her head ‘no’, and Cerené noticed.
“What is she telling you?” Cerené said. “Don’t listen to her. She isn’t your friend.”
“If Cerené leaves again, you will be shifted to the memory of your birthday, and you don’t want that to happen,” Alice spoke aloud, neglecting Cerené’s confusion. “The only way to wake up from this dream is to kill Loki, or he will kill you on your birthday. You still don’t remember how you met the Lost Seven or how Loki fell in love with you because of Charmwill’s spell. If you’re transported to your birthday scene, it’s unlikely you can survive it.”
“Now she’s talking about dreams and Loki and all kinds of madness again,” Cerené puffed. “She is crazy.”
“I will not kill Loki,” Shew gritted her teeth with the sword in her grip.
“No, you will. You have to get back to the Waking World and find a way to go to Murano,” Alice whispered the ‘Murano’ word, pointing at Cerené. “You need to go to where you can find out what the clue is,” Alice looked up as the bathhouse’s door sprang open again.
Shew and Alice stood paralyzed as the Queen of Sorrow appeared slowly in front of them.
“Shew?” Carmilla inquired. “What are you doing in the bathhouse?”
“I—” Shew stuttered.