“You’re not—”
“Stop it, please,” Cerené said. “I am fine with who I am. I don’t care if others think I’m an outcast. It might be hard to believe, but I believe in myself. I deserve a happy ending, a prince and a ball where everybody looks up to me. But frankly, sometimes I also feel like the Creators are doing the world a favor by not gifting me with the ability to create fire, or—” she shrugged.
“Or?”
“Or maybe I’d burn them all,” Cerené said. “I’d burn the Queen of Sorrow for what she does to the children and me; I’d burn my stepfamily for hurting me, Loki the Huntsmen, Baba Yaga. It’s an endless list, really. The world is full of evil.”
The girl who thought the world was full of evil was the same girl who held a clue to it all.
“Then you’d have missed the whole purpose of why the Creators gifted you with fire—if they ever did that,” Shew said. “Why burn the world if, with fire, you could create almost every living thing; the dragons, the sea horses, and the butterflies.”
“Good idea, Joy,” Cerené said. “I’d like to create plenty of those … after I burn the others. Let’s start all over again. The world needs a new beginning.”
Shew shrugged; glad it was dark. She did not want to see Cerené’s expression now, because she didn’t want to know if she wasn’t joking.
“Moutza,” Cerené whispered in the dark.
Shew laughed, “Did it work?”
“Of course not. You see any fire?” Cerené said. “Wouldn’t it be nice if I could light a candle with my mind now?”
“Keep trying, Cerené,” Shew said. “Who knows? One day, it might work. Tell me something by the way,” she fidgeted in her place. “Did your mother or Charmwill tell you anything else?”
“Bianca tells me a lot of things. I forget half of it most of the time,” Cerené said. “I usually remember when something in my real life reminds me of her words.”
“I meant did she tell you anything else about me?” Shew said.
Cerené’s voice disappeared in the dark for a while, and Shew felt like a blind girl looking for answers.
“Cerené? I asked you—”
“I know. You asked me a question,” Cerené cut her off. “Well, not everything Bianca says is always true.”
“Did she tell you anything about a ‘clue’?” She scooted nearer.
“A clue? What do you mean?”
“Remember when she told you were like a Pandora’s Box, did she elaborate?” She said.
“If she did I don’t remember,” Cerené sighed. “She did tell me something else about you,” she sounded reluctant.
“Please tell me,” Shew said eagerly.
“She told me that I would be doing a great service by saving you repeatedly.”
“That’s about you. What did she tell you about me that you’re trying to keep from me?” Shew insisted.
“She told me that on the other hand, you won’t be capable of taking care of me,” Cerené said. “But that’s just Bianca. Like I said, not everything she tells me is true.”
“Did she explain why I wouldn’t be able to take care of you?” Shew didn’t like Bianca at all now.
“She said you will have a lot on your mind in the beginning of your journey,” Cerené said. “She basically said that you’ll be focused on your love life so much that you won’t do many things you are supposed to do.”
Shew didn’t like what she’d just heard. She was going to take care of Cerené and she wasn’t going to fail. She leaned back, thinking about it.
“Really, don’t listen to Bianca,” Cerené broke the silence. “She talks all the time. Once, she joked that in order for Chosen Ones to become Chosen Ones, they had to be saved repeatedly by unchosen ones,” Cerené laughed. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“It’s very true,” Shew said. “In fact, I know a mentor who died to save a Chosen One before. Do you know that the old man you met here is dead?” Shew thought she could try to explain to Cerené what was going on. Maybe she could believe her.
“What man?” Cerené sounded upset in the dark. “Charmwill? You know him? Is he dead? How do you know that?” her breath puffed against Shew’s face.
“It’s a complicated story,” Shew said. “I could tell you all about it.”
Unexpectedly, Cerené grabbed Shew from her dress, “Tell me, how did he die? That can’t be,” she said.
“Calm down, I can explain.” Shew didn’t realize Cerené liked the man she had only met once that much. She was over-reacting.
“Where is he? Take me to him,” Cerené insisted. “I know how to save him.”
“He is dead, Cerené,” Shew said.
“I know how to save him,” Cerené repeated, and it sounded as if she were crying. “He told me how.”
“Oh,” Shew said. “You mean you could resurrect him with the blowpipe? How’s that? Carmilla chopped off his head. That cake didn’t kill him—“