It was the boy, Torram, who answered the question first, with one of his own. His hesitance reminded Sperantia of the healer woman who had been in the castle when she awoke. The query did too. Sperantia narrowed her eyes but turned her attention pointedly back to Birch, waiting to see what the older, more respected woman’s response was. Her reply was decidedly more tactful and contained an open rather than a leading question. Neither Torram nor Birch had stirred any memories in the cat, but they had stirred something else.
Ire.
The healer had told her that she was a familiar, too. Sperantia knew what a familiar was in the same way she knew what the grass and sky and trees were, and she knew there was no way she could be one. She knew. Being a familiar was, was…
A horrified shiver ran up her spine.
“I am not a familiar,” she stated loudly, assertively, as if she could make the accusation go away by simply shouting it down. It felt wrong to glare at Torram, who was only young and didn’t seem particularly confident, so she glared at Minerva instead. “I am not just… just the lesser half of some greater being’s soul. I’m not anyone else. I’m not attached to anyone else. I don’t need anyone. I am my own person.”
The hair on her tail had puffed up slightly and her pupils dilated as she stared the owl down, daring it or anyone else to contradict her. The surge of fear that she felt – the same fear she’d had when the healer had said more or less the same thing – thrummed through every fibre of her being. Familiars weren’t even real people, they were just… physical elements of someone else’s personality. Sperantia wasn’t – couldn’t be that. She was independent. Characterful. She didn’t rely on anyone and, and… she was just more. She was her own person in her own right and she would not be diminished to being just… the animal part of someone else, created only to serve and guide them. That wasn’t a life, it was just existence.
She spun around to face Birch again, finally processing what she’d said fully. An… original, fairy? She knew vaguely what that meant. Then less vaguely. Whenever anyone mentioned something, Sperantia could suddenly dredge knowledge up out of nowhere, even when she couldn’t remember any personal experiences. It was like the knowledge didn’t exist before, but once someone touched on it, it was suddenly there. It was disorienting.
“That Mallos?” She asked a little tentatively, trying desperately to pull up everything she knew about him. She closed her eyes. “He’s the patron deity of Spain, has the largest cult on Earth of any living original fairy and is most known for his role in polytheistic religions as a solar, celebratory or mischievous deity. He’s the International Ambassador of the Council of Originals and is regarded as one of the more elusive and least negotiable deities.”
The facts were stated as if they’d been read from a textbook, with no emotional attachment. Sperantia opened her eyes and studied Birch as if to say that’s it, that’s all I know. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Everything in her wanted to reject what she was hearing, but… she’d now heard it more than once. An uncharacteristic expression of uncertainty flickered on her face indicating, in spite of her earlier words, a stronger willingness to listen now than she had held before.
“Original fairies can’t have familiars, can they?” She argued back, knowing it wasn’t true but wanting to hear the counter.
Sperantia
la soledad es un tipo de veneno
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