Sperantia wasn't used to being laughed at. She knew that as soon as Torram tittered. The Oriental black cat stiffened outwardly and shot the teenage boy a death glare which would have silenced the bravest of men. That death glare was transferred to Minerva briefly when the owl spoke, but softened into something far more irritating: scorn, pity, and just a touch of smugness.
So, in other words, she said slowly, in a kindly tone which didn't quite match her eyes, familiars fulfil a role which could be performed by any other person, and they do so with a special magic bond which prevents them having a life outside of that role, or a choice as to whom to take it up with. She held the bird's gaze with her sharp blue eyes, a purr rising in her throat. What's your definition of a lesser being, again?
She stood, stretched, and strolled the length of the bed, still purring angrily. That bird had the nerve to talk to her in that tone no one talked to Sperantia in any kind of tone except... except...
Someone did. An annoying someone. The only someone Sperantia would tolerate an insult from or brook an argument with. The quiet days when they didn't disagree on something weren't sacred, they were lonely and boring; a refreshing disputation always brightened up both of their days, and they had their own ways of expression affection toward one another. Sperantia stopped at the edge of the bed, maintaining the low purr with absence of mind, as a small frown creased her dark face. What... what was that? Where had that come from? It wasn't a visual memory nothing concrete but she knew the truth of the words as soundly as if they had stated the colour of the sky. It was a feeling, as real as any other it just didn't connect to anything solid.
Torram was speaking, a little more tactfully than his birdbrained familiar. Sperantia ignored him outwardly, but the key message struck her. Of course, if she were a familiar which she wasn't she would be special. She'd be equal to her fairy because she'd make sure she would be, and she wouldn't tolerate being bullied by her fairy or a fairy who would accept being bullied by her. They'd be a balanced pair, walking the world as equals she wouldn't have it any other way. Not that she cared really, because she wasn't a familiar.
When Birch spoke, she tried to laugh. She tried to say 'here is my proof; that an original fairy cannot have a familiar' but she knew, somewhere deep in her gut, that it wasn't true. It was rare for an original to have a familiar, but not impossible. There was proof, precedence, but names and forms slipped Sperantia's mind at the present time. Instead of wondering at them, or at her certain but unsourced knowledge, she felt a glimmer of ire; of all the original fairies, why had the universe decided she was to be paired her with Mallos? She wasn't even Spanish.
She wasn't even Spanish.
Sperantia paused then, her mind racing. There was a simple test. If she was truly the familiar of Mallos, she should be able to speak Spanish, through him. The bond between familiar and fairy was weaker than it should be, but her language should be unaffected. She spoke and understood English fluently too fluently for it to be her second language. A candle of hope lit in the cat's chest and she was confident, from her fluency in English, that she would not be able to speak Spanish if she tried; but try she would have to, and try her best, if she were to know for sure. She sat at the edge of Birch's bed and closed her eyes, ignoring the room's occupants and imagining that she was tapping into the magic she knew she had once possessed. Language was like magic; it was instinctive, a feeling and not a knowing. Theory could only take one so far.
Qu้ desgracia para usted, she replied to Birch, the confidence in her voice wavering as the unfaltering Spanish slipped out easier than she could have imagined.
The candle of hope in her chest was extinguished as if bucket of ice-cold water had been hurled over her. There was no doubt. There was no way she could have done what she'd just done if she wasn't if she wasn't -
Sperantia, familiar of Mallos.
Sperantia
la soledad es un tipo de veneno
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