I like Kasia.
Is what I would say if she kept her mouth shut—permanently.
I seem to be pulled into things I didn’t ask to be in. Usha would be laughing if she was here.
She seems to be talking about farming. The usual: animal husbandry, fertilizer, the cycle. She seems to be knowledgeable—the only thing missing is a wooden tablet and charcoal. Not like we can read or write, either way.
She has this sparkle in her eyes—one I think some people never really had. And I think it’s quite magical.
Though I can’t really stand this annoyance. It’s killing me. But I shall persist to stay and listen. Though I doubt the guy—Stanislaw—can hold his annoyance in. I can feel his rising irritation. It’s kinda funny.
I think my guide thinks so as well. I’m just better at hiding it than he is. Nobody really likes Stanis the prude—too uptight like his station, arrogant.
“Can you leave—both of you.”
“It is my duty to supervise the Chosen of Lechia—I was commanded by Wojciech, the Duke of Lechia and our ruler, and by whom I was appointed—”
“Leave.”
I replied, cutting him off.
“But—”
“Just leave—Arryav, take him with you.”
He drags the prude away to his assigned room.
“How are you going to bring about peace to your country, Kasia? To fractured Europa? A place where war roams free and money talks?”
She stays silent, and I continue.
“I have seen your memories, Kasia, but life is different. Eight years is what you have, Kasia. Eight.”
“I cannot help you, Kasia. I have two left. Almost none.”
“The journey alone takes months—after the sacrifice, you have five. Is that enough time, Kasia?”
“If only you were younger, Kasia.”
“Will I never bring peace to Europa, Didi? Is the power I was given not enough?”
She trembled—tears rolling down her face.
“Kasia, I can only do one thing for you—getting rid of that worm.”
I put my hand on her shoulders. I ask her something incredibly important.
“Did you ever talk about this hope out loud, Kasia? Nobody is to be trusted with that kind of goal.”
Her face darkens. My heart drops—someone like Usha, gone.
“Keep close and do not trust anyone—unless they’re like us.”
I hug her, planning what crime I will commit. Her body is like mine—implausible. Someone who somehow has grown well without the nutrition needed, substituted by the mana inside our bodies. Not frail like Tara, her small body missing what it needed.
I know I would regret this analogy. I can’t let her go anymore. I seem to have perceived her as my sister—too much like Tara, too little, a child.
