Activate windows

Malachai watched Deme with a heavy heart, his own thoughts far from the warm glow of the cat's contentment or the simple pleasures of the evening ahead. Deme’s mood had shifted again, one moment grounded, lost in the soft rhythm of Saxton's evening routine, and the next, his mind was flitting, his words spilling out with a manic energy that Malachai had come to recognize all too well. There was always a moment of hope when Deme seemed calm, as if perhaps, for just a little while, things might hold steady. Familiar.

As Deme’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, Malachai forced a smile, nodding in agreement, He does,, doesn't he? though his thoughts were miles away. Deme’s condition was worsening. The unpredictability of his mind, the way it could shift from peace to a whirlwind of thoughts… it was becoming harder to manage, harder to hide. Malachai had seen it before, in private moments when Deme’s exhaustion bled through, the manic energy fading into a kind of despondency that terrified him. The country’s stability, already fragile, rested on Deme's shoulders, and with each passing day, Malachai felt the weight of that responsibility pressing down harder on them both.

He hesitated, lingering in the hall as Deme turned away. Could they keep this charade up much longer? How long before the cracks began to show to those who mattered most, to those who would take advantage of the slightest sign of weakness? He vowed to protect the man until the end if need be.

As they entered the greeting hall, the mood shifted again, the space alive with the soft glow of candlelight and the muted murmur of conversations. The evening promised to be lively, with music and laughter echoing off the stone walls, and yet, Malachai felt only the cold edge of his own fear. He pushed it aside for adopting the role of fellow mischief maker, grinning to Deme. Why'd you think I brought the good brandy? Malachai followed, taking his place beside Deme as they settled into their seats, the rich fabric of the cushions doing little to ease his mind.

Saxton, ever the faithful companion, padded after them, finally curling up with a sigh, his little body relaxed in the comfort of familiar company. Malachai watched him for a moment, envying the cat’s simplicity and steeling the magic to keep his allergy at bay.

Lady Salvo soon stepped forwards, her presence commanding immediate attention as the music began to swell. She moved with a delicate grace, her dance a blend of tradition and innovation, each movement telling a story that captivated the privately gathered crowd. As Mal watched, his eyes kept drifting back to Deme, who was watching the performance with an curious intensity.

The kingdom needed Deme. But they also needed him whole, stable, and more than anything, they needed him sane.

As the evening continued, Malachai’s heart was heavy with the knowledge that this peace was as fragile as Deme’s state of mind. The future now seemed uncertain, becoming a precarious balancing act that could tip into chaos at any moment. He glanced at Deme, who was laughing now, caught up in the moment, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer they could keep this up. How much longer before everything they had worked for came crashing down around them? Or could they be rescued?

Only time would tell.

Drink up man, you've barely taken a sip.

~ Fin

@Demetrius Arvina