@worncrown cont. from here
Assire looks up at her friend, her best friend, her only friend in the whole entire miserable world. As different as they are, they understand each other. Assire doesnât know how or why, only that they do, and that is enough. That is all that matters.
Merlin squirms on her lap, gives a little chirp to remind her of his presence. Assire lifts an eyebrow, mutters an endearment under her breath, continues to run her hand through his midnight black, glossy fur. The cat stretches, arching his back to meet her touch, purring loudly, turning his head to face Fringilla. His eyes are bright and watchful.
âIf IâŚâ, Assire begins, her voice trailing off into the night. Sheâs desperate to tell her, desperate to share the news of a most curious invitation, extended to her in utmost secrecy. To her, of all people. Assire doesnât understand how or why, after all she has taken such great care to remain obscure, unseen, unnoticed.
Time will tell, I suppose.
Oh, how she wishes she could tell. But itâs impossible. Her instructions were clear in this regard, and even if they hadnât been â it would only serve to put both of them at risk. How does the saying go? Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.
Assire bites her lip, looks away.
âIf I ever should⌠you know, disappear. Promise me youâll take care of Merlin. He has no one else.â