37: Imperfect Recall, part II
A woman appeared cowering behind his elbow. Diminutive and dark-skinned, her deep eyes were filled with dread and her aura bore two distinct wounds, leaving her with little light. She couldn’t be older than her late-thirties, but the frail body and wrinkled skin gave the appearance of someone twice her age. Phoenie’s mother was not a healthy woman, mentally or physically.
“I’m a friend of Phoenie’s” protested Phantasia, raising her palms in the way she’d been taught was non-threatening, “I just wanted to talk to her!”
The man took a few more steps towards her, the knife never dismissing its target. Phantasia couldn’t detect a familial bond from him. Was he just a guest?
“PHOENIX!” he bellowed, “Get your sorry ass down here!” The knife remained levelled at Phantasia’s chest until Phoenie appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Oh, Ms—Phantasia!” She bounded down the stairs and the man and her mother relaxed, if only a little: the knife was still aimed in Phantasia’s general direction along with a spike of the man’s aura.
“Your ‘friend’ let herself in,” he spat. Whatever bond he had with Phoenie was anything but fatherly, even though his aura surrounded her mother like a protective shield. “Maybe you ought to teach her some manners, or next time she’ll find her guts over the front pavement,”
The man smothered Phoenie mother’s in his large arms and escorted her away. Phoenie looked downcast from a moment, then perked up.
“Oh, you came to visit me? We should go to my room!”
Phantasia followed Phoenie up the rickety stairs and began to absorb the details of her surroundings. Earthen wallpaper was peeling away at the corners, while photos of three young children – one of whom resembled Phoenie – adorned the walls in such a way that wherever you stood there was always one watching you. They also held powerful residual feelings Phantasia couldn’t read, but which warped the mana around them as much as any human would.
Phoenie’s room was a mess. The floor was covered in textbooks and screwed-up paper, while the bed was littered with folders, documents and more books. Several dishes of half-eaten food sat ignored on a bedside cabinet while a selection of plants grew haphazard and wild in and around the window. The walls were covered with the same kind of murky wallpaper as the rest of the house, but the monotony of the floral design was broken by a variety of posters both worn and preserved, many depicting winged serpents Phantasia would have classed as fantastical visualisations of faerie totems or demons. Phoenie kicked a path through the dense floor of rubbish and pulled out her desk chair for her guest to sit on. Then she closed the door and collapsed on her bed.
“I am so sorry about my step-father,” she said, “He used to be a soldier and he’s paranoid about everything. I must admit that was rather audacious letting yourself into someone else’s house, but I’m not surprised by anything you do!”
“Back where I came from it was what we all did,” she said, feeling guilty for getting Phoenie into trouble, “I’m still not used to humans…around here!”
Phoenie chuckled. “You’re such a character, Phantasia. I love it! But why would you want to visit me?”
“Just curious,” she replied, “I’ve been talking to a few others and everyone’s telling me – I know this might sound a bit weird – that their memories are all jumbled up! And I thought—”
