While Annie tried on the dress for the ball, Bridget could only think that that superfluous detail announced that she was about to say goodbye to her family. The living room at the center of the Britter's apartment was filled with laughter and chatter, while Annie paraded different outfits that Daphne Britter and Deana Obrien, Paty's mother, had ordered from the tailors. On the sofa, Paty participated actively; Bridget hadn't uttered a word, distracted by a curl of hair tangled in her fingers. She wondered if her mother and friends felt the way she did, and how they managed to act so naturally, two days away from the ball and one more away from leaving the city. They hadn't asked her opinion, either. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to not ask questions that she was not willing to answer. They thought she was nervous and tense due to the coming change in her life, and she was, but that was not the main reason for her sadness.

Annie hopped down from the stool, circled the table, and walked past Bridget on the way to her room.

'Tragic, I don't like it,' heard Bridget, despite herself. It had happened again. She'd heard voices where there were none. Annie hadn't opened her mouth, she was sure of it; she had looked at her for a few seconds until she convinced herself that her lips had not moved at all.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Bridget leaned back on the couch and hugged a cushion. Well, that had just discarded her theory that she was the victim of a prank. She'd started doubting it when she stopped hearing the disembodied voices exclusively when she was in one of the cubicles in the digital library, where they began in the first place.

Back then, she had looked for a speaker hidden under the table. She had changed cubicles and checked, like she had done just now, that the women's lips were not moving -because all the voices she heard were female. She had not found a trace of the means, time, or motive that had made her the victim of such a bad joke, so that she could identify the culprit, unless Elisa Bandier...

That was what she'd thought when she heard them outside the cubicles, like in the classroom. Several times she'd known which arguments Annie would use during the debate competition, before she even spoke. Maybe their ideas coincided. Nevertheless, the idea that Elisa was spying on Annie, and using the information she gathered to play a prank on her, instead of using the information their debate team's benefit was incoherent. Simply irrational.

Besides, classes were over and the classroom was not the only place outside the digital library where she'd heard voices. They seemed to follow her into Annie's room, the dining room, the halls... they were clearer when she was close to someone, and when she was near a crowd she heard a buzz, like the one in a public square. Sometimes, if the room was silent, she thought she could hear entire ideas, but if the person spoke, she would hear an annoying echo.

Pluck my feathers!

She had fluttered from denial to explaining it as an overactive imagination, to her theory of a joke, to avoid thinking that something might be wrong with her, a budding madness.

As if my family leaving wasn't frustrating enough. She exchanged a bland smile with Paty, who at the moment was helping Annie tie the laces of another dress over her left wing. At least I won't have trouble finding a shrink. I could be Paty's first schizophrenic patient. The idea was already taking shape.

Bridget didn't stay to watch the end of the session. She didn't have the stomach to make trivial comments on fabrics, cuts, hairdos... She escaped to the only place where she could scream to her heart's content: the lake.

"Where are you going, Brid? It's your turn in front of the mirror," called Annie behind her.

"Let her go, she wants to be alone," said Paty, with a hint of sadness in her voice.

***

She took a heavy cloak from the coat rack and took it with her. Even if she wasn't wearing riding clothes, she went to the stables and asked for her female unicorn, Zinget, to be saddled. She was a white mare from a dwarf breed -preferred by the young for their gentleness-, measuring only six feet to the withers. Her slender silver horn was twisted like an icecream cone.

She halted at the path's edge.

They'll be better off without me. At least they won't have to hold back from talking about what they're going to do in the city, for fear of hurting me.

She snorted and urged Zinget on, towards the lake. The Manaas Lake was her favorite spot, as vast as it was calm; a silver mirror that reflected the heavens like a second sky. During the spring, it was crowded with a massive flock of weks, the iridescent flakes of their shells like refracting flames. During the summer, visitors were of a different kind: nobles on cruises or fishing boats, and a few palace residents swimming in its crystal clear water, near the edge.

For now, she was content with galloping on the path to the docks. Even though the first snow flurries had not fallen yet, it was quite cold. Her fingers were numb, and her feathers covered by frost. It was still too soon to go ice skating, even if it would never be the same without her friends.

She sighed. A few days before she'd sworn she was fine, that she'd come to terms with the separation. Now, with the dresses...

The path she had picked led east, where a stone bridge crossed a small tributary of the Manaas. It was near the main road, called the path of the Ancient Kings; it was a wide corridor decorated with sculptures and fountains. She dismounted and pulled on Zinget's bridle the last few yards that separated her from the beach... only to discover that she didn't feel like screaming anymore, that she felt stupid for wasting the last few days she had left by grieving. It was best to take a deep breath, vent through burning a few calories, and return as soon as possible. It seemed it would rain soon, and she wasn't planning on going home wet again.

There was a small island nearby, maybe a thousand feet from the edge. It was the site of the Temple of Light and the final resting place of ancient monarchs, but that day the fog covered most of it. She could only see the tips of the obelisks built in their memory, while a sheet of red leaves covered the edge of the lake. She couldn't even see the gracious and imposing reflection of the five palace towers, so tall that they could be seen from anywhere, their tips touching the clouds.

Small concentric waves expanded in all directions when she threw a pebble into the water.

She turned around and raised her eyes. Beyond the woods, over the canopies of thousands of trees -elms, oaks, birch trees, and firs- she could see the palace. White, slender, asymmetrical, magnificent; each tower was encircled by a spiral, like a snake crawling to the tip. Somewhere in the northeast tower was Paty, speechless and wondering about her attitude. Her friend spent every waking moment analyzing why people did the things they did, served as moderator, referee, tutor, diplomat... and lately she had taken up a position as Annie's protector, knowing that the reality that awaited them in the city was very different to her small group of fans. She said she was afraid for her, that she was too pretty, flirty and immature to be on her own. Maybe it was an excuse for her own insecurities, or so Bridget thought, to whom the idea of building new relationships from scratch appeared disheartening.

Or perhaps, her weakened state was predisposed to frustration. Just the day before, her negative predictions regarding the debate competition had come true. Bridget had experienced a disappointing defeat.

"Your companions flat out lost their saviour," she remembered Paty saying to comfort her. "I really don't know what the Relic was thinking when he set up this unfair competition."

Bridget smiled. That was the new nickname Paty had the nerve to call William. She threw another pebble. It skipped three times on the water surface before sinking.

What was he thinking? Cornering me, forcing me to stand out, and stop acting like the average person. But I got sick and his plan didn't go as expected.

The sound of thunder ended the stillness of the afternoon, and the noise scared a family of weks that flew away from a branch, squawking. Bridget smiled softly. Those birds had been at the brink of extinction; there had been a time when they had been considered sacred, and their exotic red scales were given all sorts of uses. Now, the law protected them, and they could be found everywhere.

"Did you have to drag me into your misfortunes?" protested a male voice suddenly.

Bridget jumped, and turned around meaning to face him; there was no one behind her. However, the movement of leaves in a tree caught her attention. When she raised her eyes she found the boy playing with a pebble.

And you just couldn't pass up the opportunity, right, Blasterier?

"I dragged you? You're accusing me of telling on you!"

It could have been William, or even Annie, if she had in fact bumped into the creature wearing the red dress, but not Bridget.

"You're so naive. There are cameras all over the place." Except the forest, it would be impossible to cover every nook and cranny. Guards have eyes and make reports, too, you idiot. "Besides, your father had other reasons to punish you."

Terriuce growled and frowned. Since she had scored, he launched the counterattack.

"And you love this place, full of vigilant eyes, don't you? It goes perfectly with you." He jumped down and faced her. "How can you stand yourself? How can you stand others like you? You meddling... girl."

It was the second time he referred to her in those terms. Sadly, all her efforts to avoid him while they both went to fulfill their respective punishments for losing the red book had failed.

"I know your kind," he had told her once, accusingly. "Spoiled, false, ignorant, and hypocritical, huddled like vultures and ruining others' lives for fun."

He had walked up to her speaking in a low, aggressive tone, dragging his words, wanting to hurt her. He had poked her chest with his index finger, irritating her so much that if she ever had the intention of helping him out of something he didn't do, it had vanished.

"My kind? And what kind are you? The martyr that wins a first class ticket to the scavengers' nest?" she had replied with a cynical smile. "I didn't get you expelled, Terriuce. You wouldn't be here if you had held your tongue."

That said, she had left him on his own, puzzling over how she knew so much about him.

Now, again, he was insulting her, and had added a new tag to his list: meddling.

I heard that conversation by chance! She wanted to scream at him. Either way, she'd heard about the matter through other means. 'Blasterier boy calls the Headmistress of the University of Eneviah a Vulture, and is expelled', read the titles of the gossip columns on the net. If there was something that could offend an Eloahn, it was being called a bird, vulture, pigeon, or something along those lines. It was a thousand times worse than spitting on their face or calling them an imbecile. And he had yelled it to her face.

Bridget stroked her mare's mane, and pushed a hair out of her face.

"Regardless of what you think of me, you are so lonely in this place that my presence must be refreshing, " she said. "Will I be the target of your frustration and bad mood for as long as you live in the palace?"

"What?" snapped Terriuce, giving a step forward.

"I must be the only one you've spoken to, even if all you do is insult me."

"You're a masochist then, coming to where I can keep doing it."

"Sorry, I had no idea you owned this section of the forest."

"Well now you do." Terriuce clenched his fists at his sides. He put as much hatred as he could muster in his words. "Don't you have something more important to do? Like brushing your hair, doing your fingernails, trying on a new dress, or another one of your really interesting socialité activities?"

"Right, you just reminded me that I have to try on the dress for the ball."

"Well if I were you, I would leave at once, lest you don't have the time to choose the right jewelry to match your outfit," he snapped, cynical and arrogant.

Bridget faked a smile, even though her fists were literally giving off sparks in her anger. She hid them.

"I will consider your gentle tone whenever you need a favor, daddy has cut you off, or you need me to pull strings."

What am I saying?

"I would never...!"

"No? Not even to see her?" She challenged him, lifting her chin. She had remembered the argument between Terriuce and his father. The Duke had warned him that should he not comply with his standards, he would forbid him from seeing someone, a woman.

The boy's eyes blazed.

Crap, what did I do? I touched a nerve. Judging by his reaction, she couldn't have chosen something worse to hurt him with. The mysterious girl or girlfriend that his father forbid him from seeing, possibly hurt him deeply, and she had replied without thinking, exploiting that knowledge to her benefit.

In one stride, Terriuce reduced the distance between them, and prepared a fist.

Goddess! Bridget paled, and her body tensed. Terriuce hit the nearest tree with enough strength to make his knuckles bleed.

She huffed in relief. She had avoided a black eye for the ball. She also felt guilty. She didn't usually behave like this. Rather, she was etiquette and good manners themselves, and when frustration got to be too much for her, she held on to it until she could be on her own, and scream until she let it go.

Which I was about to do, until you showed up.

"Forgive me, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry," she offered, applying the wise universal rule 'do unto others what you would have them do unto you.'

The boy panted, trying to regain control.

"It won't happen again," she added, but Terriuce turned away. "Have it your way, then."

She sighed in resignation, and climbed gracefully on Zinget's back. More thunder disturbed the unicorn mare, and Bridget patted her neck affectionately.

"I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know everything about me," said Terriuce without turning around to look at her. "At least tell me your name. If we're going to argue each time we meet..."

She shrugged and answered. "Bridget Britter."

"I'm Terriuce Blasterier, but you already know that... I like being called Terry." He glanced at her to make sure she understood, saw her nod, then raised his eyes to the sky, and prepared for take off. "You know, I don't mind if you get soaked again, but I'd rather you looked for cover, lest your supposed cameras blame me for the rain, and the pneumonia you're going to get."

Then he ran towards the lake flapping his long wings, and took flight.

And I prefer not bumping into you, she thought, spurring the mare into a trot.

***

"Wings back, a little higher, a little less, like that," said nanna Bertaliz, correcting her stance. "Now fold them at the joint, slowly, take a step back, half turn, quarter turn, and wings up."

"You're joking, right?" asked Bridget, following the movements on the full body mirror.

"No, your Highness, this is the protocol for the dance of fertility."

"Nanna's right, Brid," chimed Paty from her spot on a stool.

Bridget crossed her arms, and refused to repeat the combination.

"Come now, what's wrong, child? The ball is in less that twenty four hours."

I feel ridiculous doing all those flourishes with my wings, and I don't even want to think about the thousands of eyes that will be watching.

"Aren't you comfortable here, Brid? Would you rather wait for Annie, so all three of us can practice in your bedroom?"

"No, it's not that, Pat. Yours is perfect."

She walked to the large window, and gazed at the icy rain that fell for the second day in a row.

"We'll resume the rehearsal later, nanna," said Paty, standing up.

"I'll give you some privacy."

Bertaliz bowed and left.

"The weather is horrible. Are you sure the weather forecast for tomorrow is good?" asked Bridget from the window.

"That's what they said."

"What the feathers were my parents thinking, having me during this season? They had already waited twenty beltas since the day they married, couldn't they wait a few more months, until mom's next cycle? My birthday would have been in summer, I would enjoy Midas's full moon in the sky, and the ball could be outdoors, embellished by fireworks."

"Oh, Brid, the things you think about. Usually you would have been happy, and thankful that it won't snow on your birthday for the first time in four beltas."

"Sorry."

"It's the countdown."

"I guess."

"Here's an idea. Annie should be finished with her piano lessons by now; why don't you go ahead, while I pull some strings and get some pastries from the kitchens? I'll take them to your room, and we'll rehearse again."

"Alright."

Bridget folded her wings, and hid them inside the erolas with Paty's help. A feather broke off and fell to the floor.

"Look at that. Congratulations, you've started molting."

"Let me see." Bridget turned around, took the feather in her hands, and smiled.

"That's better. Keep it safe. I'll see you later."

She didn't need to be told. Should she lose it in public, she would reveal her identity before the time was right.

***

Rehearsal was necessary, not because she couldn't remember which step came next, but because walking with her wings out, rather than hidden, threw her off balance, reflected Bridget on her way home. Balancing them, the way arms were balanced, required a change in stance to compensate each Eloahn's center of gravity. Therefore, it was better to practice than to be confused with a drunk wek.

"Oh no, no, not again," she babbled, and disappeared behind the first door she found before being seen by Terry Blasterier.

The darkness engulfed her, and it took her a few seconds to adjust.

Why the feathers do I keep running into that jerk? Is the world not big enough for both of us?

The previous afternoon he had come close to hitting her in the forest, but this time there wasn't a tree nearby to protect her should they argue again. From her point of view, she had two choices. The first, stay hidden until she was certain the coast was clear; the second, find an alternative route. She chose the latter.

She found herself in a service corridor used for moving furniture, and cleaning equipment and, unless she was mistaken, she was three apartments away from the Britters'. Therefore, at least in theory, she should find -next to the power sharing controller on her left- an entrance to the narrow passage beyond the wall. The one that took her to the royal apartments.

So far, so good, she told herself, as she opened the entrance and slid inside. It was very dark. She walked next to the wires that covered the walls. Sometimes, they partially blocked the way. She calculated a hundred steps should be enough to get to the hidden door she was looking for. She counted two doors, each with its own ID verification box, and... found herself at a fork in the passage.

Just what I feared.

She bet on the one on the left, as it should follow the main corridor. She followed the tower's natural curve, and chose the next door, even if it wasn't forty steps away from the last one. Her retina was scanned, and the hidden door slid open.

Even though the apartment was dark, Bridget knew the exact distance between each corner. She took seven steps until she found the stairs to the living room, went down slowly, found the couch on her right to figure out where she was, continued forward, and stopped when she felt the carpet end. If she wasn't careful she could slam into the door to Annie's bedroom.

She stumbled over a lump of rough fabric, like a backpack. She cursed and felt for the sensor on the wall to turn on the lights. Then she realized she was not in the Britters' apartment. The furniture and their location were the same, but the decoration was different. She froze, planning her next move: turning the lights off, and going back the way she came from. Now!

An air current and the sound of glass breaking made her hair stand on end.

Who would open a window in this weather? What if I'm not alone?

She had no intention to stay and figure it out. She touched the light switch, and walked in the darkness without making a sound, glued to the wall. She already was nervous enough to risk tripping over the furniture in the living room. She would have to go around it.

As she passed a room whose door was ajar and beating against the frame, the taciturn light of the rainy evening illuminated the broken object for a moment. She took it in her hands, and pulled out an emulsified silver sheet. It was a picture of the famous redhaired soprano, Miranda Laoder. Bridget couldn't believe that these prints existed anymore. Artists were the only ones to use them, as souvenirs for their fans.

What am I doing? I need to get out of here before I'm seen.

She was about to put it back the way she'd found it, when she saw the handwriting on the back. She read:

'With love, for my Terry,

in your ninth belta.

Miranda Laoder.

03.39.5108

P.S. Forgive me, son.'

Miranda... Miranda from the pict...? Hang on... How many nine belta old Terrys can there be in the palace? she wondered, even though she knew the answer. She let go of the sheet, and prepared to leave.

"You!? What are you doing here?" she heard a shout behind her back. Bridget turned around and flinched, her pulse hammering next to her ear. A dark figure silhouetted against the light in the hallway was coming closer. "How did you get in?"

It took the door longer to close, than it took the boy to stride across the room. He gripped her wrist. He was so upset, she thought there was smoke coming out of his nostrils. The boy didn't even bother to activate the lights. The only light came from the open window that had caught her attention in the first place.

"I'm sorry," she babbled, ashamed. "I thought..."

"How did you get in?" he insisted, waving the key card before her eyes.

"I..."

Terry held her by the neck, and slammed her against a wall. An inarticulate sound escaped her lips, more due to surprise than pain.

"Spies, that's how you know so much about me. It shouldn't surprise me. Just a smile, mentioning your family name, or a small tip are enough to achieve your goals, isn't it?"

She tried to deny it with her head, but she could barely breathe, much less move. Suddenly she became aware of the urgent need to ensure his silence.

Worse than the punishment for being discovered in another room, or the physical damage the boy could do her, she was afraid he wouldn't buy the story about mixing up the doors, and insist on finding the hidden entrance. Besides, should he comment on her break in, someone could read between the lines, and deduce that someone who walked through hidden passages, opening any door, could be the Princess herself.

Despite the dim light, Bridget managed to see the young man's arm reaching for the light switch.

"Don't do it," she said weakly, and struggled not to look scared, although surely the hand around her neck could feel the ugly truth. She managed to block his way with her arm, so that he wouldn't turn on the light. "You'll... you'll get us in trouble."

Terry frowned, noticed she was breathing with difficulty, and relieved the pressure. Bridget took deep breaths and continued to breathe heavily.

"The palace guard has eyes everywhere, if you turn on the light and your hand is still on my neck, we're going to be in trouble," she lied boldly. All she needed was to convince him that releasing her was good for him.

"You have already destroyed my future, what else can they do to me?" he countered, reaching out for the light switch again.

"I'll do anything, please don't do it..."

The appeal succeeded in catching Terry's attention.

"You'll get a lecture or a week without dessert at the most, girl. Why would I let go of the perfect chance for a small revenge?"

"Because..." Goddess, enlighten me, "... you hate people who have fun at the expense of others. If you do it, you will be no better than the aristocrats you despise above all else."

"You are that scared?"

"Please... I don't want anyone knowing I was here," she begged, swallowing her pride.

"Mmm. Nice try, but no."

He removed his hand, and his finger went for the switch. So even if the speech about surveillance was real, there would be no hand on her neck to give away his crime. As for her, the trespasser...

Time for plan B, you leave me no choice.

"You win," she said brokenly. With her foot, she moved the glass pieces on the floor and caught his attention. "Ah, the wind from the window broke this, and the content spilled. You can add it to the list of damages if you want. Otherwise my punishment will be incomplete."

When he saw the writing on the exposed photograph, all color drained from Terry's face.

"You saw it, didn't you?" there was concern in his eyes.

Not just that. She was exploiting the information to blackmail him. Terry didn't have his mother's family name, Laoder. Besides, the famous soprano was single, and as far as Bridget knew, she had never spoken of any children, which meant the relationship between them was a secret, and if Terry wanted to keep it that way...

"Promise you will never tell anyone!" he warned her, confirming her theory.

"Wh..."

"Swear it! If you don't talk about what you saw, I will never mention I saw you here. Is that what you wanted?"

She had done it. His silence, for hers. However, she couldn't explain the knot in her throat.

"I swear by all that is sacred. I will never tell."

"Never!"

"Never, ever."

He stepped back, and turned on the light.

"You're a barbarian..." she mumbled as she rubbed her neck.

"And you're annoying and nosy... just like the others of your kind."

"And you're rude, and... I'm sorry."

Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned around before he could see her, and walked to the door.

"Forgive me," he said behind her back. "I didn't measure my strength."

She stopped and replied without turning around.

"I thought that was normal among young men like you. The brute strength, the taunts, the threats..."

"What?"

"Oh, you don't like the stereotype..." she turned her face slightly, now that the tears were gone. "Not everything that glitters is gold, and not everything black is goldulp crap."

Terry snickered.

"You think you're the exception to the rule? Fine, you've earned the benefit of doubt; now that I think about it, I haven't met another girls that prefers running after a cub, and jump into freezing water fully clothed, rather than having tea with her friends while they criticize everyone else. Or one that likes practicing a sport that requires spandex, effort, and sweat," he laughed again.

Bridget was furious. So he had seen her in her sports gear. That time he had walked by the gym laughing his head off, he had seen her!

She faced him with the fake smile she had been practicing, and just as she expected, it made him angrier.

"Either way, I'm not interested in staying in the palace to check if you are, or not, the exception, little girl. Socialités repel me. You have to mind their scavenger beaks. I spit on their traditions and etiquette, I'd rather die than marry one."

"Ah, I thought you were leaving the palace for another reason," she commented with faked innocence. "By the way, what does your father think of your plans to be celibate? Or are you going to kill yourself?"

Terry huffed and clenched his fists at his sides. It seemed that, if he could, he would weed out every paternal gene that tied him to the Eloahn nobility.

"I don't need him. I'll do as I please, even if it doesn't suit him. You'll see. I'll study something that brings me fame, fortune, and as many women as I want."

"Well, congratulations," replied Bridget, making a monumental effort not to scream at him that his boasting meant nothing to her.

She opened the door.

"I'll show you that everything you think about me is wrong. Whether you leave the palace, or the planet... you'll know you were wrong. Have a nice... evening."

She stopped in the hallway to breathe deeply. She felt the urgent need to run someplace where she could cry unseen. Looking in both directions, she tried to figure out where her calculations had gone wrong. She honestly had no idea how she had wound up in the Blasteriers' quarters.

***

Terry clutched Miranda Laoder's photograph to his chest, and crushed it until he almost destroyed it. The painful memories that frequently haunted his nightmares passed through his mind.

He felt like the four belta old boy -or six year old- he was when he was taken from his home during the night, without any explanation. He had woken up in a strange place. There was a green eyed blond in front of him, and behind her, a baby girl in her crib.

"Where am I? Where's my mom?"

"Calm down, little one, your father will..."

"Where am I?" he demanded. He rose, terrified. He couldn't recognize his surroundings. It was a small room with a bunk bed placed against the longest wall.

"You'll live with us from now on, and you'll have to call me..."

"Mom! Where's my mom?"

She always left him with his aunt when she gave a concert. He ran to the door.

"Aunt Mag!" he screamed. "Mom?"

"Hold on, your father is on his way," the lady said, standing in his way. She held him by the wrists.

"Where did my mom go?" he protested, struggling to free himself. He kicked her, broke free, and stepped outside. He stopped, breathless. At first, he hadn't understood why the black night in the window was so full of stars, and he couldn't see a horizon.

"Terriuce," he heard behind him. He had seen the man before. It was his father; his mother, Miranda, saw him twice every belta. When Terry was little she had told him they didn't live together because the Duke was married to a noble lady, and they lived in another planet, where he was part of the embassy.

That was when reality crashed around him like a giant wave. It wasn't the night sky beyond the plexiglass, but the vast and infinite outer space. His was on board a ship, anywhere but home.

"I want my mom!"

"Don't scream, please. If you come into the room, I will explain."

Other passengers began clustering around them.

"This man stole me! Help me!"

The strangers seemed confused, but the Duke turned red.

"Terriuce, please go back inside the room with your mother, she's worried."

"She's not my mom! I want to go home! I want my mom!" He looked at the other passengers, begging. "Please, help me!"

The Duke, reaching his patience's limit, pulled a ProCom from his pocket, and used it to show the witnesses a hologram, and the birth certificate that he had on him to get through customs in Arg'oth.

"See? He's my son, Terriuce Blasterier, son of Vanessa Blasterier and I, Sefen Gacks."

The passengers were convinced, and drifted away, whispering between them.

"No... it's not true... no!" Terry checked his surroundings, and ran down the hall with his eyes flooded in tears.

"Terriuce!"

"Don't you even know my name? It's Terry!" he screamed as he ran away, dodging passengers, suitcases, and obstacles.

***

Present day Terry threw the portrait in the garbage, and set it on fire as he remembered the cold compartment in the space cruise, where he spent several hours, numb and crying, until a crewmember found him, and had to drag him back to his cabin. He stared at the column of smoke, and the charred paper. Seconds later, the sprinklers soaked him.

Scavenger eggs! He flinched. He knew that as soon as he saw the wet carpet, his father would be furious, just like that day, before landing in planet Arg'oth, when the flight attendant disappeared behind the door and he got the first slap of his life. He remembered it as if it had just happened. His cheek throbbed for a few minutes, and was swollen for days, but didn't hurt as much as the separation, the lack of an explanation, and the punishments he got since then for his stubborn defiance.

I'd like to see the Duke's face when I get that tattoo.