Page 44 of Hell Breaks Loose

Fucking. Gross.

But it’s a truth that defines my reality for the time being. Denying it, ignoring it, or thinking way too much about it only makes me sick with worry and dread.

I take a final bite of syrup soaked bread when he slips into the room, always perfectly silent. Sing takes his seat across from me, crossing one leg neatly over the other and folding his hands on his lap.

“Good morning, Mr. Senegal.”

He blinks, which is his way of saying that he’s alive. Left twitch means not great, right twitch means fine.

“Good morning, Miss Hellena,” I reply, deepening my voice to mimic him. Not that I have much of a clue what his voice sounds like. He’s said all of two words to me since we met.

“Coffee?” I offer, gesturing to the cup I always have the maid bring for him.

Sing inhales, exhales. Stares at me.

“I would love some, certainly, but it gives me the grumble-guts.”

“Ah, we can’t have that, can we?”

“Indeed. I must be ever vigilant for your safety in this fortress. No time for diarrhea.”

And he doesn't even crack a smile!

It’s become a test, a game, for me to try to find his buttons.

All I’ve managed to discover is that he doesn’t like cottage cheese. This only based on the fact that I asked him if he liked it, then proceeded to slather my toast with it. His upper lip twitched once as he watched me eat it.

This time, however, one eyebrow raises, just a fraction.

Aha. So toilet jokes and immaturity must be a source of annoyance.

Or he’s fucking with me.

“So, Sing, may I call you Sing? Splendid. What’s on the docket today?”

“Well, your highness, you have a list about a mile long of very interesting things to see to, but I’ve highlighted the most crucial,” I parrot.

“Proceed!” I wave to my left before tilting to my right and putting back on my mockery of his stern visage.

“First, we should take a field trip down to the water. A walk on the beach would do wonders for your mood and complexion. You’ve spent far too much time indoors being tortured.”

“Excellent. Thank you for noticing. Perhaps after, we might head into town, grab a bite to eat, do a spot of shopping?”

“My thoughts exactly,” ‘Sing’ replies. “Your wardrobe is positively atrocious and does not suit you.”

“You thought so too? I didn’t realize you had such a sense of fashion?—”

“Ahem.” He clears his throat, interrupting me.

My eyes widen as he looks up at me from under hooded lids, looking almost… irritated?

Hedging my bets that I actually might get an answer, I push on.

“What kind of music do you like?”

His lips press together slightly.

“Classical. Mostly.” His voice is higher than I thought it would be. Silky. Smooth. Musical. Good gracious, I would have never guessed.

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