Fallen Mage Regressor

Lusia's hands moved the sponge against the frying pan with all the familiarity of a swordsman swinging their sword.

Change the angle. Fifteen degrees to the left.

There's a stain there. Change the angle. Thirty degrees.

Missed. Go back, negative ten degrees.

Insufficient force. Scrub harder. Twenty-three percent should be sufficient.

Water blasted backwards and soaked her dress from midriff to the bottom of her skirt.

Lusia's face didn't change on the outside. Internally, she felt something hot and fluid twist her stomach into knots. She failed—again. For the hundredth time. Why did she struggle with such easy tasks? Why? Why why why why why?

Just like everything, she ruined everything. Everything she touched, her mere existence created problems.

"Lusia?"

The matron's voice broke through the haze in Lusia's mind.

"Yes?" Lusia asked.

"Are you all right?" the matron said. "You've been attacking those dishes like they stole your money."

"Why would dishes have need of money? Clarify."

The matron sighed—a familiar sigh. Lusia didn't understand the sigh. Lusia was making an accurate assessment of the confusing sentence structure that the matron had used. There was nothing sigh-worthy in her assessment. From what Lusia understood, sighs were used to express disappointment. Or relief. Or even happiness.

This was why Lusia didn't like sighs. They were too ambiguous. They meant too many things. Lusia had to put in extra work to understand what it was a person meant by a sigh.

"It wasn't meant literally, Lusia," the matron said. "Look, that's not important. You didn't answer my question."

"If by all right, you mean that my present emotional state is adequate, then yes, I'm all right."

"I don't have to be a mind mage to tell that that's a lie."

The edges of Lusia's lips turned down by the slightest fraction of an inch.

Lusia wasn't lying. At least, she didn't think she was lying.

Lusia took a step back from her own actions and evaluated what she was doing. Yes, she was making mistakes in her work. However, this was extremely ordinary. As much as Lusia hated to admit it, she was a terrible maid. The only thing she had ever been good at were the exercises her father had taught her before he went comatose.

Lusia's fault, just like how everything is. Lusia's fault.

Lusia ran back through her thoughts. She was repeating herself much more often than usual—that might've been a sign of frustration. One of the other maids had described her mind going in circles, in a similar way to how Lusia's thoughts had been going.

"Is it about your master, Malfrasius?"

Lusia's hand tightened and the dish she was washing exploded into pieces. The porcelain dug into her palms and blood dripped down into the center of the sink.

The matron stiffened. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

Lusia wanted to protest and say that just because her hand happened to tighten at the same time her master's name had been mentioned, that didn't mean that he was the cause of her current concern.

"It seems that you two are very close," the matron said. "I don't blame you for being worried."

Worried?

Was Lusia worried?

She was…

"Confused."

"What?"

"Confused, not worried."

"And why's that?" the matron said, her voice gentle.

Because once again, Lusia had failed. Once again, someone had been hurt by her indirectly. But the absolute worst part was that she didn't understand.

There was so much that didn't make sense to her.

"My master has been acting unusually," Lusia said after nearly a full minute of silence. "His behavior isn't in line with his past actions."

"What do you mean? He's changed?"

"Significantly." She found her mind playing back to her memories of him. "In the past, my master was what many would call a scoundrel. He was known as a waste of space by his peers. An idiot."

The matron frowned. "I've met him. He's a bit shy, perhaps, but certainly not like what you're describing."

"Yes. Overnight, his personality has deviated by nearly two-hundred percent. He's courteous. Soft-spoken. Intelligent."

He covered for her. When his circle mates had questioned why she was there, he'd said that it was because she was his bodyguard. But that was only a fraction of the truth.

The full truth was that she was the least valuable. Compared to every other servant in the mansion, her hollow core made her nothing in comparison.

That was the real reason why she'd been sent with him. He had to be aware of that. He mocked her in the past.

But ever since that carriage ride, he hadn't so much as brought it up. It was like he'd forgotten all about it.

He promised her that he would save her. That he would fix her core. Why? It didn't make sense. Even if he wasn't the scoundrel that he used to be, even the kindest nobleman in the world wouldn't go to such absurd lengths for a mere servant.

"Kind," Lusia finished. "He's become kind, and I don't understand it."

The matron didn't respond and Lusia found her voice moving on its own, speaking.

"I've attempted to rationalize the problem from every possible angle," Lusia said. "And none of the solutions I found have matched up. If this is a ruse, I can't comprehend what possible benefit it's giving him or what his goal could be. It can't be a mental illness, as I've heard of no plague of the mind that increases the intelligence of a person. I don't believe that I've misunderstood his character, as others have attested to the sudden change they've seen in him. Granted, Hypode hasn't seen Malfrasius in years, but still.

"The only solution that seems to line up is that this is deception. Perhaps he seeks to gain my favor? My body? But as far as I can tell, I'm only considered average compared to my peers. He would have a much better target if he went after someone else."

She dug the porcelain deeper into her palm.

"They said that the demon disguised itself as me," she said. "Everybody knows that demons seek to take the appearance of the person that you're most vulnerable around."

She turned and looked at the matron.

"What am I supposed to make of this, matron?" she said. "How am I supposed to understand that his final thoughts before he fell unconscious were of me? Worried that I'd been the one who'd been hurt after he'd nearly died?"

The matron didn't respond.

The knot in her stomach that had seemed so tight before somehow became even tighter. Her skin was on fire. Lusia was vaguely worried that she was coming down with some sort of illness.

"Lusia," the matron said. "I'm afraid that the truth is something that you're not quite ready to hear yet. You don't seem to be capable of understanding your own feelings right now, much less the feelings of another."

There was a funny tone in the matron's voice. Something like the hint of a smile lurking underneath the seemingly strict exterior.

“Clarify it,” Lusia said. "I will study diligently until I am capable of understanding these feelings you speak of."

The matron laughed.

"My dear," the matron wiped a tear from her eyes. "You truly have such a funny way of looking at the world."

Lusia felt her teeth start to click together. She explained that she would be willing to study. Even if she didn't understand now, she would understand in the future—if only these people would bother to explain it to her.

But they never did. They always treated her with this condescending manner, as if she was some sort of child, incapable of comprehending the plainly spoken common language.

Except for her master.

Her master, who responded to each one of her questions promptly.

Her master, who hadn’t once blamed her for letting him get hurt when Hypode’s assistant attacked him.

Why was he so different?

Not just different from how he used to be, but different from everyone else.

Lusia was just about to demand an explanation from the matron when a knock at the door froze both of them.

The door swung open, revealing none other than Dahlia, a maid that had bullied Lusia in the past before suddenly stopping.

She was heaving great breaths, her skin was flushed red and sweat dripped from every pore in her body. She'd sprinted the hallway here from wherever she came from, that much was clear to Lusia.

Her eyes snapped toward Lusia.

"Y-your master –!" She sucked in a breath. "He's awake, he wants to see you!"

Lusia dropped the porcelain into the sink. She wiped the blood from her palm with a towel, then turned around and walked toward the door.

"Good luck!" the matron shouted.

She paused in the door. "Thank you."

Lusia wasn't sure why she would need good luck, but she appreciated the sentiment.

Lusia stopped in front of the clinic door. Her heart hammered in her chest. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She wanted to talk to Mal, demand an explanation. She wanted to not reveal a thing, to not say anything. To simply sit there and ensure that he was alive. She didn't care about his fate. She didn't care whether he was dead or not. She didn't care if he was injured. She wanted to make sure that he'd recover quickly. She wanted to personally inspect him, to ensure that Cassandra had done a good job.

She wanted —

A cough.

It'd been Mal. Lusia was sure.

Lusia reached out and twisted the doorknob. The door hinge squeaked as it moved inward.

Her legs locked up.

The upper half of Mal's body was exposed, while the lower half was underneath the blanket. His chest was wrapped in layer after layer of bandage, while his face was an unhealthy, unnatural white. There were dark circles under his eyes and his every breath seemed painfully weak.

He spotted Lusia and looked at her. At first, he stared. Then, a slow, wide grin grew on his face from ear to ear.

Why was he smiling? What was there to smile about? How bad were his injuries?

"You're okay," he muttered. "That's good. I just needed to be sure."

Lusia had never felt so lost.

Smiles indicate happiness.

He was happy.

Happy that she was okay?

She stepped forward and approached his side. Internally, she apologized to Mal's father. It was a breach of protocol to even see him in such an exposed state. Even so, some unknown force had compelled her to move.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a letter. It was from the office of student affairs.

Due to recent events, and after the feedback received from your professors, we've decided to halt the dissolution of your circle—

Mal snatched the letter off of the desk and crumpled it up in his hand.

"You know, it's rude to look at people's mail," he said.

"My apologies."

The two remained in silence for a little bit before Mal reached up and scratched the back of his head.

"So I don't know how much you heard from the professors, but I figure you should probably be looped in."

"Why are we looping? Clarify."

Mal sighed, even as a fond expression came over him. "It's another metaphor, Lusia. It just means I wanted to inform you about what happened."

He explained.

Why didn't anybody else ever explain?

Why was he the only one who did so?

Why did he even want to tell her?

On the outside, she remained ramrod still, face frozen. "The professors gave me an outline. I think because of the fact that the demon borrowed my face. They assumed that I was your most trusted confidant."

He chuckled at that.

"You might as well be," he said, more to himself than to Lusia.

Lusia didn't even know how to understand that comment. She ignored it and waited for his full response.

"The official story that they told you was probably that Rolam and Philo had killed it, while I did nothing," he said. "Is that right?"

She nodded. "That's correct."

"Good. I was really worried that they were going to… Nevermind."

"Master," Lusia said. "Did you once more engage in the technique known as lying?"

Mal made a so-so gesture with his palm, then winced at the movement. "A little bit. I might've stretched the truth. If Rolam and Philo say that I was the one responsible for killing it, don't be surprised, but you should know that I don't want them to. I want them to take the credit."

"I understand."

No, she didn't understand. Why didn't he want the credit?

But it wasn't her place to ask these questions. She was the servant, he was the master.

The room went quiet once more.

"I… I was pretty worried when that thing took your face."

"Why did it take my face in the first place?" she asked.

Lusia could've punched herself in the face.

Why had she asked that?

Those were her private thoughts? These were her private thoughts. They weren't meant to be spoken aloud. Her questions weren't meant to be answered.

Mal's mouth opened and shut several times before he shrugged.

"Honestly?" he said. "I really don't know."

The words were right on the tip of her tongue.

Am I the one you trust most?

But she managed to stop herself from saying it.

The thing that she feared most was that he would say yes. Because if that was the case, then that meant everything that Lusia knew about the man in front of her was completely incorrect. Every scrap of understanding about the world that she managed to obtain, every hint of explanation that she managed to get from those who seemed to understand these things without it needing elaboration, all of it would be wrong.

And yet at the same time…

Even though she knew that she feared the answer —!

"The dormitory is in shambles," she said.

Mal tilted his head. "Um, yes?"

"They haven't allowed us back in, as they're investigating if the demon had been spying on you using some kind of spell. I haven't had a chance to clean it. Your circle mates are all residing in temporary dormitories."

"Oh, I didn't know that," Mal said.

It was clear that he was experiencing the emotion known as confusion. Lusia was experiencing that emotion as well. She knew where this was going, and she didn't understand why she wasn't stopping herself from speaking.

"If you get well enough to move," she said, "I'll need help cleaning up."

His eyebrows shot up. "I'll take you up on that offer."

She didn't respond. She stood up and turned around.

She wanted to understand him more. She wanted to fix her understanding of the world. She wanted to know for certain if she was right, or if she was wrong.

I'm such a coward, she thought to herself. I'm afraid to ask him directly, and I hide behind the barriers of our professional relationship to protect myself. But at the same time, I'm creating a crack so that I can see him through it. What is wrong with me? Why am I acting like this?

It didn't matter. In 2 years her contract would expire. It was fine. She’d leave and move on and—

"Oh, Lusia?"

She stopped.

"Thanks for checking on me," he said.

She stiffly nodded, then exited the clinic.

She stared up into the sky at the bright full moon.

Mysterious, vast, unknowable. The subject of many poems and paintings.

As she stared, her thoughts went back on the loop, over and over and over.

Malfrasius Patoal…

Who are you, really?

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