The Perfect Knight and the Illusionist (BL)

LEO

I couldn’t wait till morning.

Not after what Isabelle told me.

I was a little scared of going back into the Academy building at night—walking through woods at night was fine, but being alone in the massive empty building irked me a little—but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got the book.

The Tales of Witches and Folk Magic.

I should have read it when Isabelle gave it to me, but back then I was in the blissful comfort of my bed all day, every day. I just didn’t feel like straining myself by reading a book, which was never my thing anyway (we didn’t have a single book back home).

So there I was, after dinner, alone in the hallway, heading toward my special room.

At the same time, though, I knew once I got there, my fears would be gone. That room held a special place in my heart.

I arrived without being seen, for there was no one around, and when I turned the door handle, I noticed it wasn’t locked. So I opened the door, walked in, and immediately freaked out as a voice spoke in the dark.

"Who is it?"

"Yeek!"

I wanted to run away, but me being stupid me, instead of getting out of the room, I ran toward where there was light—by the window, where the moonlight seeped through a tiny gap that wasn’t fully covered by the curtain. As soon as I got to the window, I immediately opened the curtain to let the light in, and when I turned, I saw Blanche lying on the bed casually, with a sketchbook and a pencil in her hand.

"Leo?"

"Blanche?"

We both said nothing for a moment, but she was the first one to break the silence in her low, husky voice—almost whispering.

"What are you doing here?"

"I... why are you in this room?"

"Well, this is MY room, normally," she said.

"That can’t be right—this is MY SPECIAL room," I contested.

"Wait—ah, so you are the bugger that took my room for two weeks," Blanche said, clapping her hands once.

"What do you mean—? And what did you just call—"

"Well, that really sucked. I had to stay in the dormitory room during that time. I hate that. I can’t sleep so well there."

"I don’t understand." I was getting increasingly confused. Her explanations weren’t doing anything for me.

"This is the room where I normally sleep. And dream."

Blanche said everything oh-so-casually that it was actually calming me down. Now knowing that the voice in the dark was hers, I wasn’t so scared anymore.

"I’m sorry, then... did I wake you up?"

"No, I was just drawing."

"Heh, you really like to draw—wait, in this dark?"

"Damn," she said.

It was difficult to imagine how she could draw in a room that was almost pitch-black when I came in.

"Don’t tell anyone," Blanche said.

"I... I won’t. But it is... rather weird. You can see in the dark...?"

"And don’t ask me about it either."

"Okay...," I just accepted and nodded.

"You want to see my picture, though? I had a cool dream."

"Okay... sure," I said and walked over to the bed.

"Sit." She patted the spot next to her. I sat as I was told.

"Look at this." She passed me the sketchbook.

I was amazed by how she had drawn such a detailed picture without being able to see the paper or even where the pencil was.

Blanche was so talented.

"Were you the butterfly this time?" I asked her, seeing the large butterfly in the center of the picture with beautiful patterns on its wings.

"No, I was that girl in the corner."

When I paid attention to the corner, there indeed was a girl—maybe six or seven years old—sitting on a small sofa with a book on her lap, looking at the butterfly with a big smile.

"What is happening here?"

"Not quite sure. That was me when I was young, I think. I was reading a picture book and there was a butterfly drawn in it, and it suddenly came to life and flew out of the book."

"Wow, that’s really cool."

Then, from a distance, I heard footsteps—we both did.

"Damn. Close the curtain quickly and hide behind it!" Blanche whispered into my ear.

There was no time to ask why. I jumped out of the bed, ran to the window, closed the curtain, and hid myself behind it as she ordered. Then someone came into the room, presumably with a light because I could see it seep through a little at the bottom of the curtain. Otherwise, the curtain was so thick it didn’t let any light through.

"Show me the picture, Blanche," the voice said. A voice I immediately recognized.

It was Mathias.

"How many times do I have to do this?" I heard Blanche ask, her voice not hiding her annoyance at all.

"I was sad to find out that you hadn’t told me about this earlier," Mathias said.

"Who told you? How did they know?"

"That’s not relevant, is it? The most important thing is that you don’t have to hide it anymore. You are free, Blanche. And I’m glad you can enjoy your freedom here."

"Free? What a joke," Blanche said, letting out a tired chuckle.

"What was this dream about?"

"You can see it for yourself."

"Would it hurt if you could be a little friendlier?" Mathias asked.

"You mean you would hurt me if I didn’t," Blanche said.

"I would never hurt you."

"Whatever, old man."

Old man... Blanche called Mathias an ’old man.’

That was a new one. I never thought he was THAT old. He was forty-something at most.

"Well, this is only the first picture. Don’t strain yourself too much, Blanche. Take your time. Sleep as much as you want. Dream whatever you want—all you have to do is draw them after you wake up."

"Now I feel like I’d prefer to go and sleep in my dormitory," Blanche sounded very bitter.

"Not for a while."

"Sucks to be me."

"It’s a blessing."

"A curse."

Then there was only a long silence until Mathias spoke again.

"Good night, then. Sleep well."

Blanche did not respond, and I heard him leave and close the door.

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