Daughters of Necros: The Awakening

Chapter 6: Daddy issues

Hello, I would just like to quickly point out that this has officially been six straight weeks of me actually managing to regularly update a book and not having a mental breakdown.

I always wondered what that felt like.

Now I know.  🤩😊😁

Aside from Jack's profuse apologies for the simplicity of his wagon, and Arissa near-constantly flirting with him, (it makes me ill, really) the trip from forest road to brightly-lit ballroom passes by in what seems like an instant.

Mr. Jenkins sits quietly beside me, his slightly wrinkled hands tucked neatly in between his long gangly legs. He squeezes his knees together tighter, sandwiching his palms betwixt them in an awkward manner. He reminds me of a trapped grasshopper, all hunched over in the way that he is, all lean and leggy. He glances towards Jack, who's directing the ponies in the driver's position, several times. "My, my. I am certainly not accustomed to this." He tells me.

"To what?" I ask. "Sitting back here while someone else takes the reins?"

He nods slowly. "It feels.. Odd. Not unpleasant, simply odd." He smiles ruefully. "I suppose that I should be enjoying this more?"

I return his smile. "Maybe you should merely think of this as a temporary break from your duty. Just for once, see the world as a passenger, not a coachman. Everything will become normal again soon enough anyway, won't it?"

Mr. Jenkins nods once more, mulling over my statement. "Yes.. Yes, you could most certainly be correct in that regard. Though life with Lady Arissa would definitely not be considered 'normal' by any stretch of imagination." He half stands, adjusting his lengthy opalescent coattails behind him, so that they will not be crushed underneath his body. His weight, which under any regular circumstance would be considered inconsequential, would, without a doubt, be creased by even the slightest mistreatment of the highly damageable fibers.

Silk, imported from the glamorous and often over-the-top nation of Enveera, is usually quite strong and sturdy. But, when subjected to the chemical compounds necessary to render the matte strands fairly luminous, the entire fabric's structure becomes weakened by the rigorous treatment process. Hence, the increased level of vigilance and care required when wearing it.

I never have that issue with my clothes. I think, longing to slip back into my comfortable boots and tunic once more.

Mr. Jenkins leans over the side of the cart, resting his chin on his knuckles. "I had forgotten how wondrous the night was." He admits. A tiny firefly drifts over and settles on the bridge of his nose.

I giggle as he goes cross-eyed, straining to see it clearly through slowly failing eyes.

"I am glad that you are so amused by this sight, Miss Evelyn, but my nose is beginning to itch rather fiercely, and I should like to scratch it with a greatly increasing sense of urgency. Mayhaps you would like to help me remove my miniature guest?"

"Of course, sir. Please hold still." I stretch a hand out towards the insect as Mr. Jenkins tries his hardest not to move or sneeze on the bouncing wagon.

The firefly alights onto my extended finger, then flits away into the velvety darkness of night to join its fellows.

Mr. Jenkins rubs his nose thankfully. "My appreciation heartily goes to you, Miss Evelyn. I was not sure for how much longer I could bear the itch."

"It was no problem, really."

"Oh, look! There's the town!" Arissa exclaims, happily dangling off one of Jack's generously-sized biceps. She points ahead of us as we start to pass by an increasing number of cottages, and a small townhouse or two. Businesses begin to pop up along the path once it opens up onto the main road. "I haven't been to town for nearly two months! Ooh, is that a new millinery shop I spy?!!" She squeals with delight. "Eeheehee!"