The Second Hour: Wax

☾

Do you ever make a wrong choice in life and regret thereafter? I have, and I have lived with all my regrets. I'm a paper boat riding against turbulent waves, a paper plane against the thin and sharp strings of kites, a paper heart encased in a diamond locket.

Whatever was in my sight was the clock. One hour after midnight and the blizzard was still howling with energy. Its pride never died like the storm's one did. Its eye could always see through the illusions humans use to shield themselves. Its eye was far mightier than the storm's eye. The value of every blizzard increases each picosecond.

Snow, pure and pristine, pelting the window panes—or window pains. Her room was not much different from the living room I sleep in. In fact, the only difference was the presence of a bed.

"Why . . . Why me? Why don't you ever target someone else?" She was whining in her sleep. Either a nightmare or a recollection. It's déjà vu, I would suppose. Every guest I attend to will always suffer from their nightmares. Typical of humans, I guess.

Saliva drooled as Tsu tossed and turned on the bed, the blankets flipping along with her belly. I thought I was seeing things, strange things even ghosts ought to be afraid of.

"I can die. I want to die. Yes, I have to die. I must die so I can be spared from all this pain." Somehow, her eyes were open. Was she truly asleep or was it all pretence?

Her bruised neck lingered in my vision and her body rotated, revealing more dried lines of red, imprints of coarse ropes, teethmarks and plasters. Who might have done that to her? Who tortured her?

She's a masochist, a masochist's smile on her
lips that is, a hollow shell toyed and made
of decaying gold, what flashy exterior could cover inner
flaws?

"Don't go near her, you'll only absorb her life energy unintentionally," I choked on a sob. It wasn't as if I was in a much superior state to be pitying her. What else could a mere Pokémon do than to pity?

The wax was melting and I ached as the cinder in my heart depleted. There had to be a way to prevent this. There was one way I know of but it's too risky. What would she think?

I couldn't bear more regrets.

"Oh, it's just you," her voice laced with venom like how a predator would to its prey. I must have awoken her. Her eyes met mine, groggy intersecting with insomniac, she may have understood. "Are you lonely?"

I strode over and my tiny legs landed on something cool to touch. I liked this cool sensation. My eyes widened in horror, from yellow to red, the flame undying and prospering to become non-luminous. I would have growled if I were a Luxray.

She was no different from the others. She was just as lonely. She was lonely like I am. But I didn't go to the extent of sleeping with a pair of bloodied scissors in my hands.

Her smile still etched on her face.

"Decide, commit, succeed," she said with a certain pacy rhythm. What was she getting at?

She balanced on her toes for a while before dancing on the bed. It was like a waltz, swaying and tapping her feet to the sounds she hummed, the metronome of the grandfather's clock jerking, seeming to come to a standstill.

There was something mesmerising about her I could not put my eyes away from.

But she was just the same as the other guests. They are all here to seek solace; they want to be in a place where no one will ever judge them. But social stigma is so strong that no matter it's an attraction or repulsion, its impacts lie heavy.

It was one of those moments I could apply my knowledge learnt from humans to humans.

"De profundis, ode to death," they'd cry over spilt milk and wallow in self pity.

Dance, my girl, dance.

"Tsu, Tsu, tiramisu . . ." Her open hum converted to lyrical art. Not that she was Arceus's work of art but that she seemed happy, so happy in her expression of music and the arts in her dancing. It struck a chord in me. The flames of the darkness stay lit and flashed and wavered with the turbulent currents.

Sing, my girl, sing.

Convert your sorrows into happiness.

"Decide." The razor sharp blade of the scissors was in her hands. I was helpless and weak. I could not reach out. I let my flame dance with her midnight symphony, let it flow into a thousand shades of blue and gold. My eyes could only blink and flicker as time seemed to come to a standstill.

"Commit." Her white blouse tainted red, crimson cascaded down, her tears like the rain pouring out of herself. A strangled shriek faltered before bouncing off the walls of the mansion.

"Suicide." I could only watch her fall, donned in her bloodied maroon skirt, adding more flavour to the dark red.

My eyes flashed open.

"How I wished I could have a personal dreamcatcher like humans have," my yellow eyes burnt, my body much hotter than usual, wax melting, trickling down the edge of the tabletop I slept on. This was a total nightmare.

I was about to close my eyes when a gleam in the dark caught my attention.

"Little Litwick, our guest . . . She's about to inflict self harm. Why did you allow her to put you violently on this table? Anyway, we got to take action."

The ancient Aegislash seemed to crumble before me. Or he really did vanish forever into ashes resembling the crystalline snow outside. To tell me all these, was I the one to initiate the plan?

My eyes bulged and I zoomed toward her room—the door ajar—to see the blade of the malicious scissors closing in on its target.

Everything was real.