BACK TO MARRA'S POV (FINALLY):-

My blood was boiling. I wondered if that was because I had drank my father’s.

Aar’s taunts rang inside my head, and I can’t blame him. He clearly looked flustered, and he won’t stop till he got all the answers.

‘Talk,' he said.

‘Give me a second,' Uncle said.

‘Second over. Turn the cork. What – what was that liquid you sprayed on Mar?’

Ah, yes. That had hurt me so bad. Like the monster I had become was ripping my flesh open to step outside. Stuff of nightmares, trust me. Well, if you've made it this far, I'm taking it that you do trust me.

Uncle sighed. He raised his arms – sorry, arm (singular; sometimes I forget, and that’s hurtful, honestly) – and started in a very husky voice. A voice I won’t believe was my Uncle’s if I were not seeing him speak. ‘Listen, kids. I know I got a lot of explaining to do.’

‘Yeah, you do,' Aar cut in.

‘So listen,' Uncle shot at him, not in the mood for banter. ‘I only – you know what? I can’t – can’t do this anymore . . . Marra?’

I met his eyes. They were wet, sad, sincere, guilty. Just a . . . like a herd of elephants, only the elephants were emotions, you know? Sorry if that doesn’t make sense, but I was pretty woozy back then.

‘Hm?’ I said. Or at least think I said.

‘I have been hiding a lot from you, Mar,' Uncle slowly said, 'every since you have been born. I’ve lied to you. I’ve . . . I’m not a good person, just . . . forgive me if you can . . .’

‘What even – what are you - what're you talking about?’

Uncle looked down at his shoes. ‘You were a stillborn.’ He stopped, almost dramatically.

I suddenly had a very terrible feeling in my gut. I think my un-human instincts knew what was coming.

Aar and Bee didn’t, though. ‘We know that,' they said together, their voice bouncing off of the hall walls.

'Erm, so . . . then his parents took him to this - '

'Witch, we know,' Aar butted in. He was being vexing. Don’t tell him I said that, he’s still the best living friend I got (second only to Es). 'What else's new?’

Uncle sighed. It was one of the deepest sighs ever. Like, really. Very deep. Let’s not get into details about a sigh, shall we? You know what sighs are, right? If not, get a thesaurus.

(Side-note: a "sigh" is defined as a long, deep audible intake of air expressing sadness, relief, tiredness or something similar.)

There you have it. You barmy, cretinous, thick-headed, lovely, trustful, amazing guy/girl reading/listening to this. (No offense.)

'Well . . . haven’t you ever wondered how your parents knew of the Dark Arts?’

He won’t face me, he was still looking at his shoe. Apparently, he found the Gucci shoes very fascinating.

'I – I don’t know. Dad always flipped the topic whenever I asked-' (talking about Dad hurt) '-and Mum, she always ignored it. I don’t know.’

Actually, Mum had always said the same thing whenever I’d asked her: “You’re our son, Mar. That’s all that matters."

I didn’t say that, though; talking about Mum hurt, too.

'The thing is, Mar,' Uncle continued, 'they didn’t. It was me. I took them to the Grahi Witch of the Coven  Thirteen.’

Well, well, well, loads of revelations coming up to shake Marra's world up.

Thank you for your time, dear reader.