My dad is home by the time we return and he admires my dress with apparent satisfaction and approval. My mom tells me to hang up the dress so it won't get dirty, so I head to the hallway closet where I hang up the gown then retreat to my room.

The lights are out, as I would expect, so I immediately turn them on, letting the light fill the space.

Xalale still has The Magician's Nephew open, but without a brighter light source I can see no way of him being able to read.

"Is that all you do is read?" I ask, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

He sets the book aside, "That's all there is to do. Besides, knowledge comes from written works."

"I'm not a fan of reading."

"I know." He replies. I recall, then, how I told him about my evasion of books.

"So," I cup my hands, resting my chin in them. "Anything interesting happen?"

"I managed to fall asleep for five seconds before waking up again."

There's definitely some sarcasm there, but mostly, I feel, in good spirits- a harmless jest.

For a little bit, I listen to the mundane sound of the pages turning. From the sound of it, Xalale is a brisk reader.

Lying on my bed, looking down at him, I feel the need to make a conversation, though I know he probably won't want to.

"What would you want to be if you weren't king?" I question nonchalantly. "Like, your occupation."

He doesn't set the book aside when answering, "I don't know."

"Like, if you could do anything in the entire world, the entire universe, what would it be?"

"I don't have the slightest idea."

Sighing in exasperation, I hang over the side of the bed.

"You should have been a philosopher."

"A pointless occupation," He replies turning the page, clearly too occupied to understand my sarcasm. "I've been taught all my life to be a king, what else could I do?"

"Be a writer or a poet," I answer much too quick and far too certain and it causes his attention to shift from the book to me, eyes narrowed in some forms of suspicion.

"Shit." I can't let on that I've read his work.

"You like to read a lot so why not be a writer or something?" I casually explain.

The suspicion melts away and his eyes return to scanning the lines.

"Suspicion avoided."

"I could not imagine being anything but a king. Everything else is worthless compared to what tasks and responsibilities a king has."

"Cause you made such a good one."

Glancing up at the ceiling, I think on his response for a few moments. The soft rustling of pages turning our only interruption.

"Do you like it?"

"What?"

My sudden question causes him to look up quizzically from the pages at me.

"Do you like being a king?"

He tosses me a look of slight ridicule as if I've asked the most elementary of questions.

"Why would I not?"

"That was a yes no question. Do you like being a king?"

"Yes. Ever since I was young I wanted to be a king, why are you so pressing on the matter?"

There I sensed it- and I think he caught it too. The brief flare of defensiveness at such an innocent question. The unusual defensiveness displayed at such a question.

"I was just curious and all." I shrug.

He watches me a moment then slowly returns to the text on the page.

"Of course."

More silence only filled with the occasion turn of a page. Resting my head on my pillow, I stare out across at the window, thoughts drifting lazily through my mind. Xalale says something, destroying my bubble of detachment from the world.

"Huh?" I sit up, peering down at him.

He marked the page of the book and is looking up me.

"I asked, where did you go?"

For a moment I'm confused and just stare at him with a baffled expression. He clarifies.

"When you left a few hours ago."

"Oh!" I shrug. "Out."

He sighs, annoyed. "I won't get to know?"

"Nope."

Repositioning myself, I glance over at my door. I can hear my parents light laughter coming through. When I look back down at Xalale, he's back to reading again, so I decide to read over his shoulder- he reads so fast, though, that I can't quite finish the page I'm on. This is how we stay for the next hour or so.

My parents turn in earlier than I expected. I walked into the kitchen to get something and they were already kissing me goodnight.

"So early?" I ask, a little surprised.

"Gotta get up early to go to work earlier so I can get off for the festival tomorrow." My dad explains.

My mom kisses my forehead.

"It wouldn't hurt me to go to bed early either."

"Okay, then. Night."

They disappear into their room and I wait a minute or two before hurrying to the family room where I pop in The Princess and the Frog, then poke my head in the doorway of my bedroom with a coy voice.

"Ready to continue?"

He glances up from the book, at first with confusion, then exasperation.

"I retract my words of letting you do whatever you want."

"Oh come on," I smile. "There's only four more movies left."

Giving me a scornful look, he finally follows me to the family room where we watch The Princess and the Frog. In my opinion, the music is some of the best so far and it's my favorite part. When it's over I ask the regular question of how it fared with him. Three of out nine is the tally right now.

The next one we're about to watch is another where I enjoy the songs, but not as much as The Princess and the Frog. Still, Tangled is a favorite.

I enjoy the storyline and characters and everything. Flynn Rider's character is probably the closest character there is to how Xalale thinks sometimes (especially the singing aspect).

"So?" I question, getting up to switch the disk.

"Probably my favorite so far."

"Really!?"

I know it's a good film, but I'm surprised by Xalale's response.

"At least there's one film out of the twelve that you like."

"So there's only two more?"

"Yeah. Brave is next."

Brave was never one of my favorites and to be honest, could probably do without. It doesn't give me that same Disney magic that other ones do. I'm, thankfully, not alone in this thinking as Xalale doesn't find it too favorable either.

"There's only one left?" He asks, seeming relieved to be close to done with this.

"If I told you I lied and there's four more to go, would you cry?"

"At this point, I would walk away."

I hold back a smile. "Last one."

Of course, the last one, Frozen was huge at the time and I enjoyed it well enough. The music is good, I can get into the storyline, the characters are well planned, it's overall a great film. Xalale, though, views it as a decent film. The songs were okay in his opinion, so were the characters and plot, he just wasn't enthralled with it like the majority of the whole is. But Xalale is anything but the majority, from what I've learned.

"And we're done," I say, cheerfully. "We've watched all twelve Disney Princess movies. Don't you feel accomplished?"

"I've wasted countless hours of my life."

"Well I feel accomplished. Besides, you did enjoy four of them, right?"

"Hm." He gets up from the chair and heads, presumably, back to the room.

I finish placing Frozen back in its case, making sure every film is in its correct order, before following his lead back to the room.

He's resting on the mattress when I enter, barely paying me any mind as I sit down next to him in silence. I get up, briefly, to go out and change into my night clothes then come back to resume my position.

"You know," I begin, looking at the window. "That visit with Ruthford had me thinking. You never really know a person's full story until they tell you. Looking back, I guess there's a lot of people in Cauldron that I don't know the stories of. It's actually kind of sad if you think about it. All these years and I've mostly kept to myself."

I wait a few moments for a reply or acknowledgement of any kind, but upon receiving no feedback, I let the issue die.

Sighing, I instead fiddle with my fingers for a few minutes until bored. Due to the events tomorrow, I plan to head to bed early so I'll be well rested for a day of fun. But just as I stand up-

"Mallory."

Halfway in an awkward position of a crouch and standing, I look over at him with question.

"Yeah?"

He set aside the book, but is not meeting my gaze, instead looking to the right at nothing in particular. He doesn't say anything for a while, but my knees are buckling so I lower myself back onto the mattress, kneeling as I stare at him, waiting. Judging from his behavior, I can immediately tell something is up; I can't fathom what, but it sets my stomach in knots worrying about it.

I'm ready to ask what's going on when he finally speaks up.

"What is your worst memory?"

"Wha?"

His voice is low and somewhat mystifying. He refuses to meet my eyes, causing me more discomfort.

"Do you have one?"

"Um...is something wrong?" I ask cautiously.

"Mallory." The directness in his voice startles me a bit, but it's followed with a tired, weary sigh.

Precariously, I move to try to face him better, but he refuses to meet my gaze. Finally I give in with a brisk exhale of confusion.

"I don't think I have a worst memory, but there are some memories I wish to forget. Like when I was ostracized for a whole month by my classmates because I wore my hair a different way and I liked certain things that other kids thought weird. It was a little 'game' my whole class had made up that they would socially shame someone in the class for a whole month. They got a kick out of it, but they never thought how it might affect the one person they shamed."

The memory brings me back to a time where playing by myself was the only option, where I was labeled "weird" for having different quirks (to be honest, I never thought myself that quirky from the others), where the teacher never noticed until a good three weeks in. I guess I grew a thick skin and tried not to let it bother me. I mean, at the time- yeah- it hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as when I look and think back on it now.

"Yeah, so that's my worst memory," I pause, watching him with curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

"It doesn't seem to affect you now, what they did."

I give a half-hearted shrug. "Kids are cruel. I mean, I did some mean-spirited things when I was younger, myself, so..."

Never once does he glance over at me. I risk scooting closer to him in case he pulls back. He's going somewhere with this- I can hear it- but it's not in the open yet.

"Anything particular reason you asked that?" I prompted casually.

No response for a brief moment.

"It's nothing."

"Can we not?" I groan, annoyed.

"Leave it be," His tone is growing testy.

I don't know why, but this tips me over the edge that I didn't know I was teetering on. My voice takes on a peeved tone.

"No. I'm not leaving it be. You do this all the time. Just say what you have to say or don't bring it up if you aren't ready. You have to work with me here if we're going to communicate properly. Stop saying it's nothing because that's bull. Now just talk to me, convey what is on your mind."

I can sense my words have caused some strife due to his body language, but there's no reply on his part. Putting some gentleness back into my words, I stare at him still.

"When have I ever responded negatively to what you've had to say?"

I know there might be a time or two, but overall, I'm pretty good about these things with him. It's just up to him to tell me these things.

My voice loses all aggression now.

"You don't have to tell me tonight if you're not ready. Just know you can always tell me when you feel up to it."

I watch him for a few more seconds then scoot away to the edge of the mattress where I prepare to get up. About to push myself up, he interrupts.

"Okay."

There was some finality in that okay that stopped me. I glance back at him, with his attention straight ahead this time, the lamplight casting shallow shadows across his face.

Wordlessly, I move back over to him and wait with diligence.

"You can't say a word until I'm finished." He instructs, meeting my eyes for the briefest of seconds before staring straight ahead again.

I nod, giving him the okay to go on.

We sit in silence for a good minute or two before he actually finds the words to start.

"She is the reason for who I am today. Everything that passed between us is her doing. She created this separation and for the life of me I cannot figure out why."

Immediately I know this is about Aelita, this is about what went down between them. This is all the cards on the table- at last.

"We used to be close, very close. There was a time where I enjoyed her presence, where it felt like she enjoyed mine. She intrigued me, everything she did. I wanted to be exactly like her. I imagined her as a wonder queen; as kind to her subjects as she was to me," He gives a mirthless chortle with a bitter edge. "But it does not take long for one's colors to come out. Ten years it took me to wake up from the act she had spellbound me with. She's done the same to you, I'm sure, but her charade wasn't as drawn out as it was with me.

"I saw what she did to people who came to her for help, she dealt out a cruel punishment. I didn't- couldn't- understand it because I had already envisioned her as the perfect, kind-hearted queen. Of course she pacified my fears and worries at first...at first."

I don't think I've ever heard Xalale falter when speaking, but now I can sense the apprehension and the first real hint of chagrin in his mood.

"There was some doubt in my mind about her, but she was so reassuring, so calculated, she knows how to use her words, I forgot all the grievances she had compiled. Then..."

We've hit a wall. I want to coax him on, but I promised not to interrupt until he finished so I silently let him gather whatever drove him to go on.

"At this time, my abilities were already manifesting and I remember being so excited for such a thing because having abilities like my mother, even if they weren't the same, meant I was that much closer to being like her. I'd never showed anyone what I could do because I couldn't control it- seems I never could. But it was excruciating pain when I sensed it coming, so I always knew when it was coming. That day...I was so eager to show her...show her I was just like her. I upset her that day. She upset me doing what she did. That man didn't need to suffer nor his family-"

An abrupt pause, his gaze is trained to the floor, his voice uncharacteristically low.

"Nobody had to get hurt that day, but they did. I was foolish for believing my pathetic abilities were going to earn me praise. You, of course, know how chaotic my abilities can be even when I try controlling them. When it unleashed itself, it wasn't as strong as it is today, but it was still enough to send her to her knees. I was so naive to believe she would be proud of such a thing, that she would help me control them...how was I to know what I possessed was considered dark?"

A brief, tense pause. Then, he speaks so low I can barely hear him causing me to have to lean closer.

"And there was fear. The first time in my life I had seen fear in someone's eyes- in my mother's eyes- put there by me. I remember every word she said to me, how her tone changed from fearful to anger. To her- and eventually to others- I placed this burden, this curse, upon myself. To them, to her, I did something to anger the Fates, I meddle with devil's magic, I was nothing more than a monster." Another rocking pause, his voice stronger now. "I don't believe I would have cared as much even if everyone who knew, even if Swethyna turned her back on me, but my mother- my mother, the one individual who went so far out of her way to make me believe she would never abandon me, was the first one to step out, to unassociate herself from me. The very first one."

The anger and bitterness floods in his voice, the resentment clear as day.

"From that day on she keep her distance and everyday she widen that gap. She excused it for making me less reliant on her, but it was easy to see what it was. To her, it made perfect sense, a perfect reason to distance herself from me, but to me, to an eleven year old whose rock and guide was my mother-"

I've seen Xalale anger many times- more than I would have liked to- but I've never seen him anger to the point of a loss for words. But it wasn't just anger, I could sense the distraught, something I've never witness him bend to. I remember when we first meet, how cool and calm he was in every situation, even during his most psychotic episodes. That mask was long gone. I think that's what moves me listening to him- even with Ruthford. Just the raw emotions that only come when you've truly experienced absolute pain.

"I asked her. You don't seem to believe that I tried to mend what was broken, but you can't mend shattered pieces. I asked her time and time again what I did wrong to deserve her wrath, but she uses excuses because a liar can't face or tell the truth even when it's plain to see. She could finally be the queen- the same person everyone else saw- she didn't have to act as though she cared, for a moment, about me. And after a while, it's very easy to read the message, to do away with the constant questions of 'why' and simply accept what's been shattered.

"Of course, of course there was still Swethyna. She looked after me every since I could remember her. I thought, even after my mother's rejection, that her compassion for me would never fail. She became my rock, my direction."

I notice how tight he's clenching his fists- bleach white. I want to say something, but really I'm awful at times like these, useless. So I watch him clench and unclench his jaw, his voice tense with the peculiar mixture of anger and distraught.

"I allowed it to repeat itself all over again. This time, I attempted to conceal my abilities, but there was too much pain, I was too weak to hold it back, so it came. Stronger that time, the strongest it had ever been. I cut her, it was a mistake, I didn't mean it, but I should have known what was coming. Devil's magic, the sins I'd committed to deserve such dark, evil magic, the monster I was. That's always what I was; a monster. We never talked again, me and Swethyna until- until I killed her years later.

"After that, I learned my lesson, I saw the picture. No more did I rely on anyone to comfort me, to guide me, to be there because they would always draw away the moment they knew what I could do and who I was. Concealing my darkness was impossible, so I learned to suppress them the best I could, eventually with ways I thought prevented it. I don't know what I thought would come of it. My scorned darkness would still be there, I would still be alone, all of it in vain."

His eyes are closed, his hands and jaw still clenched, but the fire had burned out, leaving only a worn mannerism about him, but his voice bitter.

"My mother is a queen before anything else; she's unsuitable to be considered a mother. She loves her kingdom before anything and anyone else." A rancorous hint of a smile comes on his face. "If you gave her the choice between me and her title, her answer would be made up in a heartbeat. You ask her, the answer would be the same. No, her answer wouldn't come so quick, not for her. She'd pretend to ponder it, but the answer would always be the same. That is the worst part of it all. She pretends to care."

A spiteful scowl has replaced his rancorous look.

"It would not have been so bad had she never acted as though she cared for me from the beginning. I would have only known that side of her and understood her ways better. But she beguiled me from the start. For that and the betrayal she dealt me, she will never have forgiveness from me. Not that she would ask for such a thing. I wouldn't forgive any of them. As I've told you, there has yet to be a time where betrayal hasn't lurked in the shadows for me. It's simply a matter of time."

When a long stretch of time passes, I think he's finished, but before I can speak, his voice stops me.

"It's very hard to like yourself when for so many years no one else has."

He closes his eyes again, his jaw finally relaxing, but his whole demeanor reading that of someone drained emotional and physically.

Now, I'm sure, is when I can finally add my input, give that supposed comfort and reassurance that one in my position would be expected to give. There I am, stare at him with an expression of maybe pity or sadness- I'm not positive. In silence and moonlight we sit. He never looked my way and isn't now, staring off, with his eyes closed, to the side away from me. I don't know where to begin- I never do.

Then. Then I do something I can't even begin to explain my thinking process on; I don't think, I act.

Sliding closer to him, nearly touching, I rest my head on his shoulder. I don't know what possessed me to do that, but I do, my gaze reflecting on the ground, my knees drawn up to my chest.

I can sense from how ridge his body goes, that this surprises him- as it does me- but he doesn't reject my action.

"Thank you." My voice oddly just above a whisper.

"For what?"

I manage to finally look up at him, my head still on his shoulder, him finally looking over at me.

"For telling me. For being open. It's hard to do."

He looks away, but not curtly. I gaze back down at the ground, in thought.

I've just been surrounded by pretty heartbreaking stories. From Ruthford's mom skipping out, to Xalale now revealing the background for the animosity between him and Aelita. If anything else, this makes me even more grateful, than I could imagine, for the wonderful parents that I have. They would never turn their backs on me or walk out. I was aware that not everyone had pleasant family experiences, but hearing stories like these, the knowledge becomes reality.

For now, there's really no words of comfort I can think to bring to him, so I don't. I let the silence settle around us, content to staring in thought at the ground, my head resting on his shoulder.