If you were real.

His eyes flashed, the calm fires of his iris suddenly going a blaze. But just as quickly, and with no other change - his plaster smile remaining - they softened with sympathy (or something close to it). There was a gentle shake of his head, and a whispered, “No.”

No, because she saw too easily through me, inside of me. If not for you, Tic, thought Larkin, she would have slew me. And true, Miraye would have been agitated enough to use her powers against Larkin, and kill them all, if not for the bond between her and Tic. That bond, roared his mind - that bond! I want it to break! But he needed them both. Tic now, Miraye later. She would come back for him, he reminded himself, and I'll be ready.

But he enjoyed the disappointed look that fell over Tic’s face, replacing all the hope that there had been before. This gave Larkin a position, the place to come in and comfort Tic in his time of hurt, but he did not realize soon enough. His angry thoughts of Miraye had heightened his breathing, and his nostrils hissed as he exhaled. Maybe Tic had noticed, maybe not; he wasn’t looking at Larkin. He opened his mouth as if to speak, though, and Larkin quickly intervened, something telling him that he was going to be questioned about Miraye. He didn’t know, he must keep this secret under. His secret that he didn’t really have Miraye, that she was loose, out there, and unknowing to Tic, there was hope.

“Do you know where your clothes are?” he asked, taking his eyes on a tour of the room.

“Yes,” replied Tic, the word completely automatic. There was an expression of expectation on Larkin’s face, and seeing so, Tic turned to cross the room to the wardrobe, but felt a light hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He looked up as Larkin moved past, across to the door with the mirror on it. After pausing to gaze at himself, he turned the glass doorknob and revealed the large closet, stepping inside. He moved to his left, hands swiping the clothes to the side, glancing at each one.

“Come here,” he said.

Tic came.

Larkin turned around, holding a yellow and white outfit against him. He peered down at it, and then glanced up at Tic, “You’ll wear this today,” was his command. They way Larkin tended to be - he didn’t ask if this was what you liked, what you wanted, if he wanted or liked it, you were going to want and like it too. Luckily, this particular piece of clothing appealed to Tic. It was unlike anything he had ever worn before.

And as if remembering whom it was he was speaking to, Larkin quickly asked, “Does this suit your tastes?” and was rewarded with the pleasure of Tic’s nod. He smiled, draping the fine fabric over Tic’s arm. Larkin turned back around and disappeared inside, searching for something else. He was unaccustomed to doing such things himself.

Tic felt that he should change into these clothes immediately. He glanced from side to side, but there was no place shielded from the other set of eyes in the room. He waited.

Larkin returned with a pair of shoes, polished to a glimmering white. He held them in one hand, out in front of him, as if they were awful to touch. Maybe he didn’t like feet. These, too, he gave to Tic. He uttered a sound, the beginning of a word to which the end was cut with the opening of a door. A maid hurried in, the front of her dress held up. She’d been running.

“Wake up, boy! Up quickly, it’s morn-'' she went pale and silent as she saw Larkin, standing straight with his hands clasped together in front of him. A second maid came in behind her, clasping her shoulders and laughing. She obviously had not seen Larkin, and began to jabber away, “Larkin’s not in his room,” she giggled, “I wonder where he…” The first woman elbowed her sharply, and she looked up quickly, letting the last word drop away from her lips, “…is.”

The smile gone from his face, Larkin walked to the door where the ladies stood, the younger one standing behind the older one, the whites of her eyes seen from where Tic stood. They moved aside, and hissing through clenched teeth, Larkin said, “I am very ill to hear how you speak of me.” He reached across and grabbed the side of her head, her ear pinched in between his fingers. She squealed, and clutched onto the other maid, desperate not to let go, but Larkin jerked her with him out the door.

“Dress him and bring him to breakfast,” growled Larkin before he left.