There are many kinds of hell, a fact I've learned in a painfully practical way. There's the hell of the scorching, suffocating heat from a dragon's uncontrolled flames. There's the icy hell of a relentless enemy's magic, which freezes not only the body but the very soul. There's the auditory hell, a daily and particular trial of Fairy Tail, of Natsu and Gray brawling in the middle of the main hall, knocking over half the guild's furniture in an endless cycle of childish destruction and even louder reconciliations.
But none, absolutely none, compares to the silent, personal, and terribly humiliating hell of watching Azra'il Weiss casually flirt with any remotely female-looking being who has the good, or bad, fortune to cross her path within a fifteen-metre radius, and having to pretend, with all my strength and discipline, that it doesn't affect me in the slightest.
Because I am Erza Scarlet. An S-Class mage of Fairy Tail. Titania. A disciplined warrior with a code of honour and an iron control over my emotions. A rational woman. An impenetrable fortress.
(My heart is racing, beating against my ribs like a prisoner trying to escape. The muscles in my arms and shoulders are so tense that my armour feels too small. I feel an irrational, primal urge to throw a sword, just one, a small one, perhaps in the direction of her 'leg', nothing fatal, just to make her stop smiling like that. Why? Just… why? This reaction is not logical. Control yourself, Erza. Self-control is the key to victory on any battlefield. Breathe.)
I have faced colossal monsters, entire dark guilds, and even demons straight from the pages of ancient, cursed books. And I won. But I honestly don't know what to do, I have no battle plan, I have no appropriate armour for when she laughs like that. That damned, slow, lazy smirk, one that promises trouble, secrets, and a kind of fun I'm not sure I'm prepared for. That predatory look, carefully disguised as an innocent jest, but one that lays your soul bare. The calm, low voice, that seems to flow like warm, poisonous honey directly into my ears, making every word, no matter how banal, sound like an intimate secret. And worst of all, the part that keeps me up at night? She knows. That irritating white wolf always knows, with a surgical and sadistic precision, the effect she has. On everyone. And especially, on me.
"Erza, you're staring again."
Mirajane's voice, as soft as silk but as sharp as a hidden dagger, pulled me from my analytical (and slightly homicidal) trance. She was on the other side of the bar, polishing a glass that was already impeccably clean, with that sweet, innocent smile of hers that only truly dangerous people with a refined taste for the chaos of others can wear when they want to watch the world burn.
"I'm not staring," I replied through gritted teeth, forcing my gaze to my glass of orange juice, as if it contained the secrets of the universe. "I'm just… 'monitoring' the situation. For guild security reasons."
"Monitoring?" Mira arched an eyebrow, a work of art of silent provocation, the amusement glinting in her blue eyes like two small supernovas. "Is that what the young people are calling it these days? 'Monitoring'?"
"Yes. Monitoring," I insisted, feeling my face begin to heat up. "To ensure that Azra'il doesn't cause any… social. Problems." (A weak, pathetic excuse, worthy of Natsu. We both knew it. But it was the best my currently short-circuiting brain could produce at the moment.)
Mira let out a little laugh, the crystalline sound of glass bells shattering my patience. "Social problems? Oh, Erza, is that what you call shamelessly flirting with poor Kinana for three minutes straight, to the point of making the poor girl drop an entire tray of tankards on the bar out of pure, absolute nervous confusion?"
"She… she might have slipped," I muttered, a defence so fragile I was ashamed of myself, as my treacherous, wretched, and insubordinate eyes returned to the scene of the crime. Azra'il was there, leaning against the bar a few metres away, and had just gently touched Kinana's chin, lifting her face, and saying something in a low voice that made her laugh, laugh, for heaven's sake! And blush so furiously that her purple hair looked pale in comparison. An irrational, sharp, and painful pang of… something… pierced my chest like a poisoned spear. (Indignation. It's tactical indignation. That's all. Azra'il is distracting a team member from her duties. Completely unprofessional. A threat to the guild's efficiency. Yes. That's it.)
"Erza," Mira propped her chin on her hands, sighing dramatically as she watched the scene with a delight that irritated me on an almost atomic level. "Why don't you just go over there and talk to her?"
"Talk to her? Talk about what? About her highly inefficient distraction tactics?"
"No. About the fact that you're so in love with her it's painful to watch, right down to the last, stubborn strand of your scarlet hair."
I choked on my strawberry juice. A whole mouthful, which went down the wrong way with the force of a waterfall, making me cough violently, thumping my chest as if trying to restart my own heart. "Mira!" I managed to say between coughs.
She just laughed, a soft, amused laugh that irritated me even more for being so… right. "Oh, don't look at me like that with your eyes watering with juice and indignation. Everyone in this guild who has more than two functioning neurons and isn't named Natsu has already noticed. Even Happy."
"That is a lie. A blatant. And unfounded lie," I denied, even though I knew it was useless.
"Really? He asked me the other day if you two were courting yet. Said he needed to know so he could start planning the wedding present. He's thinking of a giant fish, maybe a tuna, with your names engraved on the scales. And with glitter. Lots of glitter."
I buried my face in my hands, feeling the heat of humiliation creep up my neck and burn my ears. (An engraved giant fish… Why, why does everything in Fairy Tail have to become a matter of public debate, a bar-room gossip, and an opportunity for questionable and probably smelly gifts?)
"And why do you think everyone has already noticed?" I asked, my voice muffled by my hands.
"Because you, my dear Erza," Mira replied, with a brutal honesty that was her trademark, "are as discreet as a flaming catapult launching giant strawberry cakes. And, let's be honest, Azra'il doesn't help at all."
I peeked through the gaps between my fingers, and of course, as if timed by a sadistic scriptwriter, the wretch was looking directly at me. Not a glance. Not discreetly. A direct, fixed, unrepentant stare, with that insolent little smirk of someone who knows exactly what they're doing, of someone who has just delivered checkmate in a game I didn't even know we were playing. And, to worsen my already tragic situation, she winked. Slowly. With a single eye.
I almost knocked the chair over backwards, my body startling at the gesture. (Eye contact established. Direct and unprovoked provocation. Physiological reaction: severe tachycardia, intense facial flushing, sudden desire to requip into my heaviest armour and hide in it forever. Damn it, Erza, pull yourself together! It's just a wink! Control yourself!)
A few minutes later, which to me felt like an eternity of silent torture, Azra'il came walking towards me, with the calm and grace of a white wolf crossing a minefield she had planted herself. Every step was deliberate, silent, and, for my poor, over-strained heart, absolutely terrifying.
"Erza, my dear," she said, with that serene and provocative tone of hers that made my central nervous system short-circuit and consider early retirement. She stopped beside me, too close. "I heard from Mira, with an expression of pure and innocent concern, of course, that you were… watching me."
"I was 'monitoring'," I insisted, my voice coming out a little louder and more defensive than I intended, making a few people at the next table look at us with curiosity. Brilliant. Now we had an audience.
"Ah, monitoring. Right." She moved a little closer, leaning in until she was at a distance that was, without a shadow of a doubt, indecent for the health of my heart and for the laws of physics that governed my self-control. Her subtle perfume, the one I always remembered so vividly, a mixture of rare herbal tea, the smell of old books, and something else, something that was uniquely… 'her', enveloped me like a mist. "And what have your tactical observations, made with such… dedication, discovered so far, Titania?"
"That you are… that you are… terribly, insufferably, irritating." (The words just came out, tripping over each other, before I could stop them. Good job, Erza. Subtle as a war hammer.)
"Hmm. An accurate observation, I won't deny it." She didn't seem the least bit offended. "And charming, I hope?"
"No," I replied too quickly. A tense silence hung between us for a second that felt like a year.
"…Perhaps. A little." (Why, in Mavis's name, did I say that? Why? Retract! Retract the statement!)
"Ah, so there's progress." She laughed, and it was that kind of low, soft laugh, from the back of the throat, of someone who knows they've won a battle I didn't even realise I was fighting. I felt my face burn with the intensity of one of Natsu's attacks.
I tried to change the subject, desperately, to try and regain control of the situation and my dignity. "Why… why do you have to flirt with every girl in the guild? It's… it's unproductive and causes unnecessary distractions for team morale."
"Ah, but that's where you're mistaken, my dear strategist," she replied, with the tranquillity of an ancient philosopher explaining a simple concept to a slow child. "Flirting, in its essence, is a form of communication. It's an art. A game. It's an efficient way to understand people, to test their defences, to see how they react under controlled emotional pressure."
"It's a way to irritate me," I muttered, crossing my arms tightly.
"Ah," she smiled, and reached out, gently touching the tip of one finger to the cold metal of my pauldron. The touch was light, almost non-existent, but I felt a shiver run down my spine like an electric shock. "So, apparently, it works wonderfully well."
"Azra'il!" My name came out as a warning, a protest, a plea.
"Erza." She said my name back, and it was no longer a provocation. It was… different. Like someone savouring a forbidden word, the sound coming out low and hoarse, almost intimate. And for a second, just one terrifying and absolutely wonderful second, I thought she was going to lean in, that she was going to…
But of course not. With a smirk that said "checkmate," she moved away with that calm and insolent walk of hers, heading over to Cana, who raised her barrel in a silent salute and shouted something about "enjoying your freedom while you can, Scarlet, because it looks like yours is numbered!".
I took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm my racing heart. (I am a warrior. I have discipline. I have self-control. I have… a problem. A problem that is nearly six feet tall, with white hair and a smile that ought to be illegal.)
"OHHH! ERZA'S GOING AS RED AS A GIANT STRAWBERRY AGAIN!"
(Damn that meddling blue cat.)
That night, in my silent dormitory at Fairy Hills, I lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, thoughts buzzing in my head like a thousand swords clashing in a chaotic, rule-less duel. What was that? Why does she do this? And worst of all, what did she mean by it?
(Situation analysis: the enemy is her. Azra'il Weiss. Her tactics are charm, ambiguity, and psychological provocation. My defences are critically compromised. Current plan of action… non-existent. Situation: desperate. I am completely and utterly lost.)
Perhaps… perhaps I just need some advice. Yes, advice. From someone experienced. Mature. Rational. Someone who understands the complexities of human relationships.
The next day, in an act of pure and utter desperation, I made what was probably the biggest and most regrettable tactical error of my entire life: I asked the worst possible person for help.
"So… you finally want to talk about her, eh, Titania?" Cana Alberona looked at me from across the guild table with the expression of a predator analysing an ancient mystery that has just fallen into its lap. Or, more likely, with the expression of someone who has just found their new favourite toy and is eager to see how it breaks.
"It's not about her," I lied, miserably and utterly transparently. "It's about… optimising team dynamics and minimising interpersonal distractions in the workplace. A purely strategic matter."
Cana arched an eyebrow, and a slow, fatal, mocking smile spread across her face. "Oh, of course it is. 'Minimising interpersonal distractions'. The kind that makes you look at Azra'il as if she were the last and most perfect slice of strawberry cake in Mira's kitchen, covered in whipped cream and surrounded by a moat of lava, and someone was about to steal it with a plastic spoon?"
"That… that is an overly detailed, indecent, and completely inaccurate analogy," I muttered, feeling my face flush to the roots of my hair. (Damn strawberry cake, always betraying me.)
"And it needs to be indecent to be true," she replied, taking a long swig from the barrel of wine that seemed to be a natural extension of her arm. "Now, spit it out. What did the White Wolf do this time to leave you with that look of someone who's swallowed a sword and is trying to play it cool?"
I sighed, defeated. There was no beating Cana at a game of words, especially when she was right. "She's… impossible, Cana. Simply impossible. She flirts with everyone, with Kinana, with Levy, with the waitress at that new café… She smiles as if the whole world is a private joke that only she understands. And when I look at her, it's like… everything gets confusing. Too loud. Too fast. It's irritating. Disconcerting. But, at the same time…"
"You want to kiss the irritation until it shuts up and maybe, just maybe, tear that smug smile off her face with your teeth?" Cana completed, with a precision that was both shocking and terribly accurate.
"CANA!" My protest was a squeak.
"Ah, relax, darling! Everyone feels that once in their life. It's normal. In your case, it just took about nineteen years and a hundred magical greatswords for it to happen." She leaned closer, propping her elbows on the table, with that conspiratorial smile of someone about to share some terribly irresponsible wisdom. "So, listen closely to what your Auntie Cana is about to tell you. I'm going to teach you my infallible method of seduction and survival in cases of mysterious, dangerous white wolves who make your brain short-circuit."
"I'm not at all sure I want to learn this 'method' of yours, Cana."
"Too late, you asked. Now you have to listen. Step one: find her weak spot."
"She doesn't have a weak spot," I replied, exasperated. "She is… Azra'il. She is everyone else's weak spot."
"Nonsense. Everyone has one. Mira's is a sincere compliment about her cooking, Levy's is a quote from some obscure book no one's ever read… and Azra'il's, from what I've observed with my vast experience in bar analysis, is probably good quality tea, an interesting intellectual challenge, or… teasing."
"Teasing? Cana, she is the personification of teasing! Trying to tease her would be tactical suicide! It would be like trying to drown a fish!"
"Exactly. That's why it's brilliant," she said, with the utmost naturalness.
"Exactly?!"
"My dear and naive Titania, do you want to win her game? Then you have to play on the same board. You don't beat Azra'il by trying to be stronger or more honourable. You intrigue her by being… unpredictable. When she teases you, you tease back. Not with anger. With charm. With subtlety. With her own coin."
"But I don't know how to be subtle! I'm direct! My solution to problems is usually… hitting them until they stop being problems!"
"Ah, I know, darling, I know," she said, laughing. "That's what the glorious step two is for: the look."
"The look?" I asked, feeling as if I were falling into a pit of bad advice from which I would never emerge.
"Yes, my dear. The look. When she says something that makes you go as red as your hair, when she gives you that wink that makes your heart stop, you don't look away. You don't lower your head. You 'hold' it. Firmly. For a second longer than is socially acceptable. Show her you're not intimidated. That you've seen her game. Show her you can play this game too."
"And if I… and if I just freeze? And end up looking like a frightened statue?"
"Step three, and the most important of all: cover it up with a cough. A dramatic one. Everyone coughs when they freeze up or want to escape a conversation. It's a classic. Works every time."
"Cana, with all due respect, this isn't a battle plan. This is a manual for a disaster waiting to happen, complete with public humiliation and, probably, more pinches."
"And yet, you're going to try it," she said, and her mocking smile vanished for an instant, replaced by a rare and surprising sincerity that caught me off guard. "You're going to try because you're desperate, Erza. Desperate to understand if she feels the same, even a little, or if you're just another one of her amusing pastimes."
She hit the nail on the head. Like an arrow in the centre of the target. Damn her drunken perception.
Before I could reply, before I could deny it or, more likely, just bury my face in my hands and admit defeat, a voice came from right behind me, calm, soft, with a hint of melody and absolutely, fatally, destructive.
"I feel what, exactly?"
I froze. Every muscle in my body, trained to react instantly to any threat, locked up. My blood ran cold. Slowly, very slowly, as if I were disarming a bomb with a one-second timer, I turned my head.
Azra'il.
Of course. It had to be. Standing two steps away from me. With her arms crossed over her chest, an expression of pure and innocent curiosity on her face, and that blue gaze that said "I heard every word and I can't wait to torment you with it for the next few months, or perhaps years."
"Ah," Cana smiled, the smile of a satisfied demon, and raised her barrel in a silent toast to me. "Perfect, darling. We've reached the practical part of the lesson. Good luck."
"Cana, you traitor, don't—!"
But it was too late. Far too late.
"Azra'il," Cana said, with the most blatant and shameless naturalness, as if she were just commenting on the weather. "Erza here was just telling me, with great regret, how she thinks you love to tease everyone in the guild, but she, being so noble and honourable, doesn't have the courage to tease you back, even though she really wants to. So, as a good friend, I was just teaching her some basic techniques of verbal and non-verbal counter-attack. You know, to level the playing field."
A deathly silence. I could feel the gazes of the entire guild slowly turning in our direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lucy, on the other side of the hall, already starting to giggle discreetly. Gray and Natsu, who were in the middle of another brawl, stopped with their fists in the air, with expressions of someone who has just found a much more interesting piece of gossip with a far greater potential for disaster.
Azra'il smiled. Slowly. A dangerous smile, full of teeth that I couldn't see, but felt. "Is that so, Little Red? What a… touching revelation."
"Cana… Cana exaggerates everything," I tried to argue, but my voice came out a tone higher than normal, almost a squeak of panic. (Don't freeze, Erza, don't freeze! Remember the plan! The look!)
"So you don't want to tease me? You're perfectly satisfied with our current dynamic?"
"Th-that's not what I…"
She leaned over the bar, her face dangerously close to mine. Her blue eyes, now shining with a curiosity that bordered on cruelty, pinned me. "You mean I can continue to tease as I please, without fear of any resistance? What a shame. And here I thought you enjoyed a good challenge."
"Azra'il, I swear on my honour that—" (The look, Erza, the look! Hold it!)
"Interesting." She straightened up suddenly, her smile widening. "Then it's settled."
"S-settled… what?" I asked, feeling a chill of panic and premonition run down my spine.
Her blue eyes met mine, and they were full of a challenge that was almost a promise. "Simple. I'll stop flirting with all the other girls… the exact moment you give me a better and more interesting reason to flirt only with you."
The entire bar, which had been in a funereal, almost religious silence, erupted in a deafening, unison chorus of "OOOOOOOOHHHH!" that made the ceiling tremble. Cana guffawed so loudly she nearly fell off her stool. Lucy, with no more discretion, covered her face with her hands to hide her uncontrolled laughter. And Natsu, the idiot, started shouting "LOVERS' TIFF! LOVERS' TIFF! I'LL BET 500 JEWELS ON AZRA'IL!" just to irritate me further. And me?
I just… froze. Completely. Body locked, armour feeling like it weighed a thousand kilos, brain short-circuiting, and face probably redder than my own hair, than the sun, than shame itself.
"W-w-what's… what's that?!" I managed to babble, the only sentence my collapsing brain could form.
Azra'il just gave that lazy half-smile of hers, full of victory, and walked away again with an exasperating calm, her wolf tail swaying in a slow and deliberately provocative rhythm, leaving behind the trail of emotional chaos, public humiliation, and racing hearts that was her unmistakable trademark.
Cana gave my shoulder a friendly pat, still laughing. "See? Step one and two worked perfectly. She's already got you in checkmate. The game is yours now."
"W-working perfectly?! She… she destroyed me! In public! I… I'm going to die of embarrassment before this gets any results!"
"Ah, Erza…" she said, wiping away a tear of laughter. "That's love, darling. The part that almost kills you with embarrassment and makes you want to bury yourself in a hole… is always the most fun to watch."
Another sleepless night, in my silent and solitary dormitory, I stared at the night sky through the window, thoughts buzzing in my head, the humiliation of the day still burning on my face.
After a long sigh, I threw myself onto the bed, covered my face with the pillow, and screamed. A long, muffled, frustrated, pathetic scream.
The next day, I woke with a new resolve. A clear, defined, and, I hoped, foolproof strategy. After the brilliantly orchestrated public humiliation by Cana and Azra'il, I decided to do what any responsible, logical, and emotionally stable warrior would do in my situation: completely ignore the existence of Azra'il Weiss.
Yes, it was a solid plan. Simple. Direct. Avoid the provoking agent at all costs and maintain absolute focus on the main mission (which, at the moment, was just to survive the day without having a nervous breakdown). If this tactic worked on battlefields against entire armies, it should, in theory, work against a single, irritating, white-haired woman with wolf ears. In theory.
I even noted it down in my mental diary, with the seriousness of someone planning a months-long military campaign:
Erza Scarlet Plan, version 3.0: Maintenance of Sanity and Dignity (Revised):
Do not seek out Azra'il.
Do not speak to Azra'il.
Do not look in Azra'il's direction.
Especially do not think about Azra'il's smile.
Under no circumstances, absolutely no circumstances, remember her voice saying my name like that, or that absurd, ridiculous, and utterly impossible proposal she made that, for some reason, made my heart do a triple somersault…
(...I had failed miserably and spectacularly at item 5 before I had even finished my breakfast and polished the first pauldron of my armour. It was going to be a long day.)
To try and distract my mind and escape from that minefield of emotions and provocations that was the guild, I decided a simple solo mission would be ideal. Unfortunately, the mission board seemed to have been ransacked, and the only things left were tedious tasks or ones too dangerous for a single person. So, I opted for the next best thing: shopping. A simple, practical activity, with a clear objective and, hopefully, no imminent emotional risks. Perhaps I could buy a new polish for my armours or, who knows, a slice of that famous strawberry cake Lucy was always talking about and that I hadn't had a chance to try yet. Yes, a safe mission.
Or so I thought, until I heard the unmistakable sound of a lute, echoing through Magnolia's central square. A soft, sweet melody, with that kind of complex harmony full of an ancient melancholy that seemed to wind its way into your soul and melt your brain, leaving you vulnerable and strangely at peace. And, of course, with my phenomenal luck, it had to be her.
There was Azra'il. Sitting gracefully at the edge of the large square fountain, the lute resting in her lap, her long white hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes half-closed in the sunlight, as if the morning itself had decided to pose for her, for her private delight. And, around her? A small but growing sect of worshippers. Women from the town, young and old, sighing, laughing softly, some even throwing coins into the fountain as if each coin were a silent wish, a prayer to an unlikely goddess. A fruit vendor, a stout and usually grumpy lady, was even fanning her own face with her apron, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "a divine sin with an angel's voice."
I froze in the middle of the street, feeling a kind of impotent fury and a jealousy so intense it was almost physical, a sensation I hadn't felt since the time Natsu and Gray, in one of their stupid brawls, 'accidentally' destroyed my favourite strawberry cake that I had saved to eat after a difficult mission. And, honestly, the urge to summon a hundred swords was frighteningly similar.
(Of course… of course she's here, in the middle of town, charming the entire market with a magical lute and the air of a tragic poet,) I muttered to myself, pressing my lips together so tightly it hurt. (Because, apparently, it wasn't enough to steal my sanity in private, within the safe walls of our guild. She also has to, for some sadistic reason, test my patience and my self-control in public, in front of the entire city of Magnolia.)
The music ended with one last, soft chord that seemed to make the very air of the square vibrate. And then, to my absolute horror, came the killer line, spoken in a low, poetic voice, calculated to cause the maximum possible emotional damage to her audience: "For every beautiful flower that blooms under the morning sun, there is always one, in particular, that makes me wish to stay a little longer…" Dramatic pause. I could almost hear hearts breaking. "…but, unfortunately, she has not yet realised her own brilliance."
The women in the impromptu audience sighed in a collective, romantic agony. I, on the other hand, nearly threw a particularly hard apple from a nearby stall directly at her head.
But Azra'il, as if sensing my murderous glare, slowly opened her eyes, and saw me. Ah, the gods, all of them, are cruel and love a good drama. The smile she gave me was one of pure, unadulterated emotional crime. A smile that said, "I know you're there, and I was waiting for you."
"Ah… look at that," she said, rising with all the calm and grace in the world, the sound of her voice making the heads of her newly won admirers turn in my direction like a flock of sunflowers following a new and more interesting source of light. "Speaking of stubborn flowers that take their time to bloom…"
"Don't even finish that sentence, Azra'il," I hissed, crossing my arms and marching towards her like a general heading into battle, feeling dozens of curious eyes on me. Brilliant. Now I was part of the show.
She walked up to me, the lute hanging casually from her shoulder. The ladies around began to whisper amongst themselves, probably weaving a thousand and one theories about the two of us. Azra'il smiled at them, a charming, almost regal nod, but her eyes, those impossible blue eyes, were entirely on me.
"Lady Scarlet," she said, giving an exaggerated bow that was pure mockery and made me want to punch her. "Have you come to rescue me from this overwhelming and tiresome public admiration? I'm flattered."
"I came to buy bread," I replied, my voice as dry as the desert. "And maybe a cake."
"Ah, then it's fate. I too came in search of sustenance. To spread… emotional carbohydrates, so to speak, to the masses."
"That doesn't even make the slightest bit of sense, Azra'il."
"It makes perfect sense to one who feels a constant hunger for attention and drama," she replied, with a wink that made me grind my teeth.
I took a deep breath. A very, very deep breath. The kind of breath that says, "I'm one step away from committing a homicide, but I'm going to try to stay calm because we're in public and the paperwork from the Magic Council would be a headache." "You should stop singing that kind of song in public. It's… distracting the citizens from their duties."
"Distracting? I would say… 'inspiring'."
"You're openly flirting with half the female population of Magnolia!"
"Only half?" She placed her free hand over her chest, feigning deep offence and genuine sadness. "What a disappointment. Clearly, I need to improve my average. Perhaps I should try a song about the eyes of the fishwives."
"AZRA'IL!"
"Erza." Her voice, suddenly, became lower, more intimate, despite the audience of onlookers now surrounding us. And that mocking smile gave way to something more serious, more direct. "Are you jealous?"
My brain short-circuited. "Me?! Jealous?! Don't be ridiculous!" (The muffled laughter from the small group of women was like knives to my pride. Brilliant, wonderful, perfect. Now I was the secondary entertainment of her performance, the jealous clown.)
"So you wouldn't mind in the slightest if I, say, dedicated my next and most moving song to them?" she asked, a challenging and dangerous glint in her blue eyes.
"Do whatever you please. I don't care," I replied, with a firmness I didn't feel. (Please don't do whatever you please. Please don't do whatever you please. Please, please don't humiliate me further.)
But of course she did. She turned to her impromptu audience, who by this point were completely mesmerised, and said, with the clear, resonant voice of a professional bard: "This next song, my dears, is a small, improvised tribute to a certain redhead mage who has an adorable tendency to turn the colour of her own hair whenever she gets a little… irritated. I hope she likes it."
(I am going to kill her. I am going to kill her slowly, painfully, and then I am going to break that lute into a thousand pieces and use it for kindling in the guild's fireplace.)
"You are absolutely insufferable," I said through gritted teeth, as the first soft chord of the lute echoed through the square.
"And yet, irresistible, am I not?" she replied, with a wink, before she began to sing. "Admitting it is always the first step to recovery, Little Red."
"Recovery from what?!"
"From your overwhelming and completely transparent jealousy."
"I AM NOT JEALOUS!"
"Hmm… so you don't mind if I continue my musical tribute, right?" Before I could protest, before I could simply turn my back and walk away like any sane person would, she was already following me, still playing the lute, walking backwards with an infuriating grace, her blue eyes fixed on mine with a dangerously amused glint.
"Azra'il. Do. Not. Dare."
"Ah, dear Erza, too late." She strummed the lute harder, and a more upbeat, cheekier, and terribly catchy tune began, one I had never heard before and which, I was sure, she was making up on the spot, just to torment me.
🎵 "They say that love's a burning fire, unseen and out of sight… but with red hair and a general's scowl, it's an epic blaze, day and night."
The square, which had been sighing before, now erupted in laughter and whistles. And I… I seriously considered homicide, followed by a spectacular escape to a distant, music-less realm, as a viable and extremely attractive career option.
"That… that is slander! And a terrible rhyme!" I protested, my face burning with the intensity of a miniature sun.
"It's what we call poetic licence, my dear!" she replied, laughing to the crowd, who adored her.
🎵 "There's a steel tower in Magnolia, with armour and a heart so grand, they say it's impenetrable… but I, humbly, know a secret gate that leads to damnation's land."
(What?! What gate? What damnation?! What the devil is she talking about?!)
🎵 "She wields a thousand swords with mastery, with a strength and precision without peer, but she trembles and is left without words if I get a little too near… what a sweet and adorable contradiction, my dear."
"That is a bare-faced lie! I do not tremble!" I protested, sounding pathetic even to myself, because, at that exact moment, I was, in fact, trembling a little.
"It's poetic licence based on empirical observation!" she replied, laughing to the crowd, who seemed to be loving every second of my suffering.
🎵 "Oh, our redhead is disciplined, she doesn't like a mess one bit, but I'd bet my lute that under that heavy armour… there's a lot, a lot of wit."
"AZRA'IL, STOP THIS IMMEDIATELY!"
🎵 "She talks of rules, duty, and honour, with her imposing general's pose, but the way she looks at me when she thinks no one's watching… ah, there's nothing formal in those throws!"
"I AM MONITORING YOU FOR REASONS OF GUILD SECURITY AND DISCIPLINE!" I shouted, and my voice came out so shrill I barely recognised it myself. It sounded pathetic even to my own ears.
"Shh! The chorus now, darling! Sing along!" She sang, louder, her voice clear and powerful, and, to my horror, the crowd around began to clap along to the rhythm, some even trying to sing along.
🎵 "Oh, Titania, Titania, break down that armour of yours at last!
Stop being so tough, come and taste my sweetness, make it fast!
You requip a thousand swords, but I know, deep down, without your steel,
That your greatest and most secret weakness… is my own appeal!"
The people in the street were literally crying with laughter. A group of merchants was whistling and applauding enthusiastically. And I… I wanted the ground to swallow me. Whole. And to spit me out in another dimension, preferably one without music, without crowds, and especially, without white-haired mages with a sick sense of humour.
"Azra'il! You are…!" I said through gritted teeth, when the music finally died down.
"Irresistibly charming, am I not?" she replied, with a wink that made my heart do a somersault.
"I'm going to break that lute of yours into a thousand little pieces," I threatened, with no conviction whatsoever.
"Ah, but the best and most romantic verse is coming now, Erza… You wouldn't want to miss it." She drew closer, her voice becoming a sung whisper, just for me, as the lute played a soft, intimate melody.
🎵 "And if one day, who knows, she finally gives in, and we, at last, can be,
I promise to requip some kisses on her… that she'll never, ever want to set free."
I froze. Completely. My brain stopped functioning. The air refused to enter my lungs. The entire square, which seemed to have heard the whisper somehow, exploded in a chorus of laughter, whistles, and applause. And Azra'il, completely satisfied with the emotional chaos she had created, ended the song with one last, soft chord, giving a theatrical bow to her impromptu audience, as if she had just concluded the greatest opera of the century.
"Thank you, thank you, lovely people of Magnolia! And please, thank my adorable and extremely shy redhead muse, who, as you can see by her catatonic expression, clearly approved of the performance!"
"You… you are… a musical crime," I managed to say, my voice no more than a hoarse whisper.
"And yet, you didn't walk away, did you?" she whispered back, now walking calmly beside me, as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't just humiliated me and left me breathless in front of half the city.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Relax, Little Red. I'm just teaching you how to handle teasing. It's part of the training." She smiled. "Next time, who knows, I might do a slower ballad. Much slower. Full of metaphors about armour and the secret desire they have to be… 'penetrated'… by the truth."
"IF YOU DO THAT, AZRA'IL WEISS, I SWEAR I WILL—"
But it was too late. I was already laughing. A laugh that was half impotent fury, half a complete and utter surrender. Idiot. Beautiful, insufferable, terribly talented, repeat-offending, and musically armed to the teeth idiot.
That night, before sleeping, I took out my diary. With hands still trembling a little, I wrote:
(Field Report – Mission: Buy Bread)
New threat identified: Azra'il Weiss (musical and poetic class, danger level: apocalyptic for my dignity).
Enemy Tactics: Charm, sarcasm, catchy music, and emotionally destabilising provocations.
State of My Defences: Critically and irremediably compromised.
Recommended Course of Action: Confiscate the lute by any means necessary. Consider the possibility of sabotaging the strings. And, maybe… maybe ask her to play the last verse again. Alone. Just for a more in-depth tactical analysis, of course. Purely professional.
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Author's Note 💘🐺⚔️ + Confessions of a Gamer in Denial
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Okay, first of all: sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. 😭
I swear I haven't abandoned you all, nor have I left Azra'il and Erza at the altar of the eternal cliffhanger.
What happened was this, Your Honour:
I'm swamped writing the Bilgewater arc in the Runeterra fanfic, and that thing has turned into a 37-tentacled sea monster demanding daily attention.
I made the fatal mistake of starting a new game called Where Winds Meet… and now my brain is permanently living in Wuxia mode.
As if that weren't enough, this game is poking at my author's soul and screaming:
"DROP EVERYTHING AND WRITE THE NOVEL OF AZRA'IL'S LIFE IN SHÉNVARA RIGHT NOW!!"
I, for now, am resisting. For now. I'm itching to start another project and never see the light of day again. 😂
So yes, if you feel that Azra'il is getting more and more dangerous with a lute in hand, know that half of it is Runeterra's fault and the other half is the fault of Wuxia, wind, swords, and my questionable self-control.