Narnar invited me into her personal parlor.
The room overflowed with luxurious gifts from the baron, refined and elegant. The {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} teacups were ornate, and the tea leaves within them fragrant beyond compare.
Just a day ago, her hospitality toward me had been almost nonexistent. The reason for this sudden change in attitude was obvious.
“I heard from the baron. Sir Teo, you’re apparently quite an extraordinary figure.”
Narnar chuckled softly—huhu. Her smile was quite enchanting. It made sense that if someone saw that smile every day, they might fall in love.
Of course, having seen Ayra and the other ladies—women famed for their beauty—the charm had less of an effect on me.
“So, Sir Teo. You said you had something to ask me?”
“Well... Miss Narnar, you’ve grown into a large imp. I’ve encountered quite a few imps in my time. So I can say with confidence just how unusual you are.”
At my words, Narnar gently spun her teacup with her long, slender fingers. Then, as if murmuring to herself, she said quietly:
“You’ve seen many imps... Well, of course. You’re supposedly Teo Gospel of Angmar. I heard from Marmar that you claim to be the protector of all imps.”
“You could say that.”
At my answer, the headmistress Narnar suddenly laughed. It was a small, delicate laugh, like wildflowers swaying in the wind.
“How amusing. Then would you also try to protect an imp like me, one who’s grown so large?”
“If you were willing, Miss Narnar.”
“But I don’t need that anymore. I no longer need anyone’s help. I protected this monastery with my own strength. With my own hands.”
Narnar overflowed with self-assurance. You could call it the unique confidence—or even arrogance—of someone who had built themselves up from nothing.
Imps usually took to me quite well. But I hadn’t expected that there might be one who didn’t show me any goodwill. Was a grown imp truly something else entirely?
She said,
“You asked how I grew so large. But I’d rather ask the opposite. Sir Teo... Marmar... How is it that you two have managed to remain such small children in this world?”
“What do you mean...?”
“I envy you. People like you who can remain ignorant—who get to stay children. If I had met you instead of them... maybe I too could have ended up like Marmar...”
Whatever she was about to say, Narnar abruptly fell silent.
Then she pulled out a thick cigarette from somewhere, placed it between her lips, and lit it. The sight made her seem less like a monastery headmistress and more like a glamorous spy from an old movie.
If Marmar had never met me, would she have become like Narnar?
I tried to picture a grown-up Marmar in my head—but the image refused to form, so I gave up.
Nhhh.
Blowing out a stream of smoke, Narnar said,
“You’ve probably heard already. About how the monastery’s residents were scattered because of Baron Voltaire.”
“I’ve heard, yes.”
“It’s easy to imagine what happens to children suddenly cast out into the streets. That winter, I had to bury my own siblings in the frozen ground.”
“.......”
“I could have ended up the same way. But too many children believed in me. So I couldn’t die. I did whatever it took to survive. Some things... I would’ve preferred death over.”
“Were you... experimented on or brainwashed by the Roman Anti-Ekk monks?”
Narnar’s expression faltered briefly. She hadn’t expected me to strike so directly.
Did she underestimate me?
Well, I’ve been through my fair share too. To reclaim the lead in this conversation, I pressed forward.
“There are movements to enthrone the Archbishop of Roman as the new Saint. You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”
Narnar gave a small smirk.
“I didn’t even know your name, Sir Teo. I want to say I couldn’t care less about archbishops and saints. But yes, I’d heard something... vaguely.”
“Then you probably know what they’re up to. The world could fall into chaos. If you cooperate, you’ll be well rewarded.”
“Hmm... a reward...”
At my words, Narnar elegantly crossed her legs. My eyes instinctively shifted as the firm lines of her thighs came into view. She was doing it on purpose. She knew men well.
She said,
“You don’t need to go to such trouble. You could just make me talk. I’m sure someone like you has the power and authority to do that.”
“Someone once said forcing a woman is hardly gentlemanly behavior. I agree with that.”
“Voltaire. That stupid, idiotic man.”
Suddenly, her face was filled with pure contempt. I was surprised. When Baron Voltaire spoke of her, he seemed like a shy schoolboy—eyes sparkling, mouth awkwardly smiling.
But when Narnar spoke of him, she sounded like someone talking about her worst enemy. Maybe to her, he was.
I asked,
“You’re using Voltaire. You couldn’t forgive the man who drove you out of the monastery, could you?”
“I’m sure he knows. That I’m using him. Marmar probably figured it out too. That’s why she was angry with me. She’s that kind of friend.”
She was far scarier than I’d imagined.
I spoke with Narnar for quite a while.
***
About how she, as a child, ended up in the Holy See of Roman. And all that she witnessed within. She claimed her growth into an adult imp was due to various experiments.
“Teo Gospel, do you know why nymphs—and their offshoots like imps—remain childlike in appearance?”
“...No.”
“They say it’s a divine curse. That nymphs were once a depraved and licentious race. So the god of light and salt cursed them to remain forever as children. That part... is half true.”
“Half true?”
“Nymphs were cursed. About a thousand years ago. Their numbers dwindled over time. Now there are hardly any left. But the curse... is weakening.”
The curse is weakening? Talk of gods and curses felt unreal to me. Honestly, I’m an agnostic.
I’ve never had time to contemplate gods or higher powers—life has always thrown more immediate concerns at me.
Narnar continued.
“A new millennium will begin soon, Teo Gospel. Even without the Holy See’s interference, the world is headed for chaos. Roman just wants to control it.”
“You know a lot more than I expected.”
“The age of David and the Long Light is coming to an end. A new age of rules will begin. I’m telling you all this so easily because... well, as individuals, we can’t stop it anyway.”
She laughed like it was all just amusing. A cruel, primal laugh—like someone stomping a sandcastle their friend had worked hard to build.
I asked,
“Is this monastery also involved in all of this?”
She shook her head.
“This place... is a final refuge for someone who’s tired. A home where I can watch the end of everything. Believe it or not, the people here have nothing to do with it. And what I know... ends here.”
Then, Narnar stood and pulled out a sheet of paper. She wrote something down, then handed it to me and snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray.
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