It was already strange enough for a boy to be walking around the populated streets with an armed sword. Luckily, Michael found that out quickly before he could be apprehended from the local guards. He didn't have a sheathe for Evelyn so the only way for him to walk around with no weird looks was to have her transform back into her physical body, somewhere in an alley where nobody was looking.
Obviously, there was absolutely no way he would show that in front of a crowd of people.
"This is weird," Evelyn said, walking beside him. "I don't like this…can you turn me back into a sword?"
Michael held her hand passing through the crowd. "What's wrong?"
"There's…" she hesitated. "There's a lot of people."
Was Evelyn scared of other people? Michael would have never guessed, judging from the outburst she had pulled back in that nobleman's room. But then he remembered she was trapped in that cellar for a while collecting dust and isolated from the world.
"Don't worry," he said. "They're just…people?"
She moved closer to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Michael didn't even know himself. He admitted moving through this crowd made him just as scared as Evelyn. The only time Michael ever walked around in Alanor was whenever it was night, because then the commoners wouldn't be outside.
The guards in the union made sure all of the slaves stayed inside, unless called for work, so they wouldn't stain the image of the town. So, obviously, Michael would sneak out during dark and explore for himself. He would run into other commoners but mainly drunks and the homeless that were just as messed up like him. This new setting felt foreign to him.
"You okay?" she shook his hand around. "Why'd we stop moving?"
Michael snapped back awake. Even the people starting to inch around them like they were lost. Their clothes looked different as well, like each of Wilmere's cities and towns had its own unique style of appearance.
"Sorry," Michael held her hand again. "I was thinking about something."
"And you say I'm the crazy one." she mumbled.
They walked through the streets of Aldoria, exploring new sights that Michael never had seen. There were public attractions, hollering salesmen that advertised some gimmick product, fancy horses carrying what looked like nobles, and buildings more fresh than the ones at Alanor. This place just seemed to have more life during the day. Michael even thought he was having fun himself and glancing over at Evelyn, holding her hand, she seemed to be enjoying this too.
"I never knew about this," Evelyn gazed around the buildings. "I thought you humans were still at war."
"War?" he turned to her. "Where did you get that from?"
"It's…what I remember."
Michael tried to make up his mind where she had come from. But all there was to see was some barrel filled with cheap swords.
"I remember being really sad about it," she said. "But I don't feel anything from it. It's like I wasn't even here to experience any of it."
"How long did you stay as a sword, before you met me?"
"Maybe," she frowned. "Eighty-something years? I dunno."
Michael felt his face drop into the ground. Everything that he thought he knew about this girl was thrown out the window. From how pretty she looked, how soft her hands were, and from even calling this thing a girl.
But she was looking at him, confused why his jaw was hanging open. She just told him that she had lived eighty years, meaning Michael wasn't even the first person that she unknowingly cursed. Did all people who used magical swords die? Has she been draining their life to live this long?
Michael stared at his hand. Was it that feeling? Was that how she was sucking his youth out of him?
"Are you sure you're okay?" she leaned to his eyes. "You look like you're about to throw up."
He slowly pried his hand away. "Are you—really a girl?"
"What?" she almost looked offended. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm only fifteen," Michael trembled. "How many more years did you take away from me?"
Evelyn groaned. "Are we having this talk again?"
Michael doomed the thought of being cursed in his mind. From the moment he thought he was freed of being a slave, just so happens he signs his life away again to some evil witch talking about wars and living forever. She disguises herself as a young girl to appeal to him and even holds his hand to comfort his boyish fantasies.
This was all unfolding right in front of him, and he happened to fall for every single string she pulled.
Evelyn groaned even louder and pulled him by the collar. Michael squirmed, trying to free himself from her grip. For some reason, she was stronger than him despite being just as short. She didn't care how Michael cried about being dragged into some stray alleyway and even minded the looks the commoners gave them.
Watching a girl drag a helpless boy alone by themselves couldn't raise any more questions.
"Alright, spit it out," she demanded him. "Do I have to transform to know what you're thinking?"
Michael looked around the alley. They were alone, his back against the wall, and she looked threatening enough to pull the truth out of him. Just feeling the way she pulled him against his will convinced Michael that there was no way to escape. Either he would be drained more of his childhood or be beaten up, then most likely drained again.
"You're…" he gulped. "Pretty?"
Evelyn looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"
Michael thought pulling into compliments would get him out of this.
"You think you're cursed, right? You think I've been bonding with other people so that'd make me live longer?"
Michael couldn't tell what his face looked like but she definitely knew she cracked right through him.
"I'm an ego sword, stupid," she poked his chest hard. "I told you before, how many times do I have to tell you again?"
"How are you eighty years old and you look like—"
"Like this?" she presented herself. "This is just what I look like. What, you don't like what you see?"
Michael gulped.
"I am an ego sword. I don't age. If it makes you feel any better, you're the first person that I've bonded with."
"So…" he pieced it together in his head. "Then that means—"
"I've been a sword for eighty years, waiting to choose somebody that would be right. That somebody is you. This is the first time I've ever had the chance to actually walk and touch the world."
Michael felt horrible. He would imagine himself, stuck as a sword and could only watch the world pass by you. For eighty years, she's been waiting for somebody to pick her up. Just so happens that Michael was there at the right time.
And the same boy she has chosen was ungrateful and didn't know any better. She even looked kind of down revealing she hasn't chosen anybody else but Michael.
"I'm sorry," he said. "If I sounded mean to you—ow, hey! I said—ow!"
She hit him again. "You probably thought I was cursed again, right? I told you that I'm not cursed!"
Michael felt like he was smiling while pleading for her to stop. Compared to how hard she was dragging him back here, she was hitting softer than usual. He even heard a speck of laughter in her voice while she pulled his hair around.
"Hey, you naughty kids!" a voice shouted on top. It must have been one of the residents in the alley.
Evelyn looked up, holding Michael still.
"How about you two get wrecked somewhere else, other than in my alley!"
She scoffed. "What's he saying?"
Michael grabbed her hand. "I think it means to get out of here."