Page 25 of Myths and Manuscripts
A small smile tugged at his lips. “That sounds nice.”
It did sound nice. We could explore the village more, try out some tasty food, and get ideas for his story. It honestly almost sounded like a–no. I was not going on a date with the Demon Lord! This was work. Just gathering information for my book, that’s all.
I busied myself with putting a pot of water on the stove and dicing up the vegetables. Little bits of skin still remained on all of them, like he’d never peeled vegetables before. Not that he’d admit that, of course. It felt like everything was a new experience for him and I was determined to make them good ones. Everyone deserved happy memories to drown out the inevitable bad ones. Even a Demon Lord.
If only I had some chicken stock or bouillon. Something to really make this soup pop, because right now, it tasted more like hot vegetable water.
I rummaged through the cabinets, searching for spices or salt or anything that could liven the dish up, but found nothing. Besides a few pots and utensils, the room was empty.
“What do you usually cook with?” I frowned at yet another empty cabinet. “There’s nothing here. How do you eat?”
“When I go into the library? It’s not really a big deal. I don’t need much.”
“Don’t need much?” I sighed. “You really don’t take careof yourself well, you know that? Honestly, what have you been doing this whole time?”
He turned his back, searching for something in the cabinets. Since they were empty, it felt more like he was avoiding the question. Maybe I shouldn’t have pried, but how did he think this was okay? He slept on a stone slab and now he didn’t even seem to eat? That wasn’t how anyone should be living, especially not somebody like him. He might seem grumpy, but I could see the kindness in him too. He’d asked me to be his writer because he believed in me. He believed that I could write him a better ending than anyone else.
Maybe part of that was getting him to believe in himself too. Believe that he deserved a good life. Why else was he doing all this? He’d said something about wanting an ending worthy of a Demon Lord, but that couldn’t be the whole story, right? He had to want more than an impressive ending; he probably wanted a good ending too. A happy one.
Or maybe that’s whatIwanted for him...
I stirred the hot vegetable water. There had to be something I could do for him. Something like....
“Hey, Demon Lord?” I waited for him to turn towards me. “Is there something else I can call you? Demon Lord feels so official and I think we’ve gotten close enough to drop the formalities. I mean, we are about to eat dinner together and I did follow you into a book of all things.”
“Demon Lord is fine,” he said gruffly. “It’s the only name I’ve got.”
“That can’t be right.” I paused, thinking back on the previous books. The Demon Lord really had only ever been called just that, like a dramatic name to frighten children. “Huh, okay, so maybe we start there. Let’s give you a name!” I glanced down at Cinder, getting an idea so silly I couldn’t help but grin. “What about Lord Shadowbuns?”
He rolled his eyes, sinking onto one of the stools by a small wooden table in the corner.
“Okay, so not that name,” I said, chuckling. “Maybe Sir Broodsalot then.”
As I bounced various names off him, each sillier than the last to lighten the mood, I poured two bowls of soup and took a carrot over to the table for Cinder too. The demon bunny’s red eyes lit up as she took it in her furry little paws to nibble on. The Demon Lord eyed the soup like he wasn’t sure if it would be edible, but dug in anyway, barely even giving it time to cool. I picked up a spoon and blew on it, sipping on the kind of watery, but not half bad concoction.
The soup was warm, at least, and comforting. It reminded me of Gran. What would she do in this situation?
Pry into his personal life, probably, in a loving way of course.
“If you don’t use the kitchen much,” I said, swirling the soup in my bowl, “and you don’t care about a good night’s rest, whatdoyou do for fun around here?”
He blinked. “For fun?”
“Yeah, you know, the thing that makes life worth living?” I frowned as he averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in Cinder, even going so far as to feed her a chunk of carrot from his soup. “You do have fun sometimes, don’t you? Like hang out with friends or read a good book?”
“Of course I do,” he snapped. “I’ve read almost every book in the library.”
I nodded, eating my soup slowly. I knew for a fact that the story spirits weren’t at the library all the time. Each of them spent at least a portion of their day inside their books, to sleep and recover, but also to let the library rest and give others a chance to come out. Plus, the villagers had been shocked to see him, which meant he probably didn’t go outside much...
So, what did he do all day?
He lifted his bowl of soup, drinking the last of the watery broth. If I didn’t ask him soon, this little cozy dinner of ours would be over and I might lose my nerve.
“Could we, maybe, visit the village tomorrow?”
He pinned me with a death stare.
I froze with my spoon halfway to my lips, my mouth suddenly so dry I had to get a glass of water. “I mean, the villagers seemed pretty excited to see you, and I could really use some supplies. Like paper and a pen. You know, to write your book?”
