Closing Time at The Last Drop

           Being the chosen one came with all sorts of downsides. On one hand, Mirella was accustomed to her family members scrutinizing her every move, poised for the opportunity to rise to power. On the other, she didn’t expect it to be so difficult to find privacy to read. Skulking around the dark corners of Nighthollow Manor offered no respite.

           “Romance novels again, Mirella?” her mother chided. “Certainly, you’ve read enough to know how to ensnare a lover. Isn’t it time you fulfilled the prophecy?”

           She ignored Lady Nighthollow’s command. Her mother would never understand. Romance novels were all Mirella had; real, true love was an impossibility for the chosen one. She donned the hood of her favorite cloak, tucked the book under her arm, and slipped through the wrought-iron gates into the darkness.  

           Darkrune Village offered many delights for a discerning agent of chaos. The library housed an unbeatable collection of references to assist in executing dastardly deeds: catalogs of curses, handbooks of improvised weapons, and procedures for staging dramatic exits and entrances. It was the latter that made it unsuitable for readers. Every time Mirella turned a page, people swept in through a slamming door or burst from a balcony in a cloud of smoke.

           The coffee shop-slash-apothecary carried a certain ambiance, but Mirella was never quite sure if the libations on offer were meant to be energizing or medicinal. Her family’s name was well-known enough that the wizened proprietor wouldn’t take any chances to incur their wrath, but Mirella already had her preferred destination.

           The Last Drop was perfect for sustained silent reading. The pub’s amber lighting gilded the distractions in a place where debauchery was highly encouraged. Tonight, an orc and a dwarf alternated clinking glasses and trading punches at a high-top table. A raiding party of seven men with varying volumes of facial hair and body odor rallied at a table in the corner. The Last Drop was unlikely to be their last destination for the evening.

Mirella slid onto a stool, carefully avoiding splinters from the rough-hewn bartop. She signaled the bartender. Grothar returned wordlessly with her usual spiced red ale. She sighed into her glass and opened her book.      

She hadn’t turned more than a dozen pages when a member of the raiding party sidled up alongside her.

“Incoming,” Grothar muttered, his eyes glowing. “C’mon, Mirella. It’s time.”

The dueling orc and dwarf pulled their punches and watched with interest.

        “What are you reading?” The raider breathed boozily down her neck.

           “Commonplace Curses for Common Pests like yourself,” Mirella replied, drawing her hood around her face.

           “Friendly one, aren’t you? Maybe a fresh drink will make you friendlier.” He slid a few coins across the bar.

 Grothar ripped his gaze from the coins to another approaching raider. His face split in a wide grin.

“Is this guy bothering you, miss?” the newcomer asked.

His tall frame cast a shadow across Mirella’s book. She snapped it shut and glared at this self-appointed knight in shining armor. On closer inspection, he was a caricature of a prince from a fairy tale: hair that flopped just so, chiseled jaw, wide, light eyes. Not to mention muscles from hours of swordplay. Definitely a tourist.

She was going to make him regret opening his mouth. She would make them all pay for interrupting her solitude with their unearned egos.

She dropped her hood and rose from her chair, peering at Prince Charming behind lowered lashes. A blonde tendril drifted in front of her face and she tossed it away with a giggle and a winning smile.

“And how should I address my conquering hero?” she cooed.

The bar’s amber light flickered.

“Ce-Cedric,” he stammered. The orc and dwarf cackled maniacally. Their hands drifted to their weapons.

Mirella draped her arm over Cedric’s shoulder, the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck rough against her palm. She drew him close, her heart racing. He smelled of woodsmoke and eucalyptus.

Voices surged in her head, sounding suspiciously like her mother. Yes, yes, fulfill the prophecy. Another voice drowned it out. He’s NOT worth it.

Cedric stumbled from her embrace; palms raised in surrender.

Mirella blinked. She slumped in her chair and returned to her book. The bar patrons groaned, then shuffled back to their revelry.

“That’ll be just one drink for me,” the raider said before rushing back to his table. The rest of the party whispered together with their heads bent.

Cedric turned to leave.

“Sit, please,” Mirella said quietly.

Grothar brought Cedric one of Mirella’s amber ales. “On the house.”

He accepted the beverage, shrugged, and sat down. They sipped in silence for a moment.

“What happened back there?” Cedric spoke. “I don’t get out to Darkrune very often, and admittedly I’ve been drinking. Do you have some hallucinogenic grain alcohol I’m unfamiliar with?”

“I almost cursed you,” Mirella said.

“Cursed? I think you meant kissed.”

“Same thing.”

“It most certainly is not,” Cedric replied. “But if you’re planning to try again, I’d like to be introduced properly first.”

“I’m Mirella, and don’t push your luck. Or anyone elses’.” She leveled another glare at him. “You don’t actually want to kiss me, you’re just here to walk on the wild side and traipse back to whatever kingdom you came from.”

“Fair enough.” Cedric took a long sip, then shook his floppy hair. “Actually, no. I will push my luck. Everyone else seemed—delighted, for lack of a better word, to see you getting close to somebody.”

Mirella rolled her eyes. “They’re sadists and ruffians.”

He choked on his beer. “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

“Nobody would know. A kiss from me is prophesied to bring about the end times.”

“Is that all?” He snorted, then caught her expression meant for poisoning wells. “Oh, you’re serious. Then thank you for sparing me and everyone else in here.” He tipped his glass in her direction.

“I don’t want to, for the record,” Mirella blurted, a blush creeping over her cheeks. “Bring about the end times.” She took a large glug of her drink. It felt good to talk about this.

Cedric nodded. “Like I said, we’re all grateful.”

“Only you’re grateful. Everybody in this bar— in this town, even— would love the end times. They think that will be their time to shine: all that looting, plunder, and chaos. It’s all I’ve been hearing about since birth.”

He studied her: the cloak she wore like armor, and the book splayed on the bar. Cedric drained his glass and propped his chin on his hand.

“Just my luck. I traipse down from my ivory tower to walk on the wild side, as you say, and instead of meeting the most fearsome witch in the kingdom, I meet a fragile flower running from her life’s work.”

Mirella’s blush mottled her throat. “I’m not delicate. Empathy takes strength. Everybody in the kingdom should worship me every golden morning.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. But if you were given this prophecy, that means it’s going to come true one way or another. So why fight it?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Mirella’s voice sliced through the bar chatter, sharp as cut glass. Hopeful eyes turned their way again.

“What does ‘end times’ mean, anyway?” Cedric made air quotes with his fingers. “I doubt a cinnamon roll— sorry, an empathetic soul— like you could do any real damage. Maybe it’s a new beginning, not an apocalyptic event.”

Mirella fumed silently. Unbothered, he continued.

“I dare you to kiss somebody in here. It doesn’t have to be me.  I want to see what happens.”

She smirked. “It doesn’t work like that. My family has worked with seers for generations. The prophecy is more specific: True love’s kiss will bring about the end times.”

“Ah. True love.” Cedric returned the smirk. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about, then. Go on, kiss me. Let’s get a good whiff of that sulphur and brimstone.”

“Maybe I will.” Mirella edged her bar stool closer to his. She leaned in, pausing with her lips above his.

Behind the bar, Grothar did a double take in their direction. His eyebrows disappeared into his snarled hair.

“What are you getting out of this, anyway? A kiss? The trouble you came looking for?” Mirella whispered against his lips.

“Something like that,” Cedric murmured.  

Mirella closed the distance between them. His lips curved upward as they collided with hers.

The amber light flickered again, then went dark. The bar erupted into cheers.

Mirella deepened the kiss and found the upside of the the end times— it tasted like spiced ale.