Keal lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the cottage like it owed him rent. His arms were folded dramatically over his chest, and his face twisted into the deepest pout known to mankind.
"I have no friends," he announced to the rafters, "and this wooden beam has more personality than the neighbor's cat."
He kicked his legs off the side of the bed and trudged across the floor. "Even the chair ignores me. Rude."
Nylessa, who was seated near the window sipping tea, raised a brow. "Talking to furniture again, Keal?"
"Nylessa," he began, throwing his arms wide as if performing Shakespeare, "I'm a young, dashing, incredibly handsome boy with charm, intellect, and a heart full of romance."
"You're eight," she replied, sipping her tea.
"Exactly! Prime age for heartbreak. And yet—" he pointed dramatically to the window "—the world denies me even a single loyal companion."
"You have me."
"You're my beautiful gothic mother. That's different."
Nylessa paused, the cup halfway to her lips. "...Did you just call me your beautiful gothic mother?"
Keal blinked. "I did. Accidentally. But I stand by it."
Nylessa smirked. "Flattery won't get you out of chores."
"It was worth a try," he mumbled, shuffling his way to the table.
There was a long silence.
Keal sighed again—loudly this time, in case the heavens missed it.
"I tried talking to a rock today. Do you know what it said?"
"I'm guessing nothing."
"Exactly. Nothing! Cold. Heartless. Probably a Capricorn."
Nylessa chuckled. "Maybe the rock was just shy."
"Then it should've written a poem or something! I gave it a flower!"
"You gave a rock a flower?"
Keal turned away. "We don't talk about that."
He pressed his forehead against the cool wooden table. "I even tried to befriend the chickens. They pecked me. It was a toxic relationship."
"You'll find friends, Keal. You're… persistent."
"Persistent is what adults say when they can't say 'annoying' because the child is in the room."
Nylessa smiled softly. "Maybe. But persistent also means you don't give up."
Keal sat up, suddenly inspired. "I need to go on a journey."
Nylessa set her cup down carefully. "Keal, we've talked about this."
"A spiritual journey. Inside my mind. To find the hidden reasons why I am so devastatingly lonely."
"You were literally just rejected by a group of eight-year-olds yesterday."
"They were twelve. Which means they're basically adults. And I respect elders."
"They called you a weirdo."
"They were intimidated by my potential."
"They said your hair looked like a squished mushroom."
Keal paused, then ruffled his own hair in distress. "It's not even that mushroomy!"
"It is… a little fluffy."
"It's volume, Nylessa. Volume!"
He stood and paced the room like a general in crisis. "I must become more. Smarter. Cooler. Fancier. That way, the world won't reject me."
Nylessa sighed. "Keal, you don't have to change to make friends."
"I want the kind of friend who laughs at my jokes! Who says I have good hair! Who doesn't throw sticks at me when I flirt!"
She raised an eyebrow. "You flirted with twelve-year-old girls by asking how they were doing."
"I said it very suavely! Like, 'Heeey, how you doin'?'" He leaned against the wall with a wink. "It's called charisma."
"They called you a gremlin."
"I'm a charming gremlin!"
Nylessa shook her head, amused. "You're something, alright."
Keal threw himself back into the chair with theatrical despair. "I need to go to a magic academy."
Nylessa choked on her tea. "Excuse me?"
"If I go to a magic academy, I can make friends! I can become the greatest battle mage of all time! I'll be powerful! Respected! Feared! And then—" he clasped his hands dreamily "—I'll marry a beautiful princess."
"Oh dear."
"Or five princesses. I'm flexible."
Nylessa pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're eight."
"And yet my vision is timeless."
He stood, arms crossed confidently. "I will study. I will train. I will rise. And then—"
Nylessa interrupted, "You need to be twelve to even apply to a prestigious academy."
Keal froze. "...Twelve?"
"Yes."
His hands slowly dropped to his sides. "So I have to wait four more years?"
"Correct."
"I'll be an old man by then!"
"You'll be twelve."
Keal collapsed to the floor, staring at the ceiling again. "This is a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions."
"You haven't read Shakespeare."
"But I feel it in my soul."
There was silence again.
Nylessa returned to her tea, but peeked at him over the rim. "Still want to go to the academy?"
"Yes."
"Still want to marry a princess?"
"Yes."
"Still feeling lonely?"
Keal rolled over and looked up at her. "...A little. But maybe that's okay. Because if I wasn't lonely, I wouldn't be dreaming this big."
Nylessa gave a small smile. "That's surprisingly wise."
"I have moments."
"Short ones."
He sat up. "But even if I'm lonely, at least I have you, Nylessa."
She smiled. "That's very sweet."
"I mean, you're not a princess, but you do have queen energy."
"Oh please."
"A tragic backstory, dark wardrobe, hidden power? You're like a hot novel character."
"Keal."
"I'm just saying if I was fifteen years older and not your son—"
"KEAL."
"Shutting up."
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