126 This Is Mildred Hopcaper? (1/2)

Mildred woke up with a throbbing head. His brain – well, to put it bluntly, it felt like someone had stuck a stick inside and stirred up his insides. The Wererabbit Elder tried hard to recall what had happened, only to be met with shocks of pain every time he did more than breathe.

The pain was all-encompassing and was something that he had never felt before in his life. The Elder tried to move his hand to cradle his head, hoping to block out some of the harsh light, but was unable to do so.

Mildred, ”?”

The light that was filtering into his brain from beneath his eyelids made him feel like someone was taking a hammer and slamming it into his head repeatedly. In the corner of his mind, he was aware that there was something very wrong with this situation, but he could not string together a coherent thought even if his life depended on it.

Mildred had no idea how long passed before he finally woke up, deigning it time to crack open his eyes when his brain stopped throbbing so violently. Squinting at the light, what he saw shocked him as pieces of his memory flooded back in.

”You…” Mildred said, his voice hoarse. ”You faked your deaths.”

He thought that his words would have provoked some sort of reaction, or a flinch of sorts, but the only thing that greeted him was the impassive faces and expressions of the three people that had been a thorn in his side for the longest time.

Inwardly unnerved at the silence, Mildred's eyes darted from face to face, looking for a reaction. When there was none, a sense of fear crept up on him, followed by indignity and humiliation. Could he have been dancing along to their tune from the very start?

Mildred thought that he had them under his control, but could it be that he was the one dancing in the palm of their hands? How long had this been going on? How long since they knew his innermost thoughts, his ambitions, his sacrifice?

The Elder swallowed, his throat sandpaper dry.

The indignation and humiliation that was burning within his chest caused him to feel lightheaded. These – kids – had been playing him for the longest time, and it was only when he was the most complacent where he slipped up. He should never have gone looking for the bodies to secure evidence that they were really dead.

Mildred should have stayed in the Hopcaper tribe where the people loved him, where he had a say in everyone's lives, and be the one saviour to them when the undead threatened to break down their walls and foundations.

Lost as he was in his pain and thoughts; Mildred did not notice that he had been rambling out loud. His brain to mouth filter had been shot, causing him to spill every single thought that went through his mind without any filter whatsoever.

Psyber's hand trembled slightly before she clenched it. Just how deep did this corruption go? Just how far would he go to play the perfect image of a benevolent Elder in their minds? Most importantly, how could they not have seen it at all? There had been no signs, nor any actions on his part.

Just how blind had they been? It had taken Nine coming, an outsider, for them to see who this person really was. It made Psyber feel cold, the way a seemingly benevolent old man had been warped in such a way that made her feel like everything was a lie.

Nine studied Mildred with indifferent eyes. There was something about him that was niggling on her consciousness. It wasn't anything overt, but the presence of Mephisto's toxins in his blood gave her a strange dissonant feeling emitting from the Elder's body.