Adoption

The silent study was carpeted in reddish-brown wool. Morning light slanted through the window and fell across the figure behind the desk.

Fine dust drifted through the air. In the sunlight, a slender, delicate hand held a wineglass, and blood-red liquid swirled gently inside it.

An intricate dark-purple hexagram abruptly appeared before the desk, shattering the study's stillness. Space split open, and a tall figure in dark purple emerged from the void.

She had a graceful figure, a whip-like tail, and cloven hooves. Her narrow eyes fixed seductively on the person behind the desk.

Just as the mood was turning intimate, it ended at the succubus's parted purple lips:

"Blub, blub—"

Something cool struck his face. Wine sloshed in the glass, and the young, handsome man froze. "What...?"

The succubus licked her lips with a nimble tongue. "Blub, blub, blub-blub-blub—"

More spittle sprayed freely onto his cheeks, carrying a stench fouler than mud.

The young man instinctively raised a hand to block it. Then the boy curled up in a haystack woke from his dream gone rotten.

A pig trotted past, wagging its tail and giving off the same smell as the succubus. "Oink, oink."

The boy sank back into the still-warm straw, longing for its warmth and the succubus.

His loose blue pajamas were stained, and mud flecked his black hair, leaving it gray.

The sky beyond the straw shelter was overcast, and light rain pattered down. Water dripped through a hole in the roof; the mud it splashed up was partly to blame for waking him.

Today was his third day in this world, after passing through that door.

He had spent hours wandering the grassy woodland in a body several years younger, searching in vain for the culprit that had appeared from nowhere and vanished: an ornate wooden door. Unwilling to remain in a forest full of howling wolves after dark, Annan had followed a dirt road at dusk to a town that looked medieval.

Thus began his grand, perilous, fantastical life of going hungry.

This was not the Middle Ages as he knew them.

The residents and travelers had unusual skin and eye colors, and the language they spoke was nothing he recognized.

"Oink—"

A filthy pig's head poked out from behind the fence beneath a ramshackle hut nearby.

But pigs were still pigs, and the sun and moon were still there.

Annan waved to it. As the drizzle began to let up, he climbed out of the straw and prepared for another day's work.

Parting the straw beneath him, Annan took the copper coins he had earned over the past two days and slipped them into his pocket.

The dark sky after the rain was hazy, and the damp air blowing in with the wind made him shiver.

Annan pulled his dirty, damp pajamas tight around himself and followed a narrow alley running with sewage to the town's busiest street. There, he settled familiarly among a group of ragged, foul-smelling vagrants and began the day's begging—

After all, he did not speak the language. There was nothing else he could do.

His lack of practice meant his daily earnings were only a third to a seventh of what the other beggars made: usually one copper coin, three at most.

Each day, Annan spent just one copper coin on a small piece of bran bread mixed with sawdust. It tasted awful but filled his stomach. He saved whatever was left against unforeseen trouble.

Still, it would be unfair to say Annan had done nothing but beg. He had learned one phrase in this world's language. It might mean "Get lost," "How filthy," "Out of the way," or "That's disgusting."

A shadow darker than the clouds suddenly fell over him, accompanied by a voice he could not understand.

His luck seemed good today. Someone was willing to show him kindness so soon.

Annan looked up. The only comparison he could think of was Tom's owner in Tom and Jerry.

He was Tom.

Annan dearly hoped she was saying something like "Oh, you poor child" or "He needs food, clothes, and money." But the eyes set between the woman's fleshy cheeks gleamed with greed, pity, or perhaps the thought, Oh, what a tender little darling. He needs a warm bed and someone to hold him.

The woman beckoned to Annan, desire in her eyes. He wanted to shout at her... but what could be worse than starving or freezing to death on the street?

A few minutes later, small and helpless, Annan followed the bear-like woman away. Behind him, the other beggars eagerly fought over the straw he had left.

At the street, a skinny, malnourished pony with a hollow belly passed in front of Annan, pulling a cart piled high with goods.

Oh, the poor little pony.

"Why is his hair black...?"

"Could he be an elf...?"

"The bard at the tavern said elves all have pointed ears..."

"Maybe he's half-elf..."

"That boy's a noble. I've heard him speak. I couldn't understand him, but it sounded as lovely as singing..."

"Look, he's about to eat..."

As dusk faded into evening, three figures leaned against the window, whispering.

The burly figure patted the person beside her. "Martin, go get him some bread and clothes. He must be starving. Soup alone will upset his stomach."

"Oh."

The figure called Martin left the window, went into the room, and picked up an oil lamp and a linen coat. He hurried to the kitchen, tucked the lamp under his arm, and pulled a loaf of dark bread from beneath a kitchen cloth.

Meanwhile, Annan, unaware of the activity outside the window, waited stiffly. The unknown frightened him, and the woman made him uneasy. At least a bowl of hot, fragrant meat soup warmed him.

Bang—

Annan looked up in surprise from his soup. The door had been pushed open, and in the lamplight, a thick, long, stick-like shadow reached through it...

Annan had nearly attacked the family that was treating him so kindly.

He accepted the bread and clothes gratefully. He almost thanked them, then remembered they spoke another language and settled for a quiet smile.

After so long without a full meal, the dark bread and meat soup left Annan's stomach uncomfortably full. Before long, the woman and a lean, dark-skinned middle-aged man carried a bed into the room. They pointed at Annan, then at the clothes.

Annan understood and changed into the faded linen coat.

It was a little loose on him now, and rather rough, but far better than the pajamas so filthy their original color was hidden.

Annan sat on a low step in the courtyard and gazed at the night sky.

The woman and the man were in the bedroom next door. The young man had gone out, though Annan did not know where.

Now that he was full and warm, he finally had time to think about something besides survival.

Looking at the sparse stars in the moonlit sky, Annan began to miss the bustle of Earth, its food, and...

A ball of flame suddenly rose outside the town, lighting the night sky like a firework. In the direction of the flames, two figures fought as they chased each other beyond the town, sending out strange flashes of light and bursts of sound.

It was no trick or illusion. That was some kind of magic.

As the two figures receded, the flames dimmed and vanished. Darkness rushed back in, swallowing Annan's face.

His longing for home vanished with the light.