Malva's bedchamber is slowly vanishing. Her face is still visible, so tender and dear. I know every little thing about it, but it's lost and woebegone.

 But why does it seem to me that she wants to tell me something now? Why does she seem so real to me?

 All sorcerers know that ghosts do not exist: the spirit of the deceased can only be called once no later than nine days after his death and only for a short period of time. This is what perpetually gloomy necromancers do. My bestie and academy roommate dated one of them; she used to affectionately call him ‘sunshine’ (her irony could only be envied). He often came to visit her in our dorm room, that’s why I could learned a lot from him (he did have that sunshine potential), and this was a happy occasion for me, since the department of necromancy in my academy has always been super secretive.

 “We will be together again soon,” says Malva. “Love, hang in there, and be patient a little...” her beautiful features disappear into thin air.

 “Take me with you now, Malva,” I can't control my emotions, even realizing that she's just a night shadow that was sent to me to get information about Svartalf. “I can't live like this without you anymore! This is not life, Malva!”

 Her vague figure blows me a coquettish kiss. Malva always did this when we had to part for a while.

 “Malva...” I hardly open my eyes, feeling the sharp stones digging into my back and right thigh.

 “Gracious Amixantra, you are finally awake!” Svartalf leans over me, almost touching my nose with hers. Elfia's smooth hands are scooping my face. Understanding that I'm with her again, she hugs me tightly, making me bashful.

 I try to sit up, but elfia asks me not to.

 “I have bad news, babe, someone really wants to know everything about you,” I moan in pain. My head aches, and I am about to faint again, growing weak and feeble. The only thing that is keeping me conscious is her frightened countenance. Maybe her mother cares about her, and she is looking forward to having her daughter back. Someone special might be longing for her return too. I want to make a simple light spell to scare the shadows off, but I've almost run out of magic. When my body is exhausted, my magic is exhausted too.

 She looks at me with horror. She guessed that I was not just lying unconscious because of the night shadows, which are hanging and swirling over us like sinister thunderclouds now. So far, they do not attack us as if they are waiting for someone’s command, but it only makes it worse: anything can happen at any second. This level of black magic is complex even for my teacher, to say nothing of someone like me.

“Calm down, elfia, they haven't broken me yet. Now I understand why you need a witch on a leash, but your opponent is much stronger than me.”

 "It's my fault. The shadows didn't affect me, because I'm protected by elven blood magic of the mountain, and I was sure you'd be protected too, since you are with me,” she whispers frighteningly, overhanging me with her body as if trying to protect me from the clumpy shadows.

 “Sweetheart, it doesn't work like that,” I look into her hazel eyes feeling sorry that I can't protect her. “Svartalf, listen,” my voice becomes serious, “save yourself, go on without me. You can handle everything on your own. Shadow magic has not had any effect on you yet, but you are only a half-elf: don’t push your luck. You have an important mission, and every minute counts. I will only delay you.” Feels so much better just getting it out. It’s not an act of altruism: I simply want to stay, because I really want to be with my Malva.

 “Are you nuts? I can’t believe you told me that! Do you really think that I'm ready to leave you in trouble all alone?!” she deeply resents my words.

 “We met only this morning; please, stop pretending that you need me. I know, cutie pie, you can’t resist my charisma, but I’m sure you‘ll bear us being apart.”

 “You are simply unbearable! Why can't you understand...”

 “Where is your backpack?” I ask suddenly.

 “What?” I'm always making her perplexed. “I.. I’m not.. I don’t understand you. It's here." She's clutching the strap of her backpack pulling it closer.

 “You worked in the bar. I’ll bet you took some alcohol with you. Let me look what you have in your precious bag.”

 “This is no time for drinking!” she exclaims like a hermit nun. Svartalf wants to pull her backpack back.

 I angrily grab her by the wrists, “Why do you always think the worst of me?” Looking at her genuinely frightened face, I can see that it's a bit too much. I always forget that people see me not as just another woman, but as someone who can easily kill without a knife or an arrow. “Listen, I didn't mean to scary you.” I feel I was a little harsh. I can hear her heart beating fast, but she's not trying to wriggle out of my grip. I don't hold her wrists tight anymore. “These creatures are afraid of the light. I have enough magic for one spell. This spell needs to be strengthened a little with the help of improvised tools.” I still hold her hands, trying not to think that the shadows are wrapping us in a thick, black blanket.

 “I have apricot brandy,” she confesses timidly.

 “Good girl.”