“What’s up, Ms. Practitioner? Feeling guilty all of a sudden for all the things you guys have done to me?” I ask her, more than a little bitter.

 She ignores my question completely, blushing beet red. “Oh god, he is talking to me. WhatdoIdoWhatdoIdoWhatdoIdo!”

 “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” I ask her, waving my hand in front of her face.

The blonde grabs a hold of my arm and starts shaking me with enthusiasm.

 “IAMYOURBIGGESTFAN, BELGRAVE DAN VROY!IHAVEALLOFYOURPOSTERSANDMERCH!YOUWEREALWAYSMYFAVORITEAND-”

 Alarmed, I try to shake her off. “What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bitch?! Let go of me before I cut you to pieces with my sword!”

 “OH, PRINCE! YOU HAVE SUCH A WAY WITH WORDS! I LOVE YOUR TSUNDERE ATTITUDE! YOU ARE SUCH A TSUNDERE, PRINCE! BUT I KNOW DEEP DOWN YOU LOVE ME! I COULD FEEL IT THAT TIME I SNEAKED BACKSTAGE AND YOU LOCKED YOUR COLD EYES WITH ME!” 

Her eyes are blazing with zealousness and lunacy.

 “Let go of me!”—I try to punch her but she is too close, we are too entangled and I can’t get my arm out to wind up the strike—“I’m not Prince! You have the wrong guy here!” 

 This seems to finally take some of the wind out of her sails. She calms down a little and considers this for a moment. But, then her expression turns frustrated.

 “Do you really think I’m that stupid, Prince? What am I supposed to assume? That this girly guy that looks exactly like my favorite boy band member Prince minus a few specs of brown in one of his eyes is just a freak coincidence? A twin brother separated at birth?”--she shakes her head--”No, I’m not falling for that. I know you feel compelled to push away people due to some bad experiences with your lovers in the past, but I’m not like that prince! I love you! We’d be perfect together!”

 “Listen to me you crazy whore! I’m not Prince! Understand? I’m. not. Prince.” I put emphasis on the last words, filling them with vitriol.

 “We don’t have time for this, Prince,” she said, concerned for me, almost begging. “I know you got roped into some bad stuff with The Abyss by your family, and you don’t deserve that. But, my family wants to kill you. My mom has enchanted the connections between you and your family. They have devised a plan to declare you insane and get you out of the house and into a mental hospital. I can protect you. We can run away together!”

 I feel a cold, horrid stab of alarm. The hairs on the back of my head and neck raise up as if I was electrocuted. This can’t be happening.

 I am about to say something but Helen came back for us, emerging from the living room that is close to the entryway.

 “Everything okay back here?” she asks, giving us a courteous smile. “We better head back to everyone, lest they get impatient—you know how your family can be.”

 Belgrave grips my hand tight as a secret warning, her expression schooled into a poker face.

There’s no way I’m running away with a person that is so out of touch with reality. Even if she claimed that she could protect me and she believes this to be true, it doesn’t mean it is. She could have misjudged her abilities.

 I tear away her hand from my wrist and walk towards. When the raven haired woman sees me going her way, she turns around and gives me a view of her porn-star glutes wrapped in a tight skirt and her long, stockinged legs. Regrettably, my dick doesn’t work anymore, so it fails to get hard at such a seductive sight. Instead, I can feel a wave of pleasure as a trail of precum is spit out of my member, adding another layer of cum to my semen-stained panties.

 I keep my cool and try not to embarrass myself by having a breakdown.

 After some time, we reach the living room where everybody is sitting down. Dober is there with them. She must have been observing them in my absence to make sure they don’t try anything funny.

 The 12 people sitting down in the couches and wing chairs watch me as I enter the room, their eyes boring into me.

 First things first I guess. “Would you like some water?” I already have a promise from them to nor harm me, but it doesn’t hurt to add hospitality on top to add another layer of protection.

 I expected the women—enchantresses—to offer some resistance, but they accept immediately. They must be planning on counting on the asylum workers to do their dirty work while they sit back, perfectly safe. None of my family members accept the offer, they just ask me more of the same questions: Where is Jesse? Can you call him down? Did Jesse kill the policeman? 

 I ignore them all and head to the kitchen to bring them some water, trying to use the time to think about what I'm going to do.

 If I attack the asylum workers, I would have to do it with non magical equipment. There are some assault rifles back in the armory, but here we run into the problem of the witnesses and the police. I can’t go outside to kill them so the people inside won’t see because of the Others lying in wait. Plus, nothing stops the enchantresses from stepping out with me and screwing with me. I doubt I have enough glamour to tamper with their connections and even if I did, the enchantresses probably took this into account—afterall, the Others would have reported our use of glamour to our enemies. They all known now.

 “Stop stalling. We are all busy here, okay?” sneers someone from behind me, their voice catty and spiteful, what I’d expect from a female highschool bully. 

 I turn around, expecting to see one of the seven enchantresses. I am instead greeted by the annoyed and condescending face of Linda’s daughter. Lindsey? Limbly? I don’t even remember her fucking name. 

 “Stop being so impatient. I know patience must be a hard concept for a dumb bitch like you to understand, but I’ll be there soon.” I asserted.

 Her face twists into a horrible expression as if she’d eaten a bitter lemon covered in shit. She marches up to me and starts screaming in my face, almost making me drop the glass I was filling up.

 “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” she screeches, stabbing her bright pink nails into my chest. “Let me tell you: if you think you will get rich from my inheritance, then you have another thing coming to you, you slum…prostitute!”--she stabs her finger again, and again with every word--”Do you even shower?! You reek! You fucking reek like sex! How many”--all of my frustration, all of my rage comes bubbling out and I am struck by the sudden and potent need to slam her face into the counter until all of her teeth fall down--”men did you fuck, huh?! I bet your vagina must be rotten…like an egg! And”--I take a long, long exhale and do my best to tune out her whiny voice.

 Her saliva is literally hitting my face from all of her shouting. I grab her by the mouth and hiss into her ear. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I might find where you live and mutilate you, chop you into fucking pieces.”

 Her face goes white and tears are starting to appear. I give her a push and she falls into the floor, looking at me reproachfully, like I’d wronged her unjustly. These kinds of people are the worst, they always think they are a victim, even when they are plotting to send you to a mental asylum.

 I leave her behind and go back to the living room, walking down the halls. 

 I open the door and walk to an empty seat, placing the tray with water glasses on a short table in the center of all the sofas and chairs.

 The moment I am seated, Theodore speaks. “You have been reluctant to answer our questions, probably relishing in making us stew, but I assure you it will be better to speak with us rather than our lawyers. Let’s start simple: who are you and what is your relationship to Jesse?”

 If I don’t tell them, they’ll find out anyways and think I did not speak out of fear or worry. My dear family here will exploit any weakness I give them.

 “I’m Jesse. I’ve just undergone some changes, so I understand why you might not recognize me.”

“Bullshit,” said Damian. “Are you the killer that has been taking out our family, now trying to pose as one of us? Why don’t we do a DNA test on you.”

 “No,” answered Theodore, “His facial expression tells me he is telling the truth. Either he is delusional or he truly is Jesse, but how…” he lowers his head into his hands, crouched down, trying to think.

 “Are you one of these, what’s the word…faggots?” said Linda, barely hiding her disgust. “Travesties? Did you use our money to tamper with god’s work? You should be using it to medicate your mental illness—it would be much cheaper and effective”

 Helen chooses this moment to chime in with her seductive voice. “I have it on good authority that this…gentleman is indeed Jesse Scarugez. Why don’t you move on to the discrepancies in the legal document.”

Maybe the lawyers can help with this?