Kafka let out a groan as he rolled across the bed, burying his face in the pillow like a child dreading school on a Monday.
His limbs flopped, tangled in sheets, and he muttered incoherently about cosmic punishment and divine absurdity, while Evangeline simply sat by the window, sipping her tea like none of it was strange. Her calm presence only made him feel more cursed.
Then, without looking at him, she casually said.
"Well...if it makes you feel any better, I should tell you, even if your mother hadn't interrupted, your trial was going to change anyway."
Kafka froze mid-roll.
"…What?" He muttered, lifting his head slowly.
Evangeline sipped again.
"I mean it. It was bound to change sooner or later because of what you were doing."
Kafka sat up in a flash, crawling over to the edge of the bed where she sat. "What do you mean what I was doing? What exactly did I do? I didn't break any rules, did I? I don't remember doing anything like that!"
