Luther stared at the mirror, blinking once… twice… then again just to make sure his brain wasn't finally snapping. He had been through too much already — first learning his teacher,the terrifying witch of envelon had actually been a saint to be, then realizing her father was the Father, then finding out the "Saint" position had been dumped on him like some cosmic joke by an idiot God who didn't want his name to be ruined.
Now, apparently, his jewelry was talking.
The voice from the sword — which until now had been resting quietly as a necklace on his chest — let out a long, dramatic groan. "Ugh, finally! I thought you'd never stop staring at your reflection. Do all mortals admire themselves this much?"
Luther blinked again, too tired to even panic. No, not today. No screaming. No fainting. Just… acceptance.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "Now I'm hearing voices again. Perfect. Maybe next, the furniture will start offering advice."
