Balzac poured a glass full of water and drank it in a single, desperate gulp. He grabbed the pitcher, refilled the glass until it spilled slightly over the rim, and gulped it down again. Still unsatisfied, he lifted the entire glass pitcher and drank the rest of the water straight from the spout.
He slammed the empty pitcher down onto the coffee table and leaned back into the armchair.
He rested his head against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. He took a long, shuddering breath, rubbed his hands forcefully over his face, and finally opened his eyes, looking through the gaps in his fingers at Johan and Elara.
"You guys really should not have told me any of that," Balzac muttered, his lazy drawl completely replaced by a tone of exhaustion. "Now, I feel like I have just gotten myself involved in an incredibly messy curse."
