Day Twelve
Dear Diary,
Worst birthday ever. No exaggeration. It all starts when I wake up to a bunch of unpleasant noise.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
Next comes a gentler sound.
Knock, knock.
“Calla?” It’s Muti, calling to me through the closed door.
I yawn. “Yeah?”
“Why is our tree surrounded by thousands of elf warriors in golden armor?”
My eyes widen. That would be the stomping noises. I scamper out of bed and whip my door open. “Morning, Muti.”
“What happened?” Muti’s face is all big eyes and worry lines.
My thoughts race through possibilities. Is there any way to soften the blow here? Not really.
“It’s like this,” I declare. “I blew up Lazare’s palace yesterday.”
Muti exhales. “Oh.”
I do a double-take. “That’s it? Oh?”
“Well, it’s not like Poppa and I haven’t seen this coming.
