Lord of Entertainment C41 Arthur's advice

After the performance, I made my way to the VIP seats where Mariana, Delilah, and Layla were waiting. Their faces were a mix of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. I approached them with a smile, curious about their reactions.

"So, what did you think of the show?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual despite my genuine interest in their opinions.

Mariana's smile was warm, if a bit uncertain. "It was... very good, actually. Quite refreshing to hear such unique music."

I could tell she was trying her best to be supportive, even if the style was far from her usual taste. Her effort touched me more than I cared to admit.

Layla, ever the pragmatist, gave a measured response. "Not bad... I thought I'd dislike it, but it was well done. You've got talent, brother."

I turned to Delilah, surprised to see genuine enthusiasm in her eyes. "I loved it," she said, her voice animated. "Especially that song you performed fifth. I wish you'd played it three times, that's how much I enjoyed it."

I chuckled, realizing she was referring to 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'. "Well, maybe I'll give you a private performance later," I offered, not thinking much of it.

Delilah's eyes lit up. "Really? You'd do that?"

Her excitement caught me off guard. I nodded, suddenly aware of the weight of my casual promise. "Sure, why not?"

After chatting with them for a while longer, I excused myself to meet with Rocky. We discussed renovation plans for the theatre, and as I headed back to the Whitlock residence - my new 'home' - I carefully steered our conversations towards the topic.

At lunch, I casually mentioned the renovation plans, knowing Ark's business acumen would likely lead him to offer assistance. Sure enough, he took the bait.

"I know a company that could help with that," Ark said, his tone businesslike but tinged with pride. "Evergreen Contractors. They specialize in historical building renovations. They'd do a fantastic job with the Rockwell."

I smiled, feigning grateful surprise. "That sounds perfect. I'm sure Rocky would appreciate the recommendation."

Ark nodded, clearly pleased to be of help. "I'll have my assistant send over their contact information. Also, Arthur..." he added, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "Don't hesitate to use the Whitlock name if you need to. It might help speed things along."

I thanked him, marveling at how easily the pieces were falling into place. The renovation task was progressing smoothly, and I was steadily cementing my place within the Whitlock family.

***

True to my word, after lunch I found myself in Delilah's room, electric guitar in hand. For the next forty minutes, I played song after song, often repeating the same ones three, six, or even nine times at her request. Despite the repetition, I didn't mind. There was something endearing about her enthusiasm, and I'd shortened the songs to accommodate her desire for variety.

As I finished the last chord, Delilah burst into genuine applause, her eyes shining with admiration.

I smiled, slinging the guitar over my shoulder. "Glad you enjoyed it."

"You're so cool," Delilah said, her voice filled with sincerity.

I chuckled, slightly embarrassed by her praise. "You think so?"

She nodded enthusiastically, then her expression shifted, becoming more hesitant. "I'm sorry if... if I made you repeat the same song so many times. I couldn't help it."

I sighed, feeling a surge of affection for this girl who wasn't really my sister. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and patted her head gently. "It's fine, really. I didn't mind at all." I paused, then added with a light tone, "In fact, I have a feeling you're quite the oddball... in a good way, of course."

Delilah's smile turned sad, catching me off guard. "I guess you instinctively knew about my... illness?"

I feigned ignorance, though my curiosity was genuine. "Illness? You look perfectly healthy to me."

She shook her head, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "No... It's not that kind of illness. It's... it's the demon in my head."

"Demon in your head?" I echoed, probing gently. A pang of discomfort hit me at the negative connotation associated with my race in this world.

Delilah nodded, her eyes downcast. "Yes... An evil presence or enemy in my mind that threatens me constantly. Sometimes, it forces me to repeat certain actions, like blinking my eyes so many times that it hurts. If I don't comply, I feel horrible."

I listened intently to Delilah, trying to understand her struggle. "So, this 'demon' is threatening you?" I asked gently.

She nodded, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. "I know it's not really a demon, but that's how I see my illness..."

"When did it start... threatening you?" I asked, carefully choosing my words.

Delilah's brow furrowed in thought. "When I was a kid... I can't remember exactly how old I was."

I nodded, processing this information. Then, an idea struck me. "You know, I think I might have a trick for dealing with that thing in your head."

"What?" Delilah looked at me, a mix of hope and skepticism in her eyes.

I smiled, trying to project confidence I didn't entirely feel. "What if... that thing in your head isn't an enemy at all? What if it's actually been a friend, trying to protect you since you were a kid?"

To my surprise, Delilah let out a small laugh, quickly stifling it with her hand.

"What?" I asked, slightly taken aback.

"Sorry," she said, still fighting a smile. "It's just... this 'enemy' in my head has been tormenting me my whole life. How could it possibly be a friend?"

I sighed, moving to sit beside her. "Delilah, I may not remember everything as your brother, but..." I paused, meeting her eyes, "I can see that you're constantly at war with this thing in your head."

Delilah fell silent, averting her gaze.

"You know," I continued softly, "in war, things rarely end well for either side. In fact, the more you try to get rid of the other, the worse things often become."

I could see my words hitting home, Delilah's shoulders tensing slightly as she absorbed what I was saying.

"But what if," I ventured, "instead of fighting this part of yourself, you tried to understand it? What if you saw it not as an enemy to be vanquished, but as a part of you that's trying to communicate something?"

Delilah looked up at me, a mix of skepticism and hope in her eyes. "But how? It makes me do things I don't want to do. It makes me feel... broken."

I felt a pang in my chest at her words. "You're not broken, Delilah. You're human. We all have parts of ourselves that we struggle with. The trick is learning to work with them, not against them."

"But how?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper.

I took a deep breath, aware that I was treading in unfamiliar territory. "I don't have all the answers," I admitted. "But maybe we could start by trying to understand what these compulsions are trying to tell you. When you feel the need to repeat something, what are you feeling underneath? Fear? Anxiety? Maybe there's a need for control or safety that's not being met."

Delilah was quiet for a long moment, considering my words. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I... I never thought about it like that before."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with my mission or deception.

"What I'm trying to say, Delilah, is that this thing in your head... it might have been born with you, or maybe it's a friend you developed during tough times. Either way, it's not something you can just get rid of easily."

I felt her nod slightly against my shoulder, encouraging me to continue.

"So instead of constantly worrying about it or seeing it as your enemy, what if you tried looking at it as... an understanding friend? You never know, it might actually be trying to protect you in its own misguided way. Maybe it gets triggered when you're anxious, and it's just being overprotective."

Delilah lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of curiosity and cautious hope. "You really think so?"

I nodded, surprised by my own conviction. "It's possible. Maybe you two just have a big misunderstanding. What if you tried having a conversation with it? Not to fight or resist, but to understand. It might help you reduce those compulsion you feel compelled to do."

As the words flowed out of my mouth, a part of me marveled at how natural this felt. The idea of disguising myself as a psychologist in the future suddenly seemed appealing. There was something strangely satisfying about advising troubled people, even if I was essentially making this up as I went along.