"I should probably apologize again," Aronia said to Sonder. "I don't feel bad about it, but it seems polite."
Sonder sat down on the table that was within Vault Twenty-One.
Aronia found that mildly suspicious.
People weren't supposed to be comfortable after being locked in a containment vault.
Yet Sonder appeared more inconvenienced than offended.
"I am sorry," Aronia said. "But this is the correct decision. For now."
She gestured toward the staff.
"That thing alone would require containment review under at least seven archive regulations. Possibly more."
Even through the wards Aronia could feel the shards. It bothered her.
"I don't know what those fragments are," she continued. "I don't know what they've done to you. I don't know what they're still doing to you. Maybe they haven't taken complete control of you yet, but I'm not willing to take the risk. The problem is that every person under the influence of a mind-affecting artifact believes they're thinking clearly."
That was one of the more unfortunate characteristics of mental manipulation.
People rarely noticed it happening. If they did, people like Aronia would have considerably less work.
"I know the shards are affecting me," Sonder said.
"You know? But I guess you can't do anything about it, can you?"
"There's no point. The shards affect everyone, but I don't use them to just gain more power needlessly."
That was not the answer Aronia had expected either.
Before she could pursue that line of questioning, she turned toward one of the wardens.
"You."
The man immediately straightened.
"Yes, Researcher Buxus?"
"Inform the High Archivist that I've contained the visitor."
The warden looked toward Sonder.
Aronia could practically see him deciding not to ask further questions.
A wise decision.
"Right away."
The man departed at considerable speed.
Aronia watched him disappear around the corner.
Then she turned back toward Sonder.
"Now. If we're going to do this properly, I need information. All kinds about yourself."
Aronia removed a notebook from her satchel.
A fresh page.
A sharpened pencil.
"Let's start with your name."
"You already know my name."
"I know what you introduced yourself as."
"Is 'Blackbird' Sonder really your real name? No pseudonyms or other aliases?"
"No."
"Fine," Aronia said and noted that down again. "Race? You're obviously not human; seeing the sword in your chest is not something that is usually survivable, not to mention the bat wings on your head."
"I am undead; a banshee."
Aronia lowered the pencil. "That's... unexpected. I've never seen any kind of undead before. You seem surprisingly spry and alive, in a way, for one."
She resumed writing.
The notebook suddenly felt much more interesting.
"How old are you?"
Sonder looked upward. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"There's a sickness that long-lived people suffer, and more than once have I suffered from it."