"People can become...whatever they want to be." -Franz Bonaparta, Monster
I had a few reservations about this, considering my track record with crossover stories isn't exactly strong. Nonetheless, I saw several parallels between Renate and Nina in their respective storylines, and the time period in which Monster is set would make sense for Renate to have met Nina. I apologize if I made Nina appear too emotional, as I wanted to portray her internal conflict involving her brother, especially considering that I would pinpoint this as early in the Monster timeline. The "Brother and Sister" tale is a Grimm's Fairy Tale. I had originally wanted Renate to tell it in the old vernacular, but considering how blunt she is in speaking with Nancy, I ultimately decided against it.
Stories never remained as they were. Penned down upon paper, they were merely preserved in a set format, an effigy to its time. There was a beginning, a middle, and an end, as was typical, though that was, on occasion, made open to interpretation. Sketches occasionally accompanied the words, bringing the ideas to life, though only of a certain impression. The bear could stand on hind legs, with a pensive glance into the distance, his paws held at his sides. Another interpretation, however, could see the bear ready to run, his hind leg braced back, and his neck curving ever so slightly forward.
Stories, in Renate's experience, were never bound in the pages. They walked, they ran, they took flight, borne by travelers in their backpacks. The merchant carried the story in the wagon of his caravan, wary of thieves stealing it. The soldier, too, bore it on the strap of his canteen, the odors of rust and gunpowder filling the air among his steps.
The stories walked alongside her, as well. They were woven into the fabric of her clothing, and glinted off her glasses. She saw them tracing the letters of the road signs, and smelled them baked into the chocolate cakes she adored.
With a sigh of exhaustion, Renate sat down upon the city bench, setting her bag down beside her, and placing out her basket at the hem of her dress. She rubbed the knuckles of one hand with the fingers of another, her movements slowed from arthritis. The fading sunlight glanced off the buildings in the late afternoon, and she figured that after an hour, perhaps two, she would call it a day. The movement of others, thankfully, was slowed, the passerby being more relaxed in their walk, occasionally casting a glance at her, which she invitingly returned.
There was just too much movement these days, too many voices, too many sets of running feet, too much. With the crashing down of the wall, the floodgates had opened, as had her path to the rest of a country she had once considered her own, but for now was not sure. Once there was a tale of a girl in a red hood, who was pursued by a wolf. The tale of the wolves clad in red had superseded it, it seemed. So then the wolves were caged, the pack split, howling for one another for decades.
It was pure chance that saw her in the west, her traveling route having changed on a whim; at least, that was the lie Renate told herself. Had it not been for Castle Finster, she likely would have gone east much sooner, and been lost behind the wall. And then what, be a stranger in a strange land?
Perhaps, then, the next monster was the one in the mirror, that relative or that lost friend behind the wall, who should have come back wearing another skin. That person was dead, having been stolen away years past. What was the point in returning for the skeletons of what once were? But then, that person had returned anyway, and had the audacity to say, "I know you! I love you! I missed you!" So then the monster had to be let in the house, and had to be treated as if nothing had been amiss. He or she was merely a guest, long gone, but returning home as if to an inn, a bed set at the ready, pillows fluffed, covers turned down, bread baking in the oven, and soup in the pot. The reception was as cold as an inn, as well, the fact being that no one really wanted to broach the topic of change, and of years.
It was a good reason, then, for why only the children really seemed to be interested in stories these days. The past was something to be swept under the rug, or at least it was, until the students protested, and demanded to be told about nightmares, nightmares that their parents had attempted to protect them from, nightmares that wouldn't stay away, and nightmares that their parents themselves had created, or allowed to create, through indifference.
The tales of redemption tended to be long, and they tended to be depressing, as the hero was not allowed to keep much of what he had gained in his wickedness. Then again, Renate figured, the depressing was not something with which she was unfamiliar, considering the root of the original fairy tales. But, once again, that was a different time in which they were spun, in which the monsters had stayed outside.
It was a bit odd, then, that a young girl about college age knelt before her basket, and deposited a few coins, her long blonde hair falling over one shoulder. Standing up, and keeping one hand on her purse's strap, she asked, "Please, could you tell me a story?" The expression in her blue eyes was almost pleading in a way, as if she was unsure whether her request would be met. Renate initially had thought that was due to her confusion as to decorum, as the girl wasn't sure whether it was too forward to ask for a story, or if she offended Renate by giving her the money. Upon further glance, however, she saw something else within her, a sadness that was hidden beneath the cheery-colored fabrics the young woman wore. She felt a slight sense of pity for her, but only slight, as really, pity was a commodity she herself had found overly bountiful to the point of being a nuisance, what with her rheumatism.
Renate smiled, and verbally ribbed her. "I can, but," she nudged the basket with her foot, "considering the small amount you have given me, you want it to be short, yes? An easy, packaged story, with an established villain, an epic climax, and a happy ending?"
The girl drew back, worried as if she had offended her. "Oh, I didn't mean to offend you! Please, if you want more money—" She broke off to open her purse, and dig for her wallet.
Renate stopped her. "I was only teasing." The girl glanced up, and Renate added, "You can laugh, you know." The girl slowly smiled, and chuckled, closing her purse up once more. Renate invitingly patted the open space beside her on the bench. "Now, what sort of story would you like to hear at dusk? I can still tell you a story with a happy ending, if you want, or perhaps you would like something a bit more fitting to the time?"
The girl's eyebrows raised at Renate's wording, while the older woman simply leaned back, and from her bag, she retrieved a patch of needlework. Threading the needle, Renate added, "Take your time in choosing. When are you ready, I will tell you your desired story. Should you want my attention, my name is Renate." The girl's purse slid off her shoulder to hit the surface of the bench beneath her. Reaching out her hands, she linked them together, and pulled her arms over her head to stretch with a sigh. Resting her back against the bench, the girl introduced herself as Nina before lapsing into a pensive silence.
Renate was careful in her ministrations. She had pricked herself on multiple occasions, and would probably do so once more, but considering how her skin had withered in her advanced age, she knew that care needed to be taken more often. She released her annoyance at her own body's weakness through the harsh puncturing of the fabric. Everyone wanted to be young these days, young and beautiful, that was, with diets, cosmetics, and dyes. That was a fad that never seemed to die, however, considering the posters of only half a century ago displaying smiling young girls with long, blonde braids, and boys with gleaming helmets. Everyone wanted a pretty corpse to leave behind, not something gnarled like hers. But the corpses weren't so pretty, were they, when they were reduced to something bearing more similarity to a tenderized meat through grenades, bombs, and fire? The girl beside her, thankfully, knew nothing of it, though, Renate conjectured, she, as well as millions of others, had feared one of the two ultimate egotists pressing a button, and reducing the world to nothing, an anticlimax in the longest story man had ever told.
Nina seemed likable enough, if a little standoffish. Renate had the impression from the expression upon her face that she was also hiding something, though she herself had really nowhere to talk on the matter. The relaxation of the needlework was satisfying, and Renate figured that if a passerby didn't know better, her or she would take the two to be grandmother and granddaughter. She held back a laugh at the idea.
"Renate?"
She looked up. "Have you made your decision?"
Nina nodded. "The latter, if you please?" A shadow passed over her face that Renate couldn't identify, but nevertheless she put her needlework away. It was really none of her business.
"I will tell you a story of a brother and a sister."
Nina tensed at that, her shoulders rising, and her hand drawing back. At Renate's confused expression, she cleared her throat, and relaxed, apologizing for her misconduct. "I can tell another tale, if you want," Renate offered gently.
Nina sighed, and shook her head, giving a small smile of reassurance. "No, it's all right. Let me hear your story."
Renate, despite knowing better than to take her reaction at face value, nonetheless began her tale. She had no right to question the girl, and she had paid her, after all. "Once, there was, as you can imagine, a young brother and sister, who lived with a wicked stepmother," she broke off to chuckle, "as most young children of these tales tend to."
Nina laughed at that, though Renate caught that the laughter didn't quite make it to her eyes. "The stepmother, as it turned out, was also a witch, one that was so cruel, in fact, that the children ran away." Renate felt the echo of a pang within herself as she envisioned the two heads of the children, the girl with a braid as blonde as the young woman sitting before her, and the boy with long, bare legs, darting into the forest.
Nina seemed to feel that distance, as well, for while she did face Renate, her gaze was unfocused, as if she was staring right through her. Renate, due to her years of travel, was careful about others behind her, and knew better than to immediately cast a glance over her shoulder. She paused, focusing her gaze upon the anonymous young woman's, and waited to see if her eyes would widen or narrow in reaction to a figure approaching. As they did not, Renate continued, "Unfortunately, the children did not know the forest well, and became lost. As such, they spent the night within the forest, sleeping close together for warmth." At her own mention of warmth, Renate drew her skirt more closely about her legs, momentarily aware of her own chill in the failing sunlight. Nina grasped her own arm, and ran her hand up and down it.
"At daybreak, the boy was thirsty," Renate continued, licking away the dryness from her lips, "and the two searched for a spring from which to drink. However," she raised a finger, "the stepmother, being clever, knew of their escape, and bewitched the springs. As the boy was about to drink from one, the sister heard the spring whisper to her, 'Whoever drinks from me will become a tiger.'"
Renate broke off in surprise to see that Nina's eyes were beginning to glisten, or perhaps it was merely a trick of the light due to the setting sun? She was unable to tell, as the girl turned her head away too quickly, asking quietly, "She was too late, wasn't she?"
"No, not that time," Renate replied firmly, "and not the second time, in which the next spring insisted that a man who drank from it would become a wolf." She brought her foot down for emphasis. "However, as you well know, young lady, the rule of three tends to take hold in these fairy tales."
Nina folded her hands in her lap, and stared down at them. "What did he become?" She asked quietly.
Renate reached out a hand, and placed it upon hers. Nina looked up in surprise, confirming to the storyteller that it had in fact been tears that had begun to glisten at the corners of her eyes. "A deer," she replied gently, "He became a deer."
The girl smiled sadly. "Then his sister had to protect him, correct?"
"Not quite," Renate shook her head, "While a deer lacks the claws and fangs of tigers and wolves, it still has its hooves, as well as its head. The antlers, however, this one would lack, as he is still young." She let go of the young woman's hands. "Now, no more tears. It is only a story."
Nina flushed in embarrassment, turning to stare off again. This time, Renate knew that she was actively observing the passerby, as her eyes were darting about. Turning her head back with a sheepish smile, she replied, "I'm sorry you had to see that." In a more sobering tone, she continued, "It is a story, but I fear that stories have had an impact on me, as well." She tilted her head to the side. "As I recall, each story holds a kernel of truth to it. Those stories of children lost in the woods, they were warnings against running away from home." She winced, uprighting her head. "A moral told in a carnal fashion, but then again," she linked her fingers together, and bracing her elbows upon her knees, lowered her chin to them pensively, "that is something that my law textbooks are familiar with."
Renate raised her head. "I assume, then, that the books have undergone some recent changes?"
Nina nodded her head, but chose against elaborating further, instead turning her head back to look at Renate. "Could I please hear the rest of the story?"
"Certainly," Renate agreed, "While the boy was transformed into a deer, he still recognized his sister, who chose to remain in the woods with himShe placed the gold chain she wore around her neck about his neck, partly out of sentiment, and partly, I would assume, for identification." She placed a hand to her neck, kneading her flesh just once as she thought of the scarf with gold elephants. "They eventually arrived within an old hut in the forest, and chose to live there for a few years, as human and deer. That, however, changed when a king spotted the strange deer, and followed him home. There he met the girl, who was now a beautiful young woman, and fell in love with her."
She drew a hand back, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen from her bun behind her ear. "The woman pleaded for her brother to be spared, and the king obeyed her wishes. They married, and lived happily in the castle for many years, with the woman, now a queen, bearing a son. Naturally, I would assume that the brother had remained in the stable, or the garden."
"Did he age, as well?" Nina asked.
"I would assume he did, though not in the manner in which a deer normally would, as he was once human," Renate replied, "He probably made a fine stag."
"But he wasn't human, his sister was," Nina pointed out, "Wouldn't it have given him pain to see her live a life of human luxury, while he was not allowed to have it?"
"You forget, young lady, that he had grown used to his life as a deer, therefore it was a different sort of happiness he had lived," Renate replied, holding up a hand, "His sister attended to him and protected him, and he always had his place at her side. However," she lowered her hand to her lap, "I can see the tragedy that you present. He was a deer in body, but a man in mind, effectively trapped between two worlds, and that was a result of his failing to listen to his sister. Then there is the ultimate tragedy at the tale's end, though I would not go further for now, so as not to spoil it."
Nina nodded, indicating that she was ready for the story to continue. "The witch, as you can imagine, did not vanish from this story, rather she was still alive. She killed the queen, and replaced her with her disfigured biological daughter, whom she had transformed to resemble the queen's likeness exactly. However, the queen's ghost remained, and the visited the crib of her baby for three nights, until the king, an unknowing widower, noticed the ghost of his wife."
"It was so easy, then?" The young woman asked quietly, lowering her eyes, "Funny, isn't it? If only the dead could speak."
Renate shook her head. "I would not think of it in that manner. If the dead could speak, the living would wish that they were silent." She felt a chill race down her spine as she that. Moreover, if the dead could speak, she would wonder what her sister would have to say to her.
"Yes," she looked away, distracted, "I would agree."
Renate continued on. "When the stepmother's plan was exposed, the queen returned to life. The stepfamily, caught, were punished for their crimes. The daughter, being less cruel, though still an accomplice, was exiled into the forest, and eventually was torn to pieces by wild beasts. The stepmother, however, was burned at the stake. Once the witch had been reduced to ash, the brother, after living for so many years as a stag, was returned to his form as a man." She reached out, and thumped the bench's seat with the palm of her hand. "Thus, a happy ending."
A silence followed between them, and Nina did not smile. Renate, however, slowly did. "Though, as you can tell, there was ultimately a tragedy of it."
"The brother was away from his human body for too long," she assented, "Moreover, he had spent so much time between human and deer that he must have felt utterly torn, even after he had returned to his human form. He could have had the mind of the child, as a grown man, considering that he had only vicariously experienced adult growth through his human sister."
Renate nodded. "Right on all accounts. However, I would say that he was better off than most, considering how he had dwelled in a castle at the tale's conclusion."
She smiled and nodded. "Then his sister had saved him, after all." On that light note, she brought her legs together, and rose, turning back to face her. The sunset cast her face in an odd orange glow. "Thank you for the story, Renate. Do you need help? Somewhere to stay for the night?" Renate felt half compelled to rebuke her, but decided against it as she added, "One traveler to another. I have somewhere I must go, as well, so I thought I might offer a favor."
Renate smiled knowingly. "You are venturing into the forest after your own brother, aren't you?"
Nina attempted to feign confusion, but immediately dropped the act. "I suppose I wasn't necessarily subtle."
Renate sighed. "It was written so plainly on your face. I would advise you to better conceal your emotions next time, one huntress to another."
Nina's eyes widened, and she bowed her head out of respect. "Did you find your tiger, or wolf?"
"Not yet, child, but I still look," she replied firmly, "My advice to you would be to find yours sooner rather than later, lest the predator eat you from within."
Nina raised her head at that, her face displaying immense doubt. "But what if the brother was the tiger? What then?"
Rising from the bench, Renate took her hands in hers. "You look at me, Miss Fortner, as this is important." Nina nodded. "Whether tiger, wolf, or deer, remember that he was once a man. When you hunt an animal, it is for food, or for sport, therefore it is understandable. When you hunt a man, it is murder."
"But what of justice?" She asked, "I said before that I am a student of the law."
"And I am someone who considers herself an arbiter to right a way in which I was wronged in the past," Renate answered, squeezing her hands, "Look at my face, Nina, and look at the world around you. It isn't the pursuit of justice that I am talking about, but of vengeance. Look what we have become." She released her hands at that. "I continue in my path, as it is what I have left. You are young yet, and you are still at your crossroads. I no longer have that opportunity."
"A man between two worlds," Nina whispered to herself, and her eyes widened in epiphany, "Then the brother isn't the deer."
Renate nodded. "You are the deer."
When she saw the report on the television weeks upon weeks after that chance encounter, the ugly glare of the thing causing her to remove her spectacles and rub her eyes at first, Renate thought she had found an answer. At first she could not recognize the girl, her blonde hair soaked a dull brown by the rain, and her expression utterly broken, leaning heavily upon the shoulder of a man hailing from the Orient. Policemen had populated the scene of a massacre in a small village named Ruhenheim, with running reports of a man named Johan Liebert being the orchestrator of the massacre.
Monsters didn't get let in the house. Renate's tea cup rattled, spilling a little over the sides, and onto the saucer. She told herself it was due to her rheumatism, despite the elegant precision with which she completed her needlework. It was the end of the journey of Nina Fortner, whose brother did not become a man again.
She cast a glance over at the travel plans she had made for another trip to Castle Finster, and a newspaper clipping that indicated how another girl, this one with a heart-shaped face and strands of hair falling out of her pigtails, had vanished. She wondered, with a sense of revulsion, as to whether this Johan Liebert had anything to do with the child's disappearance, but let it go for two reasons. Most notably, she did not want to pile another body upon Nina's already badly affected conscience. While Fortner had naught to do with the murders, Renate assumed that the guilt in her being unable to prevent them was there. Renate knew that guilt all too well, and it was the guilt itself that kept her after this monster of her own. Secondly, it was more out of interest for her own pride. She had her own monster to slay, even in her advanced age, and it would be hers alone, not this man who was shot by a father defending his son.
Renate found that she envied Nina. She had devoted her life to chasing a monster, one who had continued to elude her for decades. She recalled with a sense of melancholy the, at the time, humorous idea of Nina being considered her granddaughter, but knew that it was too late to go back, and nonetheless, there was no sense in regretting it. She had learned too many stories, and had been too many places, to regret it, the world opening before her as if it was the illustration of a storybook.
Renate shut the television off. She could sympathize with the father who had protected his son, as her own father had protected her and her sister from monsters himself. Despite the gratitude she felt toward him, however, the distance between the two had still remained. He had given her the amount of yelling she had deserved for wandering off, but nonetheless he had held her close, and not allowed her out of his sight. She'd sobbed over her sister for more nights than she could count, and their searches for her had been endless. Then it had escalated to fighting between them, the slamming of the doors and screaming of her desire to be on her own. There was the blame game, the tallying of points between one another as to who was more at fault, him for not being there, or her for causing her sister to be taken away.
So understanding came too late, his body breaking down in his old age. It wasn't purely the physical pain of his body, though, as it also was the mental pain at the loss of his wife and daughter, and at the horrors of what humanity had become. Time had broken the man, and Renate could only apply some amount of salve by sitting by his bedside, and telling him stories. He'd weakly laugh, and tell her he had always wanted her to attend university, but then he would recant, and say that she told them too well. He'd gripped her hand, or her arm, not so much in keeping her from leaving, but in the fact that he was registering that she was there. She was one person he hadn't lost.
But then she had lost him, his body buried alongside that of her mother. Renate's younger self knelt and placed a bouquet of lilies before the stone, and turned her back on the marker without a body that bore the name of her sister. So there the tragedy of her family ended, and a story of adventure began.
There, on that rainy street, the tragedy of Nina's family had drawn to a close, and Renate wondered, as she stood, bearing her empty teacup and wet saucer away, what new tale would be spun. Perhaps one that was lighter, if not a little dull, one of happiness, or of love. She paused for a moment. That was her optimism talking, and she knew it. How could she divine this girl's future, when she had only known her in passing? Moreover, how could she possibly have a happier future, with this shadow that was behind her, or rather, with this shadow that always followed just behind her? That was her own brother that had caused such suffering, after all.
Nevertheless, Nina's pen was in her own hand, and that was more terrifying than much else. For as much as humans pined to have control of their own lives, they often ran into difficulties determining their own purposes. Renate wondered if she was more fortunate or unfortunate to not have asked for her purpose.
But then, there was one more story to add to her repertoire now, though it was one, she decided, not to pass on. It was of a different brother and sister, one a monster and the other the huntress, bound by blood. She figured it was better to not embellish the factual into something that wasn't true. It was better to catch the past as it was, and pin it like a butterfly. She wondered if that butterfly would always be pinned for Nina now, so she could see it wriggling and writhing on the wall, wanting to break loose.
The moment when it would fly again also would be the moment when Nina would wake up screaming.