Light Upon My Face

by Thyme In Her Eyes

Dedicated to Marianne, with love and appreciation. Thank you so much!

Author's Note: Another brief Mytho/Rue story, set during Rue's early childhood. As always, I own neither the characters or series, and am making no money from this. And of course, all feedback is encouraged and appreciated. Enjoy!

- LIGHT UPON MY FACE -

Once upon a time, she was actually frightened of the Prince from the Story. It's so strange to think of that now, when the only thing she feels afraid of is him going away, but it's true.

Eyes wide and body quivering, she used to sit under the shadow of her Father's great wings and listen in awe and spellbound silence as he told his ancient tales of how the Prince defied his will, had fought against him and denied him beautiful hearts to eat, and then finally sealed him away, keeping him trapped and starving to this day. She remembers how her eyes filled with tears for her poor Father and how much he'd suffered, and how desperately she wished to one day take that suffering away and help set him free. The Prince sounded awful, Kraehe remembers thinking to herself. He was like something out of a nightmare, and as she absorbed every word of the story that stood at the center of her life, a creeping dread began to fill her heart.

The Prince must look like the sun, she used to think. He must look like the terrible sun that hung above the surface world; the horrible and hateful sun that hurt her eyes and scorched her skin. With a shiver, she used to picture the Prince as a man made of flames, and a monster as harsh and furious as the sun's rays. In all the stories, he seemed so huge and bright, blistering and burning with unbearable radiance, and she imagined that it must hurt very much to look at him or be looked at by him. She was sure of that. His light would burn away all the shadows, so what chance could something as small, weak and half-formed as her ever have against him? The light from his sword would be enough to cut her body in two, and one look into his eyes would probably turn her into a pile of ashes.

But then she met him, and knew. Everything is different now. He isn't frightening or terrible, and when she's with him, it's so easy to believe that she'll never be afraid again. All the things she used to imagine about him were wrong, always wrong.

Now she knows that the Prince isn't anything like the sun – he's the moon. He shines and glows in the same gentle way, so pale and pure, and his light doesn't hurt or burn her at all. Her Prince is as beautiful and cool as the moonlight, as lost and sad as the stars, and as mysterious as the night sky.

The sun is angry and cruel, but her Prince's eyes are soft and endless, and always hold her somewhere safe and quiet. The sun is invincible too, but he isn't, for she knows he's a prince without a heart. Like the moon, she can see all the ancient wounds and scars hiding underneath the snow-soft glow and magical whiteness. He's graceful and fascinating, and a perfect Prince who deserves all the world's love, but he's broken too, in so many ways. Just like her.

Her Prince is made of silver and starlight, the kind of light that suggests darkness, and she knows this means that they really must be destined for each other.

But like the moon, he's cold. His light is kind and beautiful, and everything she needs, but it doesn't have any real heat or feeling. She's a clever crow, so she knows all that. The Prince's moon-pale light will always be just a dim reflection of something far away and long dead, and can never keep her warm. But she doesn't mind – she can't mind, she won't mind, and she mustn't ever mind, because she's always known that this is how it has to be. Their story is written this way, but as long as she only has him near her, then she'll never be alone. She's strong, and she doesn't need to be warm. After all, there's a strange solace in his emptiness – like there always is in a cold and empty night sky.

And not all cold things are lifeless, or made of ice. That's not true at all. There's warmth in him too, she knows it. It's a tiny spark or maybe an echo, very small and very distant, and sometimes hard to find, but it's there and it's a treasure. She could feel it when they first met; when he saved her from her Father's punishing crows, when he told her not to worry anymore, and when he said that she could come back and see him again. She felt it then, and she can still feel it now. She sees it when he protects small and helpless animals, when he risks himself for them, and when he cradles them carefully in his hands afterwards. She senses it when they dance, when he picks her up, and when he holds her hand. She can feel it when he tells her he loves her, and when he lets her kiss his cheek.

These moments of fragile and flickering warmth are so precious, and she wants to stay with him forever, dancing under that light – so until the proper time comes, that magical time in the story when she grows up into a princess he can love and marry, she'll play the part of the Little Match Girl instead. For him, she can continue pretending to be strong enough to endure the cold for as long as he asks, and as long as he needs. She can be happy striking her short-lived matches and asking for words of love that can't possibly be real. Those words are bright and dazzling enough to kindle anything and illuminate anywhere, and just hearing them is enough. And being allowed to dream and imagine that one day they might actually be true is more than enough for someone like her.

Trembling, she basks under the promising glow and holds the Prince and his words to her heart like tiny candles in the dark, and hopes to live and keep warm by their light.

- FIN -