Crimson Thread

by Storm of Roses

Maybe it was destined, but fate hardly mattered; the warrior princess and the seamstress she saved would sew each other back together by word or brandished blade. The world was falling apart, the very wind was dying, and their unintended flame jumped high in the feathery shadows. Eventual Frey/Dolce, using a 100 Theme Challenge. Yuri.

Prompt 1: Introduction

"It's this way!" Pico's voice called out from somewhere in the Obsidian Mansion's halls ahead of Frey, and the princess had no clue where 'this way' entailed. The mansion was like a maze, with many locked doors and vacant rooms, and Pico had the ghostly benefit of phasing through walls. Frey, on the other hand, had to keep both of her short swords on hand for fear of an ambush by giant spider monsters or vengeful ghosts, and was less than happy. In looking for this 'Dolly' person, she had already chased this tiny ghost girl around for two hours, and been thoroughly terrified by the mansion's decor. She didn't even want to think about the dripping ceiling; she was pretty sure that it had dripped red at least once. Pico seemed unworried, even ecstatic, and that was mildly grating to Frey. She was happy to help her, but usually, helping someone with a problem meant finding them something or slaying a few lesser monsters. Frey wasn't even sure who or what Dolly was. In fact, she had been lucky to get Pico's name. Even that had been a rather exasperated introduction on the ghost girl's part.

"Pico!" Frey called, carefully eyeing a particularly eerie portrait of an old and intimidating woman. "Could you come here?" If the ghost could even hear her was a matter of debate, because she didn't show up for almost an entire minute, looking irritated.

"What? We have to go help milady, you know." Pico tapped one foot in a show of impatience, smoothing her gaudy dress with both hands. "We don't have time for this; do you have any idea how long I've waited for you already?"

"I'm sorry," Frey apologized half-heartedly, "but I don't even know what's going on. Who's Dolly?"

Pico huffed out a sigh, her breath ruffling her bangs. "She's very special to me, and she needs your help. We're almost there. You'll see soon." And she vanished with a twirl, leaving Frey alone in the shallow darkness of the manor, sighing to herself. Typical Pico. There were no answers at all when Frey asked for them, and the girl talked incessantly when Frey didn't want her to. But, without another option besides navigating her way to the exit, Frey continued onward.

Pico hadn't been lying; the princess reunited with her in the doorway to a grand hall, one side dominated by a stage with crimson curtains, the other by tables and chairs, all set and arranged elegantly. If it weren't for the heavy pallor and scent of dust, Frey would have readily believed that it was new. Something creaked far above in the rafters, sending a soft and curling plume of cobweb drifting down, but Frey's eyes were on Pico. Fearlessly, the girl had all but leapt to the center of the room with a joyous sort of dance, calling out loudly.

"Milady!" she laughed. "Where are you? I found someone to help you!" Silence answered her, and the ceiling groaned, the sound in a different place now. Frey drew her swords and brought her back to the nearest wall, an automatic defensive position. "Dolly!" Pico trilled again, her voice falling a bit in bewilderment. "She was right here, I swear."

Frey scoffed, not disbelievingly, but in frustration. "Then where would she be?" She lowered one blade, the other raised to rest against her shoulder. "I came all this way; I'm not going to leave without helping you."

Pico shrugged, drifting to and fro across the ballroom floor. "Sometimes she wanders, but she's usually not hard to find. She's always visible, I mean. She doesn't leave the floor when I watch her."

That revelation made the hair on Frey's neck stand up, and her green eyes widened. "You mean she can do that?" Pico drew her fingers through her hair, stark white through lavender, and sheepishly grinned.

"Yeah, she can. She usually just sits around, but when I leave…" The ghost shrugged to accentuate her point. "Who knows? I'll fly up there and look. That may spook her, though, so be careful."

Frey gaped open-mouthed for a moment. "Are we talking about a monster?"

Pico indignantly shook her head. "Dolly's not a monster. She just… needs your help." And with that, as with all things when Frey wanted answers, Pico made a point to disappear. She flew straight up into the rafters, disappearing into the gloom, and Frey brandished her blades in two glinting stabs of light in the shadows below, keen eyes locking on to every movement in the darkness created by the moody lighting.

A barely-visible shift caught the warrior princess' eye, a mere tendril of shadow that wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone whose gaze hadn't grown accustomed to the motions of battle. Frey quickly identified it as a thread, trailing down from above and leading to the unfathomable shade where the light below couldn't ascend. It moved slowly, listlessly, like any inanimate object. Others dropped to join it, threads of all colors, but predominantly red and black, weaving themselves into complex patterns and writhing like snakes on the ballroom floor. Frey stepped away from the wall, circling away from it so she wasn't cornered, pacing like a beast. The center of the floor was a sea of whispering thread, and Frey vaguely heard Pico call out a shrill warning before something descended from the ceiling in a definite spider-like motion.

Frey couldn't identify what it was at first, just a colorful mess in a controlled fall, attached to some uncertain point above by several thicker white strings. It hit the ground lightly, with almost no sound of impact, and remained limp there for several seconds. Slowly, haltingly, it began to stand, cloth arms and legs unfolding, an embroidered body taking shape, and two blindingly yellow eyes flashing open as the lolling head rose. Finally, in its full state, its form was clear. The monster was a marionette, a grotesque doll on strings, puppeted by unseen hands. Behind its stitched mouth, it moaned softly, its head falling to the left and those terrible eyes fixating on Frey, who hissed out a curse and lifted her blades threateningly.

"That's Dolly?!" Frey yelled to Pico, aghast. "That's what we in Selphia would call a monster." The creature wasn't moving, so Frey circled warily. Wherever she crept on her toes, those piercing yellow voids would follow in a smirking stare, but the marionette didn't charge. Taking that as permission to have the first move, Frey leapt in what was meant to be a stab to the center of the chest, about to drive both blades in for a deadly impalement, and was met with a rush of silky-sharp threads sweeping forward to meet her. Not only were the things capable of seemingly sentient motion, they were edged like razors and cut with almost no pain, just a stinging sensation and the vague burn that those cuts tended to develop after a few seconds. Frey's knives were enough to cut them, but more kept coming, and more after that, swirling around her in a horrific sea. Through the desperate slashing at the rogue strings, the marionette kept smiling in its wicked way, eyes gleaming.

Frey worked her way backwards, cutting swathes out of the circling threads in swift arcs of gleaming steel, and pressed her back to the wall. At the least, she couldn't be surrounded quite so easily. The marionette, trying to follow, lurched toward her in a limping motion, the strings retreating in a serpent-like hiss to encircle and pull their origin forward in sliding movements. Frey dragged her forearm over her cheek and glanced at the thin line of blood there, but dared not tend to her other injuries yet; the fight was far from over.

And from there, the battle raged on. Marionetta disliked fighting up close and personal, it seemed, and Frey wouldn't last long if she didn't stick close, where the monster was forced to fight alone. The princess quickly gained the upperhand with the quick and brutal nature of dual swordplay, leaving fierce gashes over the doll's chest and ripping the cloth there apart, letting black sand fall from the spent fabric. Pico audibly whimpered every time Frey landed a strike, kept safe on the other side of the grand room by Frey's command. The princess landed a telling blow, one that would utterly destroy any human, slamming both blades into Marionetta's neck and sweeping them loose in what would decapitate just about anything. That almost happened, and Frey let down her guard for a moment as the monster's cloth head was lopped cleanly off, its silken hat falling to the ground inaudibly. Pico shrieked and rushed to Frey's side, shoving her out of the way with surprising force for a ghost, fretting over the monster's seemingly mortal injury.

"Is this what's supposed to happen?!" Her voice had jumped several octaves, going from a normal high-pitched to sounding like a full-on panic attack was in progress.

Frey snarled a warning, taking the brief moment of stillness to drink a healing potion and throwing the empty bottle. "This happened when I fought the others, too. Get back; it's not over." As her wounds closed automatically, Frey backed off a few steps, ready to strike again as soon as Marionetta recovered.

It didn't take long; every one of the lingering tendrils of strings retreated to the host body, swirling up and around them. As one, they wove together at the shredded fabric of the monster's neck, and a few more reached down to the ground for the fallen head to pull it up. They knitted neatly back together with a crimson seam, like a knife slash across its throat. As the last threads tucked themselves back into place, Marionetta lifted her eyes from the floor, setting those yellow beams of sickly light on Frey, and her sick smile rattled the battle-hardened young woman.

"Come on," Frey whispered tauntingly to conceal her uneasiness, not sparing a glance to find out where Pico was, but focused wholly on the silken monster before her. The monster tilted her head sharply to one side to convey some sort of amused emotion, stepped forward once, and lifted its arms. Needles emerged and bristled along its fingertips and pushed through various points on its body like the voodoo dolls Frey had heard vague tell of in books. The glinting silver spikes quivered as the monster moved, impeccably sharp and long enough that they were undoubtedly capable of impaling someone. Teasingly, the marionette twisted in a playful dance move, sidling up closer to Frey. It had no difficulty moving now, it seemed, whereas it had been slow before. Stepping out to face it, Frey took a long, slow breath. "Let's get this done."

And she leapt. She slashed down with her left sword and brought her right back for a jab; Marionetta's needles met the falling sword with a harsh sound of shrieking metal and it whirled back. Frey kept pushing the attack with fierce and overlapping clangs of her swords against the monster's spiny defenses, metal meeting metal in a repeated and cacophonously hellish sound. Marionetta caught every blow, maneuvering its bladed arms with skill, but didn't strike. When it did, it was with a fierce slash downward from its greater height, slicing pointed claws across Frey's chest and to her hip, barely missing the princess's throat and arteries. She reeled back, Pico shrieking somewhere in the foggy background of her mind, and fell briefly to one knee. It wasn't a clean wound; the needles weren't sharply edged like blades, and so it was a puncture wound that had been dragged out, and that was far more painful. Hissing in a breath, and then letting it fall back from between her lips, Frey stood again with minor difficulty. Her mind whirled; if she didn't finish the fight soon, the motion of battle would irritate the wound and possibly worsen it to the point of serious danger.

Naturally, it was a good idea to finish it quickly; Frey jumped immediately back into the whirling give-and-take dance of battle and Marionetta followed suit. They swept around one another in a hurricane of needles, thread, and knives like scissors, a fierce tango where neither combatant could go more than a few seconds without accruing some sort of wound. The trance of bloodlust and desperation filled Frey, and she felt nothing. There was only blackness beyond Marionetta, nothing else for her focus to linger on, and so her motions were crisp, her strikes swift and strong. After a particularly fierce set of feints and counterattacks, Frey slammed both swords down on Marionetta's blocking hands, meeting iron resistance, and then the sound of something shattering. Pieces of several needles fell to the ballroom floor, and the marionette backed away swiftly, turning as though to flee. Frey, tired and hurting as she was, pursued the monster with loping strides, drawing her right arm back and throwing her sword end-over-end. The thrown blade struck the retreating doll in the leg, nailing it down and into the wooden floor. It took only a few seconds for Frey to catch up and finish the job with a finishing blow to the chest with her remaining sword.

Pico had materialized out of thin air by the time Frey sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged as the monster's death throes played out, flailing and shrieking, its strings going lax as it fell limp. "I think she's done," Pico said, all but vibrating in place, a wide smile on her lips. "I don't have to be alone anymore!" That last thought was more of a joyous breath, not so much meant for Frey to hear, but just barely loud enough that it was possible.

Frey let out a long sigh, rifling through her bag for another potion. It wouldn't provide much relief, but it would be enough until she got back to Selphia. As Marionetta finally fell still, Frey took a sip of the bitter, herbal drink, resisting the urge to gag at the taste. And slowly, as had happened with Amber and Dylas, the monster melted away in a wave of sparkling light, leaving behind a very battered-looking young woman. Pico squealed happily, leaping up and pumping her tiny fists in the air, and the woman just looked confused and rather faint, her hat tilted haphazardly.

"Pico?" she asked, her voice ragged. "What happened-" She was cut off by a very happy ghost girl slamming into her in a full-fledged tackle, and her momentary shriek fell silent as her head struck the floor from the force. Her hat was knocked away, and her hair, a soft and rosy color, was strewn out messily. Pico was joyfully babbling to the young woman, who was now clearly unconscious, but Pico didn't seem to notice with the way her face was nuzzled into the Guardian's fur collar.

Frey stood, wincing only a little at the lingering wounds, and cleared her throat. "Pico. We should take her back to town. Venti- Ventuswill- will want to know about this, and we can let her rest."

Pico looked up after a moment, her eyes fixed on the young woman's face, and she recoiled. "Milady? Are you okay?!"

Frey sighed. "She's unconscious, but that's okay. We can take her to the clinic-"

But Pico was already gone, dragging the Guardian with her, apparently hearing nothing beyond 'clinic.' With little else to do but return herself, Frey strode to the nearest door, uncertain where it would lead, but hoping it would be outside. Fresh air sounded like a small miracle after two hours in the stuffy mansion. Luckily, it did open out, and surprisingly close to the Dragon Lake.

"Ah, Miss Frey!" called Volkanon from a brand new bridge connecting the mansion to Selphia. He carried a massive hammer in one hand, and slammed the tool down on a loose nail, shaking the wooden structure. "Lady Ventuswill thought that rebuilding this bridge would help you. She must have known what you would be doing and wanted to help." He sniffed, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and bursting loudly into tears, which wasn't unusual for him. "She's so kind!" he wailed, and Frey nodded fatigued agreement.

"Thank you, Volkanon," she replied with a smile. "I'll make sure to thank Ventuswill too. I have to take care of some business first, though."

Volkanon waved her off with a slight nod, still dabbing tears from his eyes, and Frey made her way across the Dragon Lake beach and into Selphia's western side. She passed by the clinic, wove through the streets to walk along the waterway by the blacksmith, and stepped into the town center, approaching the castle. She stopped just before entering, though, hearing Pico's furious voice, and listening.

"Ven! What did you do that for?!" Definitely Pico. Frey could imagine her tiny form before Ventuswill's giant one, the ghost girl defiant and dominating the room despite her tiny size. "That wasn't healing!"

Ventuswill's voice was quieter, more controlled. "I erased her memory."

Pico's voice jumped up nearly to screaming. "Ven! You mean she won't remember me, or anything?!"

"No, no. I only got rid of her memories pertaining to Guardians. She won't remember sacrificing herself for me, or even who I am." The wind dragon sounded markedly sorrowful, even remorseful. It was so unlike her usual bantering self that Frey knew immediately how painful this was for her.

Pico gasped, sounding awed. "You mean… Dolly won't become a Guardian again?"

Ventuswill must have moved, her feathers rustling softly. "No. She'll get to live here like a normal person. She'll finally get that chance."

Pico squeaked out a happy laugh, and Ventuswill roared, channeling her magic. The warm charge of healing power on the air was enough to make Frey relax against the castle's exterior wall against her own will. Healing magic, especially that of powerful mages, tended to have a drowsiness-inducing effect.

"There," Ventuswill said, and Frey could hear her settle down and curl up, her feathers sliding over one another in whispering sounds. "She'll wake up soon. I just need to rest for a while…"

"Ven!" Pico was concerned, and Frey snapped out of her daze quickly. "Releasing the Guardians is hurting you! How many are left?"

"Just one," the dragon replied softly. "But that's okay. I want him freed, too."

Pico gasped. "No! That'll kill you!"

Ventuswill laid down her head with a soft thump of finality. "Better that I die like I was meant to hundreds of years ago than keep my friends imprisoned, living the sentence for me. You know what it was like to have your best friend go to sleep for years and years. It happened to me four times, Pico. I'm tired." Her breath was a pained whisper, and the wind outside died down as if heartbroken as well. "They didn't even ask me. There was no warning. I woke up one day, and they didn't come. The next day, it was the same thing. And after a while, you realize that they'll never come back. Even if it's just for a little while, I want to see them happy again."

"They won't be happy if you're gone!" Pico cried.

Ventuswill sounded so monotone, so calm, that Frey had to strain to hear her. "They don't remember. They'll be okay. I know you'll take care of Dolce. Help her make some friends. Frey in particular will probably grow on her. She did for me…" The dragon sighed through her nose, the wind stirring in response to her. "Now, please, be quiet. She's waking up. She can't know of this."

Frey took that moment to stride in, looking sharply at Ventuswill. "We need to talk, Venti. Later." The dragon just looked at her mournfully, and pulled herself up to stand again as the Guardian -Dolce- stirred.

"I'll assume you heard everything?" the dragon murmured. "Eavesdropping isn't a proper activity for a princess."

"Spare me your sarcasm," Frey replied. "This is serious." Ventuswill nodded slightly, and looked down on Dolce, who moaned quietly and brought one gloved hand to her forehead, opening her eyes to squint up at Pico. In the back of her mind, Frey noticed the color of her eyes; they were almost the same color as her hair, that rich rose-pink sort of hue, but darker. It looked good on her, though, and not unnatural in the slightest like it would on someone else. With the crimson and black color scheme of her outfit, it worked. Her dress in particular was intricate; the deep red garment was lined with fur around the neck, overlaid at the waist with white lace, and fell almost to the ground. It was very unlike modern Selphian clothing, definitely from a long time ago.

"Pico?" Dolce asked softly, and Pico looked happy enough to fly. "What happened?" She managed to get herself to sit up, apparently still hurting despite Ventuswill's healing spell.

Pico immediately pointed to Frey. "She saved you from a monster. Right, Frey?"

Dolce's eyes turned to the princess, who froze up in horror. She didn't know what lie Pico was going to come up with, but she didn't know how to continue it. "Yes. It had you there for… for a long time." The Guardian's stare was icy, harder than steel, and Frey could feel herself being inspected. Self-consciously, she picked at her blood-stained clothing, still bearing the raking of Marionetta's needles, aware that she looked horrible. Dolce didn't comment on it, though, turning away.

"Thank you, then," she said simply. "I don't recognize you. How long was I there?"

Pico laughed nervously. "That's the thing, milady. It was a long time."

Dolce stared her down. "How long, Pico?"

"Just shy of five hundred years," Ventuswill rumbled, seeming to momentarily forget her own warnings. She immediately fell silent again after, and Dolce hardly seemed to notice. Her eyes widened at the number, and she inhaled sharply, glancing at Pico, to Frey, and then back to Pico. The castle door opened with a soft creak, and Nancy stepped in, immediately focusing on Dolce curiously.

"Oh," Dolce whispered, and then made an obvious, and successful, effort to regain her composure. "We have nowhere to live, then."

"You don't?" Nancy asked, extending a hand to Dolce. "Pardon my interruption, but I could offer you a place to stay. We have an extra room, and Jones and I would love to have you."

Ventuswill studied Nancy approvingly. "You will fit right in, Dolce. Selphia is an accepting town full of kind people."

Dolce seemed uncertain, looking at Nancy. "I can't offer you anything," she warned her.

"Dear, that's okay," Nancy said. "I didn't say I wanted anything."

"You don't even know who we are. You're too trusting." Nancy's hand never wavered even at this accusation.

"I know, and that's okay too," the woman replied. "A kind action will always be returned by others. You'll repay me just by living and being happy with us. Now, come on. I won't take no for an answer." Gently, she took Dolce's hand and pulled her to her feet, and lead her out the castle door with Pico skipping happily behind, flitting at Dolce's heels. Frey and Ventuswill were left alone.

The dragon was the first to break the silence. "What do you think of them?"

"I don't know," Frey replied quietly. "Pico's easy to judge, but Dolce…"

Ventuswill chuckled. "She's sarcastic, blunt, harsh, and probably the kindest person you will ever find. You'll get through to her, I'm sure. You have this horrible way of worming your way into peoples' hearts that amazes even me."

"What an introduction, though," Frey remarked. "I don't know anything more than I did at the beginning."

"That's how Dolce works," Ventuswill replied simply. "It takes time to get to know her. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to rest. We can talk later." She returned to her resting position, curling up and laying her feathered tail over her nose and eyes. "I'll call you in when I wake up."

"Goodnight, Venti," Frey sighed, walking to the doors to leave the castle. "Sleep well." Ventuswill hummed a barely audible reply, and Frey stepped out into the cool autumn sunlight, the quiet settling on her with a very real weight. All the while, winter was coming, the growing cold foreshadowing more than just the change of seasons. The wind was slow, batting leaves back and forth across the plaza, and the whole town seemed to be standing still. There was nothing to do but wait. So, with nowhere to be and no one to help, Frey waited in the windswept plaza, thinking about the Guardian she had saved, of her cold eyes, and wondering how long it would take to replace that harshness with cordiality. Even in the rising storm of current events, it couldn't be too hard to befriend Dolce. And so, quietly, Frey resolved to try.

AN: And so my foray into Rune Factory begins. I'm using a 100-prompt set that no one seems to know the origin of, but if someone actually does end up recognizing it, please tell me so we can avoid the unpleasantness of internet thievery accusations. I want to credit the creator.