monster

summary: AU. "No princess would give her heart to a monster."

disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The plot is mine, but I own neither Glee nor its characters. I will, however, admit to being more than a little bit in love with Santana and Brittany. They're just too adorable.

prologue

not just a fairytale

There was once a monster: a beautiful monster, wrapped in darkness and scarlet. The monster lacked a heart. It was cruel and had done many terrible things, but regretted not a one. Years passed and something changed inside the monster. It tried to find a heart of its own. But no matter how long and how far the monster searched, it could not find what was missing. It felt colder than ever. Surrounded by people who took their hearts for granted, the monster fled. It chose an armored castle as its refuge. It hid there for years.

One day, there came a princess. The princess was blind but she missed very little. Curious, she entered the castle. She climbed an infinite staircase and befriended a dragon. She danced her way through every trap until she came across a closed door. Through the door, the princess heard a beautiful sound: a song of birds and loving someone like never before.

The dragon had warned her of the monster but these concerns remained at the back of her mind. From the moment the princess heard the song, she had fallen for the owner of the beautiful voice. She opened the door.

Inside, the monster froze. It regarded the princess. It observed her grace.

It drew nearer and with every step closer, the princess seemed to grow brighter and brighter. The monster was captivated. It stopped when they were a breath apart.

If I only had a heart to give you, said the monster.

The princess smiled. Share mine, she said softly.

Do you not require it?

The princess shook her head. All I require is your love.

My love, repeated the monster.

You have mine, the princess confessed. She placed her heart in the monster's hands. And you have my heart. You are my heart now.

The monster was silent. It stared at the object it had long desired. But could it give the princess what she desired in return? Love was as foreign to it as the heart in its hand. After several long moments, the monster finally drew the princess into a tentative embrace.

I shall stay close, the monster promised. I will remain by your side so that you may never feel the lack of a heart. Quieter, it said in her ear, Know that when this heart you've given me beats, it beats only for you.

A year to the day, the dragon found them together on the bed.

Its gasp broke the silence. Jeweled tears fell from its eyes.

Poisoned blood dripped from the ruined sheets to the floor, melting through stone. The princess and the monster lay entwined, unmoving, a depleted crimson heart cradled between their bodies. Despite the gruesome scene, they looked almost peaceful. Their smiles, serene. Embrace, loving.

Even in death, their promises remained unbroken.

They watched the campfire together. It was a tiny but excitable thing, more smoke than flame, born from the trace amounts of driftwood and grass they had managed to scrounge from the inhospitable seaside. His young charge had been feeling homesick. She ached for the shore, for pink seashells and cobalt seas, and he had accommodated her accordingly, scouting out a nearby cave suitable for their needs. Heaven knew he could deny those wide, bright eyes nothing. There, she could stare out at the water for as long as she desired—and she had done so until dark clouds had rolled in like an invading army and a thick sheet of rain had obscured the rest of her view.

Now they sat side-by-side, the elder cross-legged and calm while the younger fidgeted restlessly. She preoccupied herself with some spare kindling, drawing random patterns in the sand. Keeping one eye on her doodling, her companion considered their options and began outlining the next tentative steps of an equally tentative plan. His mental preparations abruptly ground to a halt when he caught a whisper: a mumble, really, not meant for outside ears, that lingered in the air before it was devoured by the fire.

"I don't feel like a monster."

With one strong tug, he pulled the child onto his lap and into a tight embrace. "You are not a monster," he enunciated clearly, then repeated it twice more for good measure when the little girl didn't seem convinced. Each repetition came out softer and fiercer than the last. A grim shadow lurking in the far side of his mind wondered who he was trying to convince, but he brushed the traitorous thought from his mind in favor of reassuring his charge.

"You are moon and fire," he began, and the child burrowed further into his arms. She closed her eyes, taking comfort in the familiar dialogue. "You are violet night. You are the waves crashing onto the shore, and the shore welcoming in the waves. You are the silver cast by a solar eclipse. You are fierceness and fiercer beauty." He kissed the top of her head and felt the sobs wrack her body in shudders before the first rush of tears even hit his shirt.

"You are my sister," he said tenderly, as she clung to him and cried. "Not a monster. Never to me."

"Sh-She said… She…" the girl stuttered, vainly brushing the tears from her eyes. "She said—" She couldn't bring herself to complete the sentence.

"Look into the fire," he directed.

Confused but trusting, she complied. She had to blink a few times, visibly willing her tears back, before her vision would focus, but once her eyes finally settled on the small fire, her attention was captured utterly. She couldn't look away. The fire crackled orange, welcoming and warm, like the candles her abuelo used to leave on her bedside table while he read her stories about magic and dragons and kingdoms by the sea. Her tears slowly dried and she drew nearer to the warmth, captivated.

Suddenly, the fire flared white and a familiar pair of eyes stared back at the girl.

She tumbled back into her companion's chest, feeling burned. Wide eyes stared. The vision had lasted only a second and the fire had already returned to its initial orange state.

"Okay?" a voice said from above her.

Slowly, she nodded. "I saw her again. The fire turned white and she smiled…" Her voice trailed off.

Feeling guilty, her companion didn't push her. The fire had been a risk, but he had just been so desperate to stem her tears. A part of him had hoped it would inspire a memory, something to ease her fears. Instead, the encounter had left her shaken. He combed his hand through her dark hair, regretful and sad that a girl—a child—so young could already look so old. So tired.

"You are not a monster," he said. "No princess would give her heart to a monster."

She felt the weight in her pocket and remembered he had told her the same thing years ago. She remembered how tightly she had clung to those words, six years old and her world already fallen apart. Even now, two years later, she clung to them like a lifeline. Especially now.

She brushed her fingers over worn denim, seeking out the rough bump of a precious stone that, in the course of a single night, had changed her life irrevocably. That horrible night, it haunted her dreams. Just like those eyes haunted her slowly surfacing memories. Why did the bad have to come with the good? Why did she have to lose her abuelo to gain the princess? There was so much she didn't know, so much she both did and didn't want to know.

"I don't understand." She looked up, seeking assurance in his face. Wetness pooled behind her eyes, but she didn't allow tears to fall. "I don't understand," she repeated, louder with a hint of demand, not knowing what she was asking, but desperate for answers nonetheless.

He stared into the fire and something unfurled in his mind. The tendril of a memory. A dim echo of—something. Something he had only begun to understand. It frustrated him but it was all they had: memory and instinct, guiding them forward, as fixed and demanding as the polestar itself.

"I don't either," he finally admitted. "The memories come and go for me, too. But if we're both learning, at least we're learning together. We aren't alone in this."

Very, very quietly, she asked, "But what if I don't want to learn?"

To this, he had no answer. How could he tell this innocent child that it no longer mattered what she wanted, that the moment her path had entwined with the stone's her life had ceased to belong to her?

Together, they stared at the orange flames in silence. Every now and then, the elder reached around the child in his arms to feed the fire more kindling. They had each other and they had the fire. For now, that had to be enough.

"Sleep," he whispered, countless minutes later, when the fire was low and the heavy rain outside had tapered into a light shower. "The storm will be gone by morning. We'll swim in the sea and find those seashells you love so much. Sleep."

The child snuggled deeper into his chest. Between yawns, she said, "Tell me a story, Chord… about a princess… about her…"

This, he could do. Chord waited for her to settle before beginning, drawing upon every memory of the princess he could recollect, "She was beautiful and bright. No-one compared, not even the sun… She loved freely and she loved easily, but there was one she loved above all others… She loved you: with all her heart, she loved you…"

And the child drifted off to sleep…

The fire finally sputtered and died, exhausted but for a few glowing embers and some slithery veins of molten red. Chord's eyes easily pierced through the darkness. Elongated pupils observed the patterns left in the ash, crude but legible. A message sent through hell and fire to reach them.

Three words:

out of time

The dragon clenched his jaw in defeat, swallowing the fire he could feel building in the back of his throat. There would be no swimming for them. Chord looked down at the child in his arms, the sleeping vessel of a sleeping monster, and wondered what to tell her.

In the end, it took just three words. Like the message, just three words:

"They've found her."

The young man had been so charming, so kind and polite and consciously hygienic, that she had invited him inside without the slightest bit of hesitation. Now, she looked upon the figure walking through the devastated remains of the orphanage and wondered how she could have been so blind.

He stopped in front of her, eyes glittering, voice hard. "Miss Pillsbury, I do dislike to resort to threats. It's so base. So savage. But from where I'm standing, I'm afraid your situation looks rather disheartening." The red-haired woman let out a whimper. "Perhaps if you answer my questions, I will be merciful." He placed his index and middle fingers under her chin and forced her to look up into his eyes. They raged, storm-cloud gray and frighteningly sane. "Where are they?"

Emma Pillsbury had seen her fair share of demons. Abusive mothers. Alcoholic fathers. Convicts and addicts and child molesters. People so horrific and inhuman she'd woken up in the middle of the night, shivering and crying and covered in sweat, utterly nauseated by the dark images some of the children's pasts had painted for her. Yet none of these monsters compared to the one in front of her now, the one who had panicked when little Noah Puckerman spilled juice on his designer vest but, when slaughtering twenty innocents, had not even batted an eye.

Emma licked her lips. Mustered up all her courage.

Hopefully, the girls had escaped to safety…

"I—I think I have a pamphlet—f-for your symptoms."

He looked amused. "My symptoms."

"Lack of empathy and remorse. Aggression. Impulsiveness." She swallowed. "Superficiality."

"Are you calling me vain, Miss Pillsbury?" he asked, delighted.

"We-we received some new pamphlets yesterday. I think… I think one of them might help."

The beast laughed, soft and melodic. Emma couldn't help but find it ironic that such a demonic person had been gifted with the voice of an angel.

"Please," she whispered.

"The last time I accepted help, a witch plunged a knife in my heart. What undoubtedly meager assistance could I possible garner from—what is the name of the pamphlet?"

"The Trials and Tribulations of a Teenage Psychopath."

He laughed again, longer than before. "Oh, I almost regret killing you," he chortled. "I do love it when they fight. A bit of wanton destruction, the hint of a glare, and most collapse on the spot. This is as delightful a present as the sensible heels Old Burtie gave me for my third birthday."

"Please," Emma whispered again.

He shook his head. His thumbnail cut into the skin of her jaw, making her gasp in pain. "Where are they, Miss Pillsbury?"

Emma thought of the children. "No."

"Pardonnez-moi?" His hand moved down to her throat.

Unable to speak through his sudden grip, Emma resorted to shaking her head. No.

"You have a fiancé, do you not? Splendid man. A dentist, I hear." He confided, "I'm partial to summer weddings. Nice and intimate, with a small gathering of my closest friends. Have you written your vows?"

Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of her Carl, but still the woman refused to be cowed.

He sighed. Very well. With a quick twist of his wrist, there was a horrible snap.

He let go. Emma tumbled to the floor.

For a second, he regarded her. It really was a shame.

Abandoning the gruesome scene, he recalled the transfer packets on the woman's desk. There had been two. At the time he had assumed that the woman herself had been filing for reassignment to another orphanage and simply made herself another copy. But perhaps… New Directions Orphanage. He entertained the possibility in his head.

Well, it would certainly be serendipitous.

He rehearsed his lines, a kind smile gracing his cherubic features.

"Kurt, sir (or ma'am). Kurt Hummel. I think the charity sent you a letter? I'm your new volunteer."

"Watch out, little one."

None could escape the beast from across the blue.

The child unnerved him.

Truthfully, both girls unnerved him, but the one on the right, with her intense hazel eyes, had him stumbling through his welcome speech and shooing them out the door not five minutes after they first entered his office. A new record for the former music teacher, who was known around the orphanage for his love of inspirational speaking—a love rivaled only by his devotion to Journey.

First, that new music instructor had been hired to fill his vacancy at the high school (a post he had left willingly). Then, his old flame Emma had contacted him after months of ignored emails and calls sent directly to voice message. And now these two girls?

Things were changing and Will Schuester for the life of him couldn't tell if the change was for better or worse. The only thing he could do—the only thing any of them could do—was hold on and hope in his heart the storm passed with minimal damage to their lives.

It was, as the beast would later say, a meager hope.