I updated this within a week of th elast chapter and felt so bad lol. Haven't been that quick since. and it's been years.

Still Day 0- Trellis better have a good reason for the crap he pulled.

Usually he'd be in the back of the ship observing the surveillance crafts that would come by periodically to watch and secure the piece of junk that was the Luna Moth. He studied the heavens and waited out the intervals of the interchanging security measures to take in their motions, their agendas, their structure, their emblems, everything.

Everyone had been lax lately regarding any external attack. When they were ordered to head south, they had been promised and delivered a squadron of ships until they reached their destination. Any larger ships were indispensable and deemed unnecessary. As they got closer to Astonot, the security had dwindled to a handful of surveillance crafts close by while ships were supposedly at the ready on the mainland. The Luna Moth's occupants had been generally assured by the whole gesture but not Trellis.

His experiences for the years he remembered have made him many things including uncanny and speculative. He would have preferred the others to be alert of their aerial surroundings and aware of the gravity of matters but perhaps it was better this way.

Everyone was pretty nonchalant with all things considered. They were wrapped up with Emily's party and leading her off. He had to give the girl credit, hers was the heaviest burden and she had been taking it fairly well. She was more nervous about it than she let show and she wasn't reluctant to express herself occasionally. He learned this during one of their late night near light conversations, as she put it.

The first time was coincidental, their thoughts intermingled agreeably and they found that they could confide in each other. He had been seeing her late at night on agreement since. A few days ago they met again under the obscurity of the night and the draining light of the waning moon.

He was just arriving to their designated area when he noticed she was already there. It wasn't unnatural for her to arrive before him but to be waiting so long, as determined by her transition from forty five minutes of trying patience to a seldom seen state of self occupying distraction rendering her oblivious to whatever she had given up on waiting, was unexpected.

In simpler words, she must've been there for over an hour. She usually grew out of impatience after the first 45 minutes then kind of gives up on waiting so intensely and has her mind wander. But it hardly gets to that point because Trellis is hella punctual. She must have wanted to get there early.

The elf boy snapped his fingers twice before she took notice of him. She turned purposefully to him as if she was subconsciously aware the whole time, expecting his to be the first move. Before he even spoke, the girl strode quickly up to him. A set expression of mixed emotions looked up squarely at his face. Trellis chose not to say a word as he stood stock still and wavered on the idea of taking a few steps back from the fiery redhead.

"Trellis, I-"

I loved how ff dot bet culture had u sposting dumbass authors notes in the middle. cringe culture may be dead but my shame is still kickibg so I'm scrubbibg my fics ofbthat at least.

Recap...

That's what Trellis usually did and that was how a certain conversation had started a few nights ago but, on this zeroeth day before the countdown to the young master Emily's thirteenth birthday, he decided to blow it off. No connection to the soon to be smash hit event itself.

Trellis stayed in bed for once. He spared the round of pilots from another shift of standoff between them and himself.

It had been his routine for the whole time since their given security downgraded to a patrol a few weeks ago. Not that he cared but he could easily imagine the pilots shifting uneasily when he met them daily for their unspoken commute. Right now they were probably relieved that he didn't show up.

That was not as amusing as his former thought. He added a creeping paranoia to follow their short lived relief. Imagining their unease unfold to restlessness then anxiety and wander the edges of their sanity and imagination as thoughts of the sketchy elf boy's possible higher motives rained into their better judgement.

Of course it was just a thought to amuse himself, Trellis was absolutely bored. He thought that perhaps he could try to sleep into the afternoon for the first time ever. It was a tempting thing that appealed to the elf boy at the moment but now he didn't think so. Waking up early was a military drill bored into his habit.

He willed himself to try. He regrets it. At least he's trying.

The prince was trying to persuade himself that it wasn't necessary to keep up with the ship guards patrolling their paths anymore. No one else worried about an external attack so he shouldn't have to take into account all that he did. Why should he bother now? He already knew plenty about this set of security ships. Why should he bother? They were nearing their destination. Why should he? Emily would be fine. Why now? Nothing would happen... So why? He should just forget about it.

No. The instant you forget about tragedies will be when it happens again. The others could turn their backs on it for the time being. Trellis would always need to be there, for Emily's sake.

He pulled back his covers and drew back with a shiver. "Why in hell? Oh yeah." His shirt came off with his armor last night when he was taking it off for bed and he didn't think to put it back on. Even near midday there was a chill in the air with being high in the clouds. He braced the elements and made a second attempt to get up. It was especially cold in his room. Something about the ventilation not working right.

He felt the air on his skin and his muscles recoiled with the sudden contact. The prince resisted wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. "Let's see," he swept the room with his drowsy eyes for a pile of black armor and his shirt. "Hmm," if it were for the accumulated gunk in his eyes or the hazy hangover of a failed attempt to sleep for an extra six hours, he could not make out a pile of black anything in the dimly lit room. He did ask Luger to leave down the blinds.

He sighed and got up to open the blinds. A shiver escaped him as he walked around in search of the window. The crap in his eyes rubbed against his lids all wrong and messed with his vision. Just when he shirked it off and was free to see the pile of familiar black armor in front of him, he tripped over it.

"Ugh- *insert string of swears and profanities here*." He sat up and rubbed his hurting areas. He stopped his grumbling when his palm rested on his breast (don't be immature readers) and felt an acute rise on the otherwise flat surface. He hunted for his shirt and tugged it on. "That wasn't weird at all," he said to himself referring to the whole former action. "Just the cold, just the cold."

It's okay Trellis don't feel embarrassed.

Trellis narrowed his eyes, "Shut up Luger," thinking that voice was his estranged older brother and forgetting he was alone in the room.

Why would I be he, young master? You're still not out of it obviously.

"Ugh," Trellis wouldn't even acknowledge that voice. He donned the rest of his armor and set out, slamming the door on his way as if the voice from earlier would be shut inside. It wasn't but it knew better than to reveal itself again.

It was so much colder outside. The wind whipped around his white hair and chilled the already cold armor on his body. He realized he needed to add a detour to the john on his way up.

One trip to the bathroom later. Trellis finished washing his hands and was fastening the straps of his left glove when the mirror caught his eye.

I know what you're thinking, vain Trellis looking at his pretty boy reflection. WELL EXCUSE YOU!

In this reality, his body was bound in petrification at the reflection before him. A thousand words would give you a picture but there is no time. I cannot afford the overkill. So no photographs, only words.

Trellis saw his father.

Within the plane of the mirror was the form of his father, before the stone took over. Trellis could not for the sake of himself recall his face in such a state but he somehow knew that this was his father.

"Father," he whispered unwaveringly, afraid of his own voice, of the truth within it. As shocking as it appeared, it changed. The visage of the Erl King materialized onto it's face. Trellis didn't move, neither did the figure in the mirror. Trellis gulped nervously, the figure did nothing. His brain was fuzzy since the first apparition but at the very least he could move, no longer tethered by some intangible hold into immobility.

He raised his right hand tentatively to his face, the counter image reflected his motions. The only difference was that where Trellis lingered to trace his profile ,expecting the reflection to do the same, it betrayed him. Instead it reached across its face. Trellis's eyes widened and he stopped his own ministrations. It hooked its fingers under the mask. Trellis held his breath wanting it to stop, afraid of the skin beneath. It pried the mask off its face and opened its mouth as if it were taking in a much needed breath. Trellis's jaw dropped and lowered his hand back to his side, clenching into a fist on its way.

The face was his.

It looks at him coolly and indifferent, like he were a new servant it needed to be bothered with. After a while of looking at Trellis calculatingly, it smirked as if it figured him out and held the mask off handedly like it were offering it to him. You could not imagine Trellis's face before, so don't hurt yourself trying, but now it was very safe to say he looked angry, pissed off even. Pissed off is the better term. He was pissed off.

He punches the mirror with his right fist. Bits of glass turn into unpredictable projectiles and flew out at the immediate area being the bathroom floor, sink basin, and Trellis while the shards beneath his fist become one with his vulnerable flesh. It just side steps to the right with surprise in Trellis's stolen features before it hardens to the face of the Elf King post amulet takeover. It's not his father, it never was. It's dead gaze analyzes the spot where the 'prodigal' son left a cracked center piece with his fist before turning back to said son, who watched him obsessively, with disappointment and scorn. Another flare of concentrated anger surged through the young prince and he threw a left hook in response. The image had dissipated before he even made contact, throwing him off to see his own reflection instead.

It can't be certain what happened. Wether his angled shot disrupted the glass in such pattern. Wether the glove was already in such disrepair. It isn't known. It happened much too quickly. It was the kind of thing where people would wonder how stupid you had to be to pull that off. It was really that incredible. Who knows how it happened, though Trellis will probably spill later if he doesn't spill soon from blood loss, but this is what the end result was:

The glove he wore was torn between his ring and middle finger by a large piece of glass. Its deep penetration due to the initial force and unbroken thrust of the punch. He could feel it sever many things on entrance, important things.

You haven't known such close agony. Of nearly getting your hand ripped in two. Feeling the heat of your gushing blood almost scalding. A numbing of your nerves that cannot wash away the waves of pain but increases them because that limb is unresponsive, unmoving. An undesireable fear that it won't move again. The unknown prospect of being invalid. The empty relief that it can move, it was but the bipolarity of the hot blood and numbness that overrode your senses and cut the ties with the limb itself. No, that was due to the possibly artery severing cut. The glove concealed the gore that was just beneath. To not see the extent of the damage was a blessing and a curse.

He could not believe it. Such strong pain emanating from the one place. It stole his voice so that the only protests came from his own body language and the crescendo building up in his throat to turn a guttural scream.

It was all bound to burst when the door creaked open. Driving on pure instinct here, he rushed the door and slammed himself against it. Bad idea. Instinctively he brought out his hands to catch himself and we know how that would end. His arms gave way and the rest of him came crashing into the door, leaving a dent. Instinct is an unreliable subconscious.

He slides to the floor, reserves of strength brought out at the whim of such short notice were enough to keep him from screaming bloody murder and actually manage to vent through sharp breathes. Standing up was not possible. Even this was done at great sacrifice, "Do- don't come in, jus-just go somewhere else!" That sounded so weak. "Go away!" That was better. Wait, what if it was just the wind and he was screaming at nobody? Or an innocent passerby? What if they decided to come in? To hell with everything.

"Fine I didn't need to come in anyway," it sounded like Emily. She would probably be the most understanding person to rely on right now but the last person he wanted to to find out. At least it sounded like she was leaving. She said something else but that may have been the wind or the pain giving him a headache to boot.

He slowly gave up his resistance and let the pain bring out his cries in small moans and groans as he picked out the glass. He raised his head and saw red, literally. His blood left trails as if a life-size paintbrush had impaled him and dragged its bristles on the floor. It would do no good to remain there until the large wound were attended to and cleaned. He knew that once it were out he wouldn't have the will in him to get up and finish the job. He stood with difficulty and made his way back to the sink, careful not to slip in the blood and glass.

Trellis was finally there. He had propped himself up on the rim of the sink with his right hand. Pain still surging but less than if he used his other arm, obviously. When he trusted himself enough to stand on his own, he relinquished his death grip on the sink and turned attention to the big task at hand. It took his all to pull out the piece of glass and imagined it to be comparably like pulling teeth, your own. The pain was crippling just like he predicted. It was also deafening, his hearing was a resonating ring that dulled his senses. If his knees weren't locked then he would of surely collapsed. Everything he felt was a barrage of white noise.

Edit: How did anyone read and review? -K