heavy is the crown: The first inkling I had of something being wrong was when I woke up to a child's grin over my face and a knife stabbing down on my eyes. The second inkling I had was when my terror's peak (because was a kid really about to kill me what the hell was going on oh no oh fuck oh shit) coincided with my eyes bursting into unnaturally red fire.
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/ / Age: ? ? ?
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Chancing another glance at the glass, I winced but managed to withhold a flinch.
Belphegor - or, as I still automatically thought of him as despite my sincere earlier vow to treat him better, my would-be murderer - stared back at me from the mirror, crownless and messy-haired, and looking rather like he was cowering behind raised covers.
O-kay, so either the age difference was closer than I'd thought and Rasiel's parents had a penchant for dressing us up identically, or we were identical twins… and Rasiel's parents had a penchant for dressing us up identically.
Way to further further that inferiority complex by implying that physical identicality meant that Rasiel must somehow just be naturally superior in some way to justify the favoritism.
I huffed out another short puff of uneasy laughter, and sheepishly dropped the sheets, finally sitting up straight and carefully smoothing down the rumpled blankets behind me. It was hard for me to imagine the maniacally grinning, surprised 'o'-ing, curiously straight-lipped, despisingly sneering, sullenly frowning, resentfully scowling, and annoyedly teeth-baring Belphegor ever looking like he cowered.
Curious myself now, I cautiously hopped off the bed, dropping bare-footed and sinking into inches of fantastically sumptuous, opulent furred carpeting. Approaching the floor-length, gold-gilded and ruby-encrusted mirror with my head tilted slightly yielded nothing but the very convincing image of Belphegor walking up to me. It wasn't until I practically rested my ear on my shoulder that the ridiculously impractical hairstyle's eye-covering bangs finally answered to gravity's siren call and parted enough to reveal said covered eyes.
Irises as red as those embedded rubies widened, framed softly all around by golden-blonde eyelashes.
It made sense, I considered. Rasiel's mother last night had had ruby-red eyes, I remember. 'Ruby' was such a cliche descriptor, as was any gemstone really, but here it fit perfectly. Our eyes were ruby-red. They were cardinal-red. They were also, variantly, robin-red, scarlet, crimson, vermillion, rose-red, garnet-red, brick-red, blood-red, claret-red, wine-red, and flame- and fire-red, depending on how you angled your neck to catch the light just so.
… In a fit of vanity, I lost self-control and indulged in probably three or four straight minutes of eye-admiring, turning this way and that in front of the mirror. I was… not ashamed, exactly, because what was acceptable for a child was entirely different from what was acceptable for an adult, but I recognized and admitted that if I let my standards for myself slip using that justification, that was a dangerously slippery slope to be starting off a wholly different, new life with.
On the upside, if I lifted my bangs away I looked distinct enough from Belphegor that I almost certainly would not flinch at reflections and imagine knifetips plunging down on me in the dark as I lay paralyzed and helpless!
This was an odd thing to be so cheerful about, but the world can always use more happiness in it, and I was very close to breaking self-control again and humming a jaunty tune as I went to search for some pins or clips or a hairband.
… Until I realized after several minutes of fruitless and increasingly frantic searching that I couldn't find any in my room. Rasiel's room. Of course there wouldn't be; why would Rasiel need one?
Regretfully, I swept my gaze around the room once more. I could probably tear off a strip of fabric from somewhere if I used an edge from the crown, and I could probably scavenge a ribbon from one of the outfits in the wardrobe (all as dated and generically 'Western' as my pajamas; I easily spotted a sailor-boy uniform with a blue tied ribbon-bow at the neck), but I didn't need to. It would be a shame to start off the first day (the first night didn't count) of a brand new life with personal property destruction - even if I still was hesitant on whether or not I really wanted this new life and the personal property coming with it - when Rasiel had perfectly serviceable help to, well, help him.
I'd been one of those help before. The staff always knew far more than the employers expected. I could get something for my hair and something for my brain at the same time: two birds, one stone!
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You couldn't really ask for 'bobby pins and information about the person I'm going to have to be now,' but I was certainly thinking it when I fumbled around for the doorknob, pushed it open, and waved at the nearest two maids, just rounding the castle-stone corner.
"I'd appreciate some help with my room and- appearance," I tried to request politely, before immediately cringing at a., Belphegor's voice coming out of my throat, b., how haughty I sounded with a child's pitch, c., a worry that I'd sounded far too eloquent for a however-old-Rasiel-was, and d., the mixture of surprised shock and wary fear that overtook the maids' faces as they reluctantly obeyed the implicit order.
C. was dispelled with the memory of Belphegor's own eloquence, so presumably the siblings were roughly equal for intelligence. And D.'s results just helped my attempted resolution of A. and B. Backing into my room again after flickering my gaze from the maids to the corridor's only visible guard to the gratuitous fluffiness of my rich red carpeting, I occupied the short time until the maids' arrival to cough under my breath and test out a few modulations on my tone. Lower, controlled, softer, gentler, warmer…
The reluctance of the maids proved to be in my favor, as I got both a suggestion of how Rasiel had treated them, and also time to practice fixing my voice into something less 'Rasiel'. The ease (and possibly fatality rate) of my future childhood depended on me making enough of a distinction between Rasiel and Rasi-me-l to smoothen the family dynamic, but not enough of a distinction for anyone to suspect that I'd entirely replaced him. Nobody would find anything using any scientific test they could try, since I was him in body, but if this was a magic-based or medieval (though the sailor-boy uniform made me doubt this) society, then being accused of possession was unsettlingly close to the truth. The negative connotations of being a 'skinwalker' of any kind were not something I wanted to live an entire other life dealing with.
I'd already decided to pass off any seriously 'unusual' personality or physicality changes as a sudden twist in attitude due to 'awakening the bloodline', if anyone asked. If this wasn't an actual side-effect of the 'awakening', I'd already decided to insist on it anyway, using my image as a child to imply that said persistence on my part in believing such was simply a shallow cover for my own decision to remake my identity after being confronted with the responsibility of what 'awakening the bloodline' meant for a heir apparent.
It was basically true, after all.
And if they didn't ask, I was fully prepared to go ahead and let them draw their own conclusions, conveniently both saving me the trouble of a convincing explanation, and also likely pleasing the conclusion-drawer with their own cleverness at having solved the mystery themself.
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Less than five minutes later, I was busily passing off my hairstyle change as a sudden twist in attitude due to 'awakening the bloodline'.
The maids, after lining up in front of the bed I was perched on and shooting synchronous uneasy looks at first the closed door then each other, had listened carefully to my request for something to keep my bangs out of my eyes.
"I can brush them behind my ears, but they're not long enough to stay that way if I move around." I demonstrated this with a gesture at my bangs, and then brushing back a stray lock of hair after it fell forwards due to the force of my head tilt. "Hair clips or bobby pins are equally fine, I just want to be able to see my eyes. A headband is fine, too."
The taller maid to my right stepped up after another synchronous uneasy look.
"P- Prince Rasiel-"
"I'm fine with just 'Rasiel'," I volunteered with a bright smile. Good relationships with the castle staff were definitely to be cultivated.
Both of them flinched, eyes wide.
{"W- What kind of monster child was the 'I' of before like!?"} I sincerely wanted to plead the trembling maids.
Smile faltering, but, knowing not to push too far, I quickly amended, "O- Or you can just stick to what you feel most comfortable with, that's fine, fine."
Maybe that was a little too Rasi-me-l.
She recovered and bravely pressed on, "Prince Rasiel, are you… sure you want your eyes to be seen?"
My certainty was punctuated with a firm nod.
The shorter maid to my left hesitated before tacking on in a whispery warble, "But isn't it royal tradition to keep children's eyes hidden until they mature…? Doesn't direct light, er, hurt them? Uh, um, hurt you?"
Quick thinking and way too much practice cajoling children into believing the words of a book kicked in.
"Yes, but I've realized that, now that I've already awoken the royal bloodline, I shouldn't act like a careless brat with no head for consequences anymore, and showing my eyes is a symbol of my decision to act more mature," I bluffed instantly. "Of course, I'm also going to request a pair of sunglasses for times when I need to go outside, but I'll be spending the next few weeks studying up on my future responsibilities. And I'll also be striving to reconnect with the castle staff and make amends for my past- um, behavior."
I waited a beat, but they just stared at me, still wide-eyed.
I coughed sheepishly. "Uh, that is, I am really sorry for what I did to make you so afraid to set foot in my room with my permission," I stated outright with an apologetic smile, while also subtly fishing for what Rasiel had done to inspire such wary unease.
Another beat.
In a dazed-sounding voice, the shorter maid quavered with weak and unconvincing laughter, "I- It's quite alright, Prince Rasiel. W- What's a few thrown knives here and there, heheh."
Knives!?
Looks like Rasiel had more in common with Belphegor than I thought.
… I wondered absently if reflexes carried over…? I certainly felt at ease enough in instinctively moving this body. But no, that was probably too much to ask for.
"... Sunglasses?" the taller maid chose to cautiously change topic, clearly uncomfortable.
I could almost sigh, but restrained it in case it undid any of my tentative progress with mending the frayed relations. I'd expected, to some degree, the doubt and skepticism. It was just… disheartening, to find out exactly how much doubt and skepticism there was. Still, it'd been overly optimistic of me to even think of the chance of people with an evidently bad history with Rasiel to immediately overcome their trained distrust on the basis of a few words from a child who had shown no prior signs at all of changing their ways.
… I still hadn't figured out how old I was.
"That is to say, coverings for my eyes. A- A sunhat, maybe. I'd burn pretty easily with this skin. Maybe I should ask- Mother for a custom on my next birthday. Which is…?" I trailed off meaningfully, feeling a little guilt for so quickly and hypocritically turning around to take advantage of their fear to drag out answers whose obviousness wouldn't be openly questioned.
"… The lesser half of a year from now, Prince Rasiel," the taller maid obliged.
"Right! Right, yes, of course. Woke up a little confused there for a moment, had a really nice dream about a birthday party! And that's my…"
"… Fifth birthday party, Prince Rasiel?" the shorter maid completed with a questioning lilt.
Fifth? I was only four? I chose to believe Belphegor was indeed my twin, then, because the only other option was to be afraid of an at-most 3-year-old as my would-be murderer.
I beamed at them with honest gratitude. They froze again.
"Yes, thank you very much! You've been a great help. … About those pins?"
The taller maid, who kept her hair up in a prim bun, quickly offered me four of her extra bobby pins that she kept on her stiff starched sleeve. I politely refused their help actually combing and pinning my hair, as well as their help washing up for breakfast. (I'd already found the doorway to my private bathroom earlier when searching the bedroom, and had deemed it curiously modern in comparison to the rest of the room, which is to say modern enough that I'd been privately surprised by the maids' ignorance about 'sunglasses.')
Their help in cleaning up the remnants of my whirlwind search was accepted, however, as was their help in finding my 'usual' wear: a black shirt and black slacks, finished off by white socks and black leather shoes - the kind that everyone wore before sneakers. I didn't mind, and I found a dusty gray neckerchief in the bottom of one of the drawers, but I made a mental note to request some more turtlenecks or scarves, as well as a few more sedate colors.
4. 'Slowly convert Rasiel's fashion sense to my own in a way that seems natural and unsuspicious.'
I also asked for directions to the breakfast hall, glad that they only exchanged looks once more - this time, less readable - before complying without query or comment. After washing up, dressing, and pinning back my bangs, I practiced variants on Rasiel's smile in the bathroom mirror until I figured out how to (hopefully) smile nicely and sincerely without scaring the people used to his (and Belphegor's) rather less nice (but who knows how sincere) smiles.
The key, I figured, was to show no teeth and keep it small. Rasiel was gifted with a disgustingly adorable dimple on his right cheek, in perfect symmetry with the crescent birthmark I'd discovered to the left of my stomach. Expressive eyes probably helped.
I wondered idly if, under those ridiculously impractical bangs, Belphegor had a dimple on his left.
I firmly closed down that train of thought. I may have committed to improving our relationship from 'fratricidal' to an optimistic 'friendly', or at least a probably more reasonable 'neutral', but that didn't mean that his maniacal grin wasn't going to give me reflexive chills for the indefinite future.
With one last straighten of my neckerchief, and a firm, supportive nod to myself, I carefully stepped down from Rasiel's bathroom footstool, and left the bedroom. As I walked down the halls, doing my best to give a small, polite smile to everyone I passed and ignore their double-takes, I nervously went over my List in my mind.
1. 'Be a better sibling to Belphegor.'
2. 'Learn about my situation.'
3. 'Improve overall family dynamic.'
4. 'Slowly convert Rasiel's fashion sense to my own in a way that seems natural and unsuspicious.'
Right. Easy enough to say, time to do.
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I entered the dining hall, and was immediately blasted with Rasiel's parents' beaming smiles, and Belphegor's sullen pout.
"Good morning~!" the queen declared in that sing-song way I'd noticed Belphegor mimic occasionally. "Is that a new scarf~? How lovely~!"
"Good morning," the king greeted leisurely. "I see you've done something with your hair, heir. Hah, get it? Hair? Heir?"
"About time you showed up, Siel. Of course, you would sleep in when you know we have to 'wait for the heir to arrive' before we can eat," my would-be murderer and priority subject for lessening hostility complained snidely. "And what'd you do to your eyes?"
Yes, it's too late to back out, my brain graciously returned from its sabbatical to inform me.
"Good morning! Sorry for my tardiness, I- lost track of time." I started heading towards the seat laid out for me, across from Belphegor, and mentally braced myself for the meal ahead.
I hoped there'd be fruit.
#
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The mystery of the anachronistic castle. To be continued, although it isn't RaCel's topmost concern just yet.
In other news, RaCel finally finds out how old they are! After fumbling their way through social interaction, that is. They may like people and want to have people like them back, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still tire them out projecting what they will make people like them.
My stash: 2 more chapters and ~5k words pre-written.
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[Profile: Chapter Three
Name: Rasiel [Classified]; …?
Nationality: Kingdom of [Classified]; …?
Titles: Prince; Heir Apparent; Crown Prince; …?
Nickname(s): Siel, Angel Child, Razzy
Age: 4 ½
Gender: AMAB Gender-neutral; Agender
Likes: Safety; Comfortable Beds; Neck-covers; Fruit; ...?
Dislikes: Impracticality; Spoiling Children; Outright Lying; ...?
Notes: - Awakened the 'fire of the royal bloodline' earlier than expected.
- Dead ringer for Belphegor.
- Default expression is calm and attentive. Has to consciously change expression.
- Scares the maids (+ staff).
- …?]
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Please F&F, and review with what you'd like to see added onto the [Profile], which will evolve over chapters, or what you'd like to see in the story, or questions you'd like answered. They may be answered in the next author's note. HitC appreciates the support!
[Next Chapter Preview:]
Also, I was hungry. Near-death experiences (and possible activation of magical bloodline powers), I believed, tended to do that. It was likely the adrenaline burning up calories. Or the hysterical throat-choking nerve-freezing stomach-curdling horrific fear.
… Was that how adrenaline worked? I didn't teach that part of biology, usually.
