...um, hi! XD;;; Wow, it has been a REALLY LONG TIME since an update, hasn't it? Seven months or so? I'm so sorry! Long short stort: school and work and moving and crazy drama in general all overwhelmed me for a while! Nonetheless, I hope you guys are still interested in finding out what happens next! As an apology, here is the really LONG, hopefully eventful next chapter! I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Seven. (18,600 words)
A violent roar tore through the water's surface, crumbling the edges of the bank. Cracks and scars riddled scretches of earth. Innocent animals had fled the clearing long ago. Only ravens remained, watching from their perches, wings swelled with palpable excitement.
A violent breath fled her lips. She could not bring herself to move closer and steadied against a tree instead as if it might somehow hide her from his wrath.
"Please," she started, her fingertips curled against her trembling lips, "don't be angry with me."
The ground beneath her trembled. She gripped both palms tight against the trunk and held on, feet smudged a coarse black by the dirt.
"Forgive me," she cried out, "I did not know you were in such pain!"
The ravens screeched high above her, and it sounded like laughter, like a thousand cruel voices mocking her misfortune. The sound cut into her bare skin like blades, and with a worn frown, she approached the pond despite her fear, unwilling to allow such simple creatures any further pleasure.
His familiar eyes greeted her own, forming twisting slits with each breath he took.
"I want to leave this place," he growled. "This prison has become unbearable. I do not remember what it is to be free any longer."
"I understand so well," she murmured, her thick curls of hair sinking deep within the water as she leaned closer. "You should be free --"
"Then why do you fail me so easily? Once more, I am forced to look upon your wretched face, and you have not even the prince's heart to offer in compensation. Were such intentions somehow unclear to you? Are you so worthless that even the promise of your own freedom fails to rouse you?"
"I tried. I did, honestly…"
"Have you cast aside my gift? I bathed that jewel within my own flesh and blood; gave selflessly of myself for you and you alone. Are you disrespectful of such a sacrifice?
"No, I would never! I used your gift, just as you told me to, and the prince was easily mine." She laid one hand against the curve of the jewel and grimaced when it pulsed, a hungry beat that trembled against every line of her palm. "There was…interference, though."
"Of what sort?"
"One of the knights, he wrenched the prince away from me, and -- and I am so grateful for your gift, but it gives me no strength against a weapon."
The water rippled with a harsh breath. Her tired limbs trembled, and anxious, she curled both feet beneath her body. The corners of her mouth sunk downward as a memory resurfaced.
"She was there as well."
The surface of the pond stilled. Her broken reflection became whole, revealing a gentle image of her face. Short of breath, she touched a few fingertips to the curve of one cheek, watching as the movement was mirrored beneath her. Her face. Oh, how it hurt to know that such a soft touch would not linger for much longer.
His voice silenced such thoughts.
"You saw her," he said, and sounded almost pleasant. "Our worthless princess, before your very eyes. It has been a long time."
"It has," she murmured, her hands twisting within one another. The meeting had been brief, but the memories were almost harsh in their vibrancy: a desperate voice, a hand on her wrist, flashes of red and blue. The duck, so very small. That form seemed to have not aged a day, and such a realization had proven unsettling, if only for the briefest of moments. "She seemed not to remember me."
"Of course not," he answered, and she met his blood-colored eyes. "That cowardly child never cared for you. She may have seemed your friend, but such kindness was a lie. When the chance for salvation came --"
"She left me to rot," she interjected, and the words settled like a trail of ice along her lips, "and I will never forgive such cruelty."
His easy breath fanned across her face. "When I am free, she will know pain as you have known it. Let that be your comfort."
She could only nod. Above her, the ravens cried out into the dying night, a graceless symphony of sound that pricked at the low of her neck.
"I will forgive your worthlessness this time, but my mercy runs thin. Return to the kingdom and do as you've promised me, or you will live as a wretched prisoner to the end of your days. I will make sure of it."
Her body gave a vicious heave, but nonetheless, she bent into a bow, her forehead pressed to the cold earth. "Thank you."
She rose up, looking towards the sky, brimming with sudden color. Already, light had begun to grasp impatiently at the tips of the trees. Already, she could feel the prick of feathers along her limbs. Could time not still its path a moment more?
A sudden weight on her shoulder startled her, and she turned only to see a familiar raven perched there -- the one who had aided her in dismantling the guards. Its eyes were sharp. Its talons still bore streaks of dried blood.
"They will aid you."
The treetops bled red, a thousand pairs of glinting eyes flooding through the leaves. They took to the sky in a rush of feathers, their bodies sweeping in irrational circles overhead.
"You've gathered them," she breathed, unable to look away.
"It has been years," her master said, his voice the most vicious of growls, "but I long for the fragrant scent of blood. Let it coat the land once more."
The ravens answered in deafening union, and the sky was blotted out by a wave of black.
Something was tickling her nose.
That was Ahiru's first hazy thought upon waking. With a groan, she batted a hand close to her face in an attempt to brush whatever it was away, but the sensation lingered. Her thoughts still fuzzy with sleep, she snuggled further beneath her blanket, brow furrowing.
Uzura, I'm trying to sleep! Please ask Miss Edel if I can have five more minutes. Only five more minutes, I promise…
The strange touch just wouldn't go away, though, and she managed to convince her heavy eyelids to lift. Five more minutes wasn't unreasonable, not at all…
The thought quickly derailed. Traces of sleep seeping away, her wide-open eyes saw neither the soft color of her ceiling nor the smiling face of a familiar, drum-bearing little girl. Instead, in every direction was the same bright shade of green.
Leaves?
They rustled as a warm breeze blew though. A few with sharp edges drifted across the low of her cheek, and as a reflex, she rose a hand to bat them away yet again only to see as it passed before her eyes that it was not a hand at all, but a yellow wing.
A quick glance at the rest of her form confirmed the troubling news -- that she was still a duck.
Okay, don't panic, don't panic, she insisted to herself, but it took every ounce of effort she could muster up to keep calm. Both wings trembled as her thoughts raced, a frantic hum in the back of her head. What had happened? What time was it? Where was she!? Surely, this had to be some sort of strange dream. Any moment now, she would be waking up in her bed, having a nice laugh about this whole incident. Any moment now…
She cast a wary glance upwards. The leaves were thick, but Ahiru could glimpse a few pockets of brightening sky amidst them. She had endured enough anxious mornings to easily recognize when sunrise was coming.
With a deep breath, she tried to take a step only to utter a sharp "quack!" as the soft floor beneath her sagged. Startled, she looked down, pressing her webbed feet carefully against the fabric gathered beneath her. A familiar pattern of embroidery stretched in all directions, but only after turning and noticing the gaping shape of the neck hole did Ahiru see it was her dress. It must have been what she'd mistaken for a blanket, she realized, heaving a sigh upon noticing how crumpled and smudged the material had become. It wasn't really that big of a surprise. After all, she'd tripped so many times the night before, what with everything that had…
"You -- you can't go with her, Mytho!"
"You're pathetic, and I expected so much better."
"Ahiru!"
The memories, misplaced until that moment, hit her hard with such a sudden weight that she tumbled flat onto her back. She took a deep breath, then another.
Thatwas right. The night before seeped back in as a violent rush of voices and colors that Ahiru did her best to make some sense of. The woman in black had returned -- the swan, she remembered with a sharp breath -- and the memory was so vibrant that she could not bring herself to believe it had only been a dream. She'd tried to lead Mytho away into the forest, but Fakir had managed to stop her. She'd fled, then, running within the forest's dark edge without even a hint of hesitation, and Ahiru, in turn, had…
She lifted one wing over her head, sighing at the sight of dirtied feathers. How could she have been so stupid? How had running blindly into the forest, of all places, and chasing a stranger ever seemed like a good idea? Not to mention how she hadn't even bothered to consider the time in all the commotion! Honestly, where had her head been!?
She was cursed too.
That was all Ahiru needed to remember in order for her frantic thoughts to fall silent, for her sighs to soften into shallow breaths, echoing in the air all around her.
The dark-haired woman may have acted cold and cruel -- and may have had dark intentions, even -- but that didn't change the simple fact that she was another human who took the form of a bird. After so many years of being convinced that she carried such a strange burden alone, Ahiru had somehow managed to come face to face with someone plagued by the same ailment. In that desperate moment of realization, she'd cast aside all other concerns, overwhelmed by the need to know more.
And despite how she struggled to tell herself otherwise, Ahiru knew she would do so again in a heartbeat.
That wasn't all. The look that fluttered across the woman's face, if only briefly, had been one of clear recognition, and she had spoken as if she knew her. But what she said had been so hateful, so…
"You always were so very good at abandoning others, though."
What could it mean? Was it all just another distant memory, lost somewhere in the depths of her mind? Had she hurt the swan-woman, done something unforgivable to her all those years ago?
Ahiru wished she knew.
She hoisted her little body upright once more, the fabric of her dress crumpling beneath her as she stumbled down to the dirt ground. Sharp-edged leaves scratched at the wide curves of her face, and despite the twinges of pain, she shoved her head clean through the bush and cast a wary glance at the scenery. The forest looked much more innocent in the dim light of dawn; monsters revealed to be weary trees and grasping claws little more than branches, rattling in the breeze. The clearing, a mere patch of torn grass, rested a breath away.
She would have to think more about it later, Ahiru reluctantly decided. The remainder of the night lingered in the undercurrent of her thoughts, and she forced it to the forefront at once, hoping that it would offer her some sort of clue as to what she should do next. After the swan-woman had run off, Fakir's footsteps had only grown louder and louder, at one point so deafening that she was convinced he only stood a breath or two away from her hiding place. The fear of what would happen if her empty clothing was discovered had kept her from daring a look, though, and so she'd merely buried herself in the fabric and waited as shouts of her name echoed for some time after. Eventually, the sound quieted, then vanished altogether, leaving only the unfamiliar creaks and moans of the forest, so frightening that she couldn't bear to open her eyes once more. Instead, she'd snuggled deeper within her warm dress, and somehow, she must have drifted off…
Had he eventually gone back to the castle? Was everyone already informed of her sudden disappearance? Could countless knights and guards already be gathering up their weapons this very moment, poised and prepared to comb every inch of the forest until she was finally found?
Would anyone even care?
The thought struck without warning, and her breath grew cold for the briefest of moments.
Of course -- of course they would care! Her mind was quick to smother the painful question, her beak trembling as she uttered a few laughing quacks. What a silly idea! There were lots of people who'd be worried for sure, like Miss Edel and Uzura and Pique and Lillie. And even if some people still thought her scared or strange, that didn't mean they wouldn't sincerely hope she was unharmed, right?
Right!
Determined to not consider it a moment longer, Ahiru busied her mind instead with countless possibilities of what to do next. The hazy warmth of dawn was quickly gathering at the tips of each treetop, which meant there had to only be a handful of minutes left before she would change back. Of course she would pull on her dress the instant it happened and hurry to the castle -- but what would she say? That she'd merely gotten lost and wondered in the forest all night, unable to find her way back without any sunlight to lead her? Or -- oh! Maybe she had run into a tree and hit her head hard enough to knock her unconscious, and that was why she didn't respond to shouts of her name! That was certainly believable enough!
Anxious to begin her wonderful plan, Ahiru gathered up a corner of her dress in her mouth and tugged at it gently, hoping to at least smooth out some of the wrinkles before she pulled it back on. It could be washed, of course, but she just hoped the material hadn't torn on a sharp branch. It was one of her favorites --
The innocent thought was intruded on -- then quickly drowned out -- by the echo of footsteps.
Ahiru stiffened, struggling to convince herself that it was only in her imagination and that her head was supplying memories of familiar noises so that the forest didn't seem so silent and scary. Still the noise continued, mixed with the gentle crunch of leaves and snapping twigs. Someone was approaching from deeper within the forest.
Muffling a quack with one wing, she dove back into the center of the bush and burrowed deep within the crooked shape of her dress. Who would be walking around in the forest now? Had the swan-woman returned?
The sound swelled to a loud pitch, and without warning, a shadow of two legs cast a shadow against the clearing. The steps stopped, and whomever it was remained in the clearing, their ragged breathing the only sound left. Ahiru blinked a few times, poking her head out from the mess of fabric. That didn't sound like the woman's voice…
It took a few moments of intense convincing, but eventually, Ahiru managed to gather up enough courage to dare a look. Wriggling free of her dress, she took a handful of deliberate steps to the edge of the bush, making sure to keep both wings flat against her sides so as not to cause a rustling sound. With one last fervent prayer that it wasn't some kind of monster or anything equally terrifying, she gently poked the tip of her head through the leaves --
-- only for the hazy air she'd just inhaled to catch in her throat as Fakir, of all people, stepped just a breath away from her, his back turned, one hand clutched tight to the sword clasped at his side.
What was he doing out here now? Hadn't he -- hadn't he gone back to the castle the night before!?
At a loss, she could only watch. With a harsh twist of his torso, the knight looked back the way he'd came, then towards the front once more, his neck strained, his shoulders heaving. His lips parted, but pursed shut just as quickly, and a string of curses was all he muttered. After a few weak steps, he reached the edge of the clearing and slumped down against a thick tree.
Ahiru nudged her beak a little further through the leaves, watching with careful eyes as he rested his elbows against his knees, catching his chin in both open hands. He looked so tired, she thought while catching a glimpse of his face: eyes dark, mouth thin. Almost as if he'd…
She blinked, a new thought coming to mind.
Had Fakir been out here all night looking for her?
She shifted another inch further from the bush, finding it hard to see with so many leaves crowding around. His palms twitched against his neck and face, heels leaving shifting imprints in the dirt. Countless times, he lifted his head to face the maze of trees around him, mouth opening wide as though he meant to call out, but each time, he muttered a harsh curse instead and allowed his balled fists to scrape against the ground. Her name, Ahiru's mind was quick to supply. He was trying to call out to her, trying to find her, and the thought inexplicably burrowed deep in her throat, making it hard to breathe for a moment.
But why!? Why would he have stayed so long out in this scary forest all by himself? Why wouldn't he have gone back to the castle and gotten help? It didn't make sense!
It'd only been a minute or two since he'd first sat down, but Fakir was already rising again, gritting his teeth as his body swayed uncertainly for a moment then straightened once more. He stepped towards the other side of the clearing, to an area that Ahiru couldn't glimpse, and she moved without thinking, unwilling to lose sight of him -- only to nearly let loose a shrill 'quack!' as something dragged her backwards. A branch had snagged under her bandage. Blinking, she tried to pull free, but the fabric remained caught. A firmer tug, then, but this time, a spasm of pain shot through her wing, so sudden that she couldn't help but cry out. The cut she'd suffered the past week may have already healed, but the branch still stuck against the spot, clawing at the scar strewn there. The leaves around her shook in senseless unison as she kept tugging, willing it to let go, let go ---
It didn't. Instead, a hand appeared from overhead with its dirt-stained fingertips gently pulling at the bandage. "You again," a voice muttered, and she turned her head only to find herself engulfed by Fakir's shadow. He crouched beside the bush, his calloused palm brushing against the curve of her wing as he tore the stubborn branch loose. Suddenly free, Ahiru stumbled into his knee and looked up with wide eyes as he managed a weak smile.
"So you managed to survive after all."
Even his voice was hoarse, as though he'd been calling out all night long -- but it wasn't the time to think about that, Ahiru remembered, painfully aware of her crumpled dress resting only a few brief feet away. It was one thing that he'd found her hiding place, but if he found her clothes…
With a few shrill quacks, she stumbled out from the bush, praying that his attention would follow her. It did. He shifted both knees, watching as she ran into the clearing with her wings held high. The bandage had been torn from its snag on the branch and began to unravel onto the grass.
"Looks like your injury's healed," he muttered, and reached out to gather the fallen edge of the bandage. His hand was warm against her feathers, and without thinking, she nudged her head closer. The wind had been cold the night before, she insisted to herself, but that didn't stop a gentle flush from gathering along her cheeks when he petted her head. It was nice, to catch a glimpse of Fakir's softer side again, even if he wouldn't stay this way.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a tug around her body, and Ahiru found herself unexpectedly lifted into the air, gathered in the crook of Fakir's arm as he stood. At once, he was off with her in tow, walking so quickly that she only had enough time to cast a bewildered glance back at the clearing before it was swallowed up in gnarled trees.
"I'll remove the bandage. After a wash, it should be fine." He shook his head. "This is useless, anyway," he muttered, voice so quiet that Ahiru barely heard the words. "I'll have to tell them that she -- that I --"
He didn't say anything more after that and merely threw a tired glance upwards. Ahiru followed his gaze and stiffened at the sight. Shreds of blue sky were woven amidst all the green. Weak, warm threads of light had already gathered at the leafy tips of each treetop.
Sunrise?
And then the tremendous gravity of where she was, who she was with, and what would be happening very shortly collapsed down on her in one shrill moment.
How did she keep forgetting about her curse so easily!? Not just now, but the night before as well! It wasn't some silly game, it was serious, very, very serious, and she couldn't keep letting important details like time slip from her thoughts. She had to stay focused! Besides, she'd hardly made such awful mistakes like this before…
Okay, so maybe before, she hadn't been dealing with things like knights searching for her in scary forests and princes leaving the castle with frightening strangers and black swans who were actually girls who were actually cursed too --- but still! She had to focus!
The trees were beginning to thin as light fell in thicker and thicker waves upon their hushed forms. Fuzzy glimpses of green in the distance grew clear, and soon enough, Ahiru found herself and Fakir already poised at the edge of the forest with a stretch of familiar grass before them. The castle stood on the slope of the hill, a mere shape of grey in the hazy morning air.
Fakir didn't waste any time, and he set out across the field in the direction of his quarters with strides brisk and deliberate. All the while, Ahiru couldn't keep her wings from trembling as she cast anxious glances down at the ground; matted grass passed under her so swiftly that a wave of dizziness nearly overtook her. Don't panic, she insisted to herself. Any second now, she would simply leap out of his arms and duck beneath the grass until he'd gone. After all, escaping had gone smoothly enough that frightening morning after the ball, she was quick to remind herself. Of course there was nothing to worry about!
Fakir reached a dip in the field, stumbling briefly, and Ahiru realized that this was her chance. She pressed her feet hard to the crooked shape of his arm, and with a deep breath, ruffled her feathers and jumped, bracing herself for the impact --
-- only to let loose a strangled "quack!" when she was yanked back.
Blinking furiously, she glanced up at Fakir, but he didn't even seem to have done anything, much less noticed her plan, as his eyes were rigidly focused forward while he walked. A dull panic beginning to bubble deep in her stomach, she shifted her little body, glancing around for something, anything, that could have…
Her wing. The tip of it was pressed flat in the gasp of space between his chest and arm, and wiggling it was no help. She tugged a few frantic times, but the hold refused to loosen. Even nipping at the bare skin above his sleeve did nothing. Fakir merely took a breath, his grip around her tightening.
Faced with another situation, Ahiru would probably have resorted to laughing by now, as she usually did when things looked bleak in the hopes that it would raise her spirits. In this particular instance, however, Ahiru couldn't find the strength to even muster a breath, much less a giggle. Ribbons of warm light were flooding the dew-soaked curves of the field, grasping greedily at her form as they struggled to catch up. She could glimpse the sun, a blinding rim against the slope of the land. And her feathers, she realized, eyes widening. They were beginning to tickle…
She resorted to blind panic.
At once, Ahiru exploded, kicking and struggling, quacking so loudly that it surely seeped within every dream in the kingdom. Fakir finally took notice, his eyebrows arching as he struggled to hold on.
"Hey, hey," was all he muttered, palms firm against her little body. He was too strong, she realized in horror. If he didn't let go…
With a harsh sigh, he effortlessly pulled her back against his elbow, holding her still as they finally reached his home, the slanted door creaking as he yanked it open. She cast one last hopeless glance back at the brightening sky as it vanished from view and the door shut behind them with a resounding thud.
The next few moments were little more than a blur to Ahiru. She knew what was going to happen, knew there was no way out this time, but still, she shut her eyes tight, desperately willing her body to stay the same, only for a few more moments, just a little longer. Despite her best efforts, however, there was the same rush of familiar sensations, -- dizziness, warmth, pain -- overtaking her with ease. The pull of gravity took effect as she grew heavier. She heard the sound of someone catching their breath, felt a stiff arm instinctively wrap under her legs so as to catch her, and then --
-- silence.
She couldn't bring herself to dare a look. What had happened? Had she somehow managed the impossible!?
With a hasty breath, she finally creaked one eye open, but no, Ahiru only saw the familiar curves of her human form. Her small hands, fingers twitching as they settled helplessly against her stomach. The swell of her knees --
-- and Fakir above her, eyes wide; still holding in both arms her suddenly larger, suddenly naked body.
Neither moved. He seemed frozen, arms rigid against the low of her back, a vibrant shade of red flooding his face. Ahiru could only bring both arms tight against her chest with a similar blush, lips parting just wide enough to utter a few hoarse words.
"Um…I…"
There was a knock at the door so suddenly that her stuttering erupted into a full-blown screech.
"QUA-mmph!"
Another knock, more urgent.
Ahiru held both palms firm against her lips, and without another sound, slipped out of Fakir's arms and stumbled across the room, ducking behind the bed.
"Fakir," an angry voice called, and the knight barely managed to blink, shaking his head as he turned to answer it. A disgruntled young man stood there, half-dressed, his hair still mussed with sleep.
"What's all the noise about? It's barely dawn, for chrissakes," he muttered with a thick yawn. "With all that screeching, you'd think you had a wild animal in there."
He moved so as to catch a glimpse inside the house, but Fakir was quick to block his view, positioning himself firmly in the doorway. "It's nothing," he managed to say, mouth settling into a dark line. "An accident. That's all."
The man arched a disbelieving eyebrow, but shrugged all the same, turning out to face the field already drenched in infant sunlight. "Just keep it quiet, okay? I have to be on patrol in a few hours, and at this rate, I'll be falling off my horse --"
The man took off, still muttering under his breath as he trudged back to his own quarters. Fakir closed the door with one rigid pull and turned back in time to watch Ahiru rise up on shaky legs with one of his sheets wrapped around her slight frame.
At a loss for what to do next, Ahiru managed a weak laugh, hugging the material close to her. The silence was uncomfortable, and she proceeded to do what she did best in such situations: fill it. "You see, it's a funny story -- well, of course it's funny, I mean, of course a story about being a duck would be funny, don't you think, because ducks are funny animals and do funny things and this whole accident was just really funny, don't you think --"
Fakir wasn't laughing.
"A - a duck?"
He barely managed to choke the words out, a stubborn blush still clinging to the bridge of his nose.
Ahiru adjusted her hold on the sheet, fingers fidgeting along the frayed edges. There was no way out of this, no reasonable explanation she could make up to account for what had just happened. Nothing left to do but tell the truth, she accepted, and took a deep breath.
"W-Well, it's only at night, but --" Despite her newfound bravery, the last few words couldn't help but wither away in the low of her throat, and she only managed a sheepish nod as a answer.
"How can you --" Fakir started at once, voice thick, only to stop short with a sudden rush of realization flickering across his face. "The night of the ball," he said, eyes widening. "That was…"
"Me," she squeaked with another nod, and brandished her arm as proof, the bandage half-unraveled around the curve of her elbow.
Fakir made a strange noise then turned away and steadied himself against the wall with one rigid hand, the other clutched tight to his mouth. Though he was obviously doing his best to make it difficult for her to see, Ahiru could still glimpse a thin slant of his face, and blinked a few hasty times upon seeing that, once again, it was flooded with a flourish of red. She stifled a giggle, beginning to find the whole situation rather silly. Was he embarrassed? Of such a little thing as being kind to a duck?
She dared a few steps into the middle of the room, doing her best to keep from tripping on the edge of the sheet as it fluttered between her legs. "That was very nice, what you did for me that night," she started, voice careful. "I really --"
"Why didn't you say anything!?"
He'd turned back already, voice so shrill and angry that Ahiru stumbled back a step, steadying herself against the table. "H-How could I have said something? You don't speak duck --"
"That's not what I mean, you idiot --"
"Hey!"
There she'd been, so sure for one brief, shining moment that they could actually carry on a decent conversation. But no, he had to go and ruin it by switching back to his awful self once more. Well, Ahiru thought, an all-too-familiar swell of anger pricking at the low of her chest, she wasn't going to take that sitting down any longer.
With a few sharp strides, she was directly in front of him, eyes narrowed.
Fakir noticed with a slight jolt and backed away so suddenly that he ran into the table. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Stop that! You always have to be so mean," Ahiru said, and followed after him. Fakir, in turn, shifted around to the other side, attempting to keep a few breaths of distance between them. "But it's not going to work anymore, because I know! I know you were worried about me!"
"What are you talking about?"
She wasted no time in hurrying closer to him. He, in turn, shifted to yet another side, and soon enough, they were running around the little table, Ahiru in determined pursuit and Fakir struggling to keep away.
"You were out in the forest all night looking for me, weren't you!?"
Fakir didn't say anything for a moment, his mouth unraveling into an uneasy line for the slightest of moments before settling into a frown once again. "I thought you'd been killed, you 's my duty to keep you safe," he finally shot back, slowing his pace just long enough to cast a glare at her. "If it wasn't, then I wouldn't have bothered!"
"That's not true! It wasn't your duty to spend all night in that scary forest! You could have come back to the castle and gotten help, or sent someone else to look instead -- but you didn't! You stayed, and you looked, because you were worried!"
"I was not, you -- will you stop chasing me!?"
"No," Ahiru shot back, almost catching him by the sleeve at the corner, only for Fakir to duck away from her grasping hand, "because this is what you always do! Every single time I try to talk to you, you just run away! Well, not this time, because I'm not go-ah!" She stumbled across the corner of her sheet, inadvertently tugging the fabric off her shoulders. She gathered the material up at once with a hoarse giggle, covering her chest, cheeks tinted pink. "Heh, whoops…"
Fakir's face regained a healthy shade of crimson. "Can't you keep that damn thing pulled up!?"
"I'm trying," she squeaked, still struggling to catch him. "But the point is -- what I want to say is -- ah-hah!"
She rounded the corner -- and skidded to an abrupt stop. Just as she'd suspected, Fakir wasn't prepared for the halt, and grabbed onto the table in a desperate attempt to keep from slamming into her. Thrown off-balance, he stumbled backwards onto the bed.
Fakir blinked a few hasty times and pulled himself upright just as Ahiru's shadow collapsed over him. She stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, lips set into a determined line.
"You were nice to me," she insisted, voice thick, "and I know I was just an animal and you couldn't tell who I really was and maybe you just hate me or something and that's why you always call me names and run away when I'm talking to you and act like a jerk -- but if you can be nice to duck me, then you can find a way to be nice to me me!"
Silence. Short of breath, she uncrossed her arms, clutching both limp hands to the folds of the sheet as she steadied herself. Fakir didn't say anything and merely looked away, his eyes dark.
If anything, Ahiru thought, at least she had gotten her point across.
"Now," she said with a sniffle, doing her best to muster up a weak smile, "will you please go get my dress for me?"
The sheet, messily folded, was returned to the foot of the bed. Ahiru grimaced, struggling to stretch her arms far enough behind her back. She gave up after the fifth try with a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. No matter how hard she tried, her fingers just couldn't grasp the buttons sewn into the spine of her dress. She supposed it didn't matter if the back it was left open, though: at least she was wearing actual clothes now. Glancing down at the skirt, she frowned. This had been her favorite gown, but the delicate fabric had been ruined during its long night in the forest, torn by sharp branches, smudged with dirt and grass. Maybe Miss Edel could repair it…
Deciding not to dwell on it any longer, Ahiru slumped into the nearest chair and blinked when a cup was set in front of her.
"Here," Fakir said, and she glanced up only to see that he'd already turned away from her. "Water."
Ahiru may have regarded the offer with a stronger curiosity at any other time -- but her throat felt sore and sticky, and she smothered the cup with both eager hands at once. "Thank you," she chirped, and downed half the cup easily.
He slumped into the other chair across the table from her, silent. After a moment, she dared a brief look up at him. He seemed distracted, half-watching her, half-staring out the window with warm sun painted along each smudged pane. Her lips rose into a fleeting smile. At least he didn't look angry any longer. And he wasn't saying anything mean or rude, either! She supposed that was a step in the right direction, if anything.
"How?"
The stark word startled her, and she fumbled with the half-full cup. All of Fakir's attention was focused on her now, face stoic, one eyebrow quirked.
"W-Well," she stuttered, fingernails fidgeting against the worn metal as she wondered where to begin. She'd never spoken of the curse to anyone, not out loud, not once. With Miss Edel and Uzura, it had always been something simple, something quiet they'd kept deep within them, so deeply carved into the woodwork of their lives that it had become almost superfluous in discussion. But now…
"I don't really know how explain it," she finally managed to say. "I just…change. I mean, it's only at night -- but it happens every night, always. Ever since I can remember. I think, maybe, it's some kind of curse, but I don't --"
"A curse?" Fakir said, a touch of alarm in his voice. "The ravens --"
"Mm-hmm," she murmured, "or, at least, I think it was them. But I don't know anything about it, or how to get rid of it, or what it means or anything. I can't even remember when it started, so that could mean -- I mean, I know everyone thinks I'm the princess, and it's not like I don't think I am, but maybe I'm not, maybe instead of a girl cursed to be a duck, I'm a duck cursed to be a girl, and that means --"
"Anyway," he sharply interjected, and Ahiru realized, gentle pink spotting her cheeks, that she'd been rambling. Well, it was understandable, she was quick to insist to herself. She'd never had the chance to discuss all of this before, these countless confusing thoughts buried deep down for so long, rattling in the low of her chest like caged birds. It was a relief, almost, to reveal them to someone new.
Fakir placed a hand to his forehead, brow furrowing. "Who else knows?"
"Only my caretaker," she was quick to answer. "She was the one who took care of me, and so she saw -- and she thought it'd be best to keep it a secret, so…"
His eyes widened somewhat, one eyebrow arching in obvious confusion. Ahiru blinked. "W-What? What did I say?"
"Nothing, it's just --" he started, pausing briefly before continuing the thought. "Not Mytho?"
The question sunk in, and Ahiru looked down at her lap, fidgeting with the curled end of her braid.
"Well, no. What if he thinks…it's too strange?" She finally managed to say, voice quiet. "I can't be his princess like this. Everybody else already thinks I'm awful, and they don't even know. They'd prefer someone who --"
In one elegant motion, she turned, feathered skirt fluttering around her. Dark feathers. Wings…
A memory brimmed at the surface, vibrant images gathering amidst all the quiet of her other thoughts, and at once, Ahiru straightened, half-lidded eyes opening wide.
"Oh," she breathed, hands rising so quickly that her knuckles accidentally knocked the cup over, a few thin veins of water settling against the wood. "The woman from last night! She was cursed too!"
Fakir's expression settled into one of disbelief. "Are you sure?"
"She had wings," Ahiru was quick to insist, voice stern and sure, "and that's why I ran after her! I was sure that maybe she could tell me something about it, who did it, how to stop it, anything…"
"You idiot," he interrupted, voice sharp. "How could you assume that was a good idea?"
"I was excited," Ahiru countered weakly, mouth unraveling into a frown.
"Anyone with eyes could have seen that she was up to no good --"
"I just thought --"
"You didn't think. You jumped to a ridiculousconclusion, and because of --"
"Don't you think I know!?" She cried, voice so bold that surprise rippled across Fakir's face. Tears, of all things, were pricking at the corners of Ahiru's eyes, and she shook her head, willing them away. She'd always realized that her decision had been stupid and dangerous and lots of other horrible things! She didn't need it all thrown back in her face!
For a moment, she'd meant to yell some more, but her strength died away as quickly as it had surfaced, and she crossed both arms against her chest, slumping against the chair once more.
"I'm not an idiot," was all she managed to mutter.
Fakir didn't say anything more and merely stood and gathered her fallen cup, mopping up the spill with his sleeve. He moved across the room, leaving Ahiru alone at the table.
It wasn't as if her mistake hadn't gone unpunished, she stubbornly insisted to herself, making a face at Fakir's back. The woman in black hadn't just refused to answer her question. She'd said awful things, spoken so cruelly --
"You're pathetic, and I expected so much better. You couldn't even dissuade the prince from me, could barely hope to catch his attention in the least. And now you've run off and left him, hoping instead that I can tell you whatever it is you wish to know. Did you really think it would be this easy?"
-- and she'd been right.
The cold realization rattled in her bones, but Ahiru knew it was true, no matter how much she wished it wasn't. She had honestly believed that the woman could help her, could make all her troubles go away with some simple solution, some magic word. And not just then, either. All this time, her entire life, she'd just been trying to make it through each day as best she could, hoping and praying that somehow, the curse would disappear on its own. She wouldn't be able to live like that much longer. Sure, the Council had yielded to her need for a ball during the day now -- but what about the next time, and the time after that? What if she was married and it still refused to vanish? She couldn't keep hoping for an easy way out. She couldn't keep waiting like this!
A cure for every ailment.
If she wanted to find a way to overcome the curse…
An end for every story.
…then she'd have to seek out a solution herself.
"If you've finally calmed down," Fakir's voice broke through her mess of thoughts, and she swiveled around in her chair, watching as he made his way towards the front door. "I'll take you back."
She stood at once, having made up her mind. "Fakir."
He met her gaze, and she took a deep breath, hands wringing within the folds of her skirt.
"I need a favor," she started. "Y-You took Mytho into town the other day to buy me that necklace, didn't you?"
He gave a curt nod, and she hurried a few steps closer towards him, as if someone else might possibly overhear the question if she spoke it too loudly. "Do…do you think you could do the same for me? It would just be for a little while!"
Fakir looked less than enthused with the idea. "And why would I do that?"
"Um, well -- because I asked you very nicely?" She weakly suggested, flashing the most encouraging smile she could muster up. Her shoulders sagged when she realized Fakir was already shaking his head.
"I spent all damn night in that forest looking for you," he grunted, "and now you expect me to play babysitter?"
Ahiru bit down on her lip, turning around to push in her chair out of innocent habit. She should have expected this, really. Even though Fakir knew her secret now -- and had finally stopped flat-out ignoring her -- it wasn't like they were going to suddenly be friends or anything of the sort. She leaned an elbow on the corner of the table, cupping her chin within her palm as she thought. Maybe she could ask one of her servants to go with her, or another knight…
Behind her, she heard the sharp creak of the door opening and Fakir's voice, still a low grumble across the room. "You can't think that I'm just going to…"
She sighed, wondering when he was going to let the issue drop, only to stiffen when just that happened and an abrupt silence flooded through the room. Why had he stopped mid-sentence?
She turned her head, enough to glimpse him still standing at the front door. He seemed frozen, eyes wide as he stared unabashedly at her.
"W-What?" She stuttered, thrown off-guard by the sudden intensity of his gaze. "What's the matter?"
Her torso twisted further around, and Fakir's gaze seemed to shift with it. It almost looked like he was staring at her back, but why would he --
A fresh breath snagged in the low of her throat. Her back. She hadn't been able to do the buttons along the spine of her dress, she remembered. And that meant…
Her scars.
Ahiru spun around at once, hip banging against the corner of the table as she backed up against it. Her cheeks were already darkening with painful embarrassment -- of course he would stare, they were horrible, ugly scars, even she cringed when she glimpsed them in her mirror -- but still, she managed a trembling smile, hands clutching to her elbows.
"It's, um," she started, weak laughter mingling with her words, her gaze dropping down to the floor." They're just -- just from an accident! A long time ago! I don't even really remember what happened, actually! Isn't that silly? To have scars like this and not even be able to remember how I got them? It's silly!"
She dared a wary glance back up at Fakir, only to see that his gaze still hadn't wavered in the least, his face colored with an emotion she couldn't quite read. He almost looked …scared? But why would that be? It wasn't like he had anything to do with ---
He shook his head, and the moment passed.
"It's nothing," he muttered, and made a rough gesture towards the open door. Confusion lingered, a heavy mist over her mess of thoughts, but she did her best to shake it away, hurrying over to him while unable to catch what he said next.
She glanced up at Fakir as they stepped outside. "Hmm?"
"I said fine," he answered. His voice was quiet and grave, inexplicably robbed of the thick aggravation he'd spoken with just a moment ago. "I'll take you."
The uneasy shape of her mouth immediately flowered into a grin. "Really?"
A curt nod was her answer, his eyes focused on the sun-drenched shape of the field as they began up its slope towards the castle. "Just let me sleep for a few hours."
"O-Of course! Thank you!"
Fakir didn't say anything more; merely moved beside her as a dark shape amidst the light of early morning.
Briefly, Ahiru wondered just what had changed his mind -- and twitched when a prick of sudden pain surfaced along the shape of her shoulder blades -- but decided a moment later, with a bright smile, that it really didn't matter.
The day was beginning to look better already.
Afternoon had barely begun, the sun seeming snagged along the forests' jagged treetops -- but the town was already brimming with vibrant activity, no doubt spurred by the ball's arrival in only a few short hours. There were still the thriving constants, of course -- countless ornate stands stationed before each building, exuberant villagers crowding within each open door and stretch of street, the same ragtag band playing cheerful tunes in the square. Mixed in, though, were obvious additions; women dressed in muted colors -- obviously servants -- scurried past, rolls of fabric clutched in their arms, last-minute jewelry for their noble families jingling in their pockets. Impromptu dancing lessons seemed to be taking place on every corner, adults and children alike twirling on the balls of their feet, laughter heavy in the air.
Ahiru couldn't help but notice how different it felt being here again. Last time, she'd done her best to keep her identity a secret, and it had worked; no one had paid her so much as a second glance. She'd been a mere nameless face jostled through the crowds and accosted by merchants and peddlers alike.
This time, however, with her dress of elaborate thread, her jewelry of expensive stone, and a knight of the castle at her side, blending in wasn't an option. A noticeable hush fell over the throngs when they noticed her approaching and countless forms stumbled back in order to give her room. It seemed that despite her absence from the ball, she was still easily recognizable as the princess, and countless women and men collapsed in deep bows and curtsies, their smiles dazzling. She responded to each in turn with a gentle bend of her ankle, smiling as well. Maybe everyone really didn't hate her!
Still, she couldn't help but notice those who strayed at the back of the crowds, eyes bright and lips curled as they whispered.
Ahiru found herself so distracted by the sight that she ran right into Fakir, briefly knocking them both off-balance.
"S-Sorry!"
Fakir didn't even glance to her; merely straightened and continued walking at the same stiff pace, keeping a few feet ahead of her on the road.
She quickened her pace and managed to catch up to him. He'd said he was going to sleep during those few hours they were apart, but what she saw after throwing a discreet glance in his direction startled her. His eyes appeared so haggard and hollow shadows dusted the lines of his face.
Maybe she was being too harsh in assuming he was rude to ignore her like this. He had spent all night in that awful forest looking for her. Of course he would still be exhausted and irritated and not in the mood for talking! Anyone would be like that after such a long ordeal!
Then again, she thought, this wasn't too far of a stretch from how their other encounters had gone.
Passing by, a woman sharply gestured to the three young girls following at her heels. In succession, they spun around on their heels to face Ahiru and curtsied, their curls of hair collapsing over their rosy faces. With a smile, Ahiru mimicked the gesture, giggling when the youngest girl waved and her lips parted in a gap-toothed smile. Pinned within her mess of golden ringlets was a silver bird of elegant shape, glimmering when she turned towards the sun.
That reminded her…
"Fakir," she murmured when the woman and her children, their attention seized by a stand of baubles and trinkets further up the road, passed on. He was a few feet ahead of her once more, and she hurried to catch up.
She heard him take a shallow breath, and took that as enough of an invitation to continue.
"You aren't going to tell anyone, are you? About my…"
She trailed off, too afraid that someone in the crowd may overhear. Her hands wringed within the folds of her skirt. She cast a careful glance at Fakir, but his eyes were still focused forward.
"Who would I tell?" He muttered, tone so curt that she could practically hearthe word idiot lingering at the end of the question, even though he didn't bother to speak it.
"Well, I don't know," she said, brow furrowing. "The other knights, or any of the servants, or your family, or friends, or anyone in town, or --" she bit down on her lip, realizing sheepishly that she was spiraling off into a tangent again. "Just -- promise you won't, please?"
He glanced at her then, with a sigh, nodded.
"Good," she answered, a small smile twitching at the corners of her lips, only to promptly disappear when her eyes strayed to a small shop across the road. Two young women stood at crooked angles in the doorway, skirts swishing around their bare ankles as they turned to watch Ahiru pass by. They didn't make a move to curtsy, as countless other had. Both merely cupped their palms tight across their lips, lithe bodies shaking with laughter as they whispered. They could be talking about anything, Ahiru insisted to herself, but still, the sight forced a sharp-edged memory to the surface: two women wandering the vast halls of the castle, their laughter like bells, their insults like needles against her skin. Clearly the girl's just cowardly. Or inadequate in some way…
"See?" She couldn't help but speak up, still watching them. When Fakir didn't stop, she gripped a few stubborn fingers on his sleeve, pulling him back. "Look," she continued, gesturing to them. "That's why I can't tell anyone else. These people, they don't know anything about me -- but just because I couldn't come to the ball that night, they talk about me and act like I'm strange! If they knew the truth…"
"Why do you care so much about what they think?"
The question cut a clean tear through her train of thought, and she glanced up, wide-eyed. Fakir's expression was unreadable, mouth a rigid line as he met her gaze.
"I -- I don't care that much," she insisted at once, but the words were weak, hoarse in the low of her throat. "It's just -- I only…"
She couldn't help but trail off. Fakir pulled free from her grip with one sharp tug of his sleeve, turning back towards the stretch of road they had yet to travel.
"You know the truth," he muttered. "What does it matter?"
He began walking once more, and she took a deep breath, unsure if what he'd said was meant to be encouraging or insulting. Still, even as she followed, Ahiru couldn't help but look back to the women in the doorway. They noticed her eyes this time, and paused their whispering long enough to take up their skirts in one hand, each falling back on a thin ankle in the slightest of curtsies. Their mouths formed crooked lines, and their eyes were bright with laughter.
"I know it seems silly," she finally managed to retort, hurrying her steps even as she kept her head turned back, "but it's different for me! If people don't like me, then they might not think I'm fit to be the princess, and then they'd wish somebody else was princess, somebody who can show up on time and is a much better dancer and -- ah!"
She turned her head forward just in time to collide with Fakir's back, causing them both to stumble forward yet again. He regained his balance at once, taking rough hold of her wrist and pulling her upright with a glare.
"Will you stop running into me!?"
"Sorry," she repeated, cheeks darkening with color. "I didn't mean to!"
He brought one rigid hand against his brow and thrust his other arm towards her. "Here."
She briefly thought he meant to give her something, but his hand was clenched tight with crooked shape of his elbow closest to her. "What?"
"Just -- take it."
Take it? Ahiru blinked, comprehension quickly settling in. He wanted her to hold onto him? Like how a man and a woman walked when they were…
"R-Really?" She couldn't help but stutter.
"If it will keep you from charging into me and stumbling around like an idiot," he grunted, so curtly that the words silenced that particular image, dragging a very different one to the surface instead -- instances where knights had taken the arms of struggling elderly guests and helped them through the vast halls of the castle. Yes, Ahiru thought, bristling. This was definitely much more like that than her former thought -- even if she did resent the implication.
He didn't move back, and after a long moment, she sighed. Her arm drew within the crook of his elbow, fingertips gently settling along his sleeve. There was only a little further to go, Ahiru reasoned. She supposed this would be alright for a little while.
They began walking once more. The crowds were starting to thin. A few villagers still milled in doorways, adjusting their handfuls of goods and pausing to peruse some of the lesser stands. Still, most people were hurrying to join the excitement in the square, and with each step they took further down the road, the music echoed back to Ahiru fainter.
She hummed broken snippets of a tune, her free hand rising to brush away a loose tendril of hair then dropping to settle against the curve of her neck. The winged pendant rested at the latter, and her fingertips caressed its etched edges. She had been meaning to save the gift for only the most special of occasions, but for some reason, the memory of it had seeped deep within her thoughts as she'd dressed that afternoon. Finally, she'd allowed herself a quick peek. The chain had been warm, and quickly wondered of its own accord, from the lines of her palms to the eager tips of her fingernails to the shape of her neck. It would be a short trip, she was quick to tell herself -- and so she wore it.
"It's a sign," she murmured, so deep in thought she that didn't even realize she'd spoken the words out loud until Fakir glanced to her.
"What?"
"It's just," she started, still gripping the pendent with her free hand, "I think maybe I should tell Mytho. After all, he picked this out." She gently drew back her fingers, cradling the silver wings against the lines of her palm as she showed it to Fakir. "There must have been a lot of choices, but he picked this! Don't you think that has to be some sort of sign?"
A long moment passed. Fakir glanced at the pendant, then at her.
"Maybe," he finally said.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, smiled a warm smile and tightened her grip on his arm. "I think so too."
At last, they reached the end. The last few villagers they'd passed much further up the road had looked to them with wary eyes and hurried the other way. Now, there was only the frayed ends of the town to look upon: a few poor houses, roofs half-built and windowpanes cracked; the forest, a monstrous flood of color before them with gaunt branches that grasped at the worn edges of the road.
Ahiru took a deep breath.
"This is where you wanted to come?"
Fakir's voice was grave, the slightest touch of alarm flooding in. His free hand moved to his side, and only then did Ahiru notice that his sword hung there, his fingertips straying along the firm shape of its hilt.
She nodded, and her careful gaze wondered past each slanted doorway, each dark window. The last house on the left, she remembered, and turned towards it with a fresh air of determination, only to promptly catch her breath at the sight.
She remembered.
It looked somewhat different -- the stand, littered with trinkets and jewelry and so many worn, beautiful books, was gone -- but there was no mistaking this particular house. She could still remember the red pendant's warm glow; the voice of the man in the shadows, his grin wide and bright.
Why don't you tell me, little Ahiru?
With a frown, she stubbornly shook loose any semblance of fear. It made sense, she insisted to herself, that such a strange person would have written her that letter. In fact, she supposed most fortunetellers were just like him, laughing and grinning and knowing things they had no business knowing! There was nothing to be afraid of!
Gently, she removed her arm from Fakir's grip, taking up the folds of her skirt in both hands as she began walking. "Well," she said, her weak laughter mingling with her words, "I'm sure this won't take long! If you wouldn't mind waiting, I would really --"
A familiar sharp tone interrupted, one hand grabbing her shoulder.
"What are you thinking?" Fakir said, his hand now firmly clutched on the hilt of his sword. "Do you even know what you're going to find in there?"
"Um," Ahiru attempted to explain, but nothing convincing came to mind, and she sheepishly scratched the back of her head. "Well, I received a letter, so…"
"You idiot," he spat through clenched teeth, "this could be dangerous! Someone could be trying to kill you! Don't you see that?"
"But I only wanted to…"
"I should never have agreed to this ridiculous errand of yours --"
"Wait," she cried, tugging at his wrist with both hands. "You don't understand! I have to find a way to fix this now, or I'll never be able to! I know it sounds silly, but -- but this person sent me a letter saying they could help me, and it might be my only chance!"
Fakir continued glaring, and she was sure, so sure for an awful moment that he was going to drag her back to the castle and tell everyone everything to make sure she didn't try to come again…
…but to her enormous surprise, he instead released his grip.
"I'll go with you," he muttered, and started towards the house before Ahiru even had a chance to catch her breath, "if it's that damn important."
She followed, and in only a moment, they were standing beneath the house's deep awning. The settling walls seemed to sigh at their presence, low creaks and moans sliding through the afternoon air. The door rested an inch open, the slightest warmth of candlelight emanating from within.
"But," Ahiru whispered, "I don't want to make them think they're under arrest or anything scary like that! If something seems strange, I'll scream. I promise!"
For a moment, Fakir didn't say anything in response, and she wondered briefly if he was going to refuse -- but in one fluid motion, he fell back against the stretch of wood nearest to the door. "Make it quick."
She nodded, forming her hand into a fist and knocking against the wooden door.
The answer was instantaneous.
Come in, come in! I had grown weary of waiting, but at last, you've arrived!
The voice was sudden, almost hearty in its strength. Ahiru could not see who it belonged to, though, and it resonated within her as a mere ghost. A shiver tore through her skin, but she pushed the door open and dared a few careful steps within.
Do close the door, won't you? Precious words may slip through the cracks if we aren't careful!
At once, she did what she was told, fumbling for the heavy handle. Fakir looked to her warily, but only shifted his position, ear now pressed firm to the thin wall. She offered him one last brave smile, then pulled the door shut, only to find herself thrust into darkness.
For a moment, she fumbled helplessly, hands grasping for something tangible that she could rest against as her eyes adjusted. Still, a flicker of candlelight beckoned from further within the room, and she had no choice but to stumble towards it, praying that she wouldn't accidentally knock something hidden in the darkness over in all her confusion.
"H-Hello?"
Yes, welcome, welcome! You've been long expected, my dear.
Her hands finally settled upon the worn shape of a chair, and she tiptoed around its jutting leg, settling into the seat with a deep breath.
A single candle rested before her, its wax half-melted and seeping onto the table she found herself seated at. Countless loose papers were scattered with tangled words scrawled along their surfaces. Small items lay among them. Ornate baubles, their shine having long since dulled. A small mirror, theatric faces etched into its stone trimming. Apples and cherries, none whole: some half-eaten, some with only a bite missing. The sharp ends of needles pointed towards her. Shoes crafted of ribbon, lace, and satin.
"Mystifying, isn't it?"
Ahiru jumped, biting down on her lip hard to keep from crying out. Across the table, a irregular shape slowly came into focus, the lines of a body brimming within the light. A beard's thick curls pooled against the table's edge. Large eyes, a strange, swirling color, almost seemed to be floating in midair.
"Such pointless trinkets," he continued, "and yet, when placed just so within simple confines, they become tools of the greatest caliber! Isn't it fascinating?"
Ahiru had no idea how to respond to such a strange statement; she could only manage a trembling nod in response. There was nothing to be scared of, she insisted to herself, wringing her hands within the folds of her skirt.
The man's grin appeared, a crescent of white that glimmered in the candlelight. "But such revelations do little to aid you, don't they, little Ahiru? You are still in desperate need of your own salvation -- your own deus ex machina! Oh, if only it were that easy…"
He laughed, then, darkness seeping within the gasping red of his mouth. Realizing she would have to voice her thoughts at some point, Ahiru took a deep breath and straightened against the back of her chair.
"W-Why," she murmured, unable to mask a clumsy stutter, "did you send that letter to me? Can you…help me?"
The strange man seemed to find this question even more amusing. "Why, it is what I do, my dear! I am a giver of fortunes, a spinner of stories, if you will! I call out to those unfortunate souls who find themselves forced from fate's blood-drawn path, and lead them to a truth of my own design." He met Ahiru's startled gaze squarely. "You are desirous of such assistance, yes?"
"Well, yes, but I'm not sure that you can fix my problem, mister --?"
The name she'd seen scrawled along the card escaped her, and she looked down at her lap, embarrassed.
"Ah, yes, where are my manners?" He spoke up, not missing a beat. "You may refer me to as Drosselmeyer!"
"Mister Drosselmeyer," she repeated, finally managing to force her lips into a quivering smile. She was not able to curtsy in greeting, as she usually would in such a situation. Still, she was desperate to find some tangible sense of familiarity so as to soothe her nerves. At a loss, she flung one hand out across the table, fingers splayed. "It's very nice to meet you!"
He regarded her curiously for a brief moment, and then without warning, erupted into yet another peal of wild laughter so strong that several papers rustled as if a gust had blown through. "Your actions are certainly capricious," he said, "but I'm afraid it would be quite impossible for me to partake in such a gesture."
Her fingers curled tight to her palm, expression settling into one of innocent confusion. "W-What?"
A strange shape seeped onto his edge of the table, sinking deep within the pool of candlelight. Ahiru's wide eyes were drawn to the movement --
-- and at once, she brought her hand against her mouth, barely stifling a violent gasp.
"Your hands," she whimpered, fingernails so tightly clutched against her lips that they left imprints. "They're…"
"Ah, yes," Drosselmeyer answered easily, grin widening as he looked upon them himself. "They are quite dreadful, aren't they?"
Ahiru could barely comprehend the sight. His hands were mangled beyond recognition, each finger torn and twisted at unnatural angles, his knuckles gnarled. Deep creases of skin were drowned in jagged scars, some barely healed and still coated in dried blood. Overgrown nails scraped against the worn wood of the table.
"But that is quite enough of my own personal oddities," he said, and Ahiru averted her gaze, removing the hand from her mouth and pressing it firm against the curve of her chest instead, desperate to soothe her quickening heartbeat. "Your own heart-wrenching tragedies are what I find the greatest interest in, after all! Shall we begin?"
She nodded, and with a deep breath, smothered the unsettling image in the low of her thoughts. "O-Of course! It's a very strange problem, really. In fact, it's actually rather silly! I'm not even sure just how to describe it, really --"
"My dear," Drosselmeyer interjected yet again, "were you under the impression that I was not already aware?"
Ahiru blinked. "What?"
His grin was blinding. "Why, your troubles, your precious insecurities all stem from one troubling dilemma -- that you spend half of your all-too human life as something quite inhuman!"
Her breath stilled, cold within the stifling shape of her throat. "Yes," she murmured. "But how…"
He continued on blithely. "You are poised to be the savior of this dreadful place, and yet, with one unfortunate absence, you've suddenly found your abilities called into question by those who know no better! Even your beloved prince's attention seems to be wavering in lieu of such unfortunate events -- isn't that right?"
She couldn't muster up a single word in response. Only her wide eyes revealed the difficult thoughts tangling within the whirling recesses of her mind. It couldn't be real. These burdened words he was so carelessly tossing out before her, she had to be imagining them, hallucinating them, something. How could he know?
His eyes narrowed, and within the candlelight, his grin appeared sharp for the briefest of moments; a fleeting dagger, meaning to pierce her clean through. "How dreadful it must be, to take the form of such a pitiful animal. After all, what can a mere duck accomplish?"
Ahiru couldn't breathe.
"How terrible," Drosselmeyer murmured. "How delightfully terrible!"
At last, she recovered her voice, and it resonated as a callous echo, filling the room to the brim.
"How do you know that? I never -- I've only told -- this isn't --"
"My dear, it is quite easy for one to know things," he answered, voice so casual that it seemed as though he was discussing mere trivialities - the hour she had dinner each night, her favorite color. "Knowing is simply an act of taking in information whenever and wherever one feels it is relevant! The simplest, most ordinary of tasks, it is --"
Ahiru steadied a gentle hand against the trembling of her chest. A sturdy sheet of ice still felt as though sewed to her shoulders, and despite her best efforts, she could not shake it free. "T-That still doesn't explain how you --"
"-- and yet, it is what one does with such knowledge that really matters in lieu of such poetic calamity!"
His elbows met the wood with heavy thuds, his massive shadow crumpling against the table as he leaned towards her. She leaned back in turn, eyes widening. The candle's stubborn flame waned with his ragged breaths. A perfect reflection danced within his eyes.
"So what will you do with such knowledge, little Ahiru? You have been made painfully aware of the issue at hand, have you not? Will you simply make peace with the fact that you can do nothing but wither away in the hearts of your subjects -- in the eyes of your dear prince? Will you fight against such a meaningless fate? Lest you be replaced! Lest you be forgotten…"
Despite her best attempts to stay calm, Ahiru's heart still gave a vicious heave at the thought. She clamped both hands tight to the bare skin at the cusp of her sleeves, just to make sure she was still there, that she hadn't vanished into thin air at the thought. What would it feel like, to wither away? She imagined becoming little more than the pitiful flame upon the candle; a speck of light, able to be extinguished with a mere careless breath.
"No," she said at once, voice cracking. She straightened in her seat and met his wide-eyed gaze, fingers gripped so tight that her knuckles gleamed white. "No. What can I do? Please, tell me!"
"Why, the answer is a simple one, is it not? You must remain human! Only then will you be able to prove your worth to such simpletons!"
"But how can I --"
"My dear," he interjected, and met her curious eyes. Yet another grin emerged, a crooked, gaping shape amidst all the darkness of his face, "why do you think you've come here?"
One of his hands sunk within the light. A glint of red dangled just beneath his palm, swinging in clumsy circles around the melting candle: the pendant from the other day, Ahiru realized. He gave a sharp tug on its chain, and the smooth stone leapt and danced in obedient reply. At that moment, he seemed a puppeteer, the pendant his willing mannequin, his mangled hand the master, yanking at the strings when it fell lifeless and still before the weakening flame yet again.
"This trinket will prove your savior."
Ahiru regarded the glinting stone and after a moment, dared to touch a few careful fingertips to its smooth surface. It felt warm.
"It may appear at first to be utterly ordinary," Drosselmeyer continued, "but do not allow yourself to be fooled by mere appearance! It possesses a rare sorcery within it. One that will grant your greatest desire, should you make it known."
She found the courage to grip it gently against the lines of her palm then looked to Drosselmeyer once more. "Do you mean --?"
"Of course! This item will do what nothing else in this world can!" He chuckled, and the sudden mess of sound rattled around the room. "It will keep you of human form through an entire night."
Ahiru didn't know what to think. Both hands moved in careful, intense unison along the round shape of the pendant, nails pricking at its strong surface, eyes flinching when its blood-red hue cast a sharp glint. She couldn't dare a smile just yet, too afraid that it all might be some kind of wishful dream, some awful joke that this strange man had concocted in order to trick her into a expensive purchase. There was no way it could be true, was there? Such amazing magic couldn't possibly exist, right?
A strange inclusion in his wording struck her, and she drew in a shallow breath.
"A night?" She said, hands finally sliding off the stone and returning to her lap. "Only one?"
"Why, yes! You mustn't be greedy with such powerful magic, my dear! Isn't one beautiful night quite enough? You will show your straying subjects that no unpleasant oddities or fears plague you in the midst of the night, as they have all long feared! Your beloved prince will at last know that his princess's devotion is forever unwavering! The perfect ending! What could be better?"
A smile couldn't help but twitch at the corners of Ahiru's mouth, warm images seeping in along the fringes of her thoughts; bright faces, kind words. That did sound nice…
"But, yes, I'm afraid once that momentous night vanishes and another emerges on the horizon, you will return to the pitiful form of a duck! Such is the way tales like this go. Time is a monstrous force, given sparingly, priceless in every sense of the word -- and should be spent with the utmost care!"
Both of her wrists pressed hard to the side of the table. Her fingers twitched, flooded with the memory of how the stone had felt against them -- but she refrained from reaching out, and met Drosselmeyer's gaze instead, a firm look of determination settling along her gentle features.
"How much?"
He seemed to consider this intensely, distorted fingers gathering in the swell of his beard. A long moment passed, and then --
"Nothing."
Ahiru blinked. "I'm sorry?"
He burst into laughter, as though he'd just made the funniest of jokes. "Nothing!"
"I-I don't understand. Why would you --"
He held up a hand, motioning for her to stop, and the unsettling sight silenced her at once. The candlelight tore wild spirals along each scar his skin bore, coloring them a rich maroon. His fingers crumpled, the chain sliding off the towering shapes of his nails. The pendant hit the worn wood with a clatter at a mere breath away from Ahiru's hands.
"Let's consider your glorious…experiences during this fine evening as payment enough, shall we? You must only promise me one favor -- that you will return this trinket to me come morning!"
She couldn't hide a bright smile any longer. "Of course!"
He made one last vague gesture towards the pendant, then leaned back in his chair, his form merging effortlessly with the thick shadows of the room. "Now, there is only the question or whether you will take it or not. The choice is yours!"
For a moment, the room sat perfectly still and silent. Drosselmeyer did not move from his chair, his unblinking gaze held fast to her. A thousand desperate thoughts danced through Ahiru's head, joyous, wary, supportive, warning. Her body felt heavy, limbs like lead, like basins filled to the brim with water. Still her fingertips dared to inch across the table, and holding her breath, she gripped the chain, fumbling with the clasp and pulling it tight around her neck in a single sweeping motion. Briefly, she relaxed when the deed was done, when she realized the world hadn't ended just because she'd given in to a touch of magic -- only to stiffen once more when the stone clattered against her silver wings. In all the excitement, she'd entirely forgotten about the necklace she was already wearing. "O-Oh," she stuttered, embarrassed, and rose her hands at once to remove it. "I didn't remember I was already --"
She wasn't allowed a chance to finish, the rest of her words swallowed up in a sharp gasp as the pendant began to glow. She tore her hands away at once, as if burned. Her first desperate thought was to shield herself, and she brought her arms against her face, eyes clenched tight as the room filled with fiery red --
-- and then settled into darkness again just as easily.
Ahiru didn't dare a look for a few long moments, too afraid that something terrible had happened, that she'd doomed herself forevermore by accepting the pendant. Finally, she creaked one eye open, allowing her arms to slowly shift back down to her lap.
Only one necklace rested there now.
She couldn't believe it. The two had somehow melded, silver and red effortlessly interlaced. Its new shape almost seemed to resemble the elegant shape of a swan, smooth stone its brimming torso, etched feathers its majestic wings.
"W-What does this mean?" She asked Drosselmeyer, brandishing the hand that cupped it across the table for him to look upon.
He did so. Ahiru prayed that he would have some sort of explanation for what had just happened, a kind word for her to take comfort in -- but he only grinned yet again, the tired crescent wavering within the shadows.
"Interesting! How very interesting," he said, sounding so genuinely enthused that if his hands were free of flaws, she was sure he'd be clapping. "It seems that simple trinket of yours possesses something unusual as well --"
But Ahiru wasn't listening any longer. Despite how she struggled to fight the feeling down, fear was overtaking every length of her body, seizing her heart in the cruelest of grips. Both hands rose to clutch at the pendant at once, its weight suddenly too much to bear.
"I -- I don't understand," she said. "Please, you have to tell me why it's --"
She gave a firm tug, expecting the chain to loosen in obedient response -- but it didn't. Biting down on her lip, she gripped every finger tight to it and yanked as hard as she could manage, but once again, the clasp refused to give way. The swan-shaped pendant remained fastened to the bare skin just above her dress's neckline. The chain settled, and would not move again.
"W-What's going on!?"
Terror seized her in that breathless instant, and she rose to her feet, so suddenly that her chair tumbled over backwards.
"What's happened!? Why won't it come off!?"
There was an urgent knock at the door, followed by a series of slams, the wall trembling with each violent impact. Fakir's alarmed voice sifted through the cracks. "Ahiru!"
She turned in response, but the door was a mere meaningless shape in the distance, miles and miles away from her -- it hadn't locked when she'd come in, had it? No, it hadn't, she knew it hadn't, so why couldn't he --
"My, my," Drosselmeyer mused, and she spun back around only to nearly crumple at the sight. In only the few seconds' time she'd turned away, he had risen from his chair and moved just behind her, his towering form almost seeming to fill the entire room. For an irrational moment, Ahiru feared being enveloped by his monstrous shadow, dragged down into a horrific world of darkness and silence and forbidden magic, never to return. Fakir had been right. Why hadn't she realized how dangerous this was!? Any moment now, she was about to be --
Drosselmeyer took a ragged breath, his body beginning to move. With a shrill intake of air, Ahiru braced herself for an impact -- but she only felt the gentle rustle of a cloak as it brushed against her shoulder. He passed right by her, slow, sturdy steps carrying him across the room towards the door.
"Now, now, no reason to delve into a senseless bout of panic. Such an emotion is wildly entertaining, of course -- but useless at this present time, I must admit. There is nothing for you, nor your worthless knight to fear here." He made a gesture for her to follow. At a loss, she obeyed, still careful to keep a few breaths of distance between them. "The pendant merely wishes to fulfill your greatest wish to the best of its ability! Doesn't it make perfect sense that it would not allow itself to be removed until it has done so?"
"Y-Yes," she stuttered in response, fear slow to settle amidst all the calamity of her thoughts. "I suppose it does…"
"There you have it! And thus, I do believe our business here has come to an unfortunate end!"
The door flew open at that, the afternoon sun so rich and blinding that Ahiru couldn't help but lift both arms against her eyes. A rough hand pressed against the low of her back and pushed, sending her stumbling forward.
"Do remember this, though, won't you? When you wish to take use of the pendant's wondrous gift, merely take hold of it with a firm hand. And be sure to return it to me come morning, little Ahiru! I'll be waiting…"
And with that, she was outside once more, the endless shape of the forest swaying in her blurred gaze, echoes of faint noise from the town twitching along the shapes of her ears. She cast a bewildered look backwards, but the door had already closed shut. Turning back, she was met by Fakir's startled gaze. His sword was grasped limply in one hand, shoulders heaving with each deep breath he took, no doubt from his attempts at ramming the door down.
"What happened?"
Ahiru blinked, then glanced down at the curve of her neck. The swan-shaped pendant still rested there, sharp silver and gentle red intertwined. She cradled it in her palm for a long moment, fingertips kissing each dip and curve, just to see, just to make sure it was reallystill there.
It was, and she held it out for Fakir to see, a genuine smile finally blossoming along her lips.
"Magic," was her answer, and she couldn't help but laugh.
Much later, after the sun had burrowed deep below the forests, after the princess and the knight had long returned within the castle's gaping shadow, after the town had at last fallen under a hush, emptied with one last flourish of footwork and formalwear as villagers swept up the path towards the festivities, there was another knock at Drosselmeyer's door.
"Come in, come in," he called at once, his cracked lips pulling tight. "I do believe you're late! Such careless mistakes were not a part of our arrangement, I believe --"
The door creaked open, and a figure slid in; form tall and thin, face obscured by a draped hood.
"I have other duties I must attend to," they answered, voice tainted with obvious strain. "I cannot devote all of my time to you, you must realize."
"Such a frustrated tone," he mused. "You almost sound as though you've become unhappy with our arrangement! Though I certainly hope that isn't so…"
He shifted in his seat, and the candlelight revealed a sharp glint of silver -- a knife, its handle threaded through his myriad of disjointed fingers. He lifted it in one jagged motion and rested the tip against his other palm, just so between the sweeping lines of two other scars.
"After all, that would mean it must be time to craft another young fate of my own accord!" His gaze was set aflame by candlelight; his grin mimicked the dangerous shape of the knife, glinting, gaping. "Wouldn't you agree?"
"No," the figure answered at once, crossing to the table in a few desperate steps, one hand outstretched towards him. "No, I am not unhappy! This arrangement, it pleases me greatly, I assure you. Please."
The weapon's tip pressed to his worn skin a moment longer -- finally slipped from his grip and settled harmlessly against the wood once more.
"I am afraid to admit that I must return within the hour, though," they continued when he said nothing in response, tone thick with frail warmth. "I am needed there."
"No reason to fret over such trivialities," he answered with surprising ease, and brushed the knife away as though it was little more than bothersome trash. "Your duties are not what concern me, but the essence of your demeanor! You serve under the most benevolent of men, do you not? Do you think that does not deserve a pleasantness of the highest caliber?"
"Never," they responded, and continued with their work as they had done a thousand times before. The clean papers sat scattered amidst those already cluttered with words. Three quills, feathers colored a brilliant white, waited to be gathered. Ink crowded the table, their wells crafted of priceless stone and metals. They reached out to steady themselves against their chair -- only to stumble when there was no wood back to meet their outstretched hand. It still rested on the floor, legs splayed high in the air.
"Did you have a customer today?"
Drosselmeyer chuckled. "You have no reason to be informed of who I have seen or what I have given them." He made a gesture for them to sit, shadows gathering deep within the hollow curves of his face. "Not yet."
The figure seemed to still at this for the briefest of moments but quickly shook the feeling away, movements almost mechanical as they replaced the chair at the table and slid into it.
"What is your desire tonight?" They asked, elegant hands slipping from the depths of their cloak and gathering each paper in careful succession -- one, two, three, four. "Another memoir? We have not yet covered the sixth century of your life in full, I believe…"
"A story," he spoke, voice brimming with excitement, so deeply palpable that it seemed to seep from his mouth and settle within every worn line along the table. "I've had quite enough of the past. Let us delve deep within the limitless realms of imagination yet again! So many tales left woefully unthreaded! So many characters still burdened with the capacity for sorrow…"
In his rush of emotion, he grasped for a quill. The gentle shape of the feather crumpled within the hold, but still, his hand settled along it with an air of unmistakable familiarity, holding it as someone who meant to craft stories would --
-- but his mangled fingers could not sustain the grip, and it fell.
For a moment, his familiar grin faltered, lips unraveling into a dark frown. The figure across the table dared not to move, but spoke instead, their words careful, tone laced with the gentlest of pity.
"Do you miss it?"
He looked to his hands, mere monstrous shapes in the dim light. The grin returned just as easily as it'd vanished.
"Why, never," he said, and allowed his knuckles to linger a mere breath from the candle's flame. Each scar revealed itself in a flourish of intense color. They mimicked the spiraling marks of ink, bleeding into existence so elaborately that it seemed as if words of power and pain had been carved straight into his skin.
"After all," he murmured, eyes bright, "I possess the greatest ink of all."
The figure remained still, and he looked to them.
"Let us begin!"
In one stiff motion, they took up the quill he had dropped. The tip settled along the frayed edge of the first paper, poised.
"Once upon a time," he began, his grin growing sharp, his laughter thick in the air, "there was a foolish princess…"
They wrote.
His crown wouldn't straighten.
For the fifth time, Mytho steadied both palms flat against its edges, struggling to ease the slight angle it seemed stuck at. A wary glance at the mirror across the room revealed that his efforts were fruitless, though. The stubborn thing still sat askew, and with a sigh, he tore it off, tossing it onto the foot of his bed. At a loss, his hands rose to fidget with his collar instead, gaze straying back to the angular shape of the mirror.
He looked much too pale.
Resting hadn't helped. Eating had only made him feel ill. No matter what he tried, he couldn't dissuade this strange affliction. There was no way to erase it, no way to fix it, and soon enough, his concerns had settled into sullen acceptance. After all, there was no reason to dwell on yet another unusual dilemma -- the day had proved surreal enough already. He'd woken late that morning, an unusually vivid dream still clawing at his clearing thoughts. In it, he'd been wandering aimlessly through a hushed night, the massive slope of the field rustling before him, the castle so small and harmless behind him. An elegant curve of darkness had clung to his side, and he'd been sure it was his shadow, come to play, to lead him wherever he was meant to go, but vibrant colors bled through the swell of black: snow white, rose red, and when he turned, he saw that it was not a shadow at all but Rue. There was no light, but she moved with ease. There was no ballroom, but still she danced with such startling grace that it stole his breath away. She held out a hand to him, a hand that was not a hand at all, but something strange, something unfamiliar, and still, he reached to take it. Warmth overtook him, and he found himself drowning in it, drowning in the blood-red sheen of her jewel, glowing, glowing…
And then he'd woken.
It had certainly been a strange dream, he'd admitted to himself, the intense emotions he'd experienced within it almost seeming to still linger in the low of his chest -- but a dream nonetheless, and therefore not something to dwell on.
At least, he hadn't until a shaken servant informed him that it had not been a mere dream.
The young woman had knocked on his door not an hour later, and with a shaky voice, proceeded to tell him what had happened. Just after nightfall, she'd been woken by an urgent knock at her door, and answered it only to find one of the knights standing there, Mytho's unconscious form slumped over his back. As he carefully slid the still body off his shoulders and set it against her doorway, he'd told her that a woman had attempted to harm the prince just outside the castle walls, and for her to make sure he was taken care of. Then, the young man had run off, disappearing down the nearest stairwell before she could even think to call after him. Not wanting to cause a needless panic, she'd fetched a few other quiet servants, and together, they had carried Mytho to his room and made sure any injuries were cared for before departing.
Startled, he'd asked her for the name of the knight, hoping to discover any other crucial details about this apparent attack through him, but she admitted that it had been dark, and she had not been able to glimpse his face clearly.
Thus, he was left only with the vague notion that something odd had happened to him the night before. Mytho racked his brain for any semblance of a memory, but he could only remember roaming the countless hallways of the castle. After that, there was nothing but the strange, unthinking chaos of his dream. But then again…what had been a dream, and what was real?
Tired of his reflection, he turned away. The crown was waiting for him, and he dropped down on the bed, taking it up once more, etched metal cold against his fingertips.
There was no time to linger on such impossible questions now. The ball was to begin shortly, and he had to focus all his attention on such a momentous event. After all, Ahiru was to be at his side today. He would dance only with his princess, help her to prove her worth to all those who dared to doubt her, and their future would be set in stone once and for all. What could be better?
His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in."
The door creaked open, and one of the servants slipped halfway inside: a young woman of short brown hair and unusual height. In her hand, she gripped a folded letter, the royal seal clamped around its crisp edges.
"I'm sorry to bother you, your highness," she stammered, and did not enter the room any further, apparently preferring to remain poised in the doorway, "but the princess asked me to deliver this letter to you at once. She told me it was of the utmost importance."
Mytho couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at that. What could Ahiru have to tell him that couldn't wait until they saw one another within the hour at the ball?
He couldn't find the strength to rise from his seat. Instead, he offered a tired smile and made a gesture for her to open the seal herself. "Thank you, Hermia. Would you please tell me what it says?"
She nodded, fingernails beginning to pick at the edge. "O-Of course, if that's what you want! Let's see…"
After a brief moment, she managed to pry the sheet of paper open. Her eyes traced each line with the utmost care, expression shifting fluidly from one of confusion to one of worry as she moved down the page.
"Her highness says," she began, once her gaze had passed the signature scrawled along the bottom, "that she is very sorry, but that her plans for this evening have changed. She cannot make an appearance at the ball until after nightfall, it seems."
Mytho was upright at once upon hearing that. "Are you sure?"
Hermia gave a frantic nod before continuing. "It says that she has found a way to overcome her allergy, but to do so, that she mustn't be present when the sun is out. It says…it says that she is very sorry, but that you must stall the festivities as best you can until she arrives, and that hopefully, it will be worth it if you can do so." Her eyes dropped clean off the page, and she warily met his gaze. "That's all."
Mytho found himself at a loss, countless confusing thoughts swelling in the back of his mind. She had found a way to overcome her allergy? Was such an amazing thing even possible? If it somehow was, there was still the troublesome question of explaining her absence yet again to a crowd of frustrated partygoers. The sun wouldn't set for a least a few more hours! How would he ever be able to ---
He took a deep breath, commanding all the chaos within him to calm at once. He couldn't resort to useless panic. Yes, the whole situation sounded rather incredible, and yes, it would be difficult to explain why she was delayed -- but Ahiru asked this of him, and he would not let her down.
He would trust her.
"Thank you," he said, mustering up the brightest smile he could manage. "Please tell her that I will do my best. But before you go," he added, and held out his crown, "would you mind helping me with this?"
Hermia, though taken off-guard by the strange request, moved into the room and took the priceless object from him all the same, lifting up on her tiptoes as she positioned it gently on his head.
"H-How's that?" She stammered after a long moment.
Mytho regarded his reflection in the mirror, and his forced smile briefly blossomed into a genuine one. "Perfect," he said. "Thank you. You're the only one who could help me with that, Hermia."
The young woman curtsied, then took her leave, letter still crumpled in one hand.
Still, he did not stray from the mirror's glinting shape. With another breath, he took a few hushed seconds to adjust the jutting folds of his cuffs, the dip of his collar. Every detail had to be perfect. Every moment had to proceed without a hint of flaw. Yes, he realized, pretending not to notice when his smile dared to falter. There was no time to dwell on an irrelevant past, however recent it may prove to be.
The door still sat ajar, and with heavy steps, he went to it, already able to hear a steady swell of laughter, a grand flourish of music as the ballroom below him filled with newfound life.
His future was calling.
The ball was still well within its first hour, an amiable air resting comfortably over the festivities. New arrivals were still filtering in, faces appeared fresh and kind as friends greeted friends, as lovers basked thoughtlessly in the room's comforting warmth, but already, cracks amidst all the pleasantness could be glimpsed. Some lingered near the walls of the room, tossing anxious looks towards the entrances. Whispers, once harmless, were beginning to gain weight as they passed from ear to ear, a dark undercurrent that threatened to taint the entire room.
Fakir, meanwhile, was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.
He'd arrived early after yet another attempt at sleeping within his quarters had proven useless. Now, though, as he leaned against a far wall, a fair distance from all the chaos, he couldn't help but drift off.
Stop, he ordered himself upon jerking awake for the third time, and with a grunt, pulled himself upright. This was no time to be napping, of all pointless things. He had to be prepared for whatever would happen tonight, he was quick to remind himself, fingertips grazing the firm hilt of his sword.
He should have forced himself to sleep earlier. He'd had time both before and after the trip into town, had laid in his bed and willed his eyes to shut, his breathing to calm -- but too many thoughts had crowded within his head during those quiet moments, making it short of impossible. There were memories of the night before, the forest endless around him as he wandered through the night, calling out a name that only echoed meaninglessly back at him. Memories of late after the last ball, wrapping the little duck's hurt wing with the utmost care, not wishing to scare it. Memories of -- her scars, ravens screeching, claws ripping into her back, blood, so much blood --
His chest heaved, and he steadied a hand against it, willing the image to disappear. No, he thought, his breathing ragged. He would not relive it again.
Eager to find something that would distract him, he cast a tired glance around the vast room. There was Mytho, at the other side, chatting pleasantly with an eager group of nobles. He didn't seem strongly affected or hindered by what had transpired the night before, and Fakir was glad for it.
Now, there was only…
"-- and he said that it can keep me human for an entire night," Ahiru laughed, cradling the strangely-shaped pendant in one careful hand as they walked the meandering path back to the castle. "Now, no one will think there's something wrong with me! Isn't that wonderful, Fakir?"
He'd wanted to call her an idiot at that point, for trusting so blindly in the words of strangers, for believing that magic really existed in such a bleak world. But the words hadn't come for some strange reason, and he'd merely nodded in response, still wondering how he'd gone from being the barest of acquaintances to her closest confidant in the span of a single day.
So be it. He would wait and see what developed as the night wore on. If something should go awry with her supposed magic, he thought, his calloused hand gripping to his sword yet again, he would be ready for it.
"Here you are."
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, lips grazing the low of his cheek. He turned, startled, only to meet Raetsel's gaze, her thin hand curling against her mouth in order to muffle a laugh. Her gown, an elaborate flourish of white and soft blue, rustled around her.
"Raetsel," he said, unable to hide his surprise. "I thought you were still ill."
She shook her head, brunette ringlets trembling against her eyelashes. "I've been well for almost four days now. Charon's still worried that I may not be able to handle all this excitement, but I think I'll manage." She smiled, voice taking on a teasing tone as she continued. "You would know that if you visited us once in a while…"
"I've been busy," Fakir muttered in response, gaze drifting to the floor. "I have duties, you know."
"We know that," she said gently. "Charon worries about you, though. He says you seem troubled --"
"It's nothing," he interjected, a little sharper than he meant to. "It shouldn't concern him, or you. I'm fine."
Raetsel's smile faded, but she didn't press the matter any further, heaving a soft sigh instead. "Well, I hope to see you soon, nonetheless. It would be nice to catch up, don't you think?"
Fakir glanced to her, uttering a sigh of his own before nodding. "I'll come within the week."
The ballroom was beginning to grow crowded, rushes of violent color brimming on every stretch of floor. The musicians were in place, broken notes vibrating through the air as they tuned their instruments. A few couples had already begun to spin wildly in one another's arms, voices thick with song and laughter. Still, the anxiousness within the room had become almost palpable, more and more curious guests crowding around Mytho as they no doubt asked him the same question as countless others before them.
"The princess is meant to make an appearance tonight, isn't she?" Raetsel asked, eyes bright as they wandered amidst all the vibrant sights the ball had to offer.
"Supposedly," Fakir answered.
"I wonder where she is," she pondered, fingertip pressed to her pursed lips. "Perhaps they're trying to make a surprise of the whole event. Wouldn't that be exciting?"
A group of women called to Raetsel, then, eager arms all raised and waving her over. With one last brief kiss on his cheek and a promise that she would make his favorite dish should he come for dinner before the week was up, she hurried to join them, and Fakir was left alone once more.
A surprise, he thought, and couldn't help but press a hand to his furrowing brow, hoping that wouldn't be the case.
He'd already weathered more than enough surprises that day.
It was almost time.
She touched the tip of one wing to the windowpane, her breathing harsh as her body settled against the stone sill. The glass bore several careless smudges, each image within it reduced to spiraling blurs of color, but she managed to make some sense of the view. The vast ballroom was filled with nobles and villagers alike, all dressed in their most elaborate formalwear, but nowhere did she see any dancing taking place. There was no music, only shrill trails of notes tearing through all the meaningless chatter as the band practiced.
An unusually dense throng lingered near the front of the room, and the sight struck a chord of pleasant familiarity within her. She had glimpsed the same sight of angry guests, demanding to know when their worthless princess would at last make her appearance, when she'd arrived at the first ball.
Their princess wouldn't be coming at all, and if Rue had been in possession of human lips at that moment, she would have smirked at the thought.
She waited. The sun's descent was a painfully deliberate one, but she did her best to bear such gravity, gaze held within the ballroom, watching for any unwelcome developments. None arose. The music remained stagnant and poor. Groups thinned, more and more blurring figures hurrying to join the crowd swelling at the helm of the room.
At last, light seeped away from the horizon. She still held one wing against the glass and watched with eager eyes as the dark feathers trembled, as the arched shape of a palm and several seizing joints tore free from their embrace. Fingertips danced along the windowpane now, and she relished the sensation of cold glass against bare skin.
Tonight would mark her last appearance in this land, and her changing body shivered with desperate anticipation. She would drink in every last gasp of warmth and joy within the vast ballroom. She would bask in all the wonder that countless naïve partygoers would not hesitate to offer in her presence. She would dance with the prince yet again, and when the festivities inevitably slowed to a halt, she would enchant him, lead him far away from all those troublesome witnesses yet again, and then --
Both hands pressed flat to the curve of her chest. A quickening heartbeat echoed against the lines of her palms, such an intense sensation that a few long nails dug deep within her wrist. Thin blotches of blood formed, pricks of pain twitching along the broken skin, and for some reason, the sensation comforted her. She had wondered from time to time if she still had the capacity for human pain.
She couldn't bring herself to pretend that ripping out the prince's heart would be an easy task. He was kind, warm, so gentle against the callous lines of her body. Something unfamiliar had stirred deep within as they had danced that endless night, when he'd so graciously given her a name of her own. The Raven had never bothered, and to receive such a wondrous gift , to hear him speak it with such breathless beauty, with such a warm smile, she had felt ---
She shook her head. Her limbs had begun to tremble, and she stretched them out against the rough stone of the windowsill. The elegant shapes of her arms unfolded, outlined by infant moonlight. She brought one back to rest against her, hand moving to fit against the shape of her neck, the soft skin of her face.
Feelings meant nothing. If she did this, her life would suffer no more misfortune. She would be free.
She would do anything if it meant being human always.
A harsh screech interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced up only to watch as a familiar raven landed on her shoulder, wings ruffled, claws sharp and still stained with aged blood. With a smirk, she ran a gentle finger down the curve of its chest, other hand settling against the harsh shape of her jewel.
"So," she murmured, eyes bright, "shall we begin?"
Ahiru was scared.
The ballroom floor spread out before her quivering feet like an ocean, ready to drown her the moment she dared an innocent step onto it. The lights were so bright and countless vibrant colors shimmered in her wide eyes as gown after gown spiraled past her, and oh, how she longed to join it --
-- but she couldn't bring herself to take that final step just yet, no matter how hard she tried. With a sigh, she shuffled backwards into the shadows of the darkening hallway once more, nearly tripping on the fringe of her skirt.
Everything would be fine, she wanted to insist to herself for the thousandth time, but in all honesty, she hadn't the faintest clue how the evening would proceed past this breathless moment. Would the night be perfect, just as Drosselmeyer had promised? Would all her problems really be solved so simply?
She glanced down. The swan-shaped pendant rested against the curve of her neck, and with one careful hand, she cradled it, stone and metal warm against her trembling palm.
Could she really count on a miracle?
Dissenting voices within the ballroom swelled, and Ahiru cast a wary glance towards a far window. The sun's fading light had finally ebbed away, leaving only a deep, swirling blue on the horizon. Already, the all-too familiar sensations were snaking its way through her limbs. Face settling into a look of determination, she touched both hands to the smooth body of the swan.
If this was her only chance, so be it.
And with one last deep breath, one final, silent prayer that everything would turn out alright, she gripped the pendant hard.
Annnnnd that's the end! A looooooong chapter, but nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope it makes up for being gone so long!
I'm still really busy right now, though, so I can't make any promises over when the next chapter will be coming. It will DEFINITELY be up sooner than this chapter was up, that I can assure you! Just hang in there, okay? XD;;;
Reviews are appreciated!
