They say that life is a cycle. People are born; they grow into slightly larger people; they make even more people; they die. Morbid, sure, but that's just the way the world is. Even so, I couldn't help but think that I was caught up in my own personal cycle of sorts: One that was the same brand of excessively-dark-middle-school-angst, but altogether more bizarre.
Some moments, I was alone in the darkness of the witch's dungeon. Sure, Kai was here too, though slowly we had descended into a sort of oppressive, complacent silence. Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at our stomachs, the bones straining against our thin, pallid skin. Maybe it was the fact that we hadn't seen the light of day in goddess-knew-how-long. Maybe it was because we began our imprisonment with so much unfiltered hope, spurred by past victories and vicarious, innocent pride, only to come crashing down full force like reckless children from a sugar high. Whatever the reason, I often found myself withdrawing into a state of numbness, my eyes fixed on the same section of the wall for hours on end. My mind would inevitably begin to drift, but always to the same thought. When Skye was here, regardless of the situation, carrying the burden of ten thousand yet bringing with him the unrelenting joy of ten million, there was never a dull moment. Suddenly, when he walked through that stupid wall, my hunger was forgotten, and I unwillingly lost myself in stories of magic and betrayal and intrigue. I was no longer a prisoner, but a spectator; not a captive, but rather an audience captivated by the peculiarity of it all.
That's the way it was, at least, until I found out the truth: That Skye had killed the goddess- his mother, at least in title. I hadn't seen nor heard from him since then, and frankly, I was kind of pissed. He told me he was finally going to tell me why I was locked in this goddess-forsaken hellhole, but instead threw his family soap opera at me and ran away crying? What the hell was he thinking? Saying I was confused was a bit of an understatement. I admit, I had to give credit where it was due: It was pretty unbelievable that he killed an evil goddess. Sure, it wasn't under the best circumstances, but come on! That's the stuff of mythological legends right there. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe his boasts of being an enigmatic prince weren't too far off the mark after all, especially combined with his knack for disappearing. The Witch Princess was equally M.I.A., though she could've been locked in a closet with the entirety of Nickelback for all I cared. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway?
Argh, this was all so confusing! If I could just get one little molecule of an idea as to why I was here, just one little clue, I don't think it would be so bad. If I could just understand one freaking thing out of every ten thousand, I-
"You're going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that," a voice, small but playful, teased. My brother peered wearily at me from the floor. His limbs were sprawled around his form lazily, almost as if he were making a snow angel in the filty concrete. I hadn't even realized I was moving until he'd mentioned it. Suddenly self-conscious, I shoved my hands in my pockets and threw my weight against the wall with a sigh.
"Yeah. Well. Maybe it'll be big enough for us to drive our getaway van through."
"That's the spirit," Kai responded, a weak smile flitting across his features. "I call shotgun."
It was little moments like these that kept me going. In truth, my initial spark of hope had fizzled to nothing but a glowing ember of what it was, despite Skye's promise to spirit us away. Don't get me wrong-I know that he was probably trying his best. The poor sap was head over heels for me, after all. Even so, sometimes your best just isn't enough, particularly if your opponent is a powerful, hot-headed witch-demon. After days of pointless waiting, I'd decided it was best to save my energy for what was to come. While it was entirely possible Vivian planned to keep me here forever as "revenge" for "hitting on her fiance," there was some part of me that couldn't believe that. It was clear that something was up, based on the conversation I'd heard between the pair at Skye's house- something about a deal Skye had made with the witch, something involving me.
Skye's house. . . It felt like ages ago that the rotten thief had stolen me away. They say that times flies when you're having fun, so it must be the opposite when you're trapped in some rotting hellhole. It couldn't have been more than a few weeks ago that we were alone together, laughing over soggy bacon and bad pickup lines. It could happen again, some small part of me thought. If I got out of here, if I foiled whatever fun activity Vivian had in store, then Skye would owe me. Big time. I could laze around his house all I wanted; I could crash on his couch, raid his fridge. We could hang out together, order pizza, watch a movie. Almost like a real couple woul-
I was brought out of my brief stupor by a loud, metallic crash, one which I would sadly recognize anywhere. I wandered to the site of the sound-two trays, each with a meager portion of food and water, had been shoved through the wall, signaling our daily meal. Mortified at my previous daydream, I shook my head in hopes of clearing it. Talk about intrusive thoughts! What was I thinking? We weren't a couple. Sure, he had a major thing for me-and that was putting it lightly-but we were acquaintances, at best. Nothing could change that. He simply wasn't my type. Maybe he wasn't even on my side at all.
Gingerly, I plucked an apple from the metallic, slightly greasy tray. The mushy, overripe skin gave way under my fingers, soaking them in the sickly-sweet juice. It was once surely red; now, however, the fruit had now rotted to a pinkish-brown, the color of old rust. I sighed, turning it over in my hands. To tell you the truth, there were plenty of patches that were still salvageable, yet the small part of my dignity that remained was putting up a hell of a fight. At last, I dropped the decaying apple back onto the tray, ignoring the protests of my empty stomach as I idly licked the juice from my hands. Maybe a little water would help to quell the incessant nagging of my stomach instead. Normally, it was given to me in a small paper cup, complete with the occasional complimentary insect floating on the top. Today, however, it came in a large, clean-looking plastic bottle. Gee, my hosts were really rolling out the red carpet today. I popped the plastic lid greedily, expecting a pleasant snap of the seal being broken. . .
But it never came. The lid came off easily, almost as if it had only been half closed to begin with. Quizzically, I turned it in my hands. My eyes were drawn to a faint blue writing on the underside. Though I initially dismissed it as an expiration date (did water have those?), I soon noticed that the letters were smudged, as if they had only recently been inscribed. I squinted, trying to make out the words. The writing was neat and expertly looped, though that wasn't exactly helping my comprehension; I never did pay much attention to cursive in elementary school. Even so, I felt a twinge of recognition. I had seen enough of "Phantom Skye's" calling cards to notice the ornate penmanship. There was no mistake: Skye had written this. But why? If it was important enough to send through some secret, convoluted message, then why not tell me himself? Did something happen? My pulse began to hammer in my chest. I took a deep breath as I began to reassess the small, plastic disk.
The first letter was an "O"-that much wasn't difficult. Next was. . . some shape, curled on both sides, but with an unmistakable bridge in the center. Maybe a capital "H"? Then a lowercase "e," and then, um. Well, it kind of looked like the top half of a rectangle, minus a bit of the rightmost side. I decided to call it a lowercase "r."
O-H-e-r. Yeah, something told me that wasn't right.
I drummed my fingers idly on the wall. Secret message or not, it was half washed away, and therefore half illegible. There was no way I could figure out what it said. No way in hell, even if I knew cursive to begin with. Briefly, I considered asking Kai for help, but somehow the idea of mentioning Skye to my brother was mortifying, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. I silently cursed the melodramatic thief for his unnecessarily gaudy handwriting. Resigned to failure, I took a swig of water, hoping it would calm my nerves. It was ice cold, almost alarmingly so, but quenched a thirst I hadn't even known was there. I could have sworn I detected a slight hint of something sweet, as if someone had added a spoonful of wild honey to the bottle. Weird. Water wasn't usually like that, was it?
For the first time, I inspected the label. It was colorful, laced with brilliant wildflowers which twined delicately around the border. Forget-Me-Not Premium Spring Water, it read. Straight from the Goddess Lake, to your home! Well, that's ironic. It was just a few days ago that Skye was telling me about the time he-
Wait. Spring water. From the Goddess Lake. Could it be. . .?
I picked up the plastic lid from where I had placed it on the tray. O-H-e-r. I was pretty confident about three of the letters, but the "H"-well, was it really an H? Maybe, just maybe, that bridge in the center didn't belong to just one letter, but instead served as a bridge between two. Silently, I ran through the alphabet in my head.
A. B. C. D. E. F-
F. f. Two of them.
O-f-f-e-r. Offer.
The word written on spring water from the Goddess Lake.
No way. No freaking way. I covered my mouth in surprise, though a delirious bark of laughter managed to slip through my lips. Could this work? Could this actually work? Frantically, I scanned the room for something, anything. I eyed the apple, still untouched on my plate. Though it was definitely mushy, there was no way it would fit through the quarter-sized opening of the bottle before me. The only other "objects" in the room were Kai and myself. I shivered, thinking of the fate which befell the goddess. Yeah, we're not going there. Not ever.
Absentmindedly, I toyed with a small chunk of concrete that had come loose from the floor. I closed my fingers around the rock with a sigh. Certainly, it wasn't what one thought of as an offering, but it wasn't like I had a ten carat diamond on hand. It would have to do. With a silent prayer, I raised my hand above the small bottle, letting gravity do its thing. The pebble pierced the surface easily, emitting a gentle cascade of ripples on the surface.
Oh wait. A wish. Right. My mind swam with thoughts as the rock drifted peacefully to the bottom of the container. I had no idea how this magical offering stuff actually worked, but I didn't want to mess it up. My wish had to count. Think, Pony. If I wished for something involving the Witch Princess, there was a good chance it wouldn't work. She might be immature, but she was powerful; what if her magic could somehow counteract whatever I sent her way? That left only one other option.
I want out, I thought, glancing at my Kai's resting form. We want out. Both of us. Take us home.
There was a weak, almost inaudible crack, like the pleasant sound of pop rock candy the moment it hits your tongue. I watched the bottle eagerly, searching for any signs of change. Nothing happened. I waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Maybe my wish wasn't specific enough? I tried again. Take us to my farm. Nothing. Teleport Kai and I inside of my farmhouse. Nope. Take us to my house at 1074 Forget-Me-Not Drive, which is between the mine and Lumina's mansion and therefore definitely not here. Well, that was as specific as I could get. Maybe it wasn't the wish that was the problem, but the offering. It was official: We were screwed. If only the bottle was bigger! Then maybe we could work with something more valuable than a dirty rock.
"You shouldn't play with your food," Kai mused from beside me. He was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, his tray resting neatly on his lap. His apple, once whole, was now reduced to nothing more than a browned, soggy core. I eyed his untouched cup of water, which sloshed dangerously as Kai rested his elbow on the small, rectangular platter. "Not to get all serious, but. Never know when the next meal is gonna come, ya know? You were already kinda scrawny before, but now. . . Well, no offense, but you should eat."
An idea was beginning to take form in my head. Reciting a silent apology in my head, I snatched the cup from his plate and dumped the water on the floor.
"H-hey, what are you-"
Ignoring Kai's protests, I grabbed the water bottle from my own plate and poured half of its contents into the stolen plastic cup. I hadn't noticed before, but the liquid glistened, much like the sheen of ice left to melt in the sun. It was blinding. Taking a deep breath, I retrieved my discarded apple and lowered it gently into the small, plastic cylinder. A perfect fit. Despite being much heavier than the meager portion of water, the rotting fruit bobbed almost cheerfully on the surface.
Here we go again. I took a deep breath, focusing every ounce of my concentration on a single thought.
Get us out of here.
I'm not sure what I was expecting. Maybe a flash of light; a fireworks show; an explosion. Something flashy. Something magical. Maybe something did happen after all, but I wouldn't have known, because my body naturally decided that was the perfect moment to sneeze. I rubbed my nose, slightly irritated at the timing. When my eyes opened, however, I was no longer in the concrete prison. That being said, I wasn't in my house either. Internally, I marveled that this plan had actually worked, though I silently cursed myself for not being more specific this time around. I had no idea where I was, but I guessed that anywhere was better than the previous location.
But where was Kai? Disoriented and a bit dazed, I at last began to take note of my surroundings. Every wall of the room was painted a dull, textured brown, almost as if it were caked in mud, and yet through the solid ceiling leaked powerful pinpricks of light, washing the room in late afternoon sun. There was no furniture in sight, per se, but the floor was piled what seemed like thousands upon thousands of boxes- and when I say thousands, I mean thousands. I let out a low whistle. Whoever lived here needed some professional help. Talk about hoarding.
A few of the containers had apparently overflowed, their contents now resting motionless on the floor. Unable to contain my curiosity, my eyes began to rake over the mysterious items. There was a trophy of some sort, adorned with a golden fish perched victoriously at the top; a tasseled silk scarf, its muted colors woven expertly throughout its length; a wilted flower, brittle to the touch. Though fragile, it had retained its vibrant, waxy sheen, the scarlet pedals glistening in the perplexing sunlight from overhead. Curious, I plucked it from the floor, running my fingers delicately over its surface. It was unbelievably soft to the touch.
And yet, there was something about the place that seemed off. Something that I couldn't quite place. Though I could see well enough, there was an inexplicable haze over my vision, almost as if I was viewing the world through a film of plastic wrap. Slowly, I wobbled to my feet. My limbs felt unusually light. Despite feeling like a helium balloon, the air seemed to fight my every movement and, alarmed by the sudden resistance, my legs gave out beneath me. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting to land face-first in the dirt. I waited. . . And waited. . . And waited. . . The pain, seemingly inevitable, never came. Warily, I opened my eyes-
Only to find the floor mere inches from my face. Contrary to what you might expect, I wasn't hurtling towards it. Was I floating? Did I break gravity? Was I being raptured into the heavens, never to return to the mortal plane ever again? It honestly wouldn't surprise me, with all I'd been through. Bring on the apocalypse! In my delirious stupor, I hadn't noticed the steady, unyielding fall of footsteps until they were just a few feet behind me. I froze, instantly regretting my thoughts. Hey Goddess, remember that thing I said about the apocalypse? Because I totally didn't mean it and I kind of want to live now and oH SWEET GODDESS THEY'RE RIGHT BEHIND ME-
"A moldy apple? Truly?" came a voice from behind, silky smooth yet clearly perturbed. My poor heart, which had been hammering away like a freight train, finally began to slow. I would recognize that incessant whining anywhere, and couldn't fight the overwhelming sensation that tugged at the corners of my mouth. "A prince of the stars has a much more refined pallet than that, I will have you know."
I smiled incredulously. Of course he would be here. Of course he would be worried about something like that. Of course.
"What, did you expect caviar?" I laughed, the relief from this revelation washing over me in waves. Suddenly, it hit me: I was free. Oh goddess, I was free! I felt as if I could burst into tears any moment. And by that, I mean that I started bawling like a baby. I'm talking Niagra Falls tears here. Sure, it wasn't my proudest moment, but could you blame me? My sanity was sort of hanging by a thread, in case you hadn't noticed. There was a light touch on my hand; I glanced down to find an ornate handkerchief pressed into my palm. There was an intricate, lacey design that twirled along the border, curling delicately like the fragile hem of a wedding gown. It was beautiful.
"Yes, yes. I know; I am so blindingly beautiful that you must weep," Skye teased, his voice laced with more than a hint of playfulness. I stared dumbly at the scrap of cloth that hung limply around my palm. Did people still own these things? How did I even use this? As if in answer, there was a light echo of footsteps that grew closer, and closer still. At last, the owner of the perplexing cloth crouched before me. Though still adorned in his signature leopard print, his satin hair was a bit disheveled, with tiny, snow-white bits sticking up here and there. It was almost. . . cute, in a weird, definitely-not-attractive sort of way. His green eyes shimmered with amusement as he took my hand in his, guiding it towards my puffy, tear-stained cheeks. His hands were cold, but not unpleasantly so, almost like the gentle bite of a summer rain. "Go on, you silly, headstrong girl. Use it. I don't mind."
"B-Blindingly gaudy, you mean," I sniffed, clumsily dabbing at my eyes with the lacy cloth. It was a delayed response, but better late than never. The last thing I wanted was a melodramatic, hopelessly romantic thief getting the wrong idea and trying to spirit me away as his bride. Seemingly satisfied, Skye lowered his hand. The freezing spell seemed to be wearing off; I began to drift gently towards the floor, at last landing in a natural, cross-legged position. I took a deep breath, happy to be back on solid ground again. Skye's antics somehow didn't seem as annoying as usual. I guess being freed from the seventh circle of hell will do wonders for one's mood. It was then that I had a thought. "Wait a sec. . . Aren't royals supposed to be all eloquent and flowery?" I teased, though I admit I was genuinely curious. "But here you are, naming your signature move a 'maiden chick beam.' What gives, Prince of the Stars?"
He chuckled softly. It was light, and cheerful, like the faint tinkling of bells. I felt myself inhale sharply at the sound. There was something unnerving about his gentle expression, but not unpleasantly so. His eyes crinkled happily, his smile so wide I could've sworn I saw a faint hint of dimples. It was almost contagious.
"Ah, that? A delightful title for a spell, is it not?" Skye mused happily. He rested his cheek on one palm, tilting his head like a puppy whose name has been called. I could tell that he was pleased I had asked him a question about himself, and I had to stifle a laugh. I'd never realized it before, but hidden amongst all that flirtatious grandeur was something almost childlike. "Not solely limited to use on 'maiden chicks,' as my child-self's name of choice would have one believe. Even so, the women of this town were typically the ones who necessitated its application, given their unyielding obstinance in the face of injustice-hence, the name stuck. Though one 'chick' in particular always seemed to foil my plans. . ."
It's funny how quickly time passes. That all seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. I felt a twinge of nostalgia, remembering those late nights spent trying to thwart the elusive criminal who had eluded even the police. I recalled the sharp buzz of the cicadas outside of Carter's tent, the nauseating smell of curry drifting through the bar, the gentle lap of the ocean on the shore. . . But, despite my reminiscing, Skye wasn't finished.
"One seemingly ordinary girl, as it were, who simply couldn't sit by when her friends were in danger. When I, being the dastardly criminal that I am, aimed to swipe a vase- even just a single, measly vase from a family who had more riches than they could ever hope to spend-she was there to scold me. When I next set my sights on the tavern's signature bottle of wine, I knew from experience that she was not to be trifled with- and indeed, there she was, bold as the finest brass and ever-bright with enthusiasm. I had even set a trap, but to my dismay, I had lured all but one from the building. All but she, who stood defiantly by the open door, ready to face whatever dangers came her way."
"By my third attempt, I was thoroughly, unmistakably, and irreversibly flustered. The new girl with eyes the color of spring's first violets glistening with the morning dew, her chestnut locks perpetually tied in a messy tail behind her neck. . . What made her tick, I wondered? Was she not tired from her farm work? From where did she draw the energy- no, the audacity, the strength, the courage- to hunt the criminal whom others had tried and failed to imprison? My third attempt, therefore, was nothing but a ruse. My curiosity was irreversibly piqued, my duties both as a thief and an apprentice forgotten."
His curiosity was piqued? He wasn't the one listening to a Shakespearean sonnet about how great he was! Sheesh, what a drama queen. I groaned internally as I felt the rush of heat to my cheeks, hoping he wouldn't notice, and hoping desperately that he wouldn't get the wrong idea.
He did both.
"Is that. . . perhaps. . . a blush?" he inquired slowly, hesitantly, as if he could hardly bring himself to say it. I didn't reply. The thief raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and I scowled in response, my hands instinctively fumbling to cover my face. Of course it was a blush! Was he blind? Not that it meant anything, really. Anyone would be embarrassed if someone air dropped compliments on their head out of nowhere! Anyone, not just me. Not just me. Definitely not just- "Pony. May I ask you a question?"
I blinked, at last pulled from my internal tirade. Skye was gazing at me pensively, his brow furrowed deeply in thought. That. . . wasn't what I was expecting. Was he not happy at my reaction, however misconstrued it might have been? The thought irritated me to no end. This guy made absolutely zero sense. For once, I found myself wondering what went on in that dumb, sappy head of his.
"Wouldn't that take the mystique out of our relationship?" I parroted halfheartedly, remembering the many times he had said the same to me. Though I was glad for the potential topic change, I was still a little irked. Why should he get to ask me a question when he never answered any of mine? The thought gave me an idea. I felt a mischievous smile creep its way onto my lips. "But I might be willing to part with my secrets in exchange for some of yours."
He hesitated, but I refused to back down. You're not getting out of this one, Phantom Skye! I crossed my arms defiantly, shooting him what I hoped was my fiercest, no-nonsence expression. Though Skye was making a point of avoiding my gaze, he apparently couldn't resist sneaking a peak. The edges of his mouth twitched. A smile wasn't what I was going for, but I would take what I could get! With an exaggerated sigh, he lowered himself to the ground, imitating my cross-legged pose. Silently, I rejoiced. Hook, line, and sinker.
"My, what an expression!" he finally conceded with a chuckle, his palm resting precariously on his forehead. His exasperation was clear from his expression, though there was no malice in his eyes, which twinkled with a muted sort of amusement. "I suppose I should have seen that coming. Yes, indeed you may ask anything of me, and I will do everything within my power to respond. Though. . . If it is all the same to you, I would like to go first."
"You drive a hard bargain, Phantom Skye," I replied with mock deliberation. I rested my cheek on my knuckles, tilting my head as if deep in thought. Though I had initially planned to tease him, there might really be something in it for me, too. Another idea sprang to mind, battling fiercely with what was left of my pride. Ultimately, practicality won. "But I'll tell you what: I'll let you go first, if you teach me how to cook."
Skye snorted, and I almost lost my composure at the sound, struggling to swallow the giggle that burned dangerously in my throat. I had no idea that the vain, flowery man before me was even capable of such a sound. The people back in town would probably never believe me if I told them that the Phantom Skye, Prince of the Stars, Master Thief and Universal Stealer of Lady-Hearts, had just snorted like a common pig. Somehow, the idea gave me a deep sense of satisfaction. I sure as hell wasn't going to let him live this down. Not now. Not ever. Once he had realized his transgression, the thief's hands flew to his gaping mouth, his eyes widening to the size of his ego as a deep crimson spread across his porcelain cheeks. He cleared his throat before speaking, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.
"Ah. You. . . My, you really have no idea what you're saying, do you?" Skye marveled, his voice taking on a guarded, peculiar tone. He shook his head dazedly, his eyes averted towards the other end of the room; at last realizing the implications of my request, my cheeks suddenly felt as if they were being roasted over a spit. He'd definitely misunderstood, though I guess it was my own fault for giving him the wrong idea. Living on a farm was rough; knowing how to cook what I grew seemed like a must. Sure, there were plenty of people in town that could have given me lessons, but I didn't really feel like asking them. The thought never really crossed my mind. Back at his cottage, Skye had made cooking seem so simple. So interesting. So fun. I might not have liked his specialty dish, but that was my fault, not his. Even if his curry made me nauseous, I could still remember the complexity of spices that permeated the room; the balance of warm, inviting reds and yellows, the cool and refreshing greens and purples that were peppered expertly throughout the dish; the thin trail of steam that rose from the plate, curling as it met with the cool, conditioned air. I needed to learn. I wanted to learn. And much to my chagrin, I wanted to learn from Skye. I raised my head, bolstered with newfound determination, but Skye still refused to look at me. At his nervous fidgeting, my enthusiasm began to waver. What could possibly be bad enough to fluster the notorious Phantom Thief?
"I. . . realize that this may be imprudent," he began, only to pause immediately after. He wrung his hands in his lap, his fingers trailing uncertainly around his palm. "My question, that is. If. . . If so, then I offer my sincerest apologies and hope that we may continue to be acquainted in the future. Or if that is not to your liking, that would also be understandable. Leaving, that is. Ah, but. You cannot leave right this instant. It is a bit. . . Well. That is to say-"
"Just spit it out already!" I huffed. I was used to his flowery language by now, sure, but this was a little much. Just a second ago, I had started to warm up to the guy. Hell, I was even willing to let him into my kitchen. But now. . . Well, the suspense was starting to kill me, and not in the exciting, end-of-book cliffhanger kind of way. If he didn't say something soon, then I might have started to regret my request.
"Do you love me?"
I choked. Oh, goddess. There it was. Was it too late to be aborted? Did I even care if it was?
"I love a lot of things," I blurted, my voice hoarse from the sudden coughing fit. Oh, no. No no no. What was I thinking? I just had to say no. That was it. Just two insignificant letters smushed together into one tiny little word. This was Kindergarten stuff! Why couldn't I say it? Goddess in heaven, why? Please, please, please don't tell me that I actually-
"Would it be irrational of me to assume that I am included in these 'things'?" Skye prompted quietly. I opened my mouth in indignation, but any words that might've surfaced were lost in translation. It was so easy to tell myself I didn't like him-at least, not in the way he seemed to hope for. It was so, incredibly easy, in my head, to insult him; to blame him; to act like he was just a random acquaintance, someone I'd met by chance alone, and who would fade from my mind over time, becoming nothing but a vague blur of discarded, half-forgotten memories. It was easy to believe that he was a means rather than an end, someone to spring me out of magical jail, and train me in the culinary skills that I never thought to learn. Was that really all he was? A stranger, a punching bag, a tool? I think that somewhere, deep down, I knew the answer, and I hated myself for it. I bowed my head in some combination of frustration and shame. How could I have let this happen? For lack of a better word, I felt. . . defeated. Like I'd failed, somehow. Skye's gaze softened, his piercing green eyes at last disarmed from their former robotic calm. "You need not answer. Had I asked such a thing just weeks ago, I would no longer be of this world," I didn't respond. How could I? Nonetheless, despite my silence, he continued, never once breaking his soft, almost pitying gaze. "Your methods might be crass at times, but you are always honest to the best of your ability. This is precisely why, against both my own selfish desires and my better judgment, I will now do the same for you."
Suddenly, elegantly, he stood. I expected him to offer his hand as he always did, the very picture of exaggerated chivalry. Instead, my body became feather-light; I found myself drifting through the air around me, at last landing lightly on my feet. Though Skye had turned his back, I could still detect a faint green aura lingering around his fingertips. Magic. Right. I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. I'd all but spilled my guts, and he wouldn't even spare the time to help me to my feet himself? Irrationally and inexplicably irritated, I peered over his shoulder, hoping to steal a glance at whatever had stolen his attention. The annoying thief had plucked a small, ordinary-looking box from the floor, which now rested shakily in his slender hands.
"So, uh. Whatcha got there?" I asked, trying my best to scrub the last few minutes from my brain. I wasn't necessarily succeeding; my voice cracked at the end, teetering between loud and soft like a prepubescent boy's. The thief startled at my words, the box tilting dangerously in his grasp. Instinctively, I reached to help, steadying my hand on one side of the cool cardboard surface. Skye let out a relieved sigh. Crisis averted. He flashed me a grateful smile over his shoulder, at last turning so I could inspect the contents of the container. I scanned through the items inside curiously, intrigued despite my irritation and better judgment. The first thing I noticed was a vase, small and simplistic with accents of gold, but undoubtedly expensive. I swallowed, imagining how much this simple decoration must be worth. I never did understand why art was worth so much, but I definitely didn't want to break it. I was lucky to have enough food to get by and a leaky roof over my head, let alone a vase that even the wealthy might struggle to afford.
Despite my indifference towards the piece, I felt a faint pang of recollection, though I couldn't place where I'd seen it before. My memory didn't seem to hold the answers and probably wouldn't produce them anytime soon. Oh, well. My interest faded, my gaze drifting towards some brightly colored object resting below the vase. Something large, and unmistakably orange. Gently, I nudged the porcelain piece to the side. Underneath lay what seemed to be a mixture of. . . vegetables? There were several carrots, still smudged with dirt, and an ear of corn which had been smothered by the heavy ornament above. A vase, and vegetables. . . Suddenly, it clicked. My eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, no way. . . Those are Vesta's crops. This is Lumina's vase!" I couldn't hide the excitement in my voice. It was a minor mystery, sure, but I'd solved it nonetheless. I beamed with pride, unconsciously glancing at Skye for approval. He was lost in thought, staring deeply at the box in his hands.
"Correction: It was Lumina's vase, until I stole it. And these were Ms. Vesta's vegetables until I so wickedly stole them away," He ran his pale fingers across the vase's surface, and I watched as he traced one of the elegant designs, his finger looping deftly around the pattern there. "Now, they rest at the bottom of the Goddess Lake."
The bottom of the lake? But that meant. . . Suddenly, I recalled the way in which I had struggled to get to my feet, as if the air was fighting my every move; the murkiness of my surroundings, as if I was viewing them through smudged glasses. What if the air around me wasn't actually air at all? I looked up. Sure enough, the ceiling was the same drab brown color as before, though the light from above bled easily through it.
"An illusion," the thief mused as if reading my mind. For all I knew, he had. I shivered, suddenly self-conscious. Note to self: Don't think any embarrassing thoughts. That, of course, made my stupid brain do the exact opposite, and I shifted nervously, praying fervently that his magic didn't go quite that far-and that he wouldn't notice the faint pink dusting that suddenly materialized on my cheeks. "A trivial one, but effective nonetheless. It is simply a projection of the bottom of the lake, mirrored a considerable distance above it so as to create a small, private chamber below. In fact, it is the very same illusion which Vivian utilized in your, ah. Temporary abode," he cleared his through uncomfortably at my piercing glare. 'Abode' my ass. That place couldn't even pass for a jail cell on a good day. "Its merits, however, go far beyond aesthetics: Living things cannot pass through, even if they are aware of the illusion."
Briefly, I recalled the walls of my former prison. They'd frustrated me to no end as I'd struggled to understand their secrets. A ball and the shirt could pass through easily, but no matter how hard I'd tried, I was never allowed me to do the same. I felt a sense of relief at the revelation that I'd been trying to piece together for ages. It all made sense now, but there was still one thing that was bugging me. One other thing that could pass through, that didn't quite make sense no matter how much I thought about it. I eyed the thief warily, but Skye had hurriedly continued his explanation before I could ask. "As an added perk of the spell, an offering from above would appear to vanish irretrievably into thin air, thus deterring any unsavory thieves who may be lurking nearby."
The irony was not lost on him. There was a sad, nostalgic sort of look in his eyes as he gazed upwards, his eyes focused far beyond the dirt ceiling caked above. Maybe he didn't remember living in this place, but it was still technically his home. The idea of not being welcome here. . . Well, maybe I could see why he was a little down. Without thinking, I placed my hand on his shoulder. It was an awkward move, sure, but what else could I do? I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd be grateful for my efforts, but instead, he brushed my hand away as if it were no more than an annoying gnat. I crossed my arms with a not-so-subtle noise of discontent. What a jerk! Maybe I wasn't embarrassingly suave like him, or grossly forward like the Witch Princess, but, well. I was trying. To comfort him, that is. That had to count for something.
"Do not feel sorry for me just yet," Skye said, shaking his head sadly. He was too late on that front. His expression was reminiscent of a kicked puppy caught in the rain. Gently, he handed me the box that he had formerly cradled in his arms. "Do you notice, by chance, anything that is missing from my collection?"
I blinked, perplexed by his question. Missing? How was I supposed to know? It's not like I was taking inventory of the place! There was the vase, and there were the vegetables. Was this some kind of riddle? The thief always did love being vague. I sighed, wracking my brain for answers. There was Lumina's vase. There were Vesta's vegetables. Both were things, of course, that I saw him steal. He admitted himself that the mine was just an excuse to flirt. Not surprising, then, that there weren't any gems or artifacts in his little box of mementos. But what about-
"The wine," I gasped. It was simultaneously a statement, a question, and an exclamation. I knew where it was, of course. Skye had stashed it at his house, and in a moment of idiocy, I may possibly have helped myself when he wasn't looking.
"The wine indeed," he confirmed. "I am sorry to ask, but do you recall anything. . . unusual. . . about it?"
"I was trying very hard not to remember, thank you very much!" The memories came rushing back and, remembering my horrible, drunkenly-flirty behavior, I groaned. The thief nodded, a faint blush tinging his pale cheeks. To my embarrassment, it seemed like he remembered, too. Kill me now. Glancing at the dirt floor, I briefly wondered if I could dig a hole big enough for me to fit in. Maybe I could even reach the center of the earth, combust instantly, and never be heard from again. That would be best case scenario, I thought.
"I will be brutally honest with you, Pony. You were not drunk that day-no alcoholic beverage works quite that. . . ah, quickly," I wasn't? My mind began to race, confusion causing a deep, throbbing ache in my temple. He had to be mistaken. There's no way I was sober. Maybe I had developed something resembling feelings for him along the way, but I would never-EVER-go that far. I looked to Skye, hoping to catch him in a lie. He looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. Threads of his silvery hair tumbled in front of his face, masking whatever expression lingered there. "That is not to say, however, that intoxication might not have occurred initially, because. . . You see, I may have tampered with- No, there is no 'might' about it. I did tamper with it. I spiked the bottle, Pony. With a love potion. A strong one."
The room went silent. I'd seen magic happen right in front of me- illusions and teleportation, conjurations and stopping time, the works. But potions? Somehow, the idea still seemed so far-fetched, like something out of a children's book or a fairy tale. I didn't want to believe it. Sure, he'd done a lot of bad things already, but most of them weren't really his fault. It was the Witch Princess who was pulling the strings at the end of the day. But spiking my drink? That's something you'd expect out of some sleazy guy at a cheap bar. Not Skye. Not him. Anyone else but him.
"That's impossible," I insisted. This had to be some kind of mistake, some kind of misunderstanding! It had to be fake. It had to be, because- "You drank it, too!"
"Yes. Yes, I did," Another pause. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My vision swam, and I fervently hoped that it was adrenaline and not tears.
"Then that means. . ." Though I may have been a little out of it at the time, I remembered how he had seized the bottle deftly, drinking straight from the container as if it were nothing more than water. "But. . . Why?"
"I suppose you could call it something akin to guilt," he answered. He snatched my apple, long discarded, from the floor, twirling it expertly in his pallid hands. Though he spoke clearly, perhaps even confidently, his tone was almost robotic; detached; impersonal, as if I were an unknown priest behind a confession booth rather than a friend, an ally, flesh and blood. "Make no mistake: I was already planning to serve it to you. It was simply a matter of time before I did. And yet. . . Seeing you drink of your own volition. . ." The apple laid motionless in his palm. The thief stared at it, fixated on his dull reflection in its surface. "Well, let us just say I did not need the potion's effects to spur my actions. If you were to fall in love without your consent, then so too would I, consequences be damned."
"Right. You're a real hero," I spat. I'd meant for my tone to be icy, full of hatred, full of the white-hot fury of a thousand- no, a million women scorned. Instead, it was barely more than a hoarse whisper. My head spun- but was it even mine? These thoughts, these sensations. . . They didn't belong to me. They shouldn't be there. I wanted them gone. Now. My hands trembled with sheer indignation. "I may as well be another person. I'm sure as hell not Pony anymore."
"You have every right to think so," he answered softly. I wanted to ask more, but I could barely think. I could barely breathe. Consciously, I made an effort to slow my hammering heartbeat. Inhale, then exhale. Come on, Pony. You're better than this. Don't let this, of all things, get to you.
"How long does it last?" I finally managed to ask. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence before he answered.
"That, I do not know. I had never made a potion like that before now."
And you didn't bother to find out? I thought, my rage building by the minute. Did he not care enough to know? What if something had gone horribly wrong? What if I'd been poisoned, and he'd needed an antidote?
What if it lasted forever?
Wanting answers more than anything, I once again swallowed my anger. I had to keep a level head if I wanted an explanation. I had to let him talk, as much as I hated to do so. There would be time for emotions and revenge later. For now, there were more important things to worry about. Things like-
"Where's Kai?"
"Safe," Skye assured. He answered immediately, his voice unwavering, and firm, and full of conviction. "The next town over, to be absolutely certain of his escape. Vivian will not follow. I am sorry to say that he is of little consequence to her, in comparison to you."
The silver-haired man smiled regretfully. His tone was so gentle, so soothing, that I almost missed the bitterness that lurked underneath. I shook my head, unwilling to be pacified by his words.
"Skye. . . What the hell were you thinking?" I demanded through gritted teeth, unable to restrain myself any longer. Though a few stray tears threatened to spill, I was far from sad. I was livid. Beyond livid. Beyond beyond livid. He'd better have a good explanation, or I swear to Goddess-
"I was thinking that 'brainwashed' was preferable to 'dead.'"
I had to admit, that seemed like a solid reason. My interest was piqued, my anger evaporating substantially. It was almost embarrassing how willing I was to accept this explanation, if you could call it that at all. The situation seemed bleak, but, well. Skye might be a little gaudy at times, but he wasn't a bad person. At least, I didn't think so- but that might have been the potion talking. I pressed my lips together, torn between a sea of conflicting emotions. Finally, deciding to grant him the benefit of the doubt, I spoke.
"Go on."
There was a noticeable whoosh as the breath he had been holding escaped his lungs. Maybe he really is sorry, I hoped with a tinge of relief. He certainly seemed nervous, and part of me felt guilty for interrogating him. After all, he was in the same situation that I was, even if he'd had a choice in the matter. I couldn't help but feel at least a little sorry for him.
"Thank you. Truly," Skye proclaimed, finally meeting my gaze. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, but he quickly retracted it. I couldn't help but feel disappointed at the hesitation, but quickly recovered after remembering that I was supposed to be angry. Stupid potion, I thought bitterly. Brainwashed or not, I refused to let myself get carried away by the moment. The thief's eyes glistened ever so slightly, and I wondered if he was on the verge of tears. I resisted the urge to ask. I needed answers more than I wanted a sob story. Luckily, it seemed that he was finally willing to give them. "It is a relatively long explanation, and yet it is one that you are already familiar with. My bargain with the Witch Princess stands to this day: I steal, and in turn, she teaches. Though she and I are rather incompatible, for lack of a better word, It was a mutually beneficial relationship for years- at least, until she began to hunger for more."
"Magic is a unique currency in itself, you see. The offerings worth 'more' are those which hold the most meaning to the offerer, regardless of actual monetary or societal value. If, for instance, the token was a mere infant, days old, with nothing to his name than the clothes on his back. . . Well, you get the picture," Skye smiled grimly. My eyes flitted to his silvery hair, which I now knew was due to his dwindling lifespan rather than his obscure fashion sense. Sure, his mother had almost certainly saved his life by throwing him into the lake that day, but at what cost? I felt a pang of sympathy for the man before me, suddenly hit with the realization that he probably didn't have much longer to live. Silently, I wished that it was me instead. The thought startled me, and I shifted uneasily on my feet. Skye, lost in his tirade, continued without skipping a beat. "Conversely, the items that I stole, while indeed worth a fortune, meant little to me. What use had I for an impractical pitcher that could crack at the slightest touch? For organic produce, and high-class wine; for gaudy trinkets, and ballroom gowns, and more paintings than I cared to count? I was merely in it for the knowledge that they could purchase, but their intrinsic value, I am sorry to say, was entirely lost on me, particularly as their novelty waned with time. My so-called offerings were mere ghosts of those presented genuinely by the townspeople, and the witch had certainly noticed. Dissatisfied with my work, she had soon suggested that I. . . ah, up the ante. That I find something worth more than that which I stole so boldly, so thoughtlessly, so heartlessly from others. Unfortunately for her, there was little that I genuinely cared for, having lost everything after I left my former life behind."
"And then, one day, she noticed when I returned emptyhanded from my trip to the mine."
He didn't need to explain. The implications of that one, single sentence hung dangerously in the air. I was beginning to understand, and I almost wished that I hadn't. Still, I didn't want him to stop talking just because I was maybe a tiny bit uncomfortable.
"So. . ." I began conversationally. I'd meant to break the tension, but the word came out more like a strangled bark than an icebreaker. I cleared my throat nervously before continuing, determined to know the truth. "It's me, huh? I'm. . . I'm what she wants now?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. Instead, he continued, averting his gaze once again.
"The wolves, the injuries, staying at my home. . . It was all part of her plan. She was not content with just my feelings for you- oh, no. She desired more. She wanted theatrics," his voice, normally soothing and silky smooth, burned with crude, unbridled fury. I couldn't help but shiver in response. The thief began to pace restlessly, his arms crossed over his chest. "Her initial plan was twofold: Firstly, I was to assure your fealty through a love potion of my own design. Secondly, Vivian and I were to pretend to be engaged, thus inciting your jealousy and allowing you ample opportunity to realize your new. . . fondness. . . for. . . ah. . ." he trailed off, but I got the picture. So it really wasn't his idea after all. So he really didn't have feelings for her. Suddenly, I recalled the diamond ring from Skye's story- the same one which Vivian had now falsely claimed was her engagement ring. The thought made me happier than I cared to admit, even if the problem of my imminent demise still remained.
"So what happens after that?" I asked quietly. He lifted his gaze from the floor, slowly meeting my eyes. There was a profound sadness there, one that made my breath catch in my throat. He no longer resembled a kicked puppy, but rather one who had experienced a deep, profound loss.
"Complacency. Total complacency."
I swallowed, suddenly grim. I'd expected something like this, but hearing it out loud made it real, somehow. So the Witch Princess was after my heart, after all. If I loved Skye, then I would be willing to do anything for him. Anything. Maybe even. . . I hurriedly put the thought out of my mind. I wasn't mentally prepared to deal with this yet. Maybe I never would be.
"Yeah. That's kind what I figured," I chirped, my voice laced with false cheerfulness. I knew that I was overdoing it, but I couldn't stop. If I didn't at least pretend to be confident, then I wouldn't stand a chance. Skye eyed me warily. There was a brief silence before he spoke again.
"You are taking this quite well," Skye probed cautiously. His hands lingered palms-out in front of him, almost as if warding off an invisible attacker. He flinched when I titled my head in confusion. "Are you certain that you are not angry with me? Frankly, I would be more concerned if you were not. I understand if you wish to hit me. Hard. Repeatedly. With a bat. A spiky one, which resembles an instrument of Medieval torture."
I couldn't help but laugh at the serious expression plastered on his face. It didn't match his words at all. That clueless frown of his almost made me want to take him up on his offer, and yet it was that dry, unintentional sense of humor that made him so endearing, for lack of a better word. Yuck, I was actually praising this loser! What had the world come to? Maybe it was the apocalypse after all!
"Oh, believe me, I still plan on getting my revenge," I hinted ominously, wiggling my eyebrows for extra effect. He seemed even more startled by my suddenly playful demeanor, but I couldn't help it. There was something about that helpless expression of his that made me want to tease him relentlessly- but that would have to wait. There were more pressing matters to deal with, including a certain homicidal witch that needed to be taken down a notch. "So. What's the gameplan, lover boy? The Phantom Skye that I know isn't one to back down from a challenge."
He was clearly taken aback by my optimism. I was just as shocked as he was, to be fair. Nonetheless, I knew that he was serious when he said he'd do anything to get me out of this mess, and I knew damn well he wouldn't go back on that promise. He wasn't quite stupid enough to try and weasel his way out of this, especially now that I knew all of his dirty little secrets. After a moment of confusion, his eyes shone deviously, the pitiful, groveling mentality vanishing as soon as it had appeared. This was the Skye I knew, and dare I say it? This was the Skye that I loved, even if it wasn't by my own will. Somehow it was easier to admit now, knowing that it wasn't something natural, but rather some unseen force beyond my control. For once, I didn't pull away when he grasped my hand lightly in his. Maybe, just maybe, we wouldn't make such a bad team after all.
"That depends," he replied with a devilish grin. "How long can you hold your breath?"
A/N: And there you have it! As always, I'm sorry for the awful wait, but after all these years we're finally getting close to the end! Took me long enough, eh? Thanks to everyone for your words of encouragement along the way, even after my long hiatus. I had no idea that people would still be interested in what I had to say after all these years! Seriously, you guys are the best! It always brightens my day to have the opportunity to talk to such lovely people, and to read such kind messages of support!