Foster: -So's this the last Rupert chapter or are we still fighting for more popularity.-

Me: ;w;

Foster: -Whuh?-

Me: You already have 20+ chapters

Foster: grumbles to himself about stupid things

The Stone Fossil Fighter

Chapter 36: Peace, Hidden in Pages of Chaos

Rupert

Cool yet fair wind, which pilfers from the very tips of just-cracked windows, fulminating in space and atmosphere and into her hair, billowing like gentle autumn leaves, sends a breath of fresh life into the timely environment. Liveliness on her face and in her eyes brightens with just the paintbrush stroke of wind, of element upon her. It bleeds into her. Just a small touch alights her. The tire in her eyes seems to melt away by the things around her as I reach my own hand and stroke, softly, her fears away. Her soft and lavender orbs watch me as I watch her. A tiny smile buds at her lips. Blush like leaves expands from her nose into waves of precious cosmos. How could I not smile when I see her? It is as if a spell of darkness was broken when she spoke to me on that day...

Our original reason for coming to this area had none to do with my feelings for her or hers for me. I rather cannot focus on the book or the pages below me when she sits here in front of me, these feelings an influx betwixt us. Bits of watercolor have dressed sections into rainbows of pictures; I cannot focus when she sidles up to me. She sits by my side, and she stays by my side. She does not waver; nor do I.

My gloves I left absconded in a forgotten heap somewhere far away from here. My fingers are free to touch her, to stroke her cheek, to feel her warmth coalescing from within and pulsating unto me. I prefer this much to any other fashion.

She is safe now. She is safe here.

Breeze permeating, dragging its wake the tails of floral curtains, off the cool but sharp and welcoming strands billow through aisles upon aisles of thick, towering bookshelves. Building blocks of books brandish the never-ending walls, like a maze, which wend off into the center of the room and off into the hallways again, a majestic sort of labyrinth walled in papers inked by time- and care-worn words: drawings, too. Some books prefer illustrations to tell their story over welcoming blankets of text; personally either warms me. I like... stories. Thoughts. Inked into the world and given true form... beauty. Poetry. Priceless, shining poetry, furthermore valuable and renovated than expensive vases. I understand this "worth" of these "vases" and understand just how "prized" they really should be. Words are nice. Still my eyes trail from comforting pages and into the beauty of the girl I—truly—love. If the library of the castle were to burn to the ground at her feet, only for her to be safe, I could not care any less.

Her amethyst gems of eyes which I find precious and hold closely to me rumble from the pages and toward me, her smile wavering like wings in the wind. She is happy. I can tell this, and beyond, in her gaze, streaks of feelings and bits of wonder after I read her the title, and always the omnipresent shadows of... Please may she be vanquished of this evil one day. But here, but now, she is safe, and I will hold her and hide her from her fears for as long as I can, for as long as I must until there is nothing else left but for... it to come. Still... I love her. I love her... I love Dina. It is something I know... with the great, thick, throaty, relentless rumbles in my heart. I love Dina.

She blushes when I move closer; her face masks in these roses when I tell these things to her. She told them to me first; even if she struggles now through sheer feelings and that of her sweet, stuttering, red face, I cannot forget; I never wish to. She told me first. Perhaps I was the one to kiss her, but she told me she loves me. Oh... how I love her...

Leaning close to me, her hand places our combined fingers over the pages again. Great, purple eyes, wide and silent, stare at the expanse of rough writing and plentiful paining. Her fingers wriggle from my grip and stroke over words she can only begin to digest. She can understand some but certainly not as much as she wishes she could. It embarrasses her, illiteracy. Only a minority never find fluent enough reading so that in the least a sentence can be read smoothly in comparison to her choppy fumbles over the words. But she likes stories. She enjoys the sensation of being read to, of understanding without the pressure of reading. I would like to teach her, when times are not as hard, how to find beauty in writing with an ease she does not currently pertain. But... I would like it if I could show her. So when I found this room quickly I had to tell her, to take her here.

Books with pictures. Her personal favorite. She likes the words, too; sometimes they are easier to read on her own. Smaller letters forming little words, little things to see and comprehend to row through the river of her reading. Beauty she can understand, that she can hold in her hands and see. Gently her hand moves away from mine, tracing the wide circle of sun tossed in the air of the bright blue sky. She touches rolling, green hills dotted in daisies. Shadows of vivosaurs birth her little smiles. There is no other texture than the glossy page; she can see it, feel it, in her head. And she likes it. Her little hands eventually wend their way into the top-left corner where a small wall of text awaits interpretation. Her head flickers toward me, for just a moment, before turning back toward the page again.

She is cute.

The hand not upon the page I gently wrap around her, pulling her closer to me, keeping her with me. When she feels this her head rests upon me. Auburn swaths of wavy, orange locks just touched in silver wend across me, wend across her. She does not move her gaze from my hand or the paper in front of us. Her excitement is evident, palpable, like a feeling in the room I can almost hold. And so I murmur, in start of the story, "'Over valleys and treetops... very far, far away, there lies a small home in the grasses, where the little adventurer lays. Found in the morning fixing sugar for tea... and by time of the night, sleeping may it be.'" I search Dina. Her nose twitches and she looks toward me.

"I like this..." she whispers, "it, um, seems nice. The, um... 'The Littlest Adventurer...'" Soft giggles float from within her. Not only does she prefer books with pictures, but those that tell stories for children she likes the best. She is so cute...

And so I go on, gently turning the page. A landscape crafted in marshy, dark hues, shaded in purple, stares back at us. Small, spiked trees in the horizon enter the view of the reader. Still the path of the creature from the front cover—a mammalian sort of vivosaur of long, floppy ears whose name I doubt we will learn—sits before him, drenched yet again in those daisies. This makes Dina smile. A smaller line of text lies nestled again in the horizon, perhaps looking down upon the tiny mammal and keeping him safe. Keeping—her safe. "'She hops over terrains, no matter how scary, to find people in need, and help in adventures if they... harry.'" Stopping, I ask her, "So may this be a kind protagonist? Who wishes to help and befriend others... on her adventures."

Dina, giggling again, murmurs, "I like her straw hut. She can fold it up a-and take it anywhere..."

Casually a third body traipses from her sunning spot on another table, leaping into our rounded corner and laying her spiny and yet elegant head upon the cloth covering it. Her little claws poke at the sheet without trying to break it. Royal purple eyes smile toward me. I like this story as well, dearie. But where does she get all of her tea from? and may I ask what kind she prefers? Aah, curiosity. These children's fables are sweet but they leave too much hanging for me... Mistress offers a wan grin. Her body twists around the story as she watches the page, pointing out the fluffy protagonist and the little straw hut she wordlessly folds up and takes with her everywhere. There is as well no description of tea or where she is going, or if perhaps she prefers hills to anywhere else.

Dammit! I can't take all the questions! It's like having no idea what's going on around you or if—Torn abruptly halts when his bright pink eyes rake over us, landing on Dina. FUCK I MEAN IT'S LIKE BEING AMNESI—DAAAAAHHHGG, DAMMIT I DON'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT DINA. She giggles yet again. Torn releases his forked tongue with a haughty snort, folding up his limbs around himself with a naughty sigh.

Dina, nodding toward me, smiling, asks me go to on, and so I do. The next page reveals a blotchy, rainy area full of holes brimming with tears of the thunderclouds. The writer has gone so detailed as to add shining pupils into the droplets and watery lines as they dip into the soil or the puddles. The small, fuzzy, brown creature trudges onward with a small straw hat upon her head, shuffling closer and closer to the canine on the other side that may as well be an andrarch. "'Even if it is wet, she must not let; or the need to help others be something to forget.'"

What the fuck is she helping.

U-umm, m-maybe an andrarch? I-I think...

Mistress raises her eyes, scanning the painted horizon. But it also looks like an amargo, a little bit; oooh, I could see dimetro as well! Perhaps this is Torn she is helping! Hah, I could see why... Can't you make out the resemblance, Rupert? Oh, please tell me you do! When I nod, she softly trills in approval. Yes, yes, yes, dearie! The sweet and kind girl must always save the bloody-mouthed dimetro! They are meant to be together, no?

Quickly I turn to the next set of pages. Hasty. A small, feeble part of my mind wishes that perhaps the adventurer will soon find a second who can be with it and no matter what I do the thought will not quench itself.

I need a moment to compose myself and glance upon the exposed pages. I see now that the story has taken a turn and began a true plot instead of simple rumbling around, place to place. The pictures only seem to grow further vibrant, with the littlest adventurer and the we-think-dimetro by her side, he lighting up and spewing a ball of flame past rain and brittle tree branches alike. He hisses as it falls. A side of the atrocious, alighting flame gives shape to a slouched, stout figure in the further-off broken-down trees that could be a boulder or could be... Quietly I continue. "'The littlest adventurer and her new friend must find a way... to reach the end. Her friend belches flames to see through the rain, and they manage to find an open cave. As they approach through black trees, it is hard to move for thorny seeds; still they go on and into the night, for if they do not they will lose their light.'"

Light? What the fuck? What light? I don't like this shitty little...

Torn, how many times have I told you by now not to question the logic of children's books? A stout figure indeed shows by the side of the dimetro, his pastel cyan-and-red pinwheel fashion matching that of his best friend. Snorting, Trikko continues to grumble in a low voice about common mistakes on argumentation with creative and open minds the blue dimetro has made in the past. It effectively kills the words in his maw.

Small fingers point again at the page, toward where the dark but brooding, deep drawings have led toward. While the protagonist and her friend line up with their faces upon the left side, the path they wend toward is on the right. Small, almost imperceptible breaches of waves of sun rays penetrate the stormy barrier and shift and flow just slightly upon the ground here. "M-Maybe that is what they mean by 'their light?' O-Or maybe they are scared..." Worry obvious in her gaze, Dina buries her head by my shoulder and sighs. She is scared for the ending. I tried to explain to her that these stories never end badly...

Snorting. Thick pink eyes glare at me from over the table. Why the hell did you let her think something like that? Why the hell did you let her read something that might scare her? Dammit, Rupert, you don't know anything and I hate you so much and get away from my Dina!

Torn. Please. The tricera at his side wrinkles his snout. You're being an atrocity again. I would be most grateful if you'd stop. It's quite unhealthy for me. Not to mention unhealthy for Dina, I'm sure; Rupert cares about her, don't you know that? Torn slowly opens his twisted maw until his best friend cuts him off again. No. That's right. You don't. Goodness gracious. Still their bickers quickly dwindle and the two stare dumbly at me, waiting for my fingers to move the story onward. Mistress, closer to me and far more protectively kind than the prior two, raises a bemused eye toward them.

All eyes trained upon me—other than Dina, who has closed hers in the epitome of sleep—I turn again. Her soft breathing upon me lets me know she is still very alive and very awake. Supposedly she would prefer to listen now than see more pictures. She does not note the cave scene with the protagonist and her friend, nor the strange tree-like cave drawings marking the walls and dancing like winged creatures of the sky. Somehow the green chalk stands out; somehow the painter managed to give a facsimile of it with only their prized and incredibly watercolor skill. Quietly, focused further on Dina than all else, I tell her, "'Inside of the cave, it was all warm and bare. But the night would not shave, even as they slept there. Strange drawings of comfort were clawed on the walls; great and echoing beckoned big, colored halls.'" She stirs from her perch, only sinking further into me. Gently I raise my hand, if for a moment, to stroke her upon her head before continuing back to the story.

The next page proffers more scenery and more vivid showcases of strange chalk sketches. None of them resemble any other images—my heart beats slower now. From seemingly nowhere I can still hear the echo of Nyra's cheep from wherever she has bundled up betwixt books and their rightful beds. I try to focus more on watercolor hallways glossed and captured in paper, torches on the walls and hopeful, fluffy, sweet little girls wandering with the help of... of a friend. "'It would have been hard to see if not for her fiery friend. Because of him, through the big cave they can wend. Searching and searching for a way out, so they may find peace, they hope, as they shout.'"

Fuck? They're shouting now? Again Torn bristles.

From her perch Nyra mutters, Torn, please do not be such a disrespectful disgrace to the poor little story! Dina's smiling, so I think she likes it either way! And isn't that what matters the most, Torn? We care about her... and how she feels, how she's doing, which is not in much any way the easiest job, but it's what we want to do, and it's what we care about, so we must. So please... she's smiling, Torn.

He bumbles about incomprehensible nonsense.

Dearies, offers my Mistress, I believe they are shouting in the hope of finding someone who can help them! Or something similar, yes? So that they may see their dear light, yes, yes? I would believe so, in the least. I look forward to seeing how this little story may conclude... In peace, yes? In light, yes? I suppose we shall see. Truly I doubt the mapo queen understands either the purpose of children stories. She and Dina are... cute, like that. To not understand... it is cute.

Words stumble across the page in a state of awkward cacophony: I can tell which goes when but they bounce, and they bounce, and it proves difficult to tell where each piece goes and what fits with which. "'At first they cannot see; where has their light gone? But as they go on they realize the dark is receding: so they find relief...' um... 'Without her friend she would be lost, without her dear friend she would not have found escape. It was scary, to be in the dark; the littlest adventurer understands this cost...'" And it goes on, bounding toward her furry little face emblazoned with wide, sweet eyes. "'Look, she told her friend, look and please see; for I think we have found an important key. Perhaps, she wondered, if we go and we plea, the gates will open, the one by those trees.'" And drawings of the worded noun cross over the edges.

They were in darkness at first... and they were confused—but... Torn... led... her...

Torn asks some superfluous question and Trikko answers halfheartedly. The first rumbles in some form of regurgitated laughter.

"'Still, it looks, they had a way to go. For drawings in nearby nooks had ruined their flow. One of a smaller friend, and one of a bigger one... for if they were alone their hearts would be stunned. True friends, the picture showed, are important to one... Backwards the littlest adventurer and her friend went, to go and free the images unspent. It was only then that they would know the light they had searched for had started to glow.'"

Do not tell me they are in this wayward story as well...
I... Dina...

She has not noticed. I doubt she would be able to. Ignoring her worried state as it is, I feel that... she would not search so deeply for a... relation like so.

And I turn another page. All five of her vivosaurs and the one of mine practically breathe into me in search of the answer, for the ending of this strange and gallantly-painted story. On glossy pages reveal that the cracks in the walls and the yellows from prior here mix thickly into a soupy viscous with the fluffy brown littlest adventurer caught in the middle, that red friend of hers just behind. They appear to be sliding through bright colors, perhaps even a vortex, off into... somewhere else. The text lies simple at the bottom. "'Now we can go, now we are free, said the littlest adventurer in great glee. If we continue this way, maybe then, we will find that we lay in the midst of the fray, the fray we had come so far to see...'" And finally it is... somewhat revealed where that red fellow originated in the first place. "'My dear friend, thank you for coming all this way; you are very funny. I cherished every moment that you came with me, and now I see that it is meant to be: please come, as I find my way in the sun. We must be off soon, before this day is done. Travel in the light, where it is very bright, and perhaps we will see—yes, you and me—where we must go to help the others.'"

One or two mumble thoughts about why is this adventurer so pent up on helping others?

I open the next page—I believe the second to final—and out spills grandeur. Gold. Glory. Shining, glittering bricks coned off into a castle flowing in the breeze of clouds and hills and little ribbons cascading off from its tips. I murmur, Dina stirring again, "'Here is where we must go now. For the sun led us here, to where we will be found. We will laugh and play and make people smile, so maybe oh maybe we will stay for a while. Maybe we will belong here, maybe we will be happy, and even if it is not near, at least memories will cheer. For a very, very long time in our hearts. Let us be off... let us start.'" Like a long-lost princess the littlest adventurer, after glancing at her long savior the sun, pelts off into the castle.

On the final page it merely states in golden, glimmering whispers of words: "'Maybe the world is not pretty now, but some of it always will be; maybe not soon and you don't get how, but one day again it will shine. The sun is always there, the sun is always bright, the sun will always show you the way to the light. So don't give up.'" And finally a little image of the littlest adventurer, the sweet little protagonist, painted with great care, so softly stroked in yellows and golds, there she is. There she is.

I give the excuse that I will be back with tissues, for softhearted sobbing vivosaurs and Dina alike, as my mind, miffed, rattles thoughtlessly. Silenced because as much as I wish to be there for her I doubt I would ever create something so wonderful... something so beautiful for her. I could not... be that... I could never be that. It is a shame: all she deserves and yet I am futile to... to... Gently I shake my head. Perhaps the plot itself did not offer the most adequate of sense in places, but it still told a story, and it still held deep within it a certain core of meaning. Torn and Mistress most evidently saw as I had.

An apology proffered to the kind, furry lady at the middle desk and a plucking of the tissues by her side—swff, swff—I go along back to where my dear girl and her vivosaurs and my Mistress awaits and once I find them quickly give them their allotted set. Dina requires the most of each of them, her face eventually hiding in her final tissue, a ghost of a cloth punctuating her nose and hiding herself in shadow and white. When I hold out my hand for her, she jerks toward me, thinks with her eyes turning, and stumbles back, mumbling nothings like her snot and her tears. I sit upon the chair beside her and take her hand, not unkindly, my other again pulling her toward me, and, I imagine, keeping her... keeping her safe. Orange locks tumble into my fingers and I stroke her when she sneezes, once, twice.

"I-It was a sweet story," is all she offers, and all I need. She is a sweet girl. Of course she feels touched by this story, this... sweet story. Book left untouched on the table by all present, it stays there, lonely, the image of the "littlest adventurer" and her red friend in stark watercolor of woodlands and hills and light and dark all blended harmoniously into one single drawing, one single cover. "The Littlest Adventurer." My darling smiles when she looks over it, instead directing her gaze toward me, to where I can see the yellow glowing of my eyes, the soft smile upon me. She placed it there. She placed it there...

For a long time I never thought of such "frivolous" things. I never left an uneven thought out of line for something like that... like a "smile." Simply I pertained no purpose. I felt no feeling. I regarded that no reason was telling me to do really anything other than the creature who told me, told me, told me to win the tournaments and present the money, money, money. A small sigh escapes. I rest myself against her as she leans on me. She feels warm and safe in my arms; I feel warm and safe to be holding her. To have her here, with me. Even Torn, as truly frivolous as he can be, I accept. I accept him warmly, as he loves this girl, perhaps not as I do but he still shares such a bond. He cares for her and distrusts the people who come near her—within good reason, although his curses could mark less blundering time to time if only he did not yell and screech so much...

As the other softhearted individuals with us dispose of their tissues and take the small mountain Dina allotted along with them, I sit with her, and we wait together. Torn has left alongside them... alongside the others. All but... perhaps not Reyna, if I were to guess? But maybe. Quietly I rest with her... and I watch her, until her eyes catch mine and she whispers:

"Rupert..? Yo-You are... v-v-very elegant... Rupert..."

"Ah... Dina..." I cannot help myself and dart my gaze away from hers, instead staring along the table as she nuzzles closely to me. It takes time, as I lie in waiting, to know what to tell her... how to explain to her... when I tell her in return, "You are beautiful, Dina."

She splutters. Very quickly. "I-I-I do not know about tha—!"

Gently I place my hand over her lips, whisper, "Do not raise your voice in the library," just by her ear. She catches the little smile I have placed upon me, that I feel upon me, and she giggles softly through my pale, unclothed fingers: "Y-Ymph..."

When I take them away she repeats herself. "You are c-c-cute... a-and that makes me happy, Rupert..." And so I look from her again. My cheeks, I feel, are hot.

These feelings that tug me in many directions... I wonder what truly birthed of them, and why... oh, why were they found inside of me? Why was I... the one, the lucky one, to fall in love with her? Why was it me... she found these feelings for? What elevates me, what gives me foundation stronger than any other entity that may lay eyes on her? I do not understand... I cannot understand why. And still the feelings pull me closer, they bring me closer to her... until I cannot, I truly cannot let go of her... and so I never do.

When Amurr and Joanie told the guards off, gave them a beating in words, against harming Dina and locking her away just because she may have an ancient inside of her when she is their guest and they invited her alongside the swooning numbers of others that were asked of and accounted for, she was allowed safety again. She was allowed out again. Thus so far, I have given her none of such: I have held her hand and taken her with me so that she may be there for every next step I may have. Whether they are hers or mine, I want... the other to stay. I refuse to keep her out of my sight any longer for as long as I can. Little things like tissue runs I will accept, in bursts of moments, especially with Torn nearby, but that is as far as I ever wish to be from her. Especially in a time like... now.

The princess and her dear friend were kind to us; we do know one another after the excursion of events where they tried to participate in the Caliosteo Cup instead of run their kingdom. It was... a catastrophe, at times, to say the least, but still I suppose I enjoyed meeting the two of them; and now I am thankful of them, for they kept her safe... they kept her safe and away, away, away from those guards... and that room...

Not a soul mentioned growing ancient alerts. Not a soul broached the topic of how close they have come to the castle and how easy a torn soul can succumb to one of them. Not a soul thought, not a soul spoke, when there was a faraway supply closet found ransacked, its door ajar and in ribbons, the ground lightly coated in—blood—here and there, allotted mainly in one corner where a certain Dina had sat on that night when she was taken and that night when she escaped.

I am thankful for this as well...

"Rupert..?"

She is so warm in my arms... so warm, beside my heart... that I wonder if she can feel it beating. A finger stroking across her cheek, hand cupping her head, my warm little Dina... and I whisper, to her and her alone, "Yes, Dina?"

"Rupert... u-uumm..." She does not see how cute she is when she mumbles and stutters like so. That as well warms me; it births a sort of gentle flame inside of me that I cannot express very well... but it is soft and safe, and it thrives inside of me, especially when she is here with me. Her amethyst eyes, big and sparkling, turn from table, to bookshelf, to me. "I wanted to ask you... if... if... umm... Th-The story was v-very sweet but u-ummm I-I-I wanted... I wanted to know if... you had a-a-any sweet stories like that... th-that were from you, a-and from you alone... about, um, you... Happy little things about y-you, Rupert. If you are o-okay with telling me..." and so her voice lumbers off. It steps with a sort of ease where it moves. It makes me happy.

So I consider her words, because she gives them to me... and she only asks kind things of me. Things that will help me, things that will kindle the gentle flame inside of me, things that she wishes to understand about me. And they make me... wonder. Happy pieces within my life... like a puzzle wishing to be solved. Only so many of those fragments I know without even touching are filthy, filthy little fragments of who I once was and who I never wish to be again. Still are as well the smaller gems, which I can count in one, maybe two hands alone. She—she owns many of them by name. They are of her doing. Of course... I prize Dinu, my scornful yet tender cousin, and our grandfather I welcome as well. But... she... she is not like the two of them; she is not much like any soul I have met before.

"Happy things," I murmur under my breath. What would she want me to tell her of? My gaze draws toward her as her cheeks thicken with color.

She squeaks, her soft, lost breath like that of a snowflake in spring.

"U-Ummm... I cha-changed my.. my mind. I would... if it is... okay... like the v-very happiest story of yo-yours... please..."

Perhaps my own whisper was lost in the currents of my soul, where sweet and tender softness has me brimming, but I still tell her, at least in some form of twisted memory, "Of course..." and "anything for you... my dear Dina..." It is... quite a shame I cannot tell if she heard me. Wide, purple eyes watch me, glinting with small spots of yellow, like those of which I look towards her upon, and without hesitation in a sudden rush of feelings I pull her face toward mine. My sweet and soft little Dina...

Our foreheads touch from where we lay. I... like such a feeling. I like it. "The happiest moment in my life..?" Her head pulls itself closer to me, if that possible at this point, when I whisper. "I have... a wan number to choose from... but they are precious to me. How can I tell, Dina..?" The way her eyes widen and face reddens, the way she squeaks very quietly to herself: oh, I love her. Perhaps I have yet to understand why, how someone so lovely as she had found me, and found this love for me; all I know is simply that I love her, I love her, I love her... "Dina, there are perhaps few in number to choose from, but they are all so precious to me...

"When I first saw you... even then, I suppose, though I did not realize this until much later, I was happy to have met you. Your tricera and your dimetro obviously loved you, even if they were messy in their sentiments, and I found it degrading but rather... amusing of Trikko to take all seven of your blankets and explode, shooting them across the room in all sorts of directions, when he fell off your bed. And all you had was that Torn to keep you warm... I love... I love your smile when you heard him, and the face you made when you first saw me. It was... precious. A precious state of shock.

"The moments where I saw you, again and again, bring... now a smile to me that I never thought would return after all these years... Even as I was colder and harder to come toward Todd insisted to battle me and the way your flustering self looked away but toward him in a sort of awe... I wished, later on, you would look toward me like that. When that tabula rasa broke herself and stole your Torn and my unfortunate lost souls, the way you hesitantly but still bravely came after me... I adore it. And when you tried to climb the boulder later placed there, only to nearly fall off of it—and may I mention terrify Todd and myself both—to end unfortunately if not for Nyra, the worry I felt made me realize at that time you were special. When Todd lumbered off, excuse me, the imbecile, and the BareBones fools tried to kidnap you, and quickly failed to the paws of a certain dimetro... I could not help myself when I called out. By then I knew... I knew, Dina, that I could not let go of you. I could not... let you out of my sight.

"I regret to inform you of this now, but I heard you confessing for me to Pauleen when the two of you landed in the dastardly Bonehemoth and I further off. When I heard you, and I understood that you felt the same way about me... I had to show you. Somehow. And after our escapade and when—"

She blurts, "Th-The helico-copter ca-came to get us! Because Torn found us! And Todd a-and the others rode in the plane with Joe but there was not enough spaces... e-er, not J-Joe but Zo-Zongazonga... a-and so I went wi-with you..."

"Yes, Dina." My lips trace her forehead "Yes..."

"And you... y-you kiss-kissed me for the... first time, tha-that day... A-And I was able to stay with you, then..." She shakes her head slowly. "Rupert?" She does not go on until I call her name softly in response. It brings her smile back, only a mirror of her original one, this hinted in shadows of sorrow. "It made me sad when you said 'Forgive me...' Be-Because it made me happy when you..."

Her little hands tighten around me, her head hidden, nuzzled against me. I stroke her again... sweet little Dina... "It made me happy too..." I stare off through the chambers, my smile unheeded for. But there it is... like unexpected flowers in a meadow thought dead... there it is... And the place, it is alive... it never died... Always was a will, perhaps as small as a single, rugged blade, but still a will held it through... and brought me to her.

She whispers, sending a small sensation of ribbons over me. "But... But wh-what is your favorite?"

And so I answer her with all of the truth in my heart, "They all are."

Her giddy little grin makes it all worth it.

It always does. Her smiles give me a reason in this life of mine: in this skin of mine. When I see her, I feel perhaps like an artist given a brush and paints, a sculptor given clay, an astronomer given a telescope... I feel like I can see, and I feel like I am me, when I see her smile and I know exactly why she did. The answer is on the cusp of my lips and the air but at the same time it wends from a faraway, bathypelagic place where none has ever seen before, originating, the stem of a seed back into its roots somewhere far, far down inside. Mayhap the darkness trumps light here still; or perchance it is hard to breathe; but, it lives; and yet, it lives, it can live in here. And it can bloom. The way her little eyes like glossy river stones shine when I search upon them and hold them close to me gives me purpose once again, makes even the darkest of paths and the depth of pains, the dent of pasts bearable. She does this; she alone for me. Others may see and warm by her light, but she...

Her eyes follow mine when I search the hands that touch her, that curl and cup around her and beckon her closer, my little Dina toward me. And I can have her and keep her here alone, and Torn can infrequently trust me and Mistress sometimes believe in me because she is mine. My little Dina. My... Dina. She... is... mine. And that makes me happy. So quietly, just as softly as she had asked, just as fleeting as her giggles, I pull my lips to her ear, my head against hers, and I murmur: "And what might be your very happiest story, Dina?"

The slight shivers that trace her frame can be felt in her arms in which my hands go over. Gently I rub her silvery white scales, slowly, small circles, around and around and around. Her blush burns me from how close I am to her. And it makes me happy to see her feelings and how freely, bravely, she shows them to the world. She does not try to hide behind masks... she wants to be herself and she lets the world see it no matter their response. And I... I want to... keep her safe, if I can. I must be gentle, for she is but a little flower, cosmos in my hands. But I want to keep her safe, if I can.

"M-M-Mine? U-Uuuuhhh... There are ve-very ma-ma-many to choose from, Rupert..." Shyly her lids flutter over her eyes. I smile again, just on the cusp of it, when she searches me through precious little slits. "There are... very many happy stories... I-I know that you did not per-perhaps ha-have as many of these but... whe-when I was younger... Todd... Todd and I, and Torn, s-sometimes we could... play games. A-And I think Joe, when he still had me, he said that whe-when he did that w-we always had fun a...a-and laughed...

"Bu-But I-I think these are not my happiest stories..!"

Against myself my heart picks up its beat and I whisper, "No?"

I can feel her shaking her head against me and against myself my heartbeat quickens. "No, no... I have... I have had... ve-very special moments with, um... so-someone else... I-I am sorry, you must know where this is going..."

"Please go on..." I find myself unable to pluck the desperation from my voice.

So she does... "U-Um, so... I re-really liked the day when someone... sh-showed me their... hidden cave, th-the one with the rai-rainbows and... and the icicles and the snow... That was a very nice day." It beats harder in my chest. "And then once he... um... he went after me when the BareBones Brigate ki-kidnapped me, he came after me and found me even when a-all the boulders fell, he went through them and he-he found me a-a-and did not c-care to the point of fulsomeness when I... cr-cried a... lot... And he was very, very kind, a-all the time... and quiet too, bu-but I liked it, a-and I really, really liked it... when he would visit me in the Cleaning Room... an-and he stayed there for hours, so-sometimes... and that made me happy...

"But... but I... loved when..." And my heart only beats faster. "I loved when..." And faster. "he told me..." Faster. "that..." Faster. "he... he... h-he...

"loves... me..."

Perhaps I needed not to hear it with my own ears to know it when I have already heard it before, or perhaps it is selfish of me to desire her gentle, sweet croon to tell me these things again, but still the sensation of pure, untapped joy that roams through my body and ceaselessly fills me cannot be helped, cannot be explained. I hear much less than feel the words vibrating through me when I say them, know more than see her pull herself toward me, and understand more than all else that she loves me. She loves me. Dina loves you, Rupert, and you alone. She chose you. And you are everything to her...

These sorts of moments dot much less than smother my life now. These words touch much less than cover my heart now. It is she, I know, it is she who makes me feel this way, time and time and time again. Somehow it is because of her that I see more clearly now: the world has retired with its shaking and placed itself, very gently, very slowly, before me. And now I can see. I see, above her, a bright, shining afternoon sun that glistens pridefully. I see around her the stacks upon stacks of warm, time-laden books like bricks to a building. I see, behind her, coming very closely, a pack of colorful, sparkling creatures that surely are made of scales such as hers—neglecting a green of feathers in particular—although they could not shine like she, never to me.

Holy fuuuuuuck! Rupert, shit, you're hugging her like she's something precious—and she is—but fuck, she's not your teddy Mistress! Be gentle, dammit! Watch the merchandise!

Ohhhh, Ruuupeerrtt~ Happily flutters the feathered female upon the two of us until she practically has embraced with her impeccable, indelible wingspan. Quite a particular size she boasts of, one that hides the sun but fills one with a new and very different sense of glory. Her beak-like maw, angled into a puzzled and yet crooning manner, hovers over me. You take such nice care of—a glare back toward the dimetro—our 'merchandise.' Torn.

Bashfully he snickers from behind, eventually sticking his head through two low-hanging feathery surfaces. Whatever, Nyra. So long as you're careful and your merchandise isn't ruined.

TORN! D-DO NOT, PLEEAAASE! in return she whines. THAT'S SO RUDE AND SO EMBARRASSING WHEN YOU IMPLY THAT!

It took Trikko and an entire night for you to understand that much.

T-TOOOORNNNNNNNNNN!

Beneath their jagged layers of textures and shouts, Dina mumbles, "I like them very much, Rupert..."

And so I tell her, "I as well, Dina," as I gently pat her head. And she smiles yet again. Just beneath the understory of bated breaths and Torn I give her a small beam in return, only for a flash of a moment so neither of those two catch onto it too. I feel rather against them... seeing as much. It is for... it is for Dina. They tend to be that way... Perhaps I will learn otherwise as I... begin to grow into this feeling once more. She unknowingly teaches me how to feel this joy again. And she makes me so smile, once upon a time... and now, and always. Even so, no matter the time: there she is.

Out of place as it may feel, I am brought back the thoughts of the story I had read to her, the elaborate watercolor and the red friend, and the drawings on the walls and winged tree-like entity and the boulder, and all of the seeings I found between those lines. I know how she sees them; I dare not imagine how she may see me. "The Littlest Adventurer" held a strangely tear-inducing story that brought sobs to my dearest and her vivosaurs, and mine, too. Sweet little tales they cannot understand always, always end happily... no matter what sort of awful fiends meet in the middle... Quietly I ask myself, why can my life not be like that? I thought, once, it was, maybe it would be; and now she is harmed and I will not be safe, externally, internally, in my heart, soul, mind... none of me will find comfort without her. So why? Why must... after years and years upon toil, agony, why must she have this monster inside of her? Why must she disappear from me..? For times not a soul can see so far into?

It hurts. When I think of her and inevitably those decaying thoughts grope me, it hurts. It hurts. Their knives of fingers hungrily lurch for me, they slide along me, they want to touch me and dig into me and kill me like they never were able to prior, because she saved me. But she is going away now: she is going away for a long, long time. And she may never come back. No one knows. I do not know. Todd does not know. Mistress does not know. Torn does not—Dina. Dina does not know; nor does the monster inside of her. And so it hurts, cuts and blisters whisper my name, it hurts.

When I tossed my head back and looked at the ceiling, I used to wonder why it does not come down on me. I used to ask. Beg. Wish, please, please crash. Even a hunk of plaster. Just a small one. Enough. Just enough to kill me, please kill me. I used to look at these things in the world and ask for the inevitable to happen sooner so that I may stop this nonsense life and halt the train from the crash it is destined to splurge into, ask it to run off the tracks now. To crash and to burn and—die. I used to ask these things. They never happened so today I am here, untouched but for the fading marks of white little scars that once crisscrossed my arms, hands, palms, fingers. Magical white lines that never went away whose origin I could never recall and never care for. I used to wonder these things.

Now I want the roof to stay where it is and cease to enact such a gruesome purpose. I have reason and I want to live. There is nothing for me to see when I look up: only sky. Clouds, sometimes. But sky. Hopeful blue sky like the rim of dark eyes, hopeful and blue and bright. She deserves safety, and so the ceiling must stay up and keep her safe. And if it falls upon her I will raise it and I will be the one to protect her... if I can... if I can... I will if I can... if she lets me, and she does, I know she does, I do not even have to ask her. The look in her gaze that she shines upon me always tells me that I can... and it asks of me to. To be the one to hold her when she is afraid... to tell her she is beautiful when she looks away... to smile when she looks upon me for comfort, when she has been abrade... to be the one... the only one... to love her when she is afraid...

Sometimes instead the windows beckon me. Light and shining... and the feeling that if I truly desired to, I could open the window... I could feel the rush of the wind against my face... I would be alive, I would realize yet again that truly I am free... and I am free with her... and I will protect her, over all... over everything, for I love her... I love you, Dina...

When I tell her these words, and I tell myself them, the knives that want to stab me invert upon themselves and it is as if the danger never existed and never will. Like... the gentle, glowing aura Dina gives off and... saves me with... has cascaded upon me, has rubbed onto me, and protects me too. Because maybe she doesn't realize it but every moment I spent with her and every moment I think of her, it only takes a moment to realize she is with me and she loves me to know that she is saving me every time. I could not stray for the darkness I once lived with again for the light she has given me is now around me, too... and because of her, I am safe. And perhaps I am not safe unless she is, but I will do my best to protect her... to be a... a knight... golden, and warm, and bright... who keeps her safe... always... Because to leave her would kill me and I will never leave her. Never... not my sweet, little Dina... never my sweet Dina...

Slowly I return to her, my thoughts focused and gentle, and full, full of her. I ask her quietly if she would like me to read her another story. She smiles, tells me that she thinks this one was much more than enough.

Me: ;w; THEY ARE PRECIOUS I'M SORRY JUST I AHAH

Torn: -Cry why don't you.-

Me: -cries on his shoulder-

Torn: -Dammit.-

Trikko: -You know ladies love their gentlemen.-

Torn: does it for the sake of looking good to Nyra

Heheh... that was the last Rupert chapter of the story. He only got three, but... you'll see x3