It felt like falling through smoke as he opened his eyes. He felt like he was in someone else's body, red curls on the sides on his vision, and small feminine hands were now his. A delicate dress, a tightness in his lungs. A book written in French in his now small hands, lacquered nails glinting in the sunlight. A man walked up to him- more precisely Genevieve. He spoke in French. James could hear a sight giggle.
I remember him, Gustav, his family owned territory by Normandy. Sweet but not very interesting….Always fumbling over his words.
So these are your memories? James asked the faceless voice. Genevieve replied.
What I remember anyway. I was sixteen by this time I believe. He was my first courtship, much older but also very boring.
That seems normal. Too normal for you, Genevieve.
Normal is perspective. Young people don't want that. I never did.
The man fumbled over his words, long hair tried haphazardly back with ribbon. Gustav never made eye contact, preferring to stare at his hands or her book. The way his eyes, lingered on the book in confusion showed why the courtship was never finalized.
"'Perfect numbers like perfect men are very rare."' She giggled.
He didn't know how to take that as the smoke took over. Now she was younger, training with a sword. Sweat fell from her forehead like raindrops. The thin sword was almost a long needle. The instructor kept swinging, every lash did nothing to end her resolve.
You had said once before you were raised to be a man.
Frederick tried both sides of the coin, in the end- after many bad courtships, I choose to become one permanently. In the long run as a known woman I would've never lived this long.
He watched the memories she had uncovered on the ferry. From Loki to the Red Stone and Frederick. She explained how this was new to her. It was all a whirlwind. A bunch of small puzzle pieces thrown at her.
So...should I call you Katja now?
I haven't decided….I don't know what's real right now.
It didn't seem right, the weight of a large breast plate bearing him down, cold steel against the nape of his neck. This body paced the top of the fort, watching from below with an elderly man at it's side. His hair was pure white with the most intense blue eyes.
James knew who this was- Frederick. He wore similar attire to Genevieve. They stared down the ramparts to a man on the the otherside. His hair was short and wispy, his face sagged and pulled against the bone holding it up though it still carried strength to it. He was worn down from war but still understood the need for it.
"It's a bluff," she muttered to him. "They won't kill him." He grunted in return.
"The duke is too valuable to kill. He recently married one of the ladies in court- it would be a pity to waste him so soon into the battle."
James watched though her eyes as a new banner was waved. He knew it too well.
The red skull with its tendrils shooting against the black foreground. They had destroyed both their lives. Genevieve walked the earth in search of repents while he screamed into the endless void of faceless victims.
The last thing he saw was a man with slicked back black hair and green eyes. They showed kindness and remorse as she walked away from him. His thin lips pulled into a sad smile.
"Lady Genevieve," a small voice said.
He felt his mind being pulled back to reality, when he opened his eyes he saw Genevieve. Sweat stuck her hair to her face as she panted. She leaned back and ran her hands against her face.
"What's happening to me," she muttered in between breaths, her hands covering her face. Her hands had shriveled and patches of her hair had turned white. James grabbed her hands and tried to brush the hair out of her face with the other. Her skin had darkened covered with little specks and drooped as she cried.
"Evie, it's okay." He said to her in a small voice. "There's nothing wrong." He chuckled at a thought which caught her attention." What? You look good for three hundred." Her eyes widened for a moment with small tears pooling in the corner and her mouth widened before she cracked a smile.
He stared in amazement as her skin returned to normal and all the white that was left was a streak on the right side of her face as she laughed back.
"That's my best girl."
"You're getting sweet on an old lady, Buck." He shook his head as he lead her to the bathroom. She covered her face with her hands again as he rubbed her shoulders.
"I don't see an old lady." He said, leaning down to her ear. "I remember a woman from a tiny pub with short hair who hated British food. Prettiest person I've ever meet." She was quiet now and he placed her hands in his, slowly moving them down to her sides. Her eyes were shut and her face pushed into her hair.
"We have a beautiful daughter who's just like her mother. "
"She's-" She began, opening her eyes but not looking in the mirror.
"Got the cutest curls, bright eyes, a quick temper, and an obsession with fairytales." He nudged her face to look at it. She smiled. "Dimples too. Just like her mama."
"Everythings changing," she said in a hushed tone. "I don't know what to do anymore, James." He could see her getting upset again and scooped her into his arms.
"Keep digging. There's something there." He laid her in the bed upstairs and watched as her eyes followed him in the dark.
"Stay with me," she whispered as he grabbed the doorknob. She stared as he turned around. "It's dark."
"I'm here as long as you need me, doll."
"Come to bed."
