The Snarled Circle Chronicles

11. Dark Matters

On a typical Monday, Gilbert hears something he didn't know he was going to hear… and reacts to it.

Theme Music: "Zero Gravity" - Black Gryph0n & Baasik


I.

As soon as the sun boiled up over the eastern edge to spill its rays down into the Rhein and out across the woods of the western promontory, Gilbert was busy with his twigs.

Every day he gathered them up again and hauled them in a sack up the spiral staircase to the very top of Piyo Tower, where he climbed through a trap door and emerged on the flat, circular stone roof of the place. Then he combined them with the twigs that hadn't been disturbed and reorganized his project all over again.

Gilbert grunted as he let the sack of twigs fall from his shoulders and onto the stones of the roof. He could already feel the bruises blooming on his knobbly knees from crawling around up here. It was his dangerous pleasure — newly bruised knees and raw, red shoulders for each day's little victory.

Bony fingers caressed each twig as it was set into place. Bundles of five twigs he bunched together, and with these he made ten rows before beginning a new column of twig-bundles. One by one, over four hundred twigs were fived and straightened among the others, including one new twig which symbolized the current day of work. Gilbert made the corners of each row and column precise and pristine, and when he was finished, he set to work with the remainder of the twigs to spell out his crude rationale over the rest of the roof's surface.

FRITZ YOU HAVE BEEN GONE FOR THIIIIIIIS LONG.

It was always a budding hope in the center of Gilbert's chest — that perhaps today would be the day his mentor remembered him and returned to him with stories and lessons and yummy cakes. Fritz's "mission," as he'd called it, had never been explained to a curious and reckless little changeling. And so Gilbert waited, and watched, and hoped that perhaps this day or the next, Fritz would be at home at his bookshop in Fulchen or here at Piyo Tower ready to give Gilbert an earful for bruising his knees over some cheeky spite.

But Monday was the most typical of days, and so he'd most likely be up here again tomorrow — blanket wrapped around his winter sunburns and bandages padding his knees.

Finished for the day, he descended again to wash his face in the basin and blow the gunk out of his beaky nose. He slapped a muddy potion across his cheeks to moisturize them, then combed the knots out of his feathery white hair and tossed them outside for the birds to use in their nests. Gilbert yawned and examined himself in the tarnished gray mirror he'd stolen from an antique house. Yesterday's dinner and dessert were already gone, and he was gaunt as ever again. His stomach was so tight it almost hurt to breathe.

Well, it wouldn't be that way for long, he thought.

Gilbert swept his eyes over the great pile of oddities thrown about the second floor: blankets, crockery, soap, canned vegetables, hats, coats, trousers, shoes, shaving kits, catalogues, garden tools, decks of cards, three or four copies of the same farmer's almanac, rifles and boxes of bullets, fishing rods, and far too many baby clothes!

"That's something Fritz can look at, too. The whole lot of it. Especially the almanacs. At least those give me something to wipe my ass with," Gilbert grumbled, twisting his face in disgust as the warm, bubbling itch spread from his stomach to the tips of his ears. He rocked on his heels as his legs stretched and swelled, and in no time at all, he had grown human again — inside and out.

"Ever-living Fata, I gotta wean the kid off of this," he snarled, inspecting the perfect crescent moons of his nails. He'd already ruined the first mirror in an attempt to break Wilhelm's perfect nose, and he wasn't asking for charity from all those people. They just kept giving him things, and it was so pityingly un-awesome.

A high-pitched mewl rang out from the crib at the far end of the room. Wilhelm scooped up the wiggling child under the armpits and held him close against his chest. His bright blue eyes were as disturbingly shallow as ever. He gave a small cough, then babbled and reached for the loose collar of Wilhelm's shirt.

"Morning, Ludwig. Are you hungry?"

II.

"There he is! Sweet little boy and his big strong brother! He's getting so big, Wilhelm! Are you sure you can carry him?"

"No, I cannot carry him. He's too heavy now," Wilhelm said, faking a smile. "I want him to get big enough to walk on his own. When do you think that will happen? Another year? He's growing far too slow, and I can't wait that long! Maybe you should just take him off my hands. I wouldn't mind."

"I'm never taking your little angel away from you. You should know that by now. Give him here. My hands are clean. I'll take him back for his breakfast."

Wilhelm handed over the baby and sat himself down on the splintered stool in the corner, gripping the wood with his fingertips and taking in every delicious smell that wafted around the bakery. He could feel the phantom of his shrunken stomach punishing him for waiting. The rolls of a typical Monday morning were already warm and crispy on their pans, and a cake was rising up in the oven. Wilhelm eyed the streaks of batter left in the mixing bowl and shimmied his shoulders. How much could one baby human eat!? The "big strong brother" was hungry too!

When Adela returned from the back room, the lump of Luddy was bouncing on her shoulder and cooing stupidly again. He had a fresh cloth nappy, (as Gilbert had forgone the task again,) and when he entered into Wilhelm's arms the odors of powder and olive oil were rank on his skin. Wilhelm shifted him and refused to look at him, but then he felt that infernal tug on his collar again and was forced to set eyes upon the brutish… little angel.

"Em, the planting season is soon," he said. "This is the second season since Pa got la grippe and Ma gave her soul to Luddy. Going to be hard to do it all by myself again. I don't know how I'll find time to take care of Lud once spring gets here. When will he get big enough to walk on his own?"

Adela furrowed her brows and hesitated before cutting another stick of butter. "If you help him learn, he should be walking around very soon. Both my daughters just started, and they're almost two."

"But he doesn't learn anything! He can't even say real words, and he gives Hoffmann and Goethe the same reaction! Could any creature be more stupid? I… I mean... "

The woman's shoulders had stiffened. She bit her thumb nail and furtively eyed the top of the doorframe at the entrance to the bakery before taking a deep breath and continuing on with the butter. "Ludwig is a very normal, healthy baby," she said. "Just keep taking care of him like you have been, and he'll grow up… fine."

"Does Ludwig love me?"

Another hesitation. Then she said, "You've got to stop asking that. Of course he loves you. You tuck him in at night and give him potatoes and apple sauce."

"Yeah, but you give him milk, and he always likes looking at you. He doesn't always like looking at me."

"Do you love Ludwig?"

It was such a simple question, and yet he didn't know how to answer it. Wilhelm loved Ludwig. The innocent, indolent orphan of a farmboy walked from his rural homestead up on the promontories down into the village and back at least twice a day just so the boy could have his milk. Wilhelm gave his honest effort in everything he did for his baby brother — singing to him, reading to him, giving him tonic for his coughs. But Wilhelm wasn't real. As soon as Ludwig was asleep, the muscles of plowing all melted away, and Wilhelm changed into Gilbert — a changeling who couldn't tell a trowel from a spade and whose face alone frightened the little one. And he'd just begun to love that face…

"Wilhelm dear, take your brother's example and have some milk and porridge for yourself."

Wilhelm stopped the absentminded humming he'd fallen into, and Ludwig dropped out of his quiet trance. He chirped something that sounded like "ba," and Gilbert's heart leapt.

He welcomed the breakfast, then paid for it with a spirit ditty on his flute that caused Adela's twin daughters to come waddling into the room with gaping smiles and bundles of flowers in each chubby hand. The visitor tucked more meaningless gifts into his pockets and was about to wish Adela goodbye when Hermann, the paperboy, flew into the bakery looking quite out of breath.

"Oh, hello, Wilhelm! Have you nabbed anything with that new rifle my father bought for you yet?"

"I sure have! A winter stag!" Wilhelm sang. Internally, Gilbert cringed remembering how the iron casings had burned the middle three fingers of his left hand. And he certainly did not eat red meat — only the leaner proteins that didn't upset his fair stomach, and only if he didn't feel the animal's spirit still hanging around.

"There's a town meeting tonight. Some important foreigner has come to give a lecture. I think it's about home safety."

"Home safety?" Adela asked. She stole the quickest glance at Wilhelm, then busied herself with her oven mitts.

"That's what I heard. I don't know how many people will go, though."

"It might be interesting. I'll go," said Wilhelm. "I'll bring Ludwig, too. What time is it at?"

"Six o'clock," said the paperboy. "A nice way to spend a Monday night."

"It's a typical Monday. Running all over this little radius of the country and educating myself in the evening. I've never felt so full of agency. It seems constant work is the key to constant energy. There's no time at all to feel down!"

III.

Wilhelm shuffled along behind the throng of villagers into the round meeting hall at the center of town. A great many had already arrived, though not too many as to fill up the place. He ignored the sympathetic stares he always received from the community and sat with Ludwig plopped in his lap somewhere in the middle of the rows and rows of chairs. It was already dark out, and the world beyond the windows was a brownish-purple haze of slush and melancholy.

Wilhelm gave a more-or-less genuine smile down at his little one. Damn those humans. Without even the help of the Rheinland's finest gnomes, they could make such small and lovely shoes! Shoes for the feet of creatures who could neither walk nor speak coherently. He remembered the first time he'd stolen a pair of shoes for himself. They were so comfortable and handsome. He'd been such a fool back then, too. Thinking that to wear a human's shoes and to bear a human name was to cast off everything that made him inhuman and bloom into new, vivacious human life.

Luckily his was an isolated case.

Ludwig was busying himself playing with Wilhelm's fingers. His tiny hands were stronger than they looked. They pinched and squeezed each knuckle, then stroked the skin up until it transitioned to tough nail. Little blond eyebrows were furrowed in an over-serious curiosity. Wilhelm returned the gestures by lightly squeezing Ludwig's hands and then petting his soft head. The little one wiggled and cuddled himself into the crux of his brother's stomach.

What is any of this for? Gilbert thought. He'll grow up eventually, and then he'll grow to dislike me. He already dislikes me. He's just too stupid right now to understand why. Adela won't take him away no matter how much I plead. But… he's so cute right now, like a bird. I can't take it.

He was so engrossed in rubbing small circles on Ludwig's back like Fritz had once done that he didn't see when a wreath of holly leaves was passed down the line to Adela next to him, and she stuffed the thing into her purse.

The lecturer was then produced, and Wilhelm had no opinion of him. He was a tall-yet-stocky sort, with a bony chin and eyebrows that were stitched too high on his forehead. A large black feather was stuck in the brim of his hat like he had grabbed the costume one instead of his good traveling cap.

He was introduced as a Monsieur Pierre Thomas de la Tour Bonnefoy, a very, very busy knight of Amotoile who had taken the time out of his schedule to tour the western portions of the testy conglomerate in order to inform them of the dire straits the world was truly in. Over on a chair in the corner, his young son "Francis" swung his stockinged legs like an idiot before settling on a leg jiggle with his equally bony chin in the balls of his hands.

So this guy's gonna talk about home safety? I'm surprised so many came.

"I regret that I have come here tonight," Monsieur Bonnefoy began in an accent that made him sound like a pencil was jammed up his nose. "I do not intend to alarm any of you, and I do wish I was facing my own responsibilities back home on the same issue, but I must broach the topic of home safety even if it makes some of you uncomfortable. It is okay to feel uncomfortable."

"Baba," Ludwig chirped, suddenly distraught and crinkling his lips.

"What? Hungry? But you just ate."

"Give him the ring," Adela said.

Wilhelm took the loathsome thing out of his pocket — an ivory ring attached to a charm in the shape of a bear. Ludwig grabbed for it, then shoved it in his mouth and nibbled while purring sweetly. Wilhelm bounced him on his knees until he broke into a smile again.

"The statistics have been published in several new journals out of Amotoile," Monsieur Bonnefoy continued, a moderately grave expression on his face and an anxious swiveling of his hips. "Sightings alone have jumped eight hundred percent in rural areas and two hundred percent in cities. Actual kidnappings have jumped tenfold in the past three years, while the number of victims recovered within one to six months of assumed or reported incident has decreased from seven to only five percent."

"Ach, just lock your doors," Wilhelm muttered under his breath.

"He's not talking about burglaries," Adela whispered.

He knew that.

"I will say, to bar criticism, that all are at risk, regardless of demographic. But the most prevalent cases my men are faced with have to do with—" Here he took a great, grand pause— "Blond boys under the age of six."

"Hey, that's you, Luddy."

"As of last year, we are living through the worst infestation of imps in over two hundred years. We can all agree that this is a vicious attack on humanity. What if you're a monster, and you're heartless, and you don't value the rights and life of another living being? You take his shape and his life, but what then? Do you devour him? Make him dumb? Control his mind and send him off into the forest, never to return? I've seen cases of exactly this at rural farms all over Amotoile, and it's we knights who discuss them in order to bring greater awareness to the issue. Your rights are all under attack once the imps have set their sights on you."

Well… Luddy came to me intact, didn't he?

"In Amotoile, a new wave of legislation is being evaluated that would allow imps to repent for their actions if a good rationale was presented. But that would mean the one who nearly snatched my son away from me five years ago might still be alive. These are ethics. I say no rationale makes sense for the rights of a child to be thrown under the proverbial fairy mound. I say the current train of thought benefits no one but the imps — who care nothing for the feelings of human children. I may be going off on a tangent here, but let me read a few paragraphs, and then let me tell you why it would be much more productive to get on with branding these creatures upon discovery, if they have a good enough reason to not be sentenced to death for the theft and mimicry of innocent people…"

Wilhelm's heart fluttered a bit in his chest. He swore he heard his ears pop, and for a moment, there was a powerful surge of something running from his stomach to his heart to the top of his head.

Danger. Hide. Transform.

He scooped Ludwig up under the bottom and tilted his chin toward the door of the meeting hall. How easy would it be to leave? He'd left before when these sorts of topics came up. Just left without saying anything. No mess, no fuss.

But the door was at the front of the room, and if he left, they would all see.

They would all know.

If he left, they would know that he disagreed with the current train of thought. But of course, who could possibly disagree? This was a discussion of human rights. Of liberty and life. This was not a discussion of changeling rights because changelings were wicked and had all the powers they needed to dominate the weak. Changelings had rights all along, and they were too greedy and selfish to realize it.

Changelings didn't feel pain.

Did he wish to deprive his fellows of liberty and life? To go vivaciously forth as they pleased without the fear of monsters taking credit for their every good appearance? Was he a monster himself, disregarding freedom and scorning and hating and, above all, irrationally fearing humans? Was he simply repulsed and shocked and reacting with the greatest aversion to a human requesting what rights he was given at birth be recognized? That anyone who should deny those rights was a… a… an evil more evil than chicken wizards and the like?

Ludwig whimpered in Wilhelm's arms. He'd been rubbing the boy's back too roughly, and the fabric of his little jacket was chafing his skin. Chafing like Wilhelm's own, pleasant, agreeable, flawless skin that he wanted to rip and tear away with his claws to reveal the beast beneath.

"Here he is!" His heart wanted to say. "Here is the one who cares nothing for human rights, who only wants to devour those that are 'weaker' and more different from himself and save the world some precious resources. Here he is — the one you are all so annoyed with. You didn't think he was here, did you? How could he be here? He never comes out of his black, slimy pit of evil and ignorance on some dusty planet far away that you can all label generally as "the Evil Planet" and go on with your lives quite nicely distanced. You never thought he lived just under the surface of this friendly country boy because why would he? This country boy has been nice as long as you've known him, and he isn't the sort of person who could be heartless. Why would he be heartless? No one should be heartless — that's disgusting. And if he is heartless, then certainly forget about his loves, and his fears, and his feelings, and his accomplishments, and the agency he's come to cultivate about himself these cold, bitter months after so many years being foolish. And do call him names."

But Gilbert, within Wilhelm, said none of this, because that would be overreacting, and he was frightened anyway, for it seemed there were so many more of those free humans than changelings in the room, and they were already farther along in the ambitions to snuff him out than was realized. (And anyway, that would be completely off-topic.) So he waited until the end of the lecture half an hour later, and then, like on every other typical Monday, he tromped all the way home and washed his face and his feet and put Ludwig to bed, and then he went to bed himself.

It was okay to feel uncomfortable, but not for the wrong reason.

IV.

It was the natal hours of Tuesday now, and in some half-asleep stupor, Gilbert the changeling wiped another swath of hot tears from his cheeks. His tight stomach seized even tighter, and his throat was clogged up with half-choked sobs. He was not allowed to cry loudly, for that would raise suspicion for the other sleeper in the room — the one who seemed to be a whole universe away in the world of beautiful dreams. If he quieted himself, Gilbert could hear the tiny sighs of Ludwig over in his crib, and he was comforted at once. Still, he kept remembering that question, over and over again.

"What if you're a monster, and you're heartless?"

He couldn't understand it. Why should he remember? He was strong. He was fearless. He was independent. Just like he was supposed to be.

"Why is it so hard?" He whispered wetly. "Why can't I just move on? I am a changeling. I was born a changeling, and I will always be a changeling, and that's what makes me special. That's what Fritz said."

You may be proud of yourself, but you'll always be alone. No one can love you. You're loathsome and offensive. Why should anyone love you? You're the antithesis to love. You haven't found anyone to love you thus far, so you'll never find anyone ever. There's an ugliness inside of you that will frighten everyone away if you show it. That was only confirmed tonight. No one in that room felt as you do. How could anyone?

"Eliza…" he reasoned with himself.

Eliza would not love you. She's human. She's on everyone else's side. If she saw you for what you truly are, she'd never want to kiss you.

"No, that can't be true. I don't want it to be. Fritz is out there! Fritz loves me! He believes in me! He's just…"

Gilbert got his coat and boots and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Then he climbed up to the third floor and onto the trap door. He emerged under a brilliantly dull blanket of gray-black clouds that nearly darkened the entire forest. Only a bit of moonlight could bleed through the cotton and illuminate Gilbert's freshly-molested twigs. The birds had had their pick again, and the rows and columns were ruined.

And the message read:

Gilbert, I am gone.

He stared at it for a couple of moments, and then he hummed so a soft red globe of light bloomed between his hands. The twigs were the same way he'd placed them in the morning, and yet all he could read was the new message.

"Fritz… no. No, Fritz, you're not gone. You're coming back!"

A chill wind froze Gilbert's poor ears. He placed both bony hands upon the twigs and hummed in his throat, straining to resonate with whatever magic was leftover from the illusion. The voice of Nature buzzed in his ears, and he listened and listened and listened, but could hear nothing. He caught only a few bright sparks of invisible magic before they sifted through his fingers and were gone forever. Sparks of pure darkness — Fritz's, but not. Alive, but not. Strong, but not.

Gilbert sat himself on the edge of the tower and stared for uncountable minutes down at the vast, gray eternity of the forest.

He hated the gray, and then he hated himself for hating it.

"His spirit wrote that," he said finally. "But he's gone somewhere else now. And of course he didn't tell me how or when he left in the first place. He came back and didn't care. I… I don't have to leave the message for him anymore… But my work, my agency… What am I supposed to do? If I can't distract myself all the time, then I start thinking about this and that, and I get bored and frustrated that I'm not being productive, and then I'm all like this again. I can't do anything, and no one would listen, anyway."

After a while, he picked himself up again. Some strange idea had been brewing in the back of his mind. He was going to do something about all of this. He had to something, or he'd be nothing but a pouty, whiny loser.

"Maybe it's all true, then. Maybe I am a monster and heartless. And so what if I'm a monster and heartless?"

He opened the trap door to Fritz's dusty wizard lair.

"Maybe I am doomed to be lonely forever."

He took his mentor's black and blue wizard robe from its hook and tied it around his waist. The hood dropped pleasurably over his face, concealing even his overlarge ears and beaky nose so only his grin could be seen.

"Maybe I really do hate and fear humans with some irrational aversion. They... they made me cry."

He played Ludwig into a sleep so deep he wouldn't need his milk for a few days.

Gilbert stood on top of the tower with the robe and his flute case in each hand. His pathetic chest swelled nervously in the winter wind, and his tight stomach quivered in the cold.

"Maybe dark matters."

He dove off the edge of his fortress and stretched his arms until they transformed into wings.

V.

Gilbert looked upon the village before him. It was a place of peaceful ignorance — only edging along the lines of potential offense. A few pairs of iron scissors were hung above door frames with their open blades glinting in the misty-pinkish glow of morning, and strings of holly and wolfsbane were made into wreaths upon the thresholds, but these were only ornaments, and in the colors of dew they glistened like the fruits of some long-exhausted holiday — inviting and proud.

Oh, to shame the dangerous pleasure! He said,"Enough of all that nonsense," and used a spell to cut the scissors from the door frames so they couldn't fall and hurt anyone who lived in the houses. Then, in eagle form, he placed himself at the center of a village street and screeched and crooned in his sirenic tones until a few sleepy patrons emerged to see what was making such a ruckus. A quick change in the bushes later and he was swaggering down mainstreet playing the sweet, sweet curses he'd so often inflicted on poor, sick little Roddy.

Gilbert smirked under the hood of his robe. He wiggled his hips and played a funky little flourish, and a woman's nose popped and shriveled into a hard, pointed beak. He kicked his legs out in an outrageous march as he pounded the notes of a curse to make men sound like chickens and women like geese. He twirled on his heels with one long tremolo spinning off into eternity, and with the cricking and cracking of bones, Gilbert indulged in that pleasant feeling once again — they said he had the power, didn't they?

"This is so my thing!" He cackled as he watched the disfigured townsfolk hobble around and try grabbing for him with pear-shaped bodies and feathery hands. He skipped nimbly out of their way and bopped them on the heads with the end of his flute like it was his magic wand. His mischievous instincts were on fire. He could see the crimson sparks dancing at the edges of his vision and feel them swirling and merging into flowers of fire within. His bony fingertips sparked and flashed, lighting up the bright purple veins throbbing under his skin.

"I am the Dark Wizard Gilbert!" He cried out as he had done in countless cities that night. "And there's no good rationale for my wrath! I'm powerful beyond what your mortal brains could even process! I am ancient, and tonight I finally rise to find the splendor of youth! Fear me! All of you! On your knees! On your knees! Come on! I don't hate you!"

His paper chest swelled as he watched the grotesques bend on quivering knees before him. An ecstasy like he had never known before, (unless pumpkin-related,) was at all corners of his being and extending beyond, into the electric fibers of his spirit.

"Now away with you! Pitiful, ugly creatures! Put your tail feathers where I can't see them. That's it. Back into the houses. You don't want even more indigestion, do you?"

The final door closed, and Gilbert congratulated himself. He'd flown in a huge arc, perhaps around the whole testy conglomerate, and though he couldn't remember how long he'd been gone or how many places he'd visited, he knew that in his troubled angst, he hadn't been to Edelweiss.

Fritz would be so proud of him.

He wrapped his long fingers under the fabric of his hood and was about to pull it back when a greenish flash of light zinged past his shoulder. He stiffened, then turned.

She stood there.

"Leave," Eliza said. "Leave and never come back here. Never curse anyone here again."

A long wooden wand was poised in her hand. She pointed it directly at his nose, keeping her lips tight against her teeth and her green eyes fixed on the evil before her. Her nightgown was edged with muck from the slushy ground. Her wild hair was brushed smooth. She looked… civilized. She looked human.

"I don't believe you're ancient," she said, stepping closer. "You're not immortal if your hands look like they've been trapped underground for a hundred years. All your wicked magic has turned you ugly."

"Looks don't matter!" Gilbert snapped back. "What matters is power! Perhaps I am ugly under this robe, but with it on, you still fear me! Life would be so much simpler if we could see each other's true appearances, wouldn't it? Easier to pick out who's good and who's bad with just a glance."

Eliza strengthened her grip on the wand. "And which one are you?"

Gilbert's laugh caught in his throat. He thought of everything he could say to this.

I'm bad because that's what I'm supposed to be.

I'm good, but not in the right way.

I'm bad because I like it.

I'm good because you're bad…

And all at the same moment he wanted to fling off the robe and just show her and let her judge for herself, but he was so frightened, and martyrdom was so unawesome, but he remembered first setting eyes upon her and loving her smile and her kindness, but she couldn't see him back then, and he'd only lied…

No, I can't let her see me now. Just let her see evil now. One day, when I'm not frightened anymore, I'll show her my face without the robe…

"I'm evil of course! Evil as a… chicken wizard! Now bye-bye, witchy girl!"

She told him her name was Elizaveta, but by that time he was already deep within the trees shedding the ugliness and replacing it with strength and fearlessness and independence.

VI.

Gilbert collapsed on his unmade bed. The unmade bed annoyed him. The unclean room annoyed him. His unwashed hair annoyed him. His unproductive life annoyed him. There had once been a time when he was content to lie on the floor doing nothing all day. Whatever had happened to it? Now it was all busy-busy-busy and no time to relax, lest he feel useless.

Yawning, he pushed himself up and went over to Ludwig's cradle. The boy was still sleeping like a little brutish angel under his dachshund-patterned baby quilt. His blond bangs draped like the fluffiest of flowers on his forehead.

Gilbert folded his arms on the crib and watched the little one for a while. Chubby little hands were so relaxed among the fluffy sheets. Each tiny puff of breath entered the air with the sweetest sigh. Little feet, now just in perfectly dainty socks, peeked out from the bottom of the quilt and twitched in the awe of infant dreams.

"Luddy, I… Shit, you've been here for over a year, and I don't want to get rid of you anymore. But you can't stay here. I'm supposed to be alone. Fate took Fritz away from me, and I can't live with a human. I curse humans. I decided that's my purpose. I… I think I've become what they want me to be. Finally. And it feels so good. But you have to understand that means I can't take care of you forever. Even though I…"

Ludwig wiggled, then opened his eyes and looked right up into Gilbert's face. Gilbert stumbled back alarmed. Then he peeked back over the edge of the crib and prepared for the worst.

"Baba," Ludwig chirped.

"Hungry? Ring? A story? What this time? I'll, em, just wait. I have to change—"

"Babababa!"

"You're impatient today! I suppose you're extra hungry!"

A pressure.

Gilbert peered slowly down, and he saw that clasped in Ludwig's hand was the edge of his collar, which hung so low as to run round his chest instead of his neck. The little one tugged and pulled, giggling with stupid glee.

"Baba!"

"Luddy! You're not afraid of me?"

He brought his left hand down to squeeze Ludwig's tiny fingers. Ludwig locked onto the bony knuckles in an instant and shared a gummy smile.

"But how do you… you recognize my voice, don't you? You understand. You know it's me. You know it's your big brother, Wi—Gilbert."

"Bwa-da!"

At this, the warmest feeling seeped through Gilbert's every nerve and cell. All the ice of his heart and all the darkness of his mind at once heated and melted and muted. He could very well be in the greatest meadow of spring with the spirit of joy at his side, rolling and rolling and rolling in the grass 'til he was all tired out and smiling. Smiling.

With stringy arms, he strained until he was shaking to pick up the little one and carry him against his chest. Then he pursed his cracked, scarred lips and kissed Ludwig right on the tip of his nose.

"I love you, Luddy, and I will do everything in my power to love you and protect you from the evils of this world. This is your home."

Ludwig squealed and pulled Gilbert's ears, and Gilbert melted completely.

Perhaps he was never frightened at all.


I swear this is the last angsty one (for a little bit.) Though I know my nightly-checking Canadian Hermann won't care…

-Gnomes - The Heinzelmännchen are a race of little gnomes from Cologne who are said to do all the townsfolk's work during the night - as long as they are treated well.
-Hoffmann and Goethe - Heinrich Hoffmann published Der Struwwelpeter, a collection of illustrated children's tales, in 1845. They run a bit dark, but what German children's tale doesn't? Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, is, of course, the author, epic poet, and philosopher of the 18th Century, whose topics are much more mature than "gRoOm yOuRsELf oR peOpLE wOn'T LIkE yOU!"
-Do you like my "mini-chapter" approach to line-breaks? I feel like it makes them more pronounced. Inspired by some of the short novels I've read for class.

Next episode: Roderich invites a rumored "miracle man" to come rid him of his past and present nightmares...

Published by Syntax-N March 8th, 2020. However you are, you matter. Eat oranges. The only thing worse than a chicken wizard is a reposter.