The Snarled Circle Chronicles

16. Fishy Fritz and Luddy Hugs

Gilbert dreams of mackerel, the planet Jupiter, and a smirky double.

I.

Gilbert is sitting at a little round table beside a seaside café. Above him is an umbrella letting myriad patches of sunlight and shadow stream through its crimson fabric in a mosaic of shades. The sea air rolls up on a wind and makes Gilbert's mouth water. He looks to his left, where the huge gray-blue coils of the sea lunge upon the sand like giant snails before falling prostrate and drawing out again. Gilbert has never seen the sea, only the river that flows ever north toward it. But he assumes ocean waves look like giant snails and the beachy sun occasionally splits like an egg with two yolks.

He turns back and drums his fingers upon the table's cool metallic surface. He wears his true fingers, all long and gnarled and splintered from yesterday's firewood collection. It is on Gilbert's agenda to teach Ludwig how to collect the wood himself. He is nearly six years old, and still growing! He can fetch a few logs to keep the tower warm in the winter, right? Anything so Gilbert doesn't have to be Wilhelm at home!

"Can you, Lud?" He asks. Ludwig is sitting across from him at the table, sipping a cup of juice. His hair is too long again. It is time to get the bowl out and trim that fringe.

"Can I what?"

"Can you collect firewood all by yourself? You're getting big and strong."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I have to sleep to save up my strength. My archnemesis was approved for the PPP, and by that I mean the Poultry Plumpness Potion. The tweaked recipe needs a strong eagle to carry it all the way to Idle-vice."

"A strong eagle can carry wood," Ludwig chirps, a sly grin spreading on his face.

"Aren't you a cheeky swapling, human-born and fairy-bred…"

"Fairy bread? What does that taste like?"

"Ach, kid, you tease me more than Fritz," Gilbert grumbles. "Hey, waiter! Waiter! The exceedingly dangerous Dark Wizard Gilbert and his chirpy chick boy are hungry!"

The waiter materializes before the table. He is not the frazzled boy galavanting around with cakes on platters and egg dishes that are much too small, but a severe albino human traipsing about in a frilly pink apron. Merciless cheekbones outline a thick, blocky jaw under the most curious poof of white hair, almost like the fur of a puppy. He produces a notepad from the pocket on the seat of his pants and scrutinizes Gilbert with a sparkle of wit lighting up magenta eyes.

"You're a piece o' work!" He speaks in a voice like Gilbert's rasp, but deeper and lighter in spirit. "Somebody takes Halloween way too seriously. Are those your ears or big slabs of mackerel?"

These ears fold down in annoyance as Gilbert groans. "I don't need your cheek, too, you pale goblin. But if you're going to suggest the mackerel, I'll take some. I've been craving it all day, actually. Nothing but mackerel for my bottomless stomach."

"I want fairy bread!" Ludwig says.

With a cackle, the waiter snaps his fingers, and the requests shimmer into existence on the table. Ludwig digs into a perfectly tiny loaf of blueberry bread. It has been the seat of a glowing blue pixie, who beats the boy's fingers with her wand and pulls his ears until he cannot stop laughing.

Gilbert has his plate of mackerel, sliced nicely into pointed slabs that look, with some imagination, like his proud ears. These are all white and smooth on the inside and shiny silver on the edges. He has never tried mackerel before, but true to word, he has been craving it all day. Craving it to the point of tears. Craving it like nothing else could satisfy.

He scoops it up and happily takes a bite.

It is the slimiest, fishiest glob of aquatic garbage to ever cross his palate.

II.

Gilbert woke up smacking his lips and gagging. That damn mackerel dream again! Why couldn't he ever stop himself from eating the mackerel!? Was the silver sheen that alluring? Was the sea-salt smell really to die for? Gilbert wasn't even sure he liked seafood in the first place. Why would he crave it in a dream?

He shivered at the winter air seeping through the cracks in his window before throwing on a shirt and cloak with trousers. The "Great Imp-festation," as it was being remembered, had limited his ability to travel, and so his productivity was in a constant state of slump. Luckily he'd taken up sock knitting in the evenings if he had absolutely nothing to do.

It was not snowing, true of early winter in the Rheinland. Sunlight slanted through the crystals of frost and glittered eerily in the wispy morning light. Down below was the meager wood pile, stacked in its shed. A copper-bladed saw lay idle where it had been tossed, and the crows found pleasure in pecking at its shiny edges.

"Ludwig," Gilbert began as he staggered up the spiral staircase to his brother's floor. "Time to get up. We're finishing that wood collection today, and then you're getting a haircut and a bath. We can't have you looking like a Toadmuffin. Lud? Hey, Luddy. Lutz..."

Gilbert approached the bed on the far wall, nearly tripping over a hand-whittled frog. Wooden animals were on parade all over the floor, beginning with the eagle and ending with the mouse. Some right human mischief was at work. These toys had all been put away the previous evening. When Gilbert at last reached the bed, he found no little Lud, but only the pillows and quilts where he should have been sleeping soundly.

"Well, at least he plays with the animals. I know he wants a soldier for his birthday, but he'll settle for a seal or a horse."

A sudden clamor broke out. Gilbert's sensitive ears twitched, and he picked up the sound of voices two floors below. One was Ludwig's, but the other… Why would he be hearing a second?

Bony feet slammed into the steps, bringing Gilbert to the first floor. Here the sunlight couldn't quite reach, and the single greenish beam pouring in from the western window was slight. That window had to be cleaned, and all this black currant jam now smeared across surfaces and languishing in a broken jar on the floor called for a rag. But Gilbert wasn't concerned with chores at the moment. He was concerned that Ludwig was sitting over on the couch with a boy no more than three in his arms. Ludwig squeezed him and patted his back and petted his hair all gently, like he was a little bird.

The guest turned his head, and besides the jam all over his face, Gilbert made out the tell-tale darkness in his eyes. That was no lost toddler in Ludwig's arms. That was a magical mooch!

"Out! Out! Get lost, imp! Lud, let him go. He's going outside. No, we are not giving him any of our food! We don't have enough as it is! Out!"

With some coercion, Ludwig let go, and Gilbert showed the other child the door. When he was so deep in the woods Gilbert couldn't see him anymore, he whispered a bewilderment charm after him, then frowned as he turned back inside the tower. Ludwig was sheepishly ascending the stairs.

"Hey, pancake-ears. Come wipe up this jam."

The boy turned on his heel and returned to Gilbert, a sad mood sinking into his features. He took a damp rag and began to wipe up the smears, which covered everything from the table to the floor to the potion bottles to the bird-perch.

Gilbert carefully pecked at the broken glass with his claws. "We don't hug strangers. I've told you this before. And now you don't just hug a stranger, but you bring him home with you? This tower is a secret place, Lud. The path only reveals itself to those who have permission. You can't give permission to someone you don't know."

"He wanted a hug."

"Well, so do I, but I don't go around asking for it."

Ludwig set down the rag and rushed over to squeeze Gilbert around the middle. The changeling nearly stumbled and fell from the impact.

"I said no, Lud! You don't hug strangers, and you don't hug people without asking first!"

"But you said—"

"You still ask first. And you know how fragile my bones are. You have to be gentle with me."

"He was like you, right? I guessed that he was. He said he was really scared and hungry, and he has five sib-il-ings at home, and his mama doesn't hug him be… because—"

"So he found you playing outside without my supervision, and he asked for a hug. And what did you do?"

"I gave him a hug."

"And then?"

"Then I bringed him here, and he broke the jam jar because he was excited." Ludwig's voice trailed off into nothingness. He played with his hands and bowed his head in that pitiful way he always did when scolded. Strings of blond hair fell into his huge blue eyes.

But the changeling wasn't fooled. Ludwig was never the most fragile creature in the room.

Gilbert petted his brother while mining breakfast biscuits out of the hollow cupboards. Ach, a food run was needed, too. "Maybe what you did wasn't wrong. Maybe he did need some help. But my people… you can never tell with us. We lie, and we help ourselves before we help others. Sad for him, I know, but he left because he understands he's on someone else's turf. This is my hideout, my food, my wellspring…"

"What's a wellspring?"

"It's, er… It's the well outside, where water comes from. The point is, it would be irresponsible to help someone just because he's like me. Not every changeling has got his wits about him. I can't say I do."

"You're not crazy."

"Crazy, like most untrustable things, is fluid from day to day. If I'm not crazy now, I'll be crazy tomorrow. Now seriously, swapling. Even with other humans, you can't keep your hands to yourself. Tonight I can teach you to hug me without splitting my ribs, but for the love of squash, quit hugging strangers!"

"I'm sorry. It's a habit."

"A habit is something you do without thinking, like chewing your cheeks or dreaming about fish. You can choose not to hug someone, and so you can skip the consequences."

"But there weren't any con-se-quen-ces."

"Oh, yes there are. After breakfast, you're going to carry all the wood I cut to the shed, and we are going to fill it to the top."

Ludwig gave an enormous groan.

III.

It is a patch of earth far, far away from the dark, gloomy winter of the Rheinland. Here only green grass and wildflowers push up through easy soil to flourish and sparkle in the sunlight. Millions of tulips open moistened lips to the dew, and the full scent of lilacs and wisteria steep the atmosphere in freshness.

Under this blue sky, tainted with only the wispiest whips of clouds, Gilbert sits out on a burlap blanket. Below him roll hills and rivers and a windmill or two. Somewhere in the distance, he knows the sea roils and rumbles o'er the sodden rocky shore. But here in the highland, Gilbert smiles at a snail undulating steadily upon the stalk of a dandelion, which bends from its sludgy weight and collapses into a bridge.

"A perfect day," Gilbert remarks before flopping on his back. Ludwig sits next to him, squeezing the stoic plushness of a cotton skein dyed purple. Gilbert has been knitting a sock. It drapes across him now as he reaches his arms toward the infinite cotton poofs beyond his fingertips. Cotton smells wonderful, and the aromas of this place melt into a hazy dream of pleasant sensations. Gilbert's ears tingle, then flick in bliss. Now, if only he could transform into a snail or a toad, just so he could experience life at its slowest and simplest…

"How are you feeling?" Gilbert drawls.

Ludwig looks pensive, then tugs at the skein so a long noodle of yarn spills out the end. "You should wear a hat," he says. "You'll get burnt."

"Ach, I don't need to wear a hat. This is a dream, Ludling. The moon is red and spits fire at Jupiter, there, while dazzle-ringed Saturn laughs. Heh. Jupiter has always rubbed me the wrong way. Why does the firmament's bloated lightweight get hymns of praise? He's a gassy windbag with dozens of moons in his hold. I'm sure he changes his queen day by day."

"Sounds like a personal problem," says Ludwig, nodding earnestly.

"I can show Jupiter my moon."

"Please don't."

"Ach, kid, you tease me more than Fritz."

Ludwig sets the cotton down upon the burlap and opens the picnic basket. Just within is that same severe albino human, shrunken down to the size of a stringbean. He is missing the apron and is now decked out in soil-stained slacks, a sunhat, and glasses. He crouches down in the basket, then emerges with a moon-shaped cake for Ludwig. He then folds his arms and grins up at the changeling.

"You took the sharp-toothed look too far! I didn't know fairies were related to sharks!" He cackles.

"I didn't know a vampire could be so full of himself!"

"Not a vampire, my skinny friend," says the tiny man, taking off his sunhat and letting his hair puff up like a cloud of cotton. "Whaddaya want? Mackerel again?"

Something irks Gilbert about this suggestion, but the offer is too tempting. Perhaps this time, he will like the mackerel. He nods, and a plate of silvery fish rises from the depths of the basket. Gilbert licks his lips. It is only a thin edge, but the silver is glinting so beautifully in the light of the teasing sun.

"How's it going, kid?" Fritz asks from his seat on the edge of the plate. "No, don't answer that. Just eat. I cut and salted this all for you. If you bite into it, you can taste my spirit."

"How nice of you, Fritzy," Gilbert says. Then he plucks up a cut with his claws and plops it in his mouth.

Instantly, the fishy taste sours his palate. The white flesh is infused with a juice that squirts out from every angle as he chews. It fills up his mouth and swells out his cheeks until he is forced to gulp it down. He tries to swallow the mackerel, but he gags and keeps chewing. He will not spit this out! He will get it down somehow! Even if the nasty juice is rushing out of the fish like a roaring cataract, pouring down his throat and steadily reversing the inward curve of his stomach… churning and swelling and rounding out…

IV.

"It was deviant the amount of fish juice that filled up my whole body. Nasty, nasty fish juice. I woke up before I could swell into a fish-shaped balloon," Gilbert said as he cut with the homemade glass knife. Tufts of blond hair littered the dusty ground beneath the stool where Ludwig sat. Gilbert adored balancing the bowl and trimming around its rim. The style was clean and simple, and it made Ludwig's head look like a big yellow mushroom. Changelings have always found mushrooms especially endearing.

"That can't happen," said Ludwig. "My science book says you can't fill up with fish juice. It only goes into your stomach."

"Anything can happen in a dream, especially a weird afternoon nap dream."

"How do you turn into a fish?"

"Why, I could turn into a fish in real life if I wanted to. That's only a matter of changeling magic."

"My books don't explain changeling magic. How does it work? Can I transform too?"

Gilbert pulled his lips to the side. He placed his knife hand on Ludwig's shoulder to make him quit fidgeting so much, then carefully sliced off the greasy ends covering the back of Ludwig's neck. The skin beneath was so pale. Indeed, the boy was overdue for this.

He ignored the questions. "Do you like those science books? I can get you more. Your birthday is just around the corner. Seventeenth of December."

"I want a soldier, like Thomas has."

"But the books make you so smart! You're like an expert on the human body now."

"It's the same as yours. You just have big ears and white skin."

"It's more than that! Last week, your front tooth fell right out of your mouth! And you just had to be cheeky about it. I pored over tooth-restoration potions all night before you got out that science book and explained it was a baby tooth. I never had baby teeth. Right out of the puddle of shadowy muck I had these fangs to munch my lunch!"

The last fringes of blond were cut from Ludwig's head and were scooped up by the crows for warmth in the winter alcoves. Gilbert brushed off his brother's shoulders, then removed the bowl and fluffed up the rest of the greasy mop.

"What do you want in your bath? More blue bubbles that smell like cake?"

Ludwig spun around and stood way too fast, and Gilbert almost nicked his neck with the glass. Startled, he pushed the boy back onto the stool. But just as his bottom touched the seat, he was up again, with his arms wrapped around Gilbert's ribs. He was gentler, Gilbert had to admit. But still not a favorable turn of events.

"What's all this about? You didn't ask again. Even if you're excited for a bath, you should ask before hugging."

Ludwig loosened his grip, shivering in the sudden gust of winter wind. "Brother…" he started. "I don't like being different."

Gilbert crouched, then lifted up Ludwig's chin with a long finger. "Different from who? From me?"

The boy nodded. "And… and also from other kids. 'Cause I'm a swap, um, a swapling. I don't know who my family is. And… I have to teach you human things, because you don't know."

"Well, then you're not the different one. I'm the different one. I've always been the different one. Just look at me."

"You're not different."

"Why not?"

"Because you're… I don't know. You're just a changeling. Maybe lots of people don't like you, but I like you."

Gilbert gave a huge, shiny grin, from ear to pointed ear. He held back his laughter until his throat squeezed tight, then let it all out in a whoop that stirred up a minor gale. He patted Ludwig's back as he directed him to the bathhouse behind the tower.

"Oh, kid! 'Just a changeling!' 'Just a changeling! To think I could ever sound so humble! 'Just a changeling.' Right there. Kids are so easily influenced. It's dangerous the kinds of things you could put into kids' heads by being frank and sounding serious. 'Just a changeling,' he says. He could say, 'Just a tyrannical overlord.' 'Just a child-thieving rat-goblin.' 'Just every kind of phobia personified."

"You're only afraid of fire."

"Wetness fights fire. So strip. Let's get that tush in the tub."

V.

The view outside is mesmerizing.

Gilbert peers out the window to see the whole of the universe cast before him. For an instant, he sees his own world — a blue-and-green marble bubbled over with the thinnest wrapping of air — before it zooms away from him and is absorbed by the inky blackness of space. Hosts of stars and planets pour from nowhere into being, lighting up the infinite night before twinkling away and fizzing out as light changes to darkness. Nebulae of vivid pinks and greens and oranges spread great wings and shape into dragons and unicorns and eagles, with giant stars for eyes and black holes distorting the waving tendrils of each hazy dream. As the whole of reality speeds into the distance, even the stars cease, and what remains is a vague veil of pulsing color. Gilbert sees the edge of existence. Green earth and red wind. White mist and blue fire. And the other element, Undecimessence, which is a perfect, exact shade of brown. From the other side of the veil comes the murmur of millions of voices — praying for love from butter-knife rosaries and spaghetti shrines to the Ancient Painter, frivolous and frightening at once.

"Oh, sorry I left that open."

A shade is drawn over the window, and Gilbert finds himself back in the warmth of the castle keep. Loud, brassy music pops in his sensitive ears as he's blinded by all the lights. Flashing orbs are trapped in glass spheres suspended all over the inside walls of the place. Red carpets and green tables populate the floor, while a number of guests, human and inhuman, drink from bulbous glasses and kiss with snakelike tongues. Gilbert smells bacon and chocolate and roasted corn.

The shade has been drawn by the severe albino human, who is seated at one of the green tables between him and Gilbert. He wears a white cotton button-down with a midnight blue bowtie. His white hair is all fluffed up with gel, and his pearly teeth glisten when he cracks a smile and fidgets with a deck of cards.

"You gonna place your bet, or what? You seem pretty confident tonight. Little word of advice, though. Don't drink the chocolate milk. Someone keeps putting Itessence in it. Stupid Praxium shortage and the pirates put Itessence in everything."

"Eh, it's not too bad," says the man on Gilbert's left, fingering his chips. He leans back and basks in the blinding lights shining on his suit. The shine glints off his glasses, yet does nothing to conceal the haughty gleam in sky-blue eyes. "Once you build up a resistance, all you need to worry about is fighting the cowardly urges. It's been eight time-crystals since the stuff made me transform."

"You're lying," says the dealer. "I borrowed your winter hat when we went skiing on Europa, and what did I find? A curly red hair."

"That was old!"

"All that tumbling down hills made you queasy, and you still wanted spaghetti afterwards. Admit it. You transformed into Italy, and that's why you didn't take off the ski mask."

"It was… okay, I hadn't done it in a while, and he's got super speed!"

"You used an Itapotion to cheat in our race, Alfred. And if you don't think I'm gonna find your dream journal to prove it, you are dead wrong."

"Yeah, well I bet that my dream journal stays hidden, and you tell Germs about the time you drank the Germapotion so you could bench more. Tell him about all the transformation power-up potions."

"The potions were your idea, ya frickin' deviant..."

"Okay, okay, how 'bout this. Blackjack. All in, and the loser has to read his dream journal out loud at the next world meeting."

The dealer lets cards rain all over the table, and "Alfred" counters with a childish rain of chips. Gilbert turns away, but not before the dealer shoves something in the back of his collar.

"Hm? What was that?" Alfred asks. "Different dimension? I can't see the guy."

"You wouldn't wanna see the guy."

The object scratches at the back of Gilbert's neck. Mackerel, it whispers in his ears. Tasty mackerel. It has a woman's voice, so sweet and encouraging. The scratching intensifies, and Gilbert winces when he feels something rough chafing his skin raw. It feels all wiggly and scaly.

He reaches back and pulls it out by its tail. It is a live mackerel, though above the lower fins, the silver scales end, and suntanned flesh begins. It wriggles furiously, shaking its wild head of chestnut hair. Gilbert lays it out on his hand and discovers it to be a mermaid. Her body is all dripping with silver, and when she squirms like a fish out of water, the scales of her tail sparkle in the flashing lights. Gilbert's stomach gurgles noisily. He blushes blue and cups the mackerel mermaid carefully in his hands. She is so small. So delicate. A light midnight snack!

"I shouldn't," he says. "Right, Ludwig? I can't eat her. She won't taste very good."

Ludwig shrugs from his place on the barstool. His juice cup is empty, and he asks for another. "There's nothing else to do," he says. "You might as well eat both. Find out what mer-mackerel tastes like."

"Both?"

He looks down to find a little merperson in each hand. The silvery mermaid reaches out for the silvery merman's hand. The two pull each other closer, gasping and shuddering without water.

"Which do I eat first? Each is small, but has to have some good flavor."

"Your words, not mine."

"Ach, kid, you tease me more than Fritz. I'm eating both at once. Watch me."

The merpeople finally embrace. Gilbert flops both into one hand and holds the snack up to the lights. Two pairs of eyes open to reveal purple and green. The merpeople pull each other into a passionate kiss before falling down into Gilbert's gaping gullet. He swallows both whole.

Or… tries to…

Wracked by the abhorrent taste of mackerel, he pitches forward and bonks his head on the blackjack table before collapsing on the carpeted floor. The fish sticks in his throat, unmoving. Gilbert sees spots. Even in a dream, his limbs start to tingle and ache. His chest burns as if a great iron weight is pressing down harder and harder. And while no air can enter his lungs, even in a dream, the fish juice keeps pouring down to pool in his stomach. It dissolves away his insides like the foulest acid and bubbles up through the cavity of his ribcage.

Above him, Alfred screeches at his loss.

VI.

Gilbert groaned in the darkness. He sucked in a quick breath of air as his mind surfaced from the ambiguity of dreams. The warm bubble beneath his quilts was a comfort like he'd never known. He traced his hands over his stomach and ribs to find all was correct. Nothing blocked his windpipe, and no fish juice stained his lips.

He turned his head and flinched at the sight of two blue eyes glinting above his bed.

"Luddy, what are you doing up?"

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"I… yeah, the mackerel one again. Why?"

"Um, well… I was upstairs, and I heard you making noises."

"I don't make noises in my sleep. You got spooked by the owls again. You can't lie to me."

Ludwig nodded. "Why do the owls stare at me?"

"The owls are my loyal servants who watch over us while we sleep. Protecting us."

Ludwig still trembled. He was clutching his favorite dachshund-patterned quilt in his little hands and puckering his eyebrows. He tilted his head in a forlorn fashion toward the bed, but made no movements. Then, after shifting on his feet, he spoke in a whisper.

"Brother, can I sleep with you? A-and may I please give you a hug?"

Gilbert frowned, but slowly lifted himself up to sit against the backboard. He nodded and patted the place next to him. Ludwig dove right into bed. The little one spread his quilt over his legs, then reached out to wrap his arms around Gilbert. It was a light and gentle hug. Little hands rubbed circles on the changeling's back the way he had instructed. He returned the embrace, squeezing Ludwig tight against his chest and nuzzling his beak into mushroom-shaped hair. The boy smelled wonderfully of cake after his bath.

"You're safe," Gilbert whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too."

When Ludwig was comforted enough, both he and Gilbert slid down under the covers and got snug to sleep. Gilbert closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, while Ludwig snuggled close and lay his head on his brother's shoulder.

"I can't be fun to snuggle with. I'm all bony."

"You're soft over the bones."

"That's modest."

"Why do you keep dreaming about mackerel?"

Gilbert wrinkled his nose, remembering how awful that fish tasted. It kept getting worse, too, from annoying to deadly. And that last dream… the mackerel were merpeople… purple and green… and a human who looked somewhat like himself, feeding him mackerel, no, serving him mackerel…

"Habits," said Gilbert at last. "It's about bad habits."

"Like my hugging?"

"Why do you hug, Ludwig?"

"Because the other person wants one."

"No, it's because you want one. You don't know whether the other person wants it. And if you don't know the other person, you might be putting yourself in harm's way. You put me in harm's way when you squeeze too hard. But still you hug because you believe you'll get some good out of it."

"What does that have to do with fish?"

"Because, Lud, I… I have a bad habit, too. I put myself in a situation with the potential to harm me, and though I know it can harm me, I keep going because it's the little goodness I want. Like the silver skin of mackerel. It's so shiny. I don't have to put myself in that situation, but some bad part of me always offers it. Always pushes it my way. Always teases me until I get curious enough. I told you that crazy shifts and changes from day to day. But sometimes it has a routine. Routine crazy is continuing to eat the mackerel when it's offered."

"Can you stop eating the mackerel?"

Gilbert tilted his head to look at Ludwig. His brows were drawn together in concern. The fresh bangs draping across his forehead framed his face so nicely. If Lud only knew the kind of messed-up life his "just a changeling" brother led from day to day, perhaps he'd beg for a book on the changeling body and accelerate his little aspiration to be a wizard. Dear Fritz, Gilbert had no idea how humans were supposed to develop mentally, but he had a feeling Ludwig was very smart for his age. As smart as he was cute.

And so… he couldn't lie.

"It's very, very hard to me to stop eating mackerel. It's mental mackerel. It messes with my head. I can stop putting myself in the mackerel situation, but I still crave it, and the bad taste stays with me for a long time."

Ludwig sighed as he snuggled closer, patting Gilbert's chest. "I'll help you crave cake instead. Cake tastes better than mackerel."

Gilbert smiled. He petted the boy's hair, then gave him a soft kiss on the forehead.

"Yes it does, chirpy chick."

But even seeing her from afar is better than cake.

He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling above, willing it to change into the edge of the universe.

She doesn't love him. She doesn't hate you. She doesn't love him. She doesn't hate you. She doesn't love him. She doesn't hate you…

On and on into dreamland.

~N~

Here's my obligatory "kid character crawls into big character's bed" segment. Of course I feel the need to give the scene a purpose, and so we have a discussion of bad habits/behaviors. Can you guess what Gilbert's mackerel is? Extra points if you can tell me the common word that isn't used ONCE in this episode, to show how habits can be evaded.

Special guests! XD Yep, Gilbert's "bad side" was represented by canon Prussia. This isn't the first time a canon character shows up in a dream. Chapter 42 of Hetafata, anyone? I based his description on how I saw him in a dream. Floofy hair, a blocky jaw like Germany, and pretty pink eyes. The scene with him and America is based on my headcanon that America's savant imagination makes him an excellent lucid dreamer. He creates whole worlds for himself to explore. Our Lord Prussia, being both alive and dead, isn't limited to one frame of existence and can warp himself into dreams/other dimensions as he pleases. Once Al finds this out, the two have some weird and wacky adventures.

The Jupiter scene was inspired by the real-life convergence of the moon, Saturn, and Jupiter right now. Yet another metaphor in Gilbert's life. sIGH.

Next episode: Its origin was trivial. Its meaning was profound… and infuriating.

Published by Syntax-N May 16th, 2020. Don't eat the mackerel and don't repost, ya deviant.