The Snarled Circle Chronicles

17. Burning Like a Fever

A mysterious illness leaves Otto bedridden, and a chance encounter at the apothecary has Roderich's face burning for a different reason.

Inspired by "Show Me (What You Got)" — Black Gryph0n & Baasik

"Nooo, stop. Don't touch me!"

Otto's flesh seared under Roderich's two fingers. His forehead was caked in a cold sweat, and his shivering was only interrupted by labored breaths and jerking motions of his head to escape the spidery hands. He coughed, then pulled the covers up over his face and moaned.

Saying nothing, Roderich returned to the chair, where he picked up his clipboard and continued to rifle through paperwork. The process had been updated, meaning notaries themselves were now often responsible for much of the cataloguing. This meant longer forms, more signatures, dates, dates, dates, and more dates. The previous night he was sure he'd strained his eyes working under candlelight.

From under the blanket came a hacking sound, then a sickening bubble of liquid.

"Did you throw up?"

"A little," came Otto's weak whine of a voice. Roderich gritted his teeth and set the clipboard down. He took the wet cloth out of the bucket and wrenched back the covers to wipe upset off Otto's chest. The nightgown was already steeped in sweat and clinging to his skin. His little body vibrated at the cold. A few tears leaked from his eyes. He instantly wiped them and wriggled deeper into the bed's embrace.

"You shouldn't be under so many blankets. They'll trap heat. At least stick your feet out the end."

"My feet are the coldest," Otto whimpered.

"Then keep your head out."

The boy slowly peeled the blanket off. He shifted in bed so he lay on his side, blue eyes glazed and blond bangs plastered to his forehead. He bit his lip, but another round of tears was already streaming down his cheeks.

"Does it hurt that bad? You aren't much of a crier, usually."

Otto's eyes widened. He wiped his cheeks on his pillow, but the waterworks wouldn't quit.

"I… feel like I'm on fire."

"Did you eat something bad?"

"No. I don't know why I'm sick. Roderich… can I have…" He trailed off.

"What? What is it you need? Water? You threw up the last glass."

"Roderich… I'm... "

Roderich narrowed his purple gaze. Otto had come into his room and roused him on trembling legs at four in the morning, (giving him an awful fright,) and he'd been sitting in this armchair doing paperwork ever since. Sick. He couldn't imagine why Otto would get sick. His tutors were all healthy, and so were his playmates. And sick overnight? With a fever and cough and an upset stomach?

"What are you?"

"Hungry," his cousin whispered. "I'm hungry."

"We tried broth earlier. You couldn't keep it down. Try to sleep. I'll get a cold cloth if that makes you feel any better."

"Could you read to me? I might sleep if you read to me, but I'm very hungry, and I don't believe I'll be able to sleep if I can't try a little more broth… I… hungry, Roderich. Please?"

The tears kept streaming, and the shakes kept coming. If Roderich squinted, he fancied he could see steam pouring off the boy's forehead. He set aside the clipboard once more and left the room, returning shortly with a cold cloth which he wrapped around the back of Otto's neck. He helped the boy sit up in bed, then spoonfed him broth until, inevitably, he coughed it up again.

"Try and sleep," said Roderich.

"No! I have to eat! Please! I'll keep it down!"

"You cough up any more, and you'll have to get out of bed so I can change the sheets. You're a mess already."

"Water, then? I'll drink it very slow and careful. And I… nevermind."

"What?"

"I was going to ask for a hug, but I suppose that would get you sick, too."

"I don't do hugs, Otto. You're well aware."

"Ilse will not want to give me one, either. Not when I'm sick."

"You would bite her," Roderich said with a smirk.

"I do not bite anymore! That habit is quashed!"

"Yet neither Ilse nor I will take the risk of even nuzzling you. You're a menace. Sleep and let me finish. It takes forever to fill out one of these forms, and I've got a dozen more."

Luck for Roderich's paperwork was not to be had, for suddenly Ilse strode in. She took one look at Otto's pale, steamy skin and trembling frame and screeched.

"Oh! Otto, dear! Are you sick!?"

Otto wiped the tears away and scrunched himself small. "Yes, auntie. I woke up with a fever. Roderich was taking care of me. He won't let me have any broth."

For this last statement, the rod connected squarely with Roderich's left knee. Ilse had taken a fall some months back, and that cane was the devil's sympathy gift. Both boys were beaten and whacked for the slightest break in form or grace, and Ilse was too old to consider the matter of her reputation. If she was to live out the rest of her days as a fiendish cane-whacker, she'd see it through.

She knelt at the bedside and spoonfed Otto more while Roderich stewed behind his veil of shame. But, just as he had before, Otto spewed all over the sheets and began to cry, then asked for a hug and did not receive one.

Ilse placed a hand on his forehead. Her penciled-in eyebrows shot straight up. "You have a terrible fever! Roderich, sterilize something. We must let the blood."

Otto screamed.

"We're not letting the blood," Roderich scoffed. "Do you want him to get an infection?"

"How else will we level the fever? The physician let my blood when I was a girl."

"Then we should call a physician and take his judgment. When I was little, I was prescribed pills for my heart condition."

"This isn't some heart condition. Otto is boiling over! Look how much he's sweating! Poor child. He was fine last night, wasn't he? He hasn't been out in the rain, and he ate the same supper we did. Why would he look so awful now? Why would you, Otto?"

"I don't know," Otto said. "I feel… Oooh…"

He whined in his throat and curled up into a tight ball of sweaty flesh. Little fingers squeezed into his arms until the nails carved deep indents in the skin. His complexion had gone all blotchy, and his muscles were twitching. The steam on his forehead was no illusion now.

Seeing this, Ilse had a total fit. She called for Darleen, the maid who was dusting the hallway, and seemed to swell with anger at the poor woman, screeching orders to run a cold bath and posing threats with her cane. Then she turned to Roderich and poised the same look of fury. The bruise already forming on his knee smarted, and he flinched at the spark in his aunt's expression.

"You will go to the apothecary and find a doctor or medicine or something for these symptoms! Your cousin is dying, Roderich, so make it quick!"

The cane clipped his shoulder blades as he scurried out the door of Otto's room.

Birngarten awaited.

It was snowing in the city — the curse of higher elevation. Roderich lifted the edges of his coat and grimaced at the drifts. His regular ankle boots were quickly filling with crystals of ice and bits of dirt from the edge of the roadway. The walk was not too terribly far; he and Eliza had made it plenty of times when she was looking to steal salt or bargain for special spices.

He sighed. Eliza. That wild woman with a witchy wit… and her dreadful broomstick. If he ever got the chance again, he was sure he would spit up all over her hair as it flew back in his face. Or fall off the broomstick and into a snowbank. Either was perfectly plausible.

But after that… incident…

As soon as he was under the shade of an awning, Roderich hunched in on himself and shivered. His breath fogged on the lenses of his father's spectacles and further blurred the monochrome landscape of the city in winter. Windows were all crusted over with snow. Shadows seemed to stretch over surfaces, glazing them in a gray and gloomy mood. A chill wind whipped through the streets and tossed about the finest powder swirling in to blanket the solid drifts overtaking each empty alley and stone-cold street sign.

Roderich wiped the spectacles with his gloved fingers and set them back on his nose. The condensation had frozen around the frames, and the centers were all wet. Grunting, he pushed on until he came to Evell's Apothecary. Evell himself was not the family's regular physician, but for an emergency, he would have to suffice.

The young master let himself in through the front. Then his spectacles got super foggy. Defeated, he removed them and shoved them in his breast pocket.

"Hallo? Is anyone here? I need some emergency treatment. If there is a physician in this city at all… a very sick child at home!"

BONK.

"God! Shit!"

Roderich tilted his head. "Excuse me?"

"I'm under the counter. Just come over."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Roderich stepped up. Not a light shown in the place, save for a single gas lantern on the edge of the counter that flickered eerie orange patterns on the walls. Various bottles of pills and potions were disorganized behind the counter, along with gum and mints and relatively mundane oddities. The stark cleanliness sent a shiver down Roderich's spine. He would expect to find himself in the Black Study when searching for a remedy, not this place of ignorance and talc.

No, no, that was evil. It had been evil for years. Magic did not heal. It only enhanced… or destroyed. And he was not going to pour some sickening concoction down his little cousin's throat. Private affairs were only to be mentioned in riddles.

He peered over the edge of the counter to find a shaggy head bobbing beneath. This head was connected to a body in an overlarge jacket and trousers that sagged and wrinkled as the wearer wiggled. The sound of a rag scraping the floor was accompanied by soft humming. A rather familiar humming, at that.

That wild woman lifted her head, placing her elbows on the counter and pinching her brows together.
"E… Eliza? Why are you here?"

She reached out and kneaded his face with dusty fingers. "These cheekbones get sharper every time I see you. Don't tell me you really are part ostrich."

"Why are—"

"I live here now, Roderich. I live and work here. You'd be surprised how much help a witch can be to doctors. Of course, my help is behind the scenes."

Roderich's brows raised in disgust. "No, you're no help at all. A doctor would never work with a witch."

"Like I said, behind the scenes."

"I could still use your help. I won't judge you for it."

Elize narrowed her gaze and stared at Roderich for a hard second. "They're fake," she said.

"What?"

"Your spectacles. You're not wearing them and looking at me perfectly straight. They're fake, aren't they."

"They're not fake," he said, taking them out of his pocket and setting them on his nose.

"They're totally fake. I'm sure the mole is fake, too."

"It's a scar."

"Why are you such an utter mess!?"

Roderich scrunched his nose. "I don't have time to hear about why you're angry. Otto is very sick, and if I don't return with something to alleviate the symptoms, my aunt will kill me for sure."

The witch cocked her head. "What symptoms?"

"A high fever, cough, upset stomach, and just before I left, he had muscle spasms and a rash. All of this came overnight. He was fine when he went to bed."

This was news to Eliza. "I can bring my whole satchel of remedies, but your aunt will have to let me in."

"Is there a physician here?"

"Everyone is sick in this city. It's sickness season."

"The young Duke of Liutberht may be dying!"

"What does Herr Edelstein want me to do about it?"

"You, you can…" Roderich's face flared with a fever of its own. She had once looked so pleasant, so warm and inviting and compassionate. Now she was cold, fierce, and wild as the winter snow. Her hair was unbrushed, and her boots were all scuffed and muddy. Roderich's throat squeezed tight as the groped for an answer. "You can come with me. Bring your satchel and throw on an illusion when we get there. She just wants results. If you can give her those—"

Eliza snorted through her nose. She retreated to the back of the counter, where she slipped on her coat and gloves, then grabbed her satchel out of a secret hollow behind some loose bricks. "Take me to Edelweiss. And make me feel like a lady."

"This isn't about you."

She shoved past him to the door. "Respect is about everyone."

No night's sleep had ever left Roderich feeling so refreshed. If not for the dreadful stink about the room, he could argue he was still dreaming. His lungs felt clear, his stomach was calm, and his throat was free of stickiness. He peered down at his hands and fashioned they were peachier and fleshier. His hair was all silky, like it was freshly-washed, and even his skin felt tight and moisturized.

"Good morning," came Eliza's dull voice near the bed. She was down on hands and knees, fiercely scrubbing at the mess of bile and feathers. She gave no smile, but focused intently on her rag and the sterile scent of soap.

A stab of dread wracked Roderich from the inside out, but the witch's presence assuaged his fears. "You… what did you do? Some miracle? I don't feel any ulcers."

"Rosewater," she said. "It's a panacea. I had a small bottle of it for blisters, so I gave you a few drops."

"I've never felt this healthy. Let me help you."

He set his feet on the floor with ease, then knelt next to her. His fingers squished in upset, and he winced at such nastiness. All of this… mounds of feathers… had been inside him?

He took the other rag and scooped sticky piles of feathers into the other bucket, then helped with scrubbing. The soap was harsh on his skin, but rosewater's power kept it soft and smooth. Eliza continued to say nothing. She worked with a stone face and purposefully spared him her gaze.

"What's bothering you?"

"I didn't believe you," she said. "I didn't believe he was real until I saw him."

Something snarled within him. Betrayal. Anger. Quick acceptance and a lasting, cynical bite. What made her any different from his parents or his aunt? She was an outsider. She was no wicked creature's pet. Still… he'd thought her smarter.

He was about to speak again when Ilse's aura filled the room. The wicked woman stood in the doorway with a frown that melted like flickering lava.

"Boy," she voiced. "You ate an entire cake by yourself in the middle of the night."

Roderich shivered. "I…"

"And what the hell is this mess!? Are these feathers? So this witch of a girl has been performing rituals in this house, has she? I knew I couldn't trust her. She's polluting your head! Don't you remember what magic did to your uncle Albert? What you did to him?"

Eliza stood and faced her. Roderich opened his mouth, but could not stop the inevitable.

"These feathers are the work of dark magic, but it's not mine. It belongs to the imp who tortures Roderich for fun. He was here last night. He forced Roderich to drink a potion that made feathers grow inside him. The imp ate all the cake, too. Don't chastise Roderich when none of this was his fault."

Roderich reached up and seized her hand. "Eliza, no," he sputtered. "Don't argue. I'm mad. It was madness."

"You are mad, you sniveling man-child! Where's that tact I taught you? Do you squander it to spite me when I saved you from your own wretchedness? You're consorting with witches! You're still talking about imps like they're superior creatures!"

"Leave him alone!" Eliza shrieked. "He's not mad at all! There is an imp who tortures him! He uses his body for evil experiments! He's been doing it since Roderich was a kid! Your nephew is traumatized! Don't yell at him!"

"No, Eliza! I am mad! There is no imp! Stop arguing! Stupid, despicable woman, stop arguing!"

Eliza froze. Roderich's heart felt faint. His nails were digging hard into her wrist. He saw her ghostly expression before the cane came hard and fast on her shoulder. He felt the blow above his left eye.

And when he came to, she was gone.

Eliza's hair bounced on her back as it collected the falling snow. Her shoulders were hunched tight, and her boots crunched heavy in the drifts. The noonday sun was concealed by a thick gray blanket of cloud cover, and no light fell upon the once-silky chestnut waves.

He reached up to feel the indent on his forehead, just under longer, wavier hair combed to the far left in order to conceal it.

"You embarrassed me," Eliza said from up ahead. Her voice was warmer, but held none of that former radical sympathy. "I never… I never told you how many places I'd tried to live before I found Edelweiss. My mother was a witch too, but she died when I was young, and she never gave me enough guidance. Only inspiration. I know I have other skills I could use, but my earliest memories are of magic, and I can't steer myself away from it. Maybe some people will accept wizards in this day and age, but not witches. I thought you were fine with that. But I suppose not. You never liked magic, did you."

Roderich strode up beside. "What has this to do with magic?"

"You're blind to it. You'd really rather see yourself as mad than accept a creature of darkness tortures you. I wanted to help you. I saw that you were hurting, and I wanted to help you, but you didn't trust me."

"I did trust you. You're the one who didn't believe me."

"Should I believe a madman?"

Roderich growled. "It's not like that! I'm not mad! I know what he does to me. I have the scars all over my body to prove it. But some people will never believe those scars aren't my own doing, and to those people, I am mad!"

"You are so petty. Do you like it when that imp comes? Do you like feeling like a piece of dirt with no one to help him? Do you like getting whacked in the head?"

"My strength lies in endurance."

"Fine. Then it's courage you lack."

"Quit judging me so quickly! It's more complex than you think it is! I… I endure because fighting back is useless. I can never defeat him. I can try all I like to be as ruthless as I'm destined to be, but I will never, ever have the strength to call myself 'ruthless' against him, and so my strength lies in not giving my enemy satisfaction. I will not show my pain, and—"

"How could you have all this pride, yet such little sense of self-worth? You don't have to be 'ruthless' to stand up for yourself. You don't even have to be strong physically. You just have to see reality and know when you're clearly not okay. But you're an ostrich with sand stinging your eyes. You suffer, and you accept it, and you push help away because standing alone in the middle of a lightning storm is what makes you feel strong. You won't do squat for yourself, and you keep suffering just so you have more reason to think you're okay being alone. That you're stronger alone."

"I invited you into my home to help me."

She huffed. "Do you want to know what 'ruthless' is, Roddy? It's not caring about others, even when they care about you. I like to think I'm a compassionate woman. I might as well have saved your life that night after you were attacked. And how did you thank me? By disowning me. Insulting me because having someone fight for you didn't fit your Poor, Mad Roddy narrative. You asked me to help, but you were never once grateful."

"I… don't know how to show that. What can I do to show you?"

She just shook her head. "I think part of you did turn to stone in that castle. Your heart."

"Eliza!"

Eliza continued on silently through the snow. Her boots crunched over a fresh crust of powder that sounded much too humorous for the current environment. Roderich trailed behind, raking the flakes out of his hair and ignoring the icy bite on the tip of his nose. Was he stone-hearted? Did he not care whether she helped or not? Did he want to feel the pain only to revel in it? Enduring for a false sense of strength?

Was this ruthless?

Was this okay?

He was cold…

They reached Edelweiss. The snow-buried gardens looked like half-dug graves for the skeletons of flowers, and the dark windows brought no reassurance to the somber mood of the gray-and-whitewashed yard. A wind chime tinkled faintly with the wind.

Eliza pulled her wand out of her boot and wiggled it around herself, chanting. The snow kicked up around her, swirling unto the folds of an illusion that wrapped itself over her skin. She grew taller. Thicker. Puffier. The frayed lapels of her coat stitched up, and her hair wrapped itself down into a balding halo. The satchel seized up, then shimmered as it became a briefcase.

"There. Do I look like a doctor?"

"Looks great. Let's go see Otto. Er… you can stay for tea afterwards, if you'd like. We haven't had many visitors."

"That's better of you, but I'll wait to see how things pan out with your aunt."

The mansion was deadly silent. Roderich stepped in first, stomping his boots dry before removing them and slipping on his leather loafers. He gestured for his guest to follow him upstairs to Otto's room in the corner.

Within lurked Ilse and Darleen, staring wide-eyed at Otto, who was sleeping fitfully in bed with his legs beneath a single sheet. He was shirtless, showing how dramatically the rash had worsened. Bits of his skin were white as paper, while others remained a harsh, burning pink. His cheeks were still steaming from the trails of tears. He shuddered, then whimpered. A sinister bubbling echoed from the pit of his stomach.

"He threw up so much," Darleen whispered. "He sat in the cold bath crying for five minutes before spewing everywhere. There was so much… I couldn't believe he contained all of it in the first place. What could've caused this infection?"

"Is that a physician?" Ilse cut her off. "Tend to that little boy immediately! Do you know who he is? He's the Duke of Liutberht! The last of his line! His parents were killed by some freakish curse, and he doesn't need to go the same way!"

Eliza scrambled to the bedside, gently placing her disguised hand on Otto's forehead and assessing the rash from all angles.

"Will you wake up?" She whispered in the boy's ear. "Just once, and then you can sleep. Open your eyes."

Otto coughed, then complied. His eyes were all bloodshot. His chest rose and fell erratically. He huffed in lungfuls of the room's stale air just to keep himself cool, then turned over on his side to reveal rivers of sweat pouring down his back.

"Will he keep anything down?"

"Nothing," said the maid. "We tried plain water. It all comes back up."

"All three of you go get more wet cloths to lay on him. Tepid, not cold. Roderich, make sure yours is clean. We can make him drink drop by drop if we have to. He needs fluids." She held Otto's hand tight. "Can you hear my voice? Otto, sweetheart, can you see me? You'll be okay. Just stay awake. You need to drink."

"'m… hungry," he croaked.

"You need water first. Do you want to try some of this? It's Queen's Honey. It's good for your stomach. It might help you keep things down."

"Dwasn-sbosda-belike-dis… I wanned… Ijzwanned a p-pritty mom… anda… 'e doezit… in… infrunname. T-tellmdastop. 'm scared."

Eliza only understood the last word. "Shhh, don't be afraid. Save your strength. Here. Taste some of this and try to swallow."

She fed Otto a teaspoon of honey while his eyes strained to produce any semblance of tears. He started to cough, but she gently kneaded his belly until he belched and his breathing steadied.

Roderich arrived with the clean cloth. Eliza repeated with the honey, then let Otto suck on the end. His little body shook, but he eagerly took in the liquid. Eliza then took out a little pink bottle from a pocket. It was completely empty, save for one drop flowing on the bottom.

"One drop left," she whispered.

"What is that?" Ilse spat as she squeezed out her cloth on Otto's forehead.

"Medicine," Eliza replied. She poured the final drop onto the other corner of Otto's cloth and made him suck. It was barely enough to make the fabric any wetter, but his face lit up when he tasted it.

"Is that good?"

Otto coughed, then nodded.

"Good, good. Roderich, get him a real glass of water, and broth for substance. Keep up with the tepid cloths. Don't get him too wet. We want him cool, but not shivering.

Shaking, Roderich brought back the requests. Otto spat up some, but after a little wait, he managed to drink a glass of water and a few bowls of broth. Eliza kept telling him to slow his pace so he wouldn't cough it all up again. When he was finished, he readily accepted one more helping before drifting to sleep. Eliza pulled the sheet up to his chin.

"He should stay under strict supervision for the next few days," she said. "Keep him cool and hydrated. Boil some lavender or rosemary to help him breathe. If you've got any edelweiss, feed him bits for his stomach.

"Will you be staying?" Ilse asked.

Eliza looked to Roderich, who cleared his face of a scowl. She then turned to the maid. "I would like some warm tea. Then you all may disperse to clear your heads. I will sit in here with the little one."

The tea was brought, and the adults left, leaving Eliza with a lingering Roderich. He stood idly in the doorframe, watching her watch Otto.

"You gave him rosewater?"

"All I had left of it. It should do him some good."

"You don't have any more."

"Did you want some?"

He came in and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. "I'm sorry you got mixed up with me."

She was silent.

"Perhaps it's a given I would lose your trust. My heart accepts that too quickly. It's not easy to trust someone like me, especially when I have little trust to put in others."

Eliza waved her wand, and the illusion fell off like a sheet.

"You wore this… this mask all the time," she said. "You told me what was wrong but brushed over it. You didn't think I would believe you, and it's my own fault that I didn't until the end, but you were still never genuine about anything. 'You're not supposed to see me like this.' That's what you told me when I found you lying in a puddle of your own feathery vomit."

Roderich nodded, a sick feeling balling up in his stomach at the memory. "Maybe I'm everything but mad. Always on the verge, just telling myself I'm normal. Am I strong? I don't know. I don't know what real strength is. I've been trying to figure it out my whole life."

"You accepted my hug that night, and you returned it. I'd say that was strong of you. You don't like being touched."

"Because touching me is like coddling me. Treating me like a child."

"But you wanted it. I know you wanted it. You squeezed me so hard. That was the one genuine thing you did. You like to revel in your weaknesses, but really you're just afraid of them. Everyone is weak in some way, and a weakness against black magic is excusable in every context I can think of. You will find a way to love yourself, and it starts with understanding your weaknesses and not letting them control your life."

Roderich stared blankly at the opposite wall. His jaw was tense. He raised his right hand — the cursed one — and traced the very faint blue squiggle trailing down his nose and lips to the scar. Its origin was trivial, but its meaning was profound… and infuriating.

"I'm not afraid of my weaknesses. I hate them."

"Don't hate them."

"And accept them? Accept them when… when my own father hated them, and my aunt hates them, and everyone I've ever known has rejected me because of them?"

Eliza's eyes grew wide. She sprang out of the chair, taking hold of spidery hands and squeezing tight.

"You know me. Have I rejected you?"

"You're only here because of Otto."

She leaned in close, puckering her brows and scowling.

"Maybe so, but I'm still your friend, and I care about you, and I'm very worried about you. It's not condescension. I'm hurt by what you did, but if you can see the fault in it at all... you're an ass, but not heartless. I'm sorry. Maybe I was harsh. Can you just try to listen? That frightened person inside you is just as important as the ambitious one. I won't tell you who to be. Just don't hide. Don't make me find you again. If I don't, someone else will. Someone who you don't trust."

His lips twitched up at her turnaround. He squeezed her hands back. The pressure in his gut released, replaced by a warm tightness in his chest, burning like a fever. His heart was racing, and for a moment, the beaky mask slipped.

"I'll listen."

"You'd better start listening, and you'd better find some way to show you care, really care. And dammit, Roderich, if your aunt hits you like that again, tell me, and I'll curse her on the next full moon."

"Who's to say I won't curse her myself?"

"Will you?"

He idled on this question, keeping her close and letting the heat build within him, until Ilse's footsteps echoed in the hall. Eliza scrambled to flick the illusion back over herself and replace the tepid cloth on Otto's forehead. His rash was fading rapidly, and his breathing was easy. He was going to be fine. All could take a breath of relief.

The "physician" stayed a few more hours until it was clear Otto was stabilizing as he should. Then Ilse shoved "him" out the door with a meager tip. Roderich took his unfinished paperwork, and after an early supper, retired to his father's study. The cushy chair behind the desk was too big for him.

He wrote out date after date and signed line after line until the sky grew dark and a snowstorm whipped up. Roderich shivered. The fireplace was warm, but it couldn't illuminate the forms. Yawning, he went to the cabinet where he'd found those dusty yellow candles the previous night. Convenient his father had left so many. The current box had been expended, so he pulled a new one from the back of the shelf and brought it forward. Laying across the fresh-ish row of candles inside was a curious slip of paper.

Projekt Tarzenia
Solid Prototype #2
Code Name: "Sun"
Batch 4

It was in Ulrich's handwriting. Roderich wrinkled his beak in a wry smile.

"My father tried selling homemade candles at one point? I guess even a man as ruthless as him had secrets. Mm, these ones smell like lemons."

Whether Roderich chased ruthless, or ruthless chased Roderich, for one night, he would lay the matter aside.

No one was around to judge him.

~N~

"Sick Fic." "Song Fic." Check and check. More melodrama… Rod's beating around the bush. But with a friend to help, maybe he won't let himself brood so much. For now, he'll relax with some nice lemon candles his father made…

The song that inspired this is just so, so perfect for Roddy and his relationships in whatever AU. He's idle, bitter, and schnozzy to a fault, waiting for others to do things for him without realizing his pride puts people off, and his isolation is partially his own fault. I just love Black Gryph0n. His music has defined the year so far for me. Themes of courage and persistence.

Waiting for new Snarled Circle episodes while I strain my brain writing them? I have a new, humorous series, "Prussia Meows," that delves into nation lore and the secret to Prussia's immortality! Will update frequently throughout the summer!

Next episode: TBD

Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net May 23rd, 2020. Reposters will be cUrSeD. Reviewers get bananas!