A/N: In case anyone is confused, this IS Benedictus, but I have chosen to change the title. Please enjoy!

"Lovers, forget your love,

And list to the love of these,

She a window flower,

And he a winter breeze.

When the frosty window veil

Was melted down at noon,

And the caged yellow bird

Hung over her in tune,

He marked her through the pane,

He could not help but mark,

And only passed her by,

To come again at dark."

- Robert Frost

…

King of the Forest

Erik

She had been so beautiful. So fascinating, with ocean colored eyes that glimmered amidst her sadness. He was melancholy, like she, and he might had told her why…but she had screamed at him. She had hurled insults straight into the core of his being, like pinning an insect up for inspection upon a corkboard. But the anatomy of a butterfly was seemingly harmless, whereas her pins that she impaled him with were crippling. He wandered back to the moss-covered stump, feeling restless with anger and helplessness. She had been kind, and she didn't shy away when he touched her shoulder. She was, for a moment, his friend. And he had never had a friend. Especially one that was flawless within their own imperfection; and this aspect truly mystified him…that she, the wild haired girl with the wounded eyes, was so articulately crafted within her mortal deficiencies.

Her name was Christine.

Erik would not forget her, he decided; not ever. She did not know about the curses of men, and how delicate their lives balanced upon slivers of mountain and sand.

She did not know, he told himself, over and over. But it didn't take away the pain of her words; it only solidified his writhing and uncomfortable feelings of worthlessness.

He sat waiting upon the stump – she knew where she had found him, and perhaps she would return. She would see that he had been right; that his words had been out of a childish frustration…she would return home and see that her father had been ripped apart at the seams.

A she-wolf was rare to find, and because of their scarcity, men's eyes gleamed at the sight of them. But Erik had spent hours in his father's great study; he had sat patiently as his father drilled lesson after lesson; such as the strange account of the spirits that roamed upon earth. He could always conjure up images in his mind as his father spoke; this was what made learning anything – whether it be of wing growth or sirens – immaculate and simple. But Christine had never been taught such things…it was impossible.

For they were not the same.

Erik could sense the pounding of her heart as she had fallen to the bottom of the ravine; he could hear the rushing of her blood through various arteries and veins. This was a test, he supposed, for his father had rammed such information into his head time after time. But Erik did not know his father would disappear without him, and leave not a single trace behind.

Not even a single silken feather.

Mortals are purely a delicacy, Erik. That, and nothing more. If anything, they live separated from us – knowing not that we exist. And that is the way it must be.

Erik had never had the courage to ask his father why. And if that were so, then why did his father bring him here, to where all mortals roamed free; why was he left alone, hidden within the thick of ancient darkened trees?

As he sat pondering, trying hard to keep his confusion and loneliness at bay, he felt a cold tingle whisper at the wake of his neck. Recognizing the sweet smell of sandalwood and oiled leather, he stood up from the stump eagerly – finally, his father had returned for him!

But when Erik whirled around, he did not see his father's glittering eyes or bone white face – instead, a great spread of blood red wings threw a shadow across his figure, and he cowered behind the stump, terrified of whose wings cast him in darkness.

"Erik," a soft voice slithered through the still air of the forest, even though leaves tumbled and swirled upwards like the unfurling of a storm. The vermillion wings folded behind the figure's back, revealing a towering man clad in all black; with eyes that glistened as red as a slain newborn calf.

"Little brother; Father sent me to fetch you. And please do stand up – you are not to cower like a human." The man walked softly across the leaves that had now settled, to where Erik had been crouching. He stood looming over the stump, surveying the thick green brush and forest that surrounded them. Erik slowly stood up as he cracked a wide smile, hopping nimbly over the twisted stump and into the arms of his brother.

"Vincent! I thought you were father." Erik rejoiced, squeezing his brother around the waist. "I thought you had left the keep to go off on your own."

Vincent's eyes became gentle as he held his little brother, savoring their quiet reunion with long fingers that brushed through Erik's cropped hair. He laughed, releasing Erik as he kneeled down, grasping him by the shoulders. "I did, little Erik. I saw many different worlds, things that father used to teach me long ago – but you know I am blessed – and also cursed with the gift of sight…I never took my eyes off of you." Vincent took a deep breath, pursing his thin lips as his eyes traced the ground. Erik noticed that his hair, usually an ashen white – was soiled and blood soaked; and he smelled like he had walked through death itself, upon the souls that were lost, teeming back and forth upon a ravaged battlefield.

Erik reached up slowly, touching a strand of Vincent's hair that hung past his shoulders. "What…what happened to you?" he whispered as his mind worked in a frenzy, pulling in images that were not his own – phantoms that owned the scent upon his brother's war ravaged head.

Vincent's eyes dulled over, and he shook his head fiercely at the question. "Not today, little brother. I shall tell you another day, I promise. But listen to me – I know what happened. I see all that happens…and I saw you, with a mortal. A girl," he paused, raising an eyebrow at Erik.

Vincent casually released Erik with long white fingers, standing only to make his way over to the stump. "May I sit?" he asked kindly, his wings adjusting slightly away from his back. Erik nodded, running a hand through his dark hair. "Of course, but it's the king of the forest's seat – I have to know you'll be prepared to rule! But…with wings like yours, big brother…no one would oppose you. All would worship you," his voice grew solemn as he mentioned the bleeding wings, with a small tinge of jealousy that twisted from his insides. Vincent seated himself upon the stump, nodding his head graciously as if to accept Erik's request. "Do not fear, Erik…I grew mine quite late. The more time that they take to grow, the more majestic they shall be," he said gently. "But I come to you to speak of this…happening. This girl…Erik, have you not heeded any of father's warnings? Do you wish for us to be hunted? Do you want a man to burn you upon a pyre in his insignificant little town while people scream and taunt you…yet your skin cannot burn, so you cannot even die?"

"No, I don't want that," Erik replied slowly, plopping himself next to the mossy stump, tracing a pale finger around in the dirt. "But it wasn't at all like father said, Vincent! She wasn't anything like the mortals he warned us about. She was…she was my friend, I think," his kept his eyes averted from Vincent's, continuously drawing lines in the silt and sand. "She was kind to me."

"Little brother, she knows not of what you are…of who you are. Humans will never see us as counterparts…because we are not equal, to them. We have power over them, we have the potential to rule them, to guide them. But this is essentially why we cannot interfere with their lives…we must remain detached from them, always."

"She was different," Erik sighed, looking up into Vincent's eyes – he glimpsed both worry and disappointment. "Her name was Christine…and I think she's in trouble. I…I want to find her. She doesn't know about the spirits. She doesn't know about possessions…I tried to tell her, but…"

"Erik, this is precisely what the hell I'm talking about…She cannot know these things! Humans cannot comprehend the true nature of how they live! Did you not see this when she threw it back in your face? When she called you ugly and made you feel despicable – when she poured her own misery out upon your life?"

"You know she didn't mean it," Erik whispered, reaching out a hand to touch the edge of his brother's right wing. He stroked a single ruby feather with the tip of his finger, admiring the thousands of feathers connected together by sinuous muscle and tissue – he wanted his own wings more than anything…and he could not understand why his hadn't even begun to bloom…

"She is hurt, Vincent…I know it! And I know what father says, I just can't understand why he would leave me here if it was dangerous…where did he have to go upon earth where I could not follow? Maybe he wanted to leave me here….maybe he knew she would come."

Vincent threw back his head, laughing bitterly. "Father cannot see such things…Only I can. And I can promise you that if he gets even a whiff of what you've done, meddling with mortal affairs…father will punish you…quite harshly," he added, his eyes dulling over with distant memory. "And that is not something I wish to see."

Erik stayed silent for a moment, stringing ideas together within his mind's eye. "But there's a balance to everything…and if the balance is disrupted, we can interject to even the scales. I read that in a book…the big green one in father's study," he explained eagerly, jumping up from the ground only to pace back and forth. "The girl…my friend, Christine. She will most likely be sacrificed for what her father has done. Brother, I know you've read it! You said you've read every book in his library!"

Vincent, looking perplexed, slowly nodded his head. "Yes, I've read it…but it is not specific to the world of mortals, Erik…"

"Why would it be any different? I think it was all some sort of metaphor…think about it! We still travel to their world, even though we have our own. Why do we come here? Don't you think its something bigger…much bigger than us?"

Vincent fell quiet as Erik paced back and forth, spewing forth the ideals of a madman…or were they little blooms of truth, of righteousness…the perfect balance of two scales?

"You can see her now, if you choose to, Vincent! You can find out what happened to her. We can help her…we can restore what has been lost. You know we can! I think that's exactly why father brought me here. He's testing me, I know it…but this feels more like…well, it's strange. He's always kept me from having friends. He doesn't like make-believe. But I made a friend, brother! She's real…and she's alone. And afraid. I…I feel it. Inside of me."

Vincent stood up abruptly, his wings unfurling from his back like the powerful surge of an ocean storm. Leaves began to stir upon the ground, and Erik bit his lip silently, waiting for his brother to speak.

"You speak beyond your years, little brother," Vincent drawled through a smile, brushing the dirt from the legs of his trousers. "But you cannot remain in contact with her forever. Once we have restored what has been disturbed, I will wipe her memory. She will no longer think of you, or know you…she will cower at the sight of you. I will do this for the security of our kind…thus, it will protect you from father's wrath, as well."

"Wait," Erik interjected, grabbing hold of Vincent's right hand. "But…I want her to remember me. She doesn't have to know we are different…she doesn't have to see who I truly am!"

Vincent looked down at his gangly little brother sadly, smiling at the innocence and hope within Erik's golden eyes. "That, I fear, is quite impossible. For one day you will grow wings…and she will call you a monster."

Erik shook his head feverishly. "She wouldn't…she didn't even mind my face! I offered to cover it, to hide the scarring…she said she didn't mind…"

"That is not what I refer to, at all. She will never hate you for your face…but for who you are, Erik. You and her will never be equals. You will never be balanced upon the scales. Now, come with me. Let us do what is right…for I can see her already," Vincent's eyes grew clouded as he searched for her, his eyes raking across the surface of the earth.

"Found you," he murmured, squeezing Erik by the hand. And with a whisper under his breath, the two brothers disappeared into a gaping hole that had ripped itself open in the middle of the forest, leaving behind a single bloodied feather.

A/N: Thank you, to every single one of my lurkers and readers. You are what makes writing so beautiful. Any feedback is always so very appreciated.