Book 1: Blue

The Snarled Circle Chronicles

1. Snarled Circle

A most accursed bond is wrought, and a pair of terrible fates is sealed.

It was the worst sort of summer day. The sky was mottled gray, and a hot wind ambled through, and the air was sticky enough to feel like a bath. The birds flew about, chirping cheerfully and finding excuse to look busy. The caterpillars lay fat on leaves, finding excuse to look lazy. It was a day of listless, humid apathy, and there was nothing to report.

But it had rained overnight. Gertrude Edelstein informed everyone of this, and then informed everyone again. The poor woman was so listless and restless that she felt it was quite her duty to open her mouth and inform everyone of every little thing.

Then she shared a thought on every little thing.

"It is much too hot for coats today. I don't think I'll be able to go out in that sun. But it did rain last night, didn't it? That will have made the ground too wet. Just another reason to stay in. Though I would love to see what the rain has done to the flowers! It hasn't rained in such a long time, and the poor flowers looked all droopy yesterday. We must cut the gardener's salary if he continues to wait for rain! Dear, do you think the rain will make it hard to travel? Do you think it will rain again tonight? Does rain ever affect business?"

"Whether it rains or not, business goes on," her husband grumbled from the head of the breakfast table, adjusting the newspaper on his great belly and ignoring most of what his wife rambled on about. He'd hardly touched his toast and sausage, yet his coffee cup had been emptied twice.

Ulrich Edelstein was a man of muttonchops and monocles. He was first a businessman, second a gentleman, and third an inventor with a peculiar interest in the workings of the occult. His reputation named him a benefactor, but like all Edelsteins before him, he honored frugality above all else. His most prized possessions were his clippers and a large collection of cravats he'd accumulated over various cheap holidays abroad. His coffee was cheap, his socks hand-knitted by his wife, and his capacity for smiling long expended.

Gertrude stuck her pointed nose in the air. "Should we invite a few guests for dinner?"

"Not if it rains."

"Of course. I hope it won't rain again. When it rains, the gardener slacks. Although, if you are going to cut the gardener's salary—"

"Oh no, my dear. We can keep the gardener. We'll just forget about the doctor and the sprite and hold part of their payments for the gardener as an incentive."

Instantly, a tension settled over the breakfast table. The maid who was filling Gertrude's cup with coffee froze, nearly spilling all over the crocheted doily beneath. She finished the task and promptly excused herself.

Gertrude's brows lifted. "Do you mean to say—"

"You should know I've meant to say it for weeks now if you've paid any attention at all. I don't like that fairy or his practices."

"What of his practices? Gigi is simply lovely!"

"He preaches that nonsense about the heart and teaches our son wizardry."

"Don't insult Gigi for the way he speaks. Fairies have a religion of sorts about the power of the heart. At least, that's what I've heard. And he is not teaching our son wizardry. He's a music tutor, and Roddy adores him. He's learning the harpsichord so quickly!"

"Faster than any child should learn a skill."

"You still don't believe our Roddy is a prodigy."

"You're still not looking at how much we pay that doctor to come into our house, make our son believe he's sick, and accost us with jargon!"

"He can't handle stress!"

"So tell the doctor to fix him and take his business elsewhere!"

"He can't be fixed! He can only be medicated! If you'd even listened any time the doctor has been here, you could've asked questions and understood the situation."

"I know that situation all too well. We can take him to get some sea air or shut him up by himself in the country if you can show me where the money is coming from."

"Shutting up a child by himself?"

"At least tell me Roderich understands that it will be his responsibility to take care of his 'issues' should they pursue him into adulthood."

"Well, he doesn't need strength to be a composer."

"He'll learn eventually what benefits lie in more ruthless endeavors than music. More money too."

"It's always money with you."

"That child is costing us too much money!"

The maid waited in earnest outside the breakfast room, waiting and counting on her fingers.

"Ulrich! He is our son! He is not eight years old, and you go on about ruthlessness! Listen to yourself!"

The more explosive arguing commenced, and when it was finished, the maid rolled up her sleeves and returned to clear away the table. Then she went outside to beat the rugs and considered all that life had given her.

Edelweiss was an enormous estate. The mansion itself had seven bedrooms. The gardens were much too large and diverse to be tended by a single gardener, and that didn't include the orchards of fruit trees beyond. There were four maids and two butlers and a gardener and cooks and two governesses. The Edelsteins and their children should've smiled at their good fortune and many luxuries. Instead, they stuck their pointed noses in the air and acknowledged only the sour details in life.

The maid frowned as she shook a priceless rug and watched a cloud of dust and dirt spill from its fringes. They were such a messy family as well! If they had any grace to pick up their belongings and make their own beds, perhaps Ulrich wouldn't whinge about how much it cost for the hired help to do it.

Still, the maids had forged a fierce bond with each other, and they agreed they could tuck sheets and fold laundry better than even the stewards of the duchy. No one could change their minds about that.

"Kristine! Buongiorno!"

The musical voice brought her mind out of the dingy thoughts and filled her heart with delight. A wide smile crossed her face when she looked up, only to be blinded by two pairs of glittery bronze wings and the man who proudly bore them.

"Gigi! You're here so early!"

"Eh, I thought I could try to sing the little ones awake," Gigi said, flitting over to her and planting quick kisses on her cheeks.

Gianfranco Roma's bronze eyes were filled with stardust, and his smile was reminiscent of the warm sun beating down on a vineyard. But truly, his voice was his most marvelous feature. With it, he could sing grapes into wine and weave songs into spells. He could make instruments play by themselves. And, if he put his heart into it, he could bend nature to his will and bring rain upon the earth. (Gertrude was unsure how to feel about this.) The good fairy was not eighteen, and he'd firmly caught his nails in the household as Roderich's music tutor.

Kristine pinked. "How was the trip back to Allegria?"

"It was great! I missed seeing the vineyards Things are still a little rough with my papà, but we're expecting some delicious wine this year. You have not lived until you've tried Allegrian wine. There's magic in the grapes."

"Is that where your magic comes from?"

"If strong magic comes from a happy heart, then the fairy who imbibes is twice as powerful."

"Always quick-witted, aren't you? Well, the two big noses are finishing breakfast. Johannes is studying, and Clara is away, so little Roderich is all yours. I know he's missed you. He never stops talking about you. I do hate to say it, but perhaps he thinks of you more as a father than Ulrich."

The fairy pursed his lips. "I hope not! I'm not old enough to be a papà, and even if I was, I don't spend enough time here to seem like one. I'm just trying to help Roddy do what he likes... and also humans pay me a lot because I 'sound foreign' and I'm sparkly."

"Just… just… Whatever it is you're doing to make him learn so quickly, please tone it down a bit. Ulrich suspects you're teaching the boy wizardry."

"Teaching him wizardry? Is that bad?"

"So you are?"

"No, of course not! My musical powers might focus his mind, but I'm not enchanting him on purpose. He's just very smart, and that's why he's learning so fast… That is, unless he has a little fairy blood in him."

This simple jest made the maid wring the rug. Her lips stiffened, and she rolled her shoulders back in anxious thought.

"You mustn't speak that way, Gigi. Haven't you heard the rumors?"

"No. Is there something wrong?"

"One of the other maids, Claudine, visited a cousin in Amotoile last month. She came back white as a ghost and preaching that children had been taken in every town she passed through. Gone without traces, except for the creatures in their places. I know the Isle of Rain is experiencing similar issues. And here, we've heard the same thing. In fact, it's closer than you know."

The lazy wind whispered through the leaves. The maid glanced around wildly, then took Gigi by the arm and pulled him quickly into the parlor. He had barely the time to fold his wings down before they could smack the top of the doorframe.

"Last fall, we saw them around Edelweiss. Two of them. I saw one, and Ulrich saw the other. We think they want Roderich. He's a young, well-off child. Maybe they can smell his blood. Oh, who knows what they want with him? All I know is that they do something horrible to the children they take and then wear their shapes to feed off the host families. They can transform themselves down to the smallest details. They can even play tricks on the mind to beguile anyone who doubts they're really innocent children."

Gigi nodded. "I know the rumors. We haven't had anyone taken, but we've taken precautions. It's been custom for over a century to gift children with a pair of scissors. Iron repels them well. What did they look like when you saw them?"

"They were like skeletons. They had deep, dark eyes and fingers like claws. Their ears were pointed like yours, but all stretched out. And they were so pale. I don't want to even think of them. The two seen around this place were easily taken care of. Ulrich is a notary. All he has to do is fill out and sign the execution form, and the creatures are gone from sight."

"He goes right to execution? I thought that branding bill was floating around over in Amotoile."

"You know how Ulrich is. He believes in all that old lore about pentagrams and moonless nights. I suppose if it stops the evil from stealing children, we have a right to trust it."

"I'll be on my guard. I can sense things humans can't."

Gigi had just finished speaking when a shrill shriek echoed throughout the entire mansion. It was Gertrude's voice, and it seemed to be coming from the back door at the other end of the house — the entrance to the garden. The two shared a worried look before swiftly following the shriek.

They found the poor, distraught woman in the hallway kneeling down in front of her youngest son. He trembled terribly and clutched his chest while she wiped him with a wet cloth. His soft dark hair was sticky, and his face was smeared with blood.

"Don't fret, Roddykins, my sweet! You're all right! You're safe now! The awful creature is gone! Your papa will destroy it! You're safe!"

"Milady? What's happened?" Kristine asked.

At that moment, Ulrich burst through the door, red in the face and scowling.

"Gertrude, we can keep the gardener. We're firing the governess for negligence. She left him alone in the garden! Damn woman! Just because we haven't seen one in a while doesn't mean they're not out there eating muck and scheming to steal our son!"

"Well, what did you do with it? Did you kill it?"

"I drugged it and stuffed it in a sack. It was only a small one this time. I'll write out the paperwork immediately. Tonight's new moon. By morning, all the evil in that imp will have dissolved from this earth."

"W-was it really wearing his shape?"

Ulrich only nodded and tromped down the hall, elbowing Gigi against the wall on his way.

It was the worst sort of summer day. The birds had awoken much too early, and with them, Roderich Edelstein groggily ascended from his hazy dreams. No more sleep with that racket, and though he wished for another dream, it seemed his daily fate was drawn.

He was the youngest of the three Edelstein children. A meager boy with a scratchy voice and a fondness for music. He had yet to grow into the long face and beaky nose, but he'd already inherited the dark hair and sniffing quirk his parents were known for.

He washed, dressed, and combed, then followed his governess down to a private breakfast with his older brother. Johannes was stoic as usual. He only sipped his coffee and perused through books of accounts to look for patterns.

The sausage was eaten in silence again, though with plenty of tips from his governess on how to sit with proper posture. Roderich swore that one of these days he would tell her he was not a girl, and as such, he should be able to be as disinterested in table manners as his brother and father. But no. As it was, he was neither a lady nor a gentleman, but an ignorant, unimportant child, and a sickly one at that.

"May I practice my harpsichord, Mathilde?" he asked.

"You will call me milady, and no, you may not. Your parents are having breakfast. You do not want to disturb them."

"When will Gigi return?"

"Eventually."

"You don't know when?"

"I'm not concerned with fairies. I'm concerned with your education and wellbeing."

I would be well if I could practice, he thought, a slight scowl gracing his face. He had been working on a piece since Gigi left, and he'd nearly mastered it! If only he could play the chords at the end right and remember the crescendo, he could play it absolutely perfect!

Ah, but no. Mathilde's weathered hands and polished nails pulled all the strings.

"We will take a walk in the garden," the governess cawed.

Oh well, at least he could imagine the birds were performing their own impromptu symphony.

She led him through the halls to the back door. Right outside was the little stone archway leading into the cobblestone maze of the garden. Leafy hedges lined the whole place like an enclosure. There were patches of drooping flowers all soaked and sopping with leftover rain. Sunken bits of the path hid under warm puddles. The cloudy sky was a disappointment, but there was still enough light to make Roderich wince when it shone in his crystal-blue eyes.

"Come along, young master. You need your fresh air."

The boy sighed and followed suit, holding his chin up the same way his father always did when he wanted to look important. He gazed up at the trees. The leaves flickered and shifted in the breeze. Birds darted to and fro in the branches. They flew down to hop about on the grass, tilting their heads to listen and then snatching up worms for breakfast.

Already, the heat was beating down and seeping through his coat. Roderich breathed in, but the air was too humid for comfort. It would certainly rain again later today. Perhaps then, he could stay inside and practice his harpsichord. All would hear its twanging timbre as he played the same passage over and over again. A devious smile crept upon his lips as he pictured it.

"You have tracked through every puddle! Your shoes are filthy!"

Had he? Oh, he was being absentminded again. He had hoped his slow, meandering tempo would at least separate him from her by a few hundred meters. But no. She had learned his tricks, and she slowed her own pace to match his. Only this time, she failed to notice that he failed to notice the puddles. Mathilde had been spited truly for the first time that day.

"Well, I can't walk in wet shoes. My mother will think that's undignified. Could we go back now? If Gigi comes today I really want to make sure that passage is perfect."

"Your father wouldn't like it if you played the harpsichord during his breakfast."

"He doesn't like any of my music. I don't think it matters."

"Shut it, child!" Mathilde barked, giving Roderich a little jump She was not looking to find herself on Ulrich's bad side. The gardener was already a joke in the household. If that boy went back to the house now, he'd find some way to sneak into the harpsichord room, and by this time of morning, Ulrich couldn't have been done with his three cups of coffee.

"Roderich, stay right here. You are going to finish this walk through the garden in dry shoes."

"I'm not supposed to be alone outside."

"Oh, there hasn't been an imp here in months. Just stay quiet and sit still, will you?"

And she left him. She left him, then. Roderich hated being left alone. He would've chased after her, but that notion was ludicrous. Chasing after Mathilde, as if he wanted to spend more time with her? Ludicrous and laughable. Instead, Roderich balled his hands into fists. He cursed. He kicked a stone off into the dirt pathway. He ruffled his hair and scowled. He threw off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to escape the heat.

To the left of him, a dirt pathway led off into the dark, shadowy orchard. To the right, a row of hedges concealed the white majesty of the mansion rising above the garden. Wild wisteria snaked along the stones of the well-traveled path. The scent of soil was drowned out by an electric aroma of rain in the air.

Then Roderich heard something.

Footsteps. Very light footsteps padding along the moistened earth. And they were coming from the orchard.

Curious, he looked over his shoulder before stepping out onto the dirt pathway. It was much cooler there with the shade of the trees to protect him. He peered around, but saw nothing but leaves and grass and stones populating the shady ground. The shadows shifted as the breeze blew on through the canopy. A few leaves fluttered down to land in his hair and stick to his clothes. Slowly, he stooped to pick up the stone he'd kicked.

"Hello?"

More footsteps. The sound of claws scrabbling on dirt. A hissing breath.

Still, he saw no one. Unnerved, Roderich stepped back onto the cobblestone path. He turned to navigate onward through the garden. He would have preferred to traverse with dry shoes, but time was of the essence, and time with his harpsichord was of utmost importance.

"Hello."

Roderich's right hand flew to his heart. He knew what was coming. Sudden, terrible fright always brought about the racing, burning sensation in his chest. He glanced around wildly for a place to sit if he felt lightheaded, but he could already feel the strain. His heart was struggling to dig itself right out of his body. He whimpered and settled with sitting on the dirty stone path, a dreadful chill settling over his skin.

Then the creature slunk out of the shadows.

It was no more the size of a toddler, but it was monstrous. Pasty skin was pulled taut over its bones. Nails were like claws, and teeth were like needles. Stretched, pointed ears flicked at the sides of its head. Eyes the color of blood bulged from its angled skull. It wore nothing but a ragged pillowcase around its feeble form.

"Hello," it said again. Its voice was a slurring rasp that sounded deeper and older than it should have. Its lips stretched wide in a hideous attempt at a smile.

Roderich whined in his throat. He clutched his chest with both hands and kicked at the creature. It flinched, then hunched down and held its withered hands up in pitiful protest.

"No, no," it whined. "Do… do not… not be afraid, please!"

"You… you're one of those imps, aren't you!? The ones that steal children! Get away from me!"

"No! Please! Do… you… you want… to be… friend?"

"Your friend? No, I don't want to be your friend! You're just trying to steal my life! Get away! Get out of here, you freak!"

Tears bubbled up in the creature's eyes. Then its ears perked, and it crawled even closer to the ailing child.

"Wait! I… I will not be freak! I change so you… you not afraid!"

Roderich could hardly understand the creature's garbled half-speak. His heart wouldn't calm itself. It was fluttering madly in his chest, and the more he looked at the creature's skull of a face, the more he felt he was dying of fright.

But… it wasn't a skull now… was it?

Roderich stared. The creature seemed to be… changing. It winced and cried out in pain as its pale flesh writhed over the bones. Slowly but surely, a healthy suffusion crept over its skin. First its sunken cheeks, then its thin neck and bony body began to swell and plump. Knobbly limbs bubbled and filled out to become soft and smooth. The creature watched tearfully as its little claws receded and flattened into smooth pink nails. It then clutched the sides of its head to feel how its ears were shrinking.

It shrieked, then. Sickening cracks and vile gurglings issued from its body. The back of its neck bulged with vertebrae. The creature threw itself down on its hands and knees and whined as its body grew, stressing and leaving a sizable tear in the back of its pillowcase tunic. Chubby little hands pulled out into slender ones. Puffy cheeks smoothed and spread out over a new, most familiar face. The wispy white hair thickened and darkened until it was a wavy, shiny brunet. The pointed nose rounded. The red eyes cooled and faded to blue.

The creature lifted its head. Roderich looked on in disgusted horror. The thing had transformed until it looked, in every way, exactly like him. It smiled again, though the fleshy mask of its disguise couldn't quite contort in a way to look natural.

"S-see?" It whispered. Its voice had become a scratchy whine. "Now… do not be afraid."

"Shut up. Shut up! Don't take me!" Roderich squealed.

Trembling, he pushed himself up with one arm and began to stumble back the way he'd come. He settled his gaze ahead and dared not look back. He was slow in every fashion, but if he could distance himself from this thing—

"No! Do not run! Do not be afraid!"

Roderich gasped and quickened his pace. The imp was following him. He could hear its footsteps trailing behind.

"I don't want you here! You can't take me away! I will never let my life be yours!" He scolded.

"What? No… I just… I want a friend. I want a friend… to play."

Roderich steeled his jaw. "Yeah, yeah, that's what you say. I know it's a trick, though. I know you're trying to lead me off into the woods somewhere and drive me off a cliff so you can pretend to be me and eat all the food in my house. You think I'm stupid, don't you? Well I'm not! And you're a sick freak of a monster!"

Then he pulled his hand from his chest and ran, all the stories from the maids trickling back into his mind. In Amotoile, Claudine said, they found a child out in the woods, stunned into muteness by some strange magic, his eyes turned white and soulless. They found another half-encased into a tree, enchanted into sleep by glimmering spores, and no one could wake her from her slumber.

And so many others were never found again, while the creatures wore their shapes and cuddled with their mothers.

Roderich's eyes widened. He felt claws, claws, digging into his chest. The creature had come from behind. It threw itself upon him, clasping its arms around his stomach and bringing both of them to the ground. Roderich's head hit the cobblestone. Pain throbbed in his temples. He tried to breathe, but the creature's arms were constricting tightly around his middle. With one hand, it reached up and squeezed his nose, digging its claws into his face in the process.

"G-get off me, fiend!"

"Friend!" The creature whined. "Please play, friend!"

Even if he wanted to stay and play, the creature would not cease its iron grip. It was convinced he would run if it let go, and so the two remained at a painful impasse. Roderich could feel tears bubbling up. His chest throbbed, and his head pulsed, and he was sure his nose was bleeding.

"Get off him!"

All the pressure released. Roderich looked up and saw the domineering shape of his father above him. Curiously enough, Ulrich brandished a fire poker as his weapon. He poked it in the direction of the creature, which was now hunched over near the hedges and wailing with a voice that was too ghastly and unearthly to be human. Its shrieking whipped up a powerful squall that tore all the leaves from the garden's trees and ripped bricks right out of the mansion's foundation.

Ulrich poked the poker in its direction, and the clouds grew darker.

"Get inside, boy," he said. Roderich scampered up and flew to the door to be comforted by his mother.

"Show yourself, imp."

The creature convulsed, screeched, and then shrank back to its pitiful, pale true form.

"Silence."

It was the worst sort of summer day. The rain had come once more, as a light drizzle before swelling into heavy gray sheets that ground at the garden and flooded the flowers. Soaked petals floated away down the grassy passes.

Now the black, moonless sky spread out like ink over the heavens, with the tiny pinpricks of starlight concealed by the sodden ghosts of storm clouds.

In the friendly glow of candlelight, Roderich Edelstein was tucked into bed. His sister read him a story — a lighthearted, wholesome one at the insistence of his mother. Then Gigi came to sing him a lullaby so sweet that he was met with visions of creamy cakes and shiny shoes before he was even asleep. His mother kissed him goodnight, giving him one last message of reassurance, and all was well in Edelweiss.

It was different for the creature.

A few hours after Roderich's idyllic bedtime routine, he woke from hazy half-sleep and found himself trapped in a scratchy fabric that smothered his pointed nose and made his skin furiously itch. He thrashed about, crooning and screeching, until he found a place to catch his claw-like nails and tear free.

When he had fully squeezed out of the sack, he was soaked in the darkest night he had ever seen. The mud squelched under his feet, and the air was a loose void that let the cold permeate into every part of nature. He looked up and was met with the sight of iron arrowheads — five of them — all pointed directly at his chest. For a split second, the tips flashed orange and black in his eyes.

HIs chest seized. His toes and fingers curled up and quaked. Were the flashes real? Or were they only illusion? Sparking, flaming, melting to molten metal that spread and spread, glowing and growing into a ring of burning, searing heat that rushed right at him, rolling over his form and consuming everything beyond. Trees were eaten by the fire. Shadows dwindled and died in its rage.

"Shoot it!" one of the archers cried.

Snapped free of his vision, the creature screamed out into the night. His voice conjured a wild gust of wind that swirled and spun, ripping and tearing at the trees. The more his cry poured out into the darkness, the more he could feel a tug in his throat that sent a tingle creeping through his skin and a wave of heated nausea rolling through his stomach. He could hear the gale obeying every voiced command. The more he screamed, the more wind came into existence.

He then tried to run from the archers, but he could go no further than a pentagon of salt poured at the center of a star within a circle. His shriveled hands pressed up against an invisible barrier that kept him stuck in the cold, wet little patch of earth.

"Shoot it!" he heard someone cry again and again. "Shoot it! Shoot it!"

The creature shrieked and shook. Tiny claws tore at the invisible barrier, but it would not give. A tiny torrent of tears streamed down his bony cheeks and splattered in the mud. Consumed by despair, he lay down and curled into a ball, his pillowcase tunic proving his only comfort as he waited for his fate.

But then he tensed, for he heard another sound streaming through the darkness. It was flighty and peppy, changing pitch as it danced with the wind. The creature's ears perked up. He lifted his dampened face to look out upon the darkness. Was that? Yes, a dark silhouette was growing larger and larger. A new figure was coming to meet with the party, and the beautiful, magical music was coming from a long wooden flute it played as it walked.

The newcomer looked human when it finally approached, but only its wrinkled hands and long, tangled silvery-gray hair could be seen hanging out of its hooded robe. It took the flute from its lips and exchanged a few words with the archers. The creature listened intently. He had been learning new words every day since he had been born. He couldn't understand everything being said. Something about… execution. An execution? Execution was clearly a word that meant a place of great and terrible fear.

The creature whimpered a bit. If only he could understand! Why must he be subjected to such fear and danger? Was this a tradition of these humans? And why didn't he look like the humans? Why were his ears so large and his teeth so sharp? Why did he have to change himself so they weren't afraid, and why was that boy still afraid even after he'd changed?

The stranger was playing the flute again. This song… this one was sad. As sad and as dark as the night itself. It chased itself, round and round with flying flurries of batlike notes before pressing into a smooth, deep abyss. Each black tone weighed in the little creature's chest, pushing him into the rot and muck. All at once, he became so filled with sorrow that he didn't notice the archers shaking and shrieking before they dropped to the ground, still and silent.

Silent as the rumbling clouds above.

The flute-player then knelt down. It swished the salt away with its flute, then lifted its hood. Beneath had been hidden the stretched, sunken face of a man. Two great, knifelike ears perched at the sides of his head. Midnight blue eyes as deep as the universe blinked, and a fanged smile beckoned.

"You... like me," the little creature breathed.

"I am. Come here. I won't hurt you."

Cautiously, the little one crawled over and scrutinized the friendly face above. The creature-man scooped him up in his arms and held him close.

"Fates in hell, you're a newborn. And they think we're heartless."

The creature struggled. No, not this again! He couldn't let himself be restrained, or he would be forced into another execution!

Or…

The large one was humming softly and petting the little one's hair. Slowly, the little one relaxed, and a warm, tingly, wonderful feeling filled his chest. He reached up and tugged on the big ears to compare them with his own. Ah, there was a word for this! He knew it! A large, strong one who… protected, yes, protected a little one!

Papa.

"You… papa?"

His savior frowned. "No, I'm not your papa. I'm your fellow changeling. What do you call yourself? Do you have a name?"

"No. No name."

"You can't go through life without a grand name for yourself. My name is Friedrich, but you may call me Fritz."

"Fritz? And you do not… hurt?"

"No, I would never hurt you. But I'm interested. Why did you target the Edelsteins of all people? Were you born around here, or were you just too hungry to find a safer family? Sure, that little Roderich is a sniveling prick, and I'm sure you'd blend in just fine, but with his father around…"

The little one couldn't understand.

"Why did you make yourself look like that little boy, and why did you attack him?"

In one great rush of emotion, and with a mess of broken language, the little one explained. A friend! He wanted a friend to play with, but that boy was afraid of him, so he changed, and then the boy was angry at him, and so he… he… he tried to stop him from running, and…

Fritz heaved a sigh of disapproval. "With no level of audacity can you waltz up to a child in your true form and ask him to play with you. Transforming in front of him is even worse a move — especially if the kid's family is rich. I'd better take you home with me. You obviously don't know enough yet to survive on your own. If the shadows hadn't told me about you, you'd have died and become a shadow yourself by now."

The little creature dug his claws into Fritz's shoulders, tears welling up again in his blood-colored eyes. Fritz lay a comforting hand over his back. The little creature drank in every drop of that warm feeling pooling in his chest and filling him up with comfort. There… there wasn't a word he knew for this, but his instincts flared to life when he felt it. He was alive to know this feeling. It was his nature to seek it out and know it as well as he knew himself.

Love.

"Peace, peace, precious one. You're safe now. Let's see… you're going to need a name. One that is respectable, yet lets your enemies know you are not one to be trifled with. This night scars you. You'll be a man hunched by his past, but bearing the name of a legend And so I shall call you… er…"

His bulging blue eyes wandered aimlessly until they settled on the name of a cobbler etched into the soles of the insensible archers.

"Gilbert."

"Gilbert?"

"Gilbert with eyes that sparkle like rubies."

Gilbert cooed. He liked that name. It was shining and promising, and he would own it and keep it close to his heart.

"Quiet yourself, Gilbert. The moonless night is the darkest."

Fritz stuffed his flute in the pocket of his black and blue robe and set off toward the bottom of the hill. Gilbert still squirmed in his arms. From his perch, he watched the archers and their arrows grow smaller and smaller. He'd never seen their faces, and he was content to let his ignorance slowly erase their image in his mind and ease the thundering fright in his heart.

Yet the snarled circle of salt drawn sickeningly upon the earth would never leave him.

~N~

Welcome to Fataverse! If you're here from Hetafata, be prepared to see the creature and the rich kid in an all new light. If you're not here from Hetafata, this story runs independent! You can totally read these one-shots and understand what's going on, though it could potentially spoil Hetafata if you intend to read it in the future.

This series is meant to challenge me as a writer. Darker themes and romantic plots aren't really my thing, but here's an opportunity to practice them, as well as flesh out the world set up in Hetafata even more.

Note: Some episodes are rated M for language, minor blood and suggestive themes. These are marked below the episode summary.

Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net July 22nd, 2019. Do NoT StEaL. Reposters will be toast. Reviewers will get toast.