Scenes in italics indicate flashbacks

Chapter 11: The First Petal to Fall

Excerpt from the Fae Folk Book of Common Law

IV

The Celestial Gate is the barrier separating all the realms. Human, Fae, and demon alike.

None may pass through the gate freely on their own accord.

Only sprites, of both kind and malevolent nature, may cross between the gate whenever they please.

Sprites belong nowhere and yet they belong everywhere.

Of all creatures, magical or not, only they are free.

The winds rolled on high past the Sea of Crusoe, where the water sprite of the same name dwells below the gray shifting waters. A water sprite whose name is chanted in hymns. Whose name is sung in glory. Whose name is prayed to in love. The sprite lives down below singing its own prayer. A song sung solely for the sea. The only beautiful hymn in its opinion. Before the Tuatha De Danaan, first born Fae clan that rose in power in the Otherworld, it was the sprites that governed this mystical world. Sprites, like Crusoe the water horse, live freely by themselves under no Fae's authority but their own. Sprites have existed long before the first shooting star struck the land, long before the first sparks of magic jumped into the first bud of a blossoming rose to rise from the snow of a bitter winter. Every ending has a new beginning. The death of a single star lead to the first spark of magic, of starlight, that bred the beginning of all the Fae Folk. Sprites lived in solitary before the first of the Fae Folk walked upon their home, Fae unknowing of the glorious world they were born into. It was the sprites, like Crusoe, that taught the Fae their magic and how to wield it. They taught the Fae to love the land and the stars and each other. But then, the Fae Folk grew and grew. They built towers and castles and began spreading across the land. Soon a seed was planted into the Fae's hearts, a terrible and vile seed that led the Fae to lust after what they didn't have and what they could have. A seed that never belonged to the stars.

Greed.

They wanted more. Fighting one another for land. Fighting for power. Fighting to rule. Fighting over the control of the sprites.

The sprites had enough of it. So they left.

Sprites belong nowhere, and yet they belong everywhere. Free to travel through the celestial gates that separates all realms, human, Fae, and demon alike. Some traveled to the human realm and stayed. And some stayed in the Fae realm and never left. Crusoe, the water horse of the sea, has never left its precious home. Instead, it dwells at the bottom of the sea that bears its name, hiding below the midnight trenches, but sometimes, when the land above is quiet and when the waves are still and when the water is clear, Crusoe swims close to where light penetrates the water's edge. Where sea glass shines like no other. Crusoe gazes through the shimmering waters of the sea and looks upon a beautiful sight it seldom gets to see. The sky.

Sometimes, if Crusoe is lucky, it sees so much more than the endless blue sky.

It sees a dragon.

A small one just beginning to learn how to fly. Crusoe may be old, older than the stars, but it was clever. Its mind sharp as a serpent's fangs. It could recognize magic anywhere and could see through the transformation spell of the little dragon fervently flapping its wings, struggling to stay in air. Crusoe swam closer towards the water's surface, ripples of light danced on its face as it watched the youngest Fae prince, a mere boy, learn how to fly. Bubbles rose from Crusoe's jaw, a laugh perhaps, as it watched Rowan rise and fall in the sky above.

"Arawn!" Rowan bellowed as he flapped his wings fervently. His red, scarlet hued scales reflected the sun's light. Intensifying the fire raging beneath his scales. Rowan, a little boy, flapped his wings haphazardly as his eyes glued onto his older brother, Arawn, crown prince of the Otherworld.

"Don't look at down at me, Ro. Keep your head towards the sky. Keep moving forward. That's the only way." Arawn called his brother as he strode across the cliff. His moonlight hair glistened under the sun and his blue eyes caught the sky's reflection. Beauty magnified in his eyes. Arawn was the eldest prince, the one to inherit the throne. Of course, as the heir to a ginormous kingdom, it was his duty to learn about all the ginormous things within his soon-to-be ginormous kingdom. Arawn was a clever boy and he was impeccably gifted with magic. Which was simultaneously a joy and absolute terror to his tutors. A joy, because his tutors were able to instruct a brilliant prince and theorize about magic together. A terror, because they soon began to run out of things to teach Arawn and Arawn soon began to teach them, his tutors, instead. Which wasn't how a classroom was supposed to run. So while Arawn's tutors began to research for more difficult material they could test him on (even though Arawn highly doubted they would find something he hasn't read yet. He even read through all the books in the Queen's Library, twice.) Arawn burrowed Rowan from one of his tutoring sessions. It was 'urgent princely matters,' quoted by Arawn, that exuded Rowan from his studies. Arawn had an impeccable mind, but his lying could use a bit of refining. Which was sadly a topic his tutors were too afraid to teach him. For he would master the skill far too quickly. Arawn over the short yellow-green grass and wild flowers that sprung through the dirt that dusted his scuffed boots. Arawn cupped his hands over his mouth and yowled, smiling. "You're doing great!"

"Why is flying so difficult?"

"It's all about balance." Arawn replied.

"Ah, everything I don't have." Rowan whined.

Arawn laughed.

"Arawn, this isn't funny!"

"I'm not laughing." Arawn said, while he was laughing. "I enjoy watching my little brother learning to fly for the first time. You're doing way better than most, might I add. You didn't even throw up either!"

Rowan sucked in a breath and gasped as he plummeted down then caught the wind beneath his wings again, steadying himself. Rowan may not have been gifted as Arawn was, but his knowledge was still on par with that of his tutors. Transformation is a difficult art form and it takes years, even for the highest of Fae, to learn it properly. And it only took Rowan a fraction of time of what it takes for most. Even for a Fae of impure blood, it was very impressive. He looked down at Arawn. "I can't do this! I'm too scared!"

Arawn ran towards the edge of the cliff and yelled. "Don't give up! Never give up! AND DON'T STOP MOVING FORWARD!"

Red scales streaked the blue sky. Plummeting towards the sea.

Fear plunged itself in Arawn's heart. He cried his little brother's name and in the same steady beat, he ran and dove off the edge of the cliff.

And a pair of powerful sapphire wings soared in the sky. Wings belonging to a high and mighty dragon. Arawn caught his little brother before he fell into the sea. His claws grasped onto Rowan's wings.

Crusoe sighed a moment of relief.

"My heart is racing." Rowan sighed.

"So is mine when you attempt to crash into Crusoe's Sea, little brother."

"Well, I didn't mean to." Rowan pouted. "I was going to fly up at the last second. To look cool." He added, weakly.

"Of course, of course." Arawn flew towards the cliff and Rowan expected to be dropped down on it. Only until Arawn flew higher and higher and higher and the pair of boots Rowan left in a bushel of fluttering wild flowers became a speck of a yellow of a speck on a green cliff.

"Why aren't we landing on the cliff? The cliff is safe. The cliff is nicer and closer to the ground. I like the cliff. Did I mention it's closer to the ground?"

"You will never learn to fly on land. You can only learn with the sun above your head and the wind beneath your feet."

"Land beneath my feet sounds better."

Arawn laughed as his claws let go of his younger brother. Rowan gasped as he struggled to balance himself in the wind. All the while Arawn flew with ease. It was as if the crown prince was blessed by Obelia, sprite of the wind, and was granted the power to command the wind to carry him effortlessly throughout the sky. If land was his palace then the sky was his kingdom. And like any benevolent king ruling over a beautiful kingdom, he watched over it with a fatherly gaze. Arawn's sapphire scales glimmered like the shimmering blue mirrors of a Morpho butterfly's wings. Rowan was in awe of his brother's flight—he was in awe of everything.

Arawn flew around Rowan and chanted. "Need not be afraid, brother. The sky is your kingdom. The winds are your subjects. Honor both. Your wings are your shield. Your fire is your sword. Be proud of both. Be thankful for all, protect all, for they grant you the gift of flight."

With a powerful beat of his wings, Arawn soared through the clouds and spiraled in the air. Twirling amongst the sea of clouds in the endless blue sky. A gust of wind smacked Rowan in the face. A spat-out spark of fire with a flick of his tongue. Show off, he thought. Then he breathed—and focused. The sky is his kingdom. The wind his subjects. His wings his shield. His fire his sword.

Fire burned in Rowan's eyes.

Rowan tore his gaze from the ground and lifted his head in front of him. Looking forward. Moving forward. Just like Arawn advised him to do. He felt the fire in the throat. He felt it crackle in his jaw and sizzle past his teeth. The fire in his scales blazed bright and he looked forward—and soared.

He swooped past his brother, leaving him to eat the clouds behind him. He turned to his brother with a cocky grin on his face. "Race you to Fellia's Peak and back."

The fire in Arawn's eyes sparked. "I was waiting for you to suggest that."

And so, Crusoe watched as the two boy princes flew fast into the sky, turning into little specks, disappearing in the distance. Tired and sleepy, Crusoe swam back below to the midnight trenches of its sea. All the while listening to the faint lingering echoes of the princes' laughter under that sunlight sky that swept up with its own song of the sea. Intertwining into a sweet melody.

"My name is Frances." The little girl said, boldly. Wild flowers nestled in the curly locks of her blonde hair. Hands on her hips. An impressive empress like stance for a little, fragile human.

Rowan felt the wind uneasily stir around him as the little human girl stood before him. Acknowledging everything about him. His magic. His weakened state. His vulnerability. How long has she been there? How much as she seen? Did she see Theriot, a little faun, jumping and crying and wailing about Rowan's failed plans? Will she run back to her older sister, or even to that insufferable Phantomhive boy and tell them about him? Why didn't Rowan notice her presence any sooner? Of all things, he didn't want to think that his fight with that wretched demon made him too weak, too tired, too incompetent to notice the presence of a mere human child.

He has battled hordes of demons, armies of those who wished to drain his blood, breathed dragon's fire and scorched his enemies down to their very bones, and never has he felt anything but courage and valor when facing such formidable opponents. And yet, this little girl standing so surely in front of him with her eyes beaming like the ethereal waters of Crusoe the water sprite had him feeling everything else rather than courage or value. To put it bluntly, he was petrified, to put it even more bluntly, he was the epitome of everything that would be the laughing stalk of the entire Fae court. He already imagined Isobel, high Fae of the Winter Court, laughing and shaking till the icicles in her snow palace crack and crash to the ice floor. Then again, what would Arawn think? Kind and gentle Prince Arawn who sympathized with the humans.

Rowan trembled as the little girl took a step forward, and he was ashamed to admit that his body trembled trying to move back (which he blamed entirely on the demon, Sebastian, who horribly injured him.) He was disgrace to all the Otherworld. If Arawn were awake and well, he would surely laugh at his little brother. Rowan sighed. He would give anything to hear his brother's laughter again. Even Arawn chastising him would warm his heart.

But Rowan knew that he mustn't give up. For that day will soon come to fruition, when he and his brother will be reunited once more. He mustn't give up. He has come too far to accept defeat. The next hurdle in his plan stood right in front of him, and Rowan was not one to admit defeat so easily.

The little girl stepped forward and Rowan steadied his ground. There was only one thing to do. Pretend to be human.

Rowan hasn't been human in nearly three thousand years, but his encounter with Elsie began to jog his memory of what it was once like. Oh, what did human males like again? Rowan prided himself on his impeccable memory, he was able to cite scriptures of the Fae Folk Book of Common Law in his sleep, and he can quote every line and every verse of every book on magic written by Fae and witch alike. He could quote any line in any book in the Queen's Library, well, maybe not all of the books, some of them were in Ancient Greek. Arawn most certainly could though, backwards even. Politics, culture, Rowan knew everything there is to know about the Fae, his own kind. Yet, he was racking his brain on what he once was. Human. Long ago, when he was changed, when his mortal shell cracked and shed and turned to dust. When he rose from a pile of ashes, reborn. There was no room in his reborn self for archaic and human thoughts, feelings—memories. Human memories are the first things to go in a Fae body. Memories fell through his mind like bread crumbs through a colander. He was only left with vague clumps of what was once his life. Scotland and its moors stayed and so did catching toads for some odd reason, but other smaller, fine-tuned—more precious memories—could not be retained in his body. Many pure Fae who were already born of magic blood did not suffer this loss called it a blessing. Many of the impure Fae, born of human blood, called it a curse. Remembering your past self was like remembering a ghost. It's faint and gone but not entirely. It's haunting and mocking and follows you around like a shadow.

Now, what was it that human males liked again? Obviously, they don't like time freezing up on them. Elsie just recently taught him that. Which should have been a given, but alas it has been three thousand years, and he was running out of time to acquaint himself properly with human etiquette. His excuse was legitimate just as it was stupidly foolish.

Human males like…bread. Yes, they love bread. They live for bread. They practically eat it every day! It was a staple for living, Rowan reasoned. They even have those, ugh, iron rectangular boxes dedicated for making bread—ovens! They are called ovens! Rowan smiled to himself, proudly. He was remembering so much about the human existence already.

He probably remembered eating some peculiar creation called bread at one point during his short mortal life. Humans in general also cry a lot. But Rowan doubted that him, a prince of such a high caliber, was infallible and incapable of crying even in a lowly mortal state (how wrong he was about that and many other human things) To him, when humans cried, they sounded like squealing piglets. He decided that he would go with the bread option.

"Hello little girl, don't mind me. I was just eating some delicious, oven-made bread." Rowan said as Frances looked at the empty spots of grass besides him. There was no bread in sight. Rowan coughed. "I ate it all."

"Are you a fairy?" Frances asked, immediately. Her voice calm, yet curious.

Rowan internally cursed himself. Human children were smarter than he was led on about. Maybe if he mentioned eating bread with butter, he would have sounded more convincing. "What? Who me? I am just your typical human male who enjoys eating bread, with butter, and complaining about majority of useless things that are out of my control."

Frances didn't look convinced. She eyed Rowan from the tip of his head to the bottom of his scuffed shoes. She narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows, "You don't look like a fairy." She looked at him again. He was way to big to be a fairy too. Plus it looked like he wore the same shoe size as her father, and as fair as France knew, fairies don't have troll sized feet.

Rowan looked taken back. What does she mean he doesn't look like a fairy? He was as real as they come! He is a Fae prince! If Rowan had enough magic in his system, he would turn this little girl into a chestnut and toss her to the squirrels from that incredibly rude comment! "Now now now, this notion of fairies you speak of, which I am obviously not," he added to clarify his obvious lie, "does not conform to this stereotypical image you see in the mainstream media carrying to the dimwitted masses. Why, if I were a fairy which you speak of, which I obviously am not, and found your remark to be rude and indecent and if I were a fairy, which if I do say so myself I am as human as they come, then I would turn you into a piglet, roast you over a fire and serve you up for supper with a cup of tea. If I were a fairy, that is."

"Which you are not?"

"Of course."

Frances pointed. "If you are a fairy then where are your wings?"

"Wait. I thought we went over this already—"

"All fairies are supposed to have wings, so they can fly. What kind of fairy are you if you cannot fly?"

Rowan help up his hand, his voice was bubbling with a strong opinion and it was about to burst. "Firstly. Fairies don't have wings. Only the highest of Fae can transform into beasts of flight. With wings. But regularly, I have never seen such a thing in my life on any other their backs—"

"You've seen fairies?" Frances' eyes widened in anticipation.

Rowan was quick to correct himself. "No, what I meant to say is that the concept of fairies with wings is a man-made conception, and from historically accurate texts that date back far before you were born," which Frances believed to be more than ten years ago. Ancient times. "Fairies have never shown to exhibit butterfly or dragonfly wings that humans—eh, us people—always portray them to have. Secondly, the term 'fairy' is nothing more than common slang used to group many creatures together for the sake of simplicity. You can just so easily call a boggart, a sprite, or a changeling a fairy and it wouldn't make so much of a difference to you, now would it. But there is a difference. There is a difference between all these creatures right down to their blood. Just as there is a clear distinction between dogs, cats, and humans. Do you address a dog how you would address a person, child?"

Frances nodded. "Sometimes." Just yesterday she was reading a picture book about ducks to the ducks in Cottingley river. She wanted the ducks to know about the great stories of other brave and adventurous ducks. The ducks in Cottingley were shy and meek, but beautiful all the same.

Rowan paused. Really, is that how animals work here? Back at court, one of his advisors is a peacock, who was very intelligent and taught Rowan how to use the basics of transformation magic. As far as Rowan's research about human realm animals go, none of them speak any of the popular languages, pursue an education beyond primary school, or take part in government parties. Just a few days ago, Rowan witnessed a dog refusing to herd sheep for the farmer it worked for and Rowan thought that the dog was on going on strike! Retaliating against the cruel labor system forced upon it by mankind! But then Rowan realized that the dog was just old and sleepy and did not have any political or social agendas to fight for. Frances saw that Rowan was slow to answer and instead he purposely neglected to answer this own question altogether. "Never mind, but the fairies to which you are referring to are called the Fae Folk. Now, this is just my opinion, but they prefer to be called that much more than fairies." He said the last word distastefully.

Frances rested her chin in her hand as she leaned over a rock covered with moss. Her golden locks spooled over her shoulder. Light bounced off his rosy cheeks. A butterfly made its way into the clearing, appearing and disappearing with every flap of its wings. "For someone who claims to not be a fairy, you sure know a lot about them."

"I read."

"You know more than my sister does and she knows everything there is to know about fairies—"

"Fae Folk." Rowan intervened.

Frances didn't care.

"She obviously appreciates true culture when she sees it."

Frances was silent for a moment. "Then what was the little boy?"

Rowan spoke softly and blinked. "Pardon?"

She giggled, "The little boy with hooves for feet. He made a cloppity-clop sound whenever he jumped around." Frances proceeded to reenact the segment of Theriot jumping around Rowan and feigned a clopping sound with her mouth. She captured Theriot's performance perfectly, all without Theriot's insidious wails, which Rowan appreciated greatly.

"Yes, yes, yes. He makes clopping sounds. You may stop now."

"Elsie told me that fairy royalty—"

"Fae Folk royalty." Rowan corrected.

Frances didn't listen. "—Keep fauns as servants. That boy was a faun, wasn't he?"

"Those were his…shoes." Rowan said slowly. "Very heavy, horse like, shoes." His lying needed work.

"I'd love to meet your faun!" Frances proceeded to jump around like Theriot.

Rowan mumbled. This little girl knows too much. Sure, a lot of what she knew was jargon from the media, but a smallest portion of Rowan appreciated her enthusiasm for his culture. A lot of what she knew came from Elsie—

Elsie.

Rowan narrowed his eyes into emerald slits. The summer solstice is quickly approaching and so is his deadline to find a bride to marry. His deadline to inherit the throne and to save his brother. If Elsie declined his extremely polite and non-invasive marriage proposal, then he was going to have to come up with a different proposal. One where she will have no other choice than to say yes.

Rowan smiled. The wind began to stir. And music began to play. Frances looked up into the trees and watched the branches dance along to the melody of a tin whistle.

She did not notice the seed Rowan dropped on her head. She did not notice the gust of wind to sweep past her face. She did not notice Rowan disappear entirely until the music began to fade into nothing. Until the melody was replaced with the song of the trees.

Frances blinked. She looked around the clearing for the fairy who claimed to not be a fairy, but who obviously was a fairy. He couldn't fool her. No matter how many times he talked about loving bread. Frances stepped over the moss ridden logs watched the sunlight shimmer in the spring emerging from the tall oak tree. There was only her and the rustling of the little stream. Frances smiled from ear to ear. She spotted a fairy—oh, she spotted one of the Fae Folk. She quickly ran back to the manor, all the while not noticing the little seed placed on her head sink further and further beneath her golden curls. Finally to disappear within them.

The wind dropped Rowan onto plain of a wild grass. Stuck between tall trees with everlasting green vines. Song birds chirped noisily from Rowan's sudden appearance.

Rowan breathed heavily as he slowly stood up. Feeling the pain resonate throughout his body. He fell. The wind carried the leaves and spiraled into a beautiful spring vortex. And in the middle of that vortex was a woman. Supple and willowy. Her hair was the wind and her eyes reflected the sky. Her body was the clouds. Her voice the rustle of the leaves.

Obelia. Sprite of the wind.

Obelia was one of the many sprites that fled the Fae realm to live in the human realm. Sprites are the only creatures who can freely pass through the celestial gate, locked to all other creatures including the Fae. Rowan needed the key to cross the gate and a lot of permission from his high court advisors. Obelia only needed herself. She was free as the wind.

"Thank you, Obelia." Rowan winced.

The wind sprite stayed silent. Finally, she answered. "What are you fighting for, little prince?"

Rowan looked up at her with his emerald eyes. To save my brother. To save my people.

"You need not answer. Only think of it in your mind."

"My being here is obvious. I only have until the summer solstice to find a bride and become king."

"A bride you shall find. A king you shall become." Obelia lulled. Her voice lowered. "But the fighting will never end. The wind tells me such things."

Rowan tensed. "What do you mean?"

"The clash between your kind will not cease when you marry your human bride. No matter how you think it will meld the tensions between, how you call them, pure and impure Fae. I taught—I nurtured—the first-born Fae that fell from the stars. Taught them the magic of the wind and sky. All are precious to me. All are equal to me, but you all seem to think some Fae are more equal than others. The stars love all. Equally. The day when the Fae Folk realize that is the day I shall return to the Otherworld. Farewell, prince."

A gust of wind-swept past Rowan. A trail of fallen leaves followed behind her. Then Obelia disappeared. Leaving Rowan alone.

He turned around and called out a spell and the vines moved for him. Revealing a small cottage. Paint was chipped. The windowsills cracked. The roof curved like a branch covered with snow. But the chimney let out a warm, black smoke. Theriot must be inside making tea.

The doors opened on their own for Rowan. And the door closed behind him just the same. The stools moved out of their way and pillows piled high in the sofa for Rowan to rest. He slouched down on the sofa with a sigh of relief as a tea cup and saucer floated by his side, pouring itself a cup of tea. Rowan closed his eyes as a cube of sugar, then two, plopped happily into his tea. A spoon stirred the mixture, clicking against the glass. He grabbed the cup in midair and sipped the tea, slouching back against the pillows. What a day. First, he got rejected by the girl who absolutely abhorred him, that Tommy Hopkins boy who he enchanted to kill Ciel Phantomhive failed to do just that and managed to get shot himself, and then he battled and lost to a demon of all things. Rowan let a moan of aggravation. Nothing ever happens the way he plans it to.

Theriot hobbled to Rowan's side holding a saucer of sugar dusted scones and a mug of honey dripped milk in his hands. "I made them for you, especially." Theriot smiled a toothy grin.

"I'm not hungry." Rowan turned on his side away from Theriot.

Just then, Rowan could almost feel Theriot's frown seeping through his back. Smacking itself against his heart. And he most certainly could hear the whimpers of little Theriot permeating through his ears. The smell of the scones reached his nose, delightfully, and he turned towards Theriot and began to eat them. The succulent, sweet bread practically melted in his mouth and the sugar tingled against the inside of his cheeks.

Theriot beamed like a thousand suns. "Do you like them?"

"They're delicious." Rowan gobbled down another scone and gestured for Theriot to take one too. Theriot jumped into a stool and nibbled on a scone.

"I notified the advisors." Theriot said in between bites. "And they aren't happy."

Rowan groaned into a pillow. "Those old bastards don't know how hard it is to find a bribe and they expect me to find one before the summer solstice begins. They're insane all of them."

Theriot had a suggestion. "Wouldn't it be easier if you married one of the high court ladies? One of them is bound to say yes."

Rowan's face was planted in his pillow. The prince to the Otherworld was currently being a dramatic pain in the arse. He swirled his wrist in the air, lethargically. "It's complicated, Theriot."

"You're not ugly, so it shouldn't be that complicated."

Rowan sat up at that back handed compliment. "Theriot. I must marry a human girl. Marrying some pompous and stuck up noblewoman from court isn't what Arawn wanted for me." Not only that, but Rowan wanted to prove to all those stuck-up pure Fae that he, an impure can sit on the throne with a human bride and rule the Otherworld together. "Are my advisors preparing the holy well?"

Theriot nodded. "Yup! Your advisors said the holy well will be ready by the beginning of the summer solstice."

"Excellent." Rowan stirred his cup of tea. Once Elsie agrees to become his bride (by which he has yet another brilliant plan up his sleeve) he will take Elsie back to the Otherworld. Once he sticks it to the nobles that Elsie is more perfect that any lady in court, she will drink the water from the well at their wedding ceremony.

And become one of the Fae Folk herself.

Too impure Fae on the throne.

The sugar dusted scones weren't the only things making him smile.

"Ah." Elsie moaned as light passed through the clear glass windows. White laced curtains drifted through along the wind, coming through the open windows. She slowly opened her eyes. Black lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

Those curtains were not hers. Neither was this room. The mahogany crafted furniture and vanities did not belong to anyone in her home. The felt the sheets beneath her form, so soft and supple. This was not her bed either. Her eyes shot open, fully alert, as a pair of hands touched her forehead. Elsie grabbed the hand of the maid with saucer sized glasses.

The maid, Mey-rin, mumbled. "Do forgive me miss, but I was only checking your temperature. The young master found you unconscious in the woods and heaven forbid you caught some abrupt sickness. You were cold as ice while you were asleep."

Elsie gently released her hand and towards her chest. "What I fainted? But, I, don't remember." Suddenly, her mind relapsed like a cinematic record. She did remember. There was a May Day celebration and there she met a strange man named Rowan who stopped time and proposed to her and—he was prince to a land called the Otherworld. He was magic.

"I think you do."

Elsie turned her head and there was Ciel standing in the middle of the doorway, arms crossed. Only knocking once on the door. He gestured for Mey-rin to leave, and she did.

Elsie shot up from bed and was instantly met with a wave of pain pulsing against her skull. Ciel ran up to her bedside and held her hand with his other against her back. He spoke softly. "Rest, my dear."

"Ciel." Elsie whispered as he set her head gently unto the pillow. Then she remembered another delightful fact. Ciel was engaged to another and he still had the gall to kiss her beneath the weeping willow tree. Passionately, even. "I'm still angry with you."

"I know. You can be angry with me all you want. But rest for now."

The light from the sun shined on top of Ciel's. Illuminating individual strands of sapphires. He was radiant—Elsie turned her head away from him. "How could you." She mumbled.

"Hm? How could I what?" Worry struck his voice. "If you don't find this room to your liking, I'll move you to another." He turned his head towards the door, willing to call Mey-rin.

"Not that." Elsie said. Her eyes glistened with water. She desperately tried to hold in her tears. Finally, she looked at him. Dead in the eyes. "How could you make me fall in love with you? Was this all a game to you? Did you feel the same for me as I did you? Tell me."

Ciel's heart split in half just as ice cracks with sudden heat. He dropped unto his knees and held her hand in his own. His hands tightly covering her own. His skin warm against her cold fingers. "It was never a game. It never was. You're the only one who I love, and I meant every word—"

"Don't." Elsie pulled her hand away. Her voice barely a whisper.

"Every word." His voice softened. "I want to be only with you. I want to know you, what makes you happy, what makes you laugh, what makes you incredibly pissed off at me."

"You know that one very well." Elsie retorted.

"You're the only one I want to see, to be with, there is no other. There is only you." He reached for her hand again, and this time she did not hesitate to pull away. He held her hand and pressed his lips against her skin. She felt warmer this time. "There is only you."

Elsie felt a blush rushing up her neck. "Ciel—"

"Oi, young master." A gruff man with shaggy blonde hair stood in the doorway. Bardroy, the chef of the estate, stood tall with a mallet slung over his shoulder and a toothpick sticking out from his mouth. The toothpick bobbed up and down as he spoke. "Sorry to interrupt, but I took care of that Tommy boy just like you told me too. Poor lad didn't have anything left in him." He tossed the mallet up and down in his hand.

All color faded from Ciel's face. Even more so from Elsie, she looked pale as a ghost.

Elsie turned to Ciel. Eyes narrowing on him like a hawk closing in on a rabbit.

"Allow me to explain before rushing to conclusions—"

Bardroy didn't think to stop talking. "And that gunshot wound was pretty nasty, in my opinion. Oh, pardon me." He wiped the blood off his hands on his white apron. Creating an unsightly streak of iron red. "That's not going to come out." Bardroy mumbled.

A gunshot wound! Blood! What happened when Elsie was out cold? "WHAT DID YOU DO TO TOMMY!?" Elsie demanded. "WHERE IS HE?!"

"Why, he's in the cellar." Bardroy stated, simply. "I can take you to him if you want."

In the cellar! Oh, they obviously mean their torture chamber. Elsie didn't just fall in love with a two-timing noble, but she also fell in love with a psychopath. Maybe she should really become a nun. The convents don't deal with these kinds of problems. Elsie shot out of bed regardless of her own pain. "Take me to him."

Still, her body struggled to lift her out.

Ciel tried to balance Elsie, but she refused to be helped. Instead, she fell with him in his arms. The sheets were a hazardous mess and the white blanket tangled between Elsie's legs. The wooden floor was beneath them, warm from soaking in the sunlight. Now she laid on top of Ciel, their faces millimeters apart.

Heels clicked throughout the corridor. Practically prancing. The echoes reached Ciel and at that moment he thought that nothing worse could possibly happen.

That is, until Elizabeth Midford, daughter of the Leader of the British Knights, Marquess Alexis Leon Midford, fiancé to the Queen's Watchdog, stood between the doorway next to the chef with the bloody apron and mallet slung over his shoulder. Elizabeth's eyes popped as she saw Ciel underneath Elsie. The color drained from her face when she saw Elsie's legs straddling Ciel's hips. Her soul left her body as she saw how flushed in complexion those two were. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. First, it was the German girl and now it's the one who cries fairies.

"Elizabeth!" Ciel exclaimed, shocked.

Elsie's face flashed a bright red. So this was Elizabeth Midford! This wasn't how Elsie wanted to make her first impression! She remembered all the things she wanted to tell Elizabeth, how Ciel played a game with Elsie's heart, but the way things look now, so close to her fiancé (literally on his hips)—didn't someone mention that Elizabeth was the daughter of the Leader of the British Knights—and that she is a master with the sword? Elsie gulped. She quickly reasoned that she wouldn't live long enough to see Tommy, or that she will be imprisoned along with him in the cellar of the Phantomhive manor.

Elizabeth straightened her back and folded her white gloved hands together. Her eyes narrowed and her voice lowered. "Well, this is perfect timing. I came here to talk about our engagement anyway. I want to call it off."

"Young Master, afternoon tea is ready," Sebastian said as he rolled in a silver cart into the disastrous bedroom. Filled with a fiancé standing in front of her betrothed with another on his hips and a chef with a bloody apron and a mallet that implied that he did a lot of questionable things to stain his hands red. Sebastian looked down at the silver cart with tea pots and cups and light snacks. He reasoned that he didn't need to bring the tea, considering it was already here. Piping hot, too.

The sunset sunk below the Sea of Crusoe. Leaving the world above only to be illuminated by the stars in the midnight sky. Colors of indigo, wine, and black bleed into the other. White stars and their shimmering tails danced amongst that cacophony of color.

Still, Arawn and Rowan walked hand in hand on their way home to the castle. Hoods shrouded their heads, in fear of being recognized. Even these dark hours.

Rowan tripped over an uplifted root.

Arawn whispered, his starlight hair hidden beneath his hood. "Remember the chant we sung under the mountain?"

Rowan nodded. "That's the first spell I ever learned. I could never forget it. You taught it to me."

Arawn smiled. He held out his hand and waited for Rowan to hold onto it.

Rowan did.

Together they sung an enchantment to light up the dark night. Humming to the thrum of the cicadas singing in the forest:

"The moon pleads to the sun to rise again.

To light the world.

The night too long to wait till morning.

The animals too cold, not even the bears are snoring.

The clever fox lights a pine.

Sends the forest roaring.

Sends the winds moaning.

The fire is red. The flames spread.

The trees are torches, blazed with life."

They sung that enchantment together as fire burned in their joined hands. It was burning bright and the light guided the path ahead.

Arawn was taller than Rowan, older than him by a few hundred years too. But if they were to be compared to human children, one would guess that they around the ages of twelve and nine, respectively. Rowan has already lived 75 years as one of the Fae. He was adopted into the royal family by Arawn's request. He was the human born prince, a name which many of the upper-class Fae called him, mockery hidden behind their twisted smiles. Rowan excelled in his studies and progressed faster than any of the other Fae born children his age and older. But the court members only seemed to care about, and remember, his impure blood that stained the royal court.

Arawn looked down at Rowan and smiled upon him with a brotherly gaze. Then his smile faltered, slowly. Rowan's transition—his human death and Fae birth—are never painless.

"Are you happy here?" Arawn asked.

The light of the flames flickered off Rowan's cheeks. His smile was bright like the enchanted fire they created together. "With you, I am always happy."

Red began to swarm at their feet.

"Stop." Arawn called. He held the flame closer to the ground and examined the red entrails left there. Rose petals.

Rose petals that lead in a village not far from where they currently are.

"Arawn." Rowan looked at his brother, confused.

"Not another village." Arawn spoke under his breath, then he spoke louder to his brother. "We need to get away from here. Don't step on the petals. Watch out for the seeds. Cover your mouth."

"Can I still breath?" Rowan joked, as he looked warily at the ground. Avoiding the rose petals like Arawn told him to. What was so dangerous about these red rose petals anyway?

They turned around and head back the way they came.

Rowan spoke. "Arawn, why can't we cross through the village to get back to the castle? Any other way is too long."

"I'm sorry, Rowan, but we can't cross through that village." Arawn's gaze constantly fell upon the ground, eyeing the empty spots free from rose petals. Avoiding rose petals at all costs. "That village is infected with the plague."

After Frances had an encounter with one of the Fae, she decided to run back to the Phantomhive manor. She made it past the forest, and she could hear Finnian calling her name. How concerned he sounded trying to find her. Frances reasoned that it was rude of her to, eh, ditch the gardener whilst he was planning tulips and turnips side by side each other.

Her throat began to tighten.

Her breath became short.

She instantly started coughing. And when she held her hands in front of her mouth, fear that she would cough up blood again. Her eyes widened.

She coughed up a single rose petal. Red as blood.

Replies to reviewers:

BBFan: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEW! XD I LOVED READING IT! I'm so happy you enjoyed the roller coaster, Elsie's stance against Rowan, Sebastian's form, Rowan's fight against Sebastian (when you said it was intense, I felt like I accomplished something haha), Theriot, and your bad feeling about Rowan's interaction with Frances was correct *evil laugh* but im pleased that you sympathize with him too! He's creating all of this mayhem to save his brother, but unfortunately it sucks for everyone else haha i love love-hate relationships with villains and I hope that is something I can accomplish XD good question about sphere music hall! I hope i can surprise y'all with that I have planned, although my interpretation will kind of differ from the manga haha THANK YOU AGAIN and I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter too :)

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think pretty please XD

Firstly, I want to apologize for not updating in so, so long. Last semester of school was really stressful and i'm taking biochem this semester and now I have to memorize all 20 amino acids by Monday (woohoo!) welp lol but enough about that! I hope you guys liked reading this chapter and the FLASH BACK scenes between Arawn and Rowan when they were kids, and the introduction of the sickness that affected Arawn, and the Fae world on top of that! TBH I had lots of fun writing them and there will definitely be more flashbacks later on too! Elizabeth finally made her appearance! (short though lol)

Also! Even if I don't update the story frequently, i'm very active on tumblr! my main blog is 'Oooodlesofnooodles' and my story blog dedicated to the fic is 'Aroseforelsie,' all the info is on my profile page. On my story blog I reblog lots of characters aesthetics for Elsie, Ciel, Tommy, and even for characters that have yet to appear in the fic, such as Meteora (a fae princess) and Pierre (a demon XD)

So again, I'm sorry for the inactivity, but please let me know what you thought about the chapter, it motives me to write so, so much.

See you guys next time! Bye!