Disclaimer: Thank Craig Mccraken. I don't - nor will I ever - own the Powerpuff Girls.
~ Chapter 26 ~
Cracks
"Here you go, madam!" Her eyes sparkled like moonlight on water.
"Don't worry, we're here to help!" Her lips were the color of plump strawberries.
"Oh, no, it was all his idea!" Her hair shone brighter than the sun.
"Boomer!"
He blinked, crinkled eyes and wide smile faltering. She was so beautiful, all his daydreams scattered.
Bubbles, his bright, brilliant star in the darkness of the night, rested her hand on his shoulder. The touch was lighter than the flap of a butterfly's wings, but his insides melted into warm, sweet honey.
"Isn't this wonderful?" She exclaimed, cheeks rosy with pride. His smile returned.
"You know, my sister, Blossom, does this kind of stuff, too." He clung to her every word. "She builds schools and shelters and finds jobs for people and does everything. She's the—she's absolutely amazing! I wish I could be like her."
Her perfection was overwhelming. The wind giggled at his flushed face. He fumbled for a response. A witty, charming response. "You…"
Before he could awe her with his unrivaled flirting skills, she grabbed his hand, sending hot shivers up his spine.
"We could do that too! We should! It would be better than wonderful!"
The coulds and shoulds and woulds jumbled his thoughts. "What?"
Bubbles' beam stretched from pigtail to pigtail. "Help these people! Rebuild their houses! Send their children to school! Make soup!"
His world slowed down. Her eyes were a brilliant baby blue. Well, they could be sky blue. Or ocean blue. He wasn't very good with colors. But it didn't matter what the exact shade was. They were the most stunning pair of eyes he'd ever seen.
But those words. Those haunting words. Help those people. As if he wasn't already. He knew she meant well. She was as kind hearted as they came; she wouldn't have said it to insult him.
He stared at her, feeling the anger build up inside his chest.
"I'm already helping them."
She blinked, breaking their eye contact. "I know. Sorry. I meant, we could, um, help them in another way."
"You mean a better way." Boomer tried to bite back his scowl. "A better way. A better plan. A better person. You."
"Me?"
"You. You're a better person than me."
The corners of her mouth stiffened. He wanted to take back his words immediately.
"I'm-I'm not. You don't know…" Her eyes flew to the ground. "I'm not as nice as you think I am. You're amazing, Boomer. I just wanted…"
The sky came crashing down on him. He'd made her upset.
"No, no. You're right. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. You're right. It's a good plan. Let's start working on it next week, okay?"
Her voice was small. "Ok. I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
The air: asleep; the walls: warped. Down and down and down they descended. The flames of his torch barely flickered as their shadows moved silently, accompanied only by the quiet click of shoe against stone.
Blossom wasn't sure what she was doing here. She could feel the darkness sticking to her skin and she didn't like it. She shouldn't be here.
But she was. And all she could do to keep herself from sprinting back up the stairs was stare at the back of Brick's head and focus on his breathing to remind herself she was not alone.
Her hand still tingled from slapping him earlier. Why had she done that? It was so inappropriate and uncalled for and rude. If she stepped a bit to the right, she could see the red welt on his cheek.
And his red eyes.
She quickly stepped back in line.
Why he hadn't thrown her out of the castle and called off the engagement was beyond her. Maybe that slap had caused brain damage. Maybe she gave him amnesia. No.
Blossom shook her head. That wasn't possible. But then why was he still here?
Thoughts of being murdered in the dark passage surfaced. An elaborate plan to destroy Selodia. Maybe Brick has planted the book and the key. Paranoia shook her, and she felt goosebumps rise.
She rubbed her arms.
Brick stopped.
"We're here."
Before them loomed a pair of giant steel doors. Engraved on either side was a rearing stag, their antlers branching off into trees.
"Ad sepulcrum incognita," Brick muttered, pointing to the gold plated words resting above the stags. "tomb of the unexplained."
Blossom stepped closer, tracing her fingers over the lock between the chests of the two beasts. She pulled out the golden key she had found.
Brick's narrowed gaze was on her; she could feel it burning through the side of her skull. She regretted slapping him so, so much.
She inserted the key and turned. The doors groaned, swinging open by themselves. Blossom jumped back in surprise. An ill-masked snicker erupted from his mouth.
A scowl was issued. A smirk returned.
"C'mon," she grumbled, grabbing the torch from his hand. "Let's see what secrets Gadrea has been hiding."
This. Brick could feel the spiders crawling up his back, down his throat, into his chest. This. The darkness of the "tomb" snuffed out all light. This. Whatever this was, he knew it could not be easily forgotten or ignored.
The light of the torch didn't seem to reach the walls. It became a feeble flicker, barely illuminating her face. Her big doe eyes were wide, he noticed. Wider than usual.
He could feel her breath, her warmth, down in this buried, hidden room. She didn't touch him, but her bare shoulders still managed to create a burning sensation in his chest. Burning.
Like his cheek only minutes before. The pain had dulled to a faint throb, but he could still see her eyes, flashing pink with anger.
It made him uncomfortable inside, created a writhing ball of fear, hate, and desire—or whatever you called it
"Wait," she whispered, turning to face a wall. "Come here for a moment."
One of his fingers twitched, but his feet lifted on their own, and he found himself holding the torch outstretched towards a panel of black.
The flame shivered.
He watched her squint her eyes, still blinking to adjust to the darkness. She reached a hand out, and he had to bite back a scowl.
The tips of her perfectly manicured nails brushed something solid, scraping gently. Brick felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
She bristled, but gathered her composure quickly, motioning for him to bring the light closer. He opened his mouth, desperate to offer some sort of snark commentary, but when the soft glow touched the worn leather binding, his breath was stolen.
"What is this?"
Those three words, as feeble as they were, bounced from wall to wall, and this, this, this, rang harsh and loud, a twisted echo of her soft murmur.
"I—I don't… know?" He silently cursed himself for letting uneasiness and uncertainty taint his words.
Blossom dared a flicker of glance at him, her eyes shifting just the tiniest bit to match his. Brick fought the urge to grab her hand and pull her away from the shelf. He didn't trust anything in Him's ancient castle.
She stiffened a bit and with a quick, almost forced motion, yanked the tome her fingers were laid upon from its nook. As she ran her hand over its faded cover, he realized his shoulders were taut, and readjusted his posture in a hopefully discreet manner.
"Hey, don't—" Brick spat hastily when she began to thumb through its pages, and he thought he felt the briefest sensation of panic at her lack of caution, before reminding himself that it was more likely disgust or anger.
She ignored him.
Brick tensed as irritation flashed through him. He extended his hand out to snatch away the volume, but a quick turn of her shoulders halted him. The flames illuminated her soft pink irises.
There was a terse silence. He drank in her milky white skin and the liquid ember hair which dripped over it. She began to turn the pages, faster and faster and faster, her gaze flitting across each word, her breathing becoming shallow.
"... I don't believe it," Blossom murmured, almost too quiet to hear.
"You don't believe what?"
"Just, look at this…" She tentatively handed the book over to him and when he didn't take it from her, her brows lifted. "What's wrong?"
He felt red hot at her words. The seething rage which had dominated him most of his life came rushing back, like a gust of desert wind. What's wrong? How dare she have the audacity to imply that she was unaware of the sick, imminent "wrongness" this entire situation was infected with.
He shot a glare at her, the darkest, most hate-filled one he could muster. "You must be joking."
Blossom sighed, one he immediately recognized as condescending. "Alright, I understand this might not be the way you imagined your Christmas—"
"I don't give a shit about my Christmas." He snarled. "I give a shit about you barging into my castle without permission. I give a shit about having to participate in a stupid children's game of tag as you invade every inch of my home's privacy. I give a shit about us being in a secret underground library with undocumented—probably illegal—books!"
Her lower lip quivered, just the slightest, he noticed, before she composed herself. She stared at him, unmoving, with a certain glimmer in her eyes.
"Do. Not. Ask. What's. Wrong. When. Everything. Is. Wrong."
"You finished?" Her voice had a lofty tone, a tone which only made his skin grow hotter.
"No, I'm not finished! You can't do this! You can't come here and do all of this—" he was vaguely aware of how frantic he sounded, "and just expect me to be fine with it! Who even are you? A goddamn engagement does not give you the right to do whatever you please!"
"Okay."
"What do you mean, 'okay?' You have to leave. Right now. I can't deal with this anymore." He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He heard her shuffle her feet and felt the gentle air of flipping pages.
"It hasn't been easy for me either, you know?" At her words, Brick opened his eyes and met her pink gaze. They were still the same blazing shade of rouge as before, but now had a tint of soft rose, of sadness.
"Then why are you still here?" He couldn't keep the shrill tone from entering his voice. "It's been so, excruciatingly, disgustingly hard, so why are you still here?"
"Because," she began, and her sadness deepened so much he swore it sucked the air from his lungs, "I love my kingdom."
Silence permeated the tomb as she stared into his eyes. He never thought that soft shade of pink could look so intense.
"I love my kingdom and I love my subjects and I love my father and I love my sisters and I love all the little things about my home," she continued, he words picking up pace as sadness became tinged with determination, "and I am sick of seeing my people and my family live in fear, plagued by worry and hopelessness."
He bit back a scoff, "You speak as if Selodia is in such dire—"
"But most of all, I am sick of seeing myself be in pain over this. I am so tired—because I work with such passion, because I love my home with such passion, because despite having every reason to despise you, I even care about you with such passion. Is it wrong to just want to be selfish?"
Again, silence. He couldn't finish his sentence. It didn't feel right to continue that train of thought, of mockery.
"I'm just so tired." He had to strain his ears to hear her words. It was almost as if she were afraid to admit it herself. "Aren't you?" She whispered."Aren't you tired, too?"
He was. He was so tired of everything. He'd been an unstoppable force since birth, and though he was still adamant about achieving his goals, he was unbearably tired. The difference, however, between him and Blossom, was that he was already selfish.
So he decided to keep being selfish.
"No." He said, albeit quieter than he had planned. "I don't care as much as you do—" Because I'm not kind, or loving, or empathetic, or soft, or gentle like you, "because I'm not naive."
He watched the flickering reflection of flame disappear from her eyes. He watched her face fall, her delicate features becoming slack, and felt what he guessed could only be the kind of pain she felt for her loved ones all the time. He watched her turn away from him.
"Oh. I suppose you're right." She ran her fingers over the spine of the book. "I guess I just—I don't know—I guess I just wanted to see if life could be more than that feeling. For me, at least."
The way her voice cracked just a tiny bit made him so angry. Not at her, but just angry. Perhaps at himself for what he said.
"You know, more than that overbearing responsibility. I thought that all this," she waved meekly at the shelves surrounding them, "might bring a little reprieve, a little magic."
It must've been the pathetic tone of her voice that made him let her continue her fantasy, let her stay in his castle. It must've been the way she folded in on herself, her shoulders sagging and head bowing, that prompted him to ask what he did. "What did the book say?"
"What?"
He sighed. "You said you didn't believe what the book said, so what did it say?"
lol its been a while found this while sifting through my google drive if yall still into it lmk i have some more chaps i wrote from way back when i might post. its been like 4 years tho haha i dunno if anyone's still following this
