The Origami Festival was to occur in several months time, and yet the craftsman had already completed the origami castle, with its ramparts, towers and battlements, all looming over a green landscape. It was already an impressive creation, one to delight both those with and without experience with crafting origami. The craftsman could have stopped there with his main piece and received much adulation.
But it was not enough, not for a master of origami such as himself.
A castle was unfit without a monarch to rule over. However, the folding of a miniature figure to sit atop the structure was still, again, not enough. Most people were tickled to see interesting origami, but the craftsman wanted to do more than that: he wanted everyone to understand truly how much of an art form origami was, to see the love and passion in each fold and crease and to come out of the festival with an admiration for what he held so dear.
And what better way to do that than to show the life that went into it?
The craftsman let out a sigh, smoothing out a failed piece as best as he could before setting it among the rest of the still crumpled paper, to be pressed back to perfection later. He had read that the Fold of Life technique was a difficult one, which only a couple other origamists had managed. Even more challenging was the craftsman's want to create a human, rather than an animal; not even those who had succeeded in the technique had crafted humans.
The craftsman grabbed another sheet of paper: a high-quality royal purple one, with one side a darker hue than the other. He then produced several colored pencils from a nearby metal case and set about coloring in what would be the hair. He already knew the design, knew where and when to fold. He just needed to feel it.
He set down a yellow pencil, looking down at the paper. Of course, at that moment, it was just a flat sheet. The art of origami was to transform it, after all. However, it felt as if it just... weren't special enough. It needed something else...
He tattooed his fingers against the table, trying to stimulate his mind. Coolness touched his fingertips. He peered down at the case of map pencils, still ajar. Without really thinking about it, he slipped a black pencil from it, holding it between his index and middle fingers as he stared down at his soon-to-be masterpiece.
It was considered taboo to write messages on one's origami, to mar the skin of such art. However, the craftsman wanted every single stage of his creation process to have care and love put into it, including the paper itself. In his neatest calligraphy, he carefully wrote his message, drawing in a period with a smile on his face. Next was the actually hard part...
He folded the paper: mountains, crimps, pleats––dozens upon dozens of precise movements, all culminating in the final product. Upon the craftsman's desk lay a young king (although without his crown), gazing up at the ceiling. But the stare was... lifeless. It was an amazing piece of origami, one that he had put all of his being into... and yet it hadn't been enough.
The craftsman offered himself a sad smile. Perhaps he wasn't as great of an origamist as he thought of himself as.
Still, it felt wrong to leave his work unfinished. Taking into his hands the yellow sheet of paper, he molded it quickly into a three-pointed crown and set it atop the origami kid. He was then truly a king.
The craftsman shifted his stool back, intending to head upstairs for a break, when a bright, golden light, like rays from the Sun, erupted forth from the origami child's chest. With wide eyes and mouth agape, the craftsman watched as it floated off from the desk into the air and began to spin. The light intensified, forcing the craftsman to place his arm over his eyes.
Then, a gentle crinkle sounded out in front of him. Slowly, he brought his arm away from, blinking as he turned to his desk. Similarly, his origami creation blinked at him.
The craftsman was speechless as it tried to pick itself up from its sitting position, its paper rustling with the movement. Its triangular arms wobbled before they gave out and it fell onto its face––or would have, had the craftsman not reached out. It fell onto his hands, turning its head to look at him.
He couldn't help the soft chuckles that poured out of him as his eyes warmed from sheer joy. "Look at you," he said, each word bursting with pride.
"'Loo' a' you,'" it––no, he repeated back.
The craftsman had no means of knowing what were to happen. While a select couple had managed to succeed in the Fold of Life, they had created animals: a dog, a cat, a bird––nothing that even resembled a person. It came as quite a shock to hear the attempt at words so quickly thrown back at him, and it even further came as a gradual surprise to see how fast of a learner his creation was. It took only a matter of days for him to string together simple sentences, like "Hello, good morning," and "I am Olly."
It was odd, watching the origami creation laugh and play about with crumpled up balls of scrap paper, cower in the corner when a thunder storm came rolling in and mess with his hair while looking in the mirror. He wasn't just alive, but sentient. Was it weird to be surprised by that? Maybe. It would have felt wrong to have someone who looked like a person yet wasn't.
Olly was a person. And that frightened the craftsman. He hadn't been prepared to care for someone.
The realization came to him one late afternoon, when he went to get Olly to bring him to bed. (Children were supposed to sleep early, after all, weren't they?) Olly was downstairs, sitting at the desk with a book opened in front of him. He had taken to reading pretty well, once he had learned how to.
"Olly," the craftsman called out, making him turn around in his chair. "It's time to go to bed."
Olly's shoulders drooped. "Can I stay up just a bit longer, Dad?"
The craftsman tensed, eyebrows raised as he stared at the child. "Where did you learn that word?"
Olly slightly tilted his whole body, his version of a head tilt. "What word?"
"'Dad,'" the craftsman repeated with a slight stutter.
"The storybooks."
The craftsman gulped, pushing down his shocked expression as he gave Olly a nervous smile. "Okay. Just a bit longer."
Olly's eyes folded in simple happiness before he returned to his book, allowing the craftsman to slip out of the room. He pressed his back against the door, placing his hand against his face.
When he was first introduced to the art of origami, he had to think carefully about each fold and crease, lest he ruin it completely or tear the paper. With time, however, it came naturally to him: a petal here, a valley there, a sink over there. He didn't think––he just did.
For his latest creation, however, he really wished he had thought it through.
One day, he noticed that Olly wasn't acting like himself. He drooped lower to the ground when he flew and he wasn't as peppy. "Is something wrong?" the craftsman asked him over breakfast, where Olly was poking at some eggs. (He ate, somehow. The craftsman wasn't sure if he needed to, but he seemed to like food, at least.)
Olly set down his fork and was silent for a moment. "Why don't I look like you?" he then asked.
The craftsman blinked. "Why do you think you need to look like me?"
Olly looked downward, fiddling with the hem of his robes. "In the books, the people are... flat. But I'm not flat. I feel like I've read every storybook on your shelves, but no one was like me."
The craftsman leaned back in his chair. He probably should have expected such a question, eventually. "Well... you're a––very special child."
Olly tilted himself. The craftsman continued, "What I mean is that... you used to be flat. A sheet of paper, in fact. But then I folded you into origami with so much care that you became alive."
Instead of soothing the kid's worries like the craftsman intended, Olly instead wilted. "I'm just a sheet? Like... scrap paper?"
The craftsman's eyes widened as he reached over, placing a reassuring hand on Olly's back. "No, no, no––you're not scrap paper, and you're not just a sheet of paper. That-That would be like saying the mountains are just rocks or the ocean is just water. There is so much more to them––to you––than just their parts."
Olly remained silent for a moment. Then, in a low tone, he asked, "...Are there others like me?"
"...As far as I know, no."
"I wish there was." Olly peered back up, looking away as if in thought. "Like... a sibling." He rustled as he turned to the craftsman. "Can you make me one? You made me, so you can make another one! Someone like me!"
The craftsman brought back his hand as if the child had spoken venom at him, even though Olly's tone had held nothing but earnest enthusiasm. "I––I-It took a lot from me to even make you, Olly. I'm not sure if I..."
He trailed off as he stared at Olly, who was looking up to him with such anticipation... The craftsman let out a sigh. "Listen. I'll begin drawing up a design. But I can't make any guarantees it will work."
Despite the growing horror he felt speaking those words, the gleeful cheer from Olly after made him feel just a bit better.
Once Olly had chewed his way through the storybooks, he only had the factual ones left, namely the ones over origami. At first, he was interested in reading them––after all, he was origami!––but once he began going through them, it left him feeling... off.
The books didn't speak of origami like something that was alive, but rather as an object. Something to be gawked at. A specimen. Olly couldn't help but imagine himself like a painting, trapped in a frame as others came and went.
Whenever his father talked about origami, he often called it "art." But if art meant being trapped, then Olly didn't want to be art. He would prefer to be a hero, like the stories he read, protecting the Toad citizens of the Mushroom Kingdom.
Despite his discomfort with the books, he pushed through it and went through a few of them. He wanted to be able to make origami like Dad did, so he could maybe help with making his sibling. His first try was a crane whose neck and wings were a bit crooked, but it delighted him nonetheless.
He brought it to his father, flying quick enough to make some scattered pieces of paper lift. "Look at what I made!"
Dad glanced over to him, up from the paper he was drawing on, only for his eyes to widen. "Goodness..." he breathed out, his face wrinkling as he smiled. He held his hands out, letting Olly deposit his creation into his palms.
"Olly, this is amazing!" Dad praised, looking up. "Is this your first attempt?" Olly nodded, making Dad laugh. "You're a prodigy!" Then, he leaned in, saying in a whisper, "You know, if you create a thousand origami cranes, they say you'll be granted a wish."
Olly's eyes broadened. "Really?"
"Yes." Dad leaned back in his seat. "A thousand cranes is a lot to fold, though, and very wasteful on paper––it's much easier to just wish to the stars." He tilted his head. "Unless it's a selfish or evil wish; the Star Spirits wouldn't grant such a desire. But never mind that. It's dinner time, right?"
He set the crane down as Olly canted his gaze to his father's drawing. "Is that me?"
"Ah, no. I'm... trying to make a design for your sibling. I've hit some art block, though."
Olly just hummed. Again, that word––"art." He would hope his sibling was more than just a piece to be framed; perhaps they, too, could be a hero alongside him?
"Dad, why can't I go out?"
The craftsman looked up from some yellow paper he was folding. "Huh?"
Olly flipped his hair, only for his bangs to fall right back onto his left eye. The craftsman thought it had to be annoying, but Olly had said no to getting his hair redone. "You say that I shouldn't go out yet, even though you do. Why can you but I can't?"
The craftsman let out a silent sigh, setting down what was in his hands. In truth, he wanted Olly to be a surprise when the festival finally arrived, and letting Olly wander about would surely get him seen by one person; and one person was all that was needed to get news spreading. "You see," he began, "there's the festival in a couple months' time that I want to take you to. So I'm waiting until then."
Olly shifted in the air. "Why do I have to wait until the festival?"
"Well... the festival is sort of for you," the craftsman explained. Olly rose a little into the air at his words, urging the craftsman to continue: "The attendants know that they're expecting origami of some sort, but they don't know what exactly. You're supposed to be a very special surprise."
"...Ah." Before the craftsman could ask if something was wrong, Olly tacked on, "Is that a crown you're folding?"
The craftsman picked up the origami piece, a two-pointed crown. "Yes. It's a prototype for your sibling's. I might actually settle down on this design, though."
Olly floated over, his eyes roaming over the desk. Yellow and orange paper littered the desk, alongside some scratch paper that had unsightly scrawls over it. "Are they nearly done?"
"...Nearly," the craftsman hesitated. "The design, that is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should get dinner ready." With a hum, Olly floated away, heading to the bookshelves while the craftsman headed upstairs.
Although the craftsman had grown to enjoy his time with Olly, watching him mature and learn, he still felt reluctant about creating another child to look over. He had never imagined himself in the position of a father, and he already felt pressured enough with Olly just confined to the house.
Nonetheless, the more he thought about it, the more appealing it seemed to be a family man. He just needed more time to get used to the idea.
A surprise. That was what he was supposed to be at the festival. A surprise. Although his father had called it "special," Olly didn't feel very special at all. He glanced with disgust at the origami castle sat in the middle of the table of the downstairs room, finally understanding its purpose. He was supposed to be its king, only it sounded like he should have been a jester instead.
He didn't want to go––not if he were meant as an exhibit.
Dad was done making dinner not long after, and Olly was sat across from him in his usual seat. Normally, the two would chat over food, but that day was an exception for Olly. Not much time passed until Dad set down his fork, a frown on his face. "Is something the matter?"
Olly's hand stilled.
"...Olly?"
Olly brought his hand down much too fast, creating a loud clang as his fork hit the table. "I can't go."
Dad quirked an eyebrow. "Go where?" Then realization filled his face. "The festival?"
"I refuse to go," Olly said, staring hard at his plate of food.
"...But why? I've gone ever since I was young, and it's always so much fun. Why, it gave me an appreciation for origami––"
"I don't want to go!" Olly's normally quiet voice boomed, filling the confines of the small room. Dad's eyes widened. "I don't want to be the center of attention!"
Dad just blinked, looking back down at his hands before back up at Olly. Then, he set them down, clutching onto the sides of the table, some strange emotion crossing his face. "Listen, Olly."
Olly canted his head up.
Dad hesitated, glancing at the table and then back up. "First, d-don't raise your voice at me. Okay? And second... I can understand feeling stage fright. That's very normal."
Olly straightened in his chair. "No, no, that's not what I meant." Dad tilted his head, urging Olly to continue. "I don't want to be art."
Dad reached over, patting Olly's hand. "But... you're origami. You are art. That's something really amazing and beautiful."
Olly frowned, shaking off Dad's hand. "I don't care."
A mixture of frustration and confusion twisted Dad's face. "What do you mean you 'don't care?'"
"I mean I don't care! I don't care if I'm origami!" He banged his hands against the table. "I want to be more than that!"
Dad raised his hands up in exasperation. "But you're already more! There's no one else like you! You're my greatest masterpiece!"
Olly flinched. Masterpiece––a most lauded artwork, sought after by collectors world-wide, to be shown to the masses if only to inspire pride in the artist.
Dad lowered his hands, his eyes broadening. "I––listen, you're-you're not just that to me. You're... you're not just art. You're––family."
Olly heard a chair creak, and when he peered up, Dad was by his side, an apology written on his face. "...I don't want to go," Olly repeated again in a whisper.
Dad was silent for a moment, opening and closing his mouth. "...You don't have to go," he finally said. He then engulfed Olly in a hug, which Olly tearfully returned.
A few days passed. Olly had by then read all the books on origami and had perfected his technique in crafting origami cranes. With each bird, he expected it to flutter its wings and fly about like a non-origami one. Olly swore his latest one did give its wings a slight flap before growing still. He didn't tell Dad about it.
He wasn't (at least really) mad at Dad––but he also wasn't happy with him. Olly wasn't sure how to feel other than bitter. At least he didn't have to go to the festival, but that then brought up the question of going outside. Where would he go, then? Did he even fit anywhere? Would he be able to go anywhere without being looked at, without being considered strange, without people oohing and aahing?
Out of boredom and a desire to keep his mind away from such thoughts, he rearranged the books on the shelves. With a frown and twinge of past frustration, he placed one book at the very top where his short, grounded father wouldn't be able to reach. He went to place another book up high as well, but underestimated its weight. It slipped out of his grip, falling right atop him. A grunt left him as he twisted in the air, forcing the book off of him and onto the floor with a dull thunk.
Olly let out a sigh. The book had snagged part of him on the way down, popping open the front of his robe. He didn't even know it could be opened––though that was much better than it being ripped. He grabbed the edge, intending to close it, only to catch something in his periphery. He craned his head forward.
Black scribbles that Olly couldn't decipher resided on his belly underneath the robe, and the longer Olly stared at them, the more entrenched the markings looked and felt. "You're not scrap paper," his father had said. Olly shook. "There is so much more to you," his father had said, lying between his teeth.
He wasn't scratch paper, and yet meaningless scrawls marred his surface, his being, since the moment he had opened his eyes and he hadn't even known until now. What else didn't he know? What else had his father lied to him about? What if he wasn't going to make him a sibling? What if he didn't see Olly as family? Olly called him Dad, and yet not once had he called Olly "son." The most Olly had gotten was being called family after a moment's hesitation during an apology.
Olly's purpose had to have always been to be the grand display of the festival. What would happen after, then? Would he be framed and given to the highest bidder? Yet who would want him, a creased and used-up piece of paper?
Olly closed his robe. He wanted––no, needed some explanations. Some part of him wanted to believe that he was wrong, that Dad had made him for some greater purpose, that the scribbles were... a mistake, somehow.
"Dad!" he called out. A beat later, he could hear footsteps descend down the stairs, and then the door opened, revealing the Toad.
Dad's face furrowed as he stepped in, closing the door behind him slowly. "...What's the matter? Is––"
"I need you to tell me the truth," Olly cut through.
Dad shut his mouth, seemingly a tad paler in the face. "About what?" he said eventually.
Olly sent a glare back at the castle. "This––The Origami Festival. Was that your reason for creating me?"
Dad fidgeted with his hands. "I mean, as an origamist, the Fold of Life as a technique––"
"That's not what I asked," Olly said, terse as he was trying to keep his anger checked.
After a moment of pause, Dad let out a sigh, dropping his hands. "Olly, I... Yes. That's why I made you."
Olly grew still as he lowered to the ground, several thoughts and emotions clashing at the same time. "Oh," he said, soft and yet deafeningly loud in the tense atmosphere of the room. "Oh. I see how it is."
The craftsman took a step forward, raising a hand toward Olly. "I'm––"
Olly shot up back into the air like a rocket, fuming scarlet in the face. "That's all I ever was to you!"
The craftsman brought his hand back as if he had touched fire, although at the moment, it appeared he had just stoked it. "Olly––!"
"You made me just so you could receive praise!" He jabbed his hand in the craftsman's direction as the Toad stared on wide-eyed. "Just so you could be called the best! Just so you could brag!"
Despite the utter shock weighing upon him, the craftsman pushed through it all, taking another step closer. "Listen––"
Olly opened the front of his robe, pointing at the squiggles on his stomach. "You used scratch paper to make me and then had the gall to lie right to my face about it!"
The craftsman recognized the scribbles as calligraphy, but his panicked mind wouldn't allow him to decipher the script or recall what the message was. "You're not––"
Olly closed his robe. "You never wanted a family! You've been putting off creating my sibling for ages because you only need me as your spectacle!"
"You are family to me!" the craftsman protested, placing his hands on his chest.
Olly's face warped in that way that made it clear he was fighting back tears. "You only called me family during your apology! You've never called me your son!"
Any other words that might have been on the craftsman's tongue died then, as his mouth dried up and his gaze drifted down to the side.
Olly's eyes hardened at the silence. "That's what I thought."
Olly moved, intending to head upstairs and finally leave the house. Where he would go from there, he didn't know; anywhere was better than in that room.
As he passed by the craftsman, however, the Toad reached up, regret etched on his face, although to Olly it only looked pathetic. "I was starting to get used to the idea of being a father," the craftsman said. "I just..."
The words were all that were needed to finally push Olly off the edge. He turned with utter venom in his eyes as squalling suddenly filled the room. The dozens upon dozens of origami cranes trembled alive as the craftsman whipped his head about. Then, the cranes began to fly.
The craftsman was forced to cover his face with his arms as he was dive-bombed, nicks and cuts appearing on his skin and clothes as the cranes attacked. His back eventually hit the wall, and he dared to lower his defenses to take a peek. Olly floated in front of him, purple origami arms held up high, with the cranes awaiting behind him. "Perhaps you should get a taste of what it's like to be art."
The craftsman could only gasp out a choked noise before he felt something drape onto his cap. He just had a moment to look up and see that it was a section of the wallpaper when origami hands gripped at his sides, forced him up into the air and slammed him onto the wall. His last sight was the ire-filled face of Olly before darkness overtook his vision.
With the wallpaper secured back on, Olly let out a shaky breath as he disengaged the crinkled arms, willing them back to their normal selves. He had read on the Thousand-Fold Arms technique, but he hadn't known that he was capable of the magic the cranes clearly displayed; he was just fueled by so much rage that his creations reacted to it.
He reached toward one of the cranes, allowing it to land onto his hand. He gently patted its head as it chirped. The crane wasn't a person, but it was still origami just like him. Perhaps he could create more origami creations...
His hand stilled. More origami, more beings like him so he wouldn't be so alone––it sounded amazing. He glanced over to the castle yet again as desire gleamed in his eyes. He would create a kingdom of origami. But what would he start with?
An idea bloomed in his mind. The crane flew off his hands as he went to the craftsman's desk, pulling open the top drawer. Therein rested the unfinished plans for his sibling.
Yellows, golds and browns folded under his hands as he concentrated, putting all of his effort into creating his sibling. He wanted someone pure, someone who would be his family, someone who would never leave his side and hurt him. A person slowly appeared amid the creases and crimps, until finally, in a beam of light, innocent eyes brand new to the world blinked at him.
Olly's eyes crinkled in glee at the sight of his sister. "Hello... Olivia."
Olivia smiled back. "Hello!"
It had only been months ago Olly had been given life, just a child even though he felt older, and yet here he was, slowly feeling his magic leave him as his folds began to unravel and his sister cried over him. He kept on a brave face for her sake, but truthfully, he was terrified. Dying was so very, very scary.
With his weakened voice, he tried to convince Olivia not to feel guilt over him. It was all his fault, after all. Even if his mistakes led him to his demise, she could still go on and experience life.
"Wait... what's this? On your belly?"
He let out a cough, a sense of shame welling up even in his moribund state. Still, he attemped to point at it with his arm. "It hurts to move, but... That is the cause of all of this madness. The careless scrawl that Toad marked me with..."
It was a reminder of why he was made, of why he was meant to be without family, it seemed. In the past, he would sometimes open the front of his robe to stare at the strange curves and swoops, to remind himself that he had to carve his own place in the world in order to fit in. During one particularly long reminder, it finally dawned on him that some of the curves were letters, written in a different script than the consistent print in books he was far more familiar with. He had closed his robes then, afraid of what the message might be. He was already too far down his path, anyway. Since he was already at the end by that point, though...
"Read it for me, will you? I must know what is written there... What words or gibberish mark this foolish body? Please... I could use one last laugh."
"Okay. Um, let's see..." It took her some time to decipher the markings, but after a while, she finally spoke. "'Dearest Olly... may you grow into a fair and kind king.'"
Olly could only stare up at the ceiling. Finally, a mirthless laugh that only a broken person could give left him. "Ha. Ha..."
What a fair and kind king he had become.
The miniature figure of Olivia was already sat in its throne, leaving the one to its left empty. With a sad smile, the craftsman placed the figure of Olly in its seat, his hands lingering before he brought them back.
The smile warbled into a frown as the craftsman took a step back, heat forming behind his eyes. Looking over the two figures, he finally knew: he had wanted to be their father. If only he had figured that out sooner.
"I'm sorry, son."
With that, the craftsman walked away, leaving the two siblings sat happily together, overseeing their origami kingdom.
A/N: I ultimately enjoyed the Origami King and thought King Olly was a cool antagonist. I felt his motivation was lacking, though, and I wish more had been done with the Origami Craftsman as well. So this was an attempt at writing out some backstories and fleshing out/adding on to the motivation.