There was no slow rise from the ground, no lolling of her axe as she stood. Her feet hesitated, yes, but there was no slowness in it. In a matter of minutes, she'd darted to the other side of hell, towards the Castle, le château de l'enfer. Lancer tried to follow her. His legs rejuvenated, he managed to run in the same way, if not the same speed, Kris and Ralsei did. After a few seconds, the pain seized him again, and he lagged behind, and Ralsei had to double back. Lancer didn't know that Ralsei was carrying him until his feet left the ground. He was flying.
He was flying, and Lancer became a prisoner in Ralsei's arms. The air whipped him, the leaves soaring, smacking him in the face. After bringing up a hand to take one of them off, the leaf spattered. He stared at it for a moment, two moments, three, four, as he streaked a finger against it. Foundation.
He let it go, brought another finger to his cheek. The cut under his cheek, sprung fresh from a beltbruise, stung with a new fervor.
He looked up at Ralsei, although he didn't let his hand leave his cheek as long as he was as vulnerable as this. He didn't want to be vulnerable. To piano with him being the crown prince. Whether he was the prince or whether his home was a corner on the sidewalk, splattered with rain puddle atop rain puddle as cars ran by, the answer still blared the same: he didn't want to be vulnerable. Not here, not anywhere, not now, not ever, not with Susie, not without.
Ralsei's eyes burrowed forward into the trees, the bluster starting to mat his fur. All Ralsei did was look down and whisper "spell" once before looking back up.
Lancer knew better, had too many days spent at Ralsei's house to question him. Not after the day he'd come out of the house, screaming, a dazzling array of terrifying swords of all sorts of colors surrounding him, his hood taken off, black streak-curves, below his eyes, stretching down to his chin. All Lancer had done was reassure himself that he was the prince; he had felt down that day, another typical evening with his father done.
Lancer felt the weight of sleep pulling at his veins. A tear formed, as unwanted as it was, when he realized the reason why. It made it harder to sleep, but something else was tugging at it, something Lancer only felt a few times in his life.
Something he couldn't do a piano to fight back at.
If only he could be with them
one…
last…
time…
…