As always, thank you for taking the time to read! Please leave any comments you may have. I'd really appreciate any feedback! Enjoy!
Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 7
Bolero
Prince Siegfried felt ill despite his dignified posture in his seat across from Prince Femio and his collection of colorfully-dressed and lavishly-decorated advisors. They congregated in the conference hall, Karon to his right and General Lysander to his left, an assemblage of Siegfried's own councilmen lined up opposite from the Rungholtan company.
Montand whispered into Femio's ear. With a nod, the Rungholtan Prince cleared his throat, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Of course peace is our priority! My kingdom deserves only the best!" He looked to his advisors, Montand in particular, before nodding and continuing on. "So, let us settle this, my fellow prince! I will gladly take your prisoners off of your hands in the name of our blessed alliance!"
"For the last time," Prince Siegfried insisted, biting back a sigh, "Our prisoners are there to be rehabilitated, not to be punished. We have no place for slaves in Vinetian culture; you will not find them here." He exchanged a tired glance with Karon.
Prince Femio pouted for a moment as he considered Prince Siegfried's words. Once again, he turned to his left toward Montand, absorbed his advisor's quiet words, and cleared his throat. "Well, to be certain, humans are the most valuable resource!" He shook out his plum-colored hair, a smile returning to his face. "A teacher, for example! His job is to educate the masses! So, a teacher is a tool, do you not agree? Then what use is a vagrant to you? Allow us to change them into the useful tools they can be!"
Prince Siegfried's fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, but he remained silent for the moment while the other prince babbled on.
"Take my own capital city, for example! Our vagrants and criminals are repurposed—with their work in textile mills and factories, we are flourishing! We can offer you so much of our exquisite pieces! Pottery, silks—far superior to anything you've seen!"
Prince Siegfried was never known to be a particularly vain sort of man, but he couldn't help but be incensed by Prince Femio's veiled criticism of Vinetian products.
It had been enough that he returned to his home with the bodies of some of his most trusted men, having to face their families personally. It had been enough that he was forced to turn back without his fiancee, still unable to verify her safety. However, to arrive in the Grand Chateau only to face the egocentric Rungholtan prince on top of everything else pushed him dangerously close to the breaking point.
A sharp pain shot through Siegfried's chest, and he gripped his armrest again to keep himself from clawing at his torso. Stress pains. They must've been stress pains.
Karon, seemingly picking up on his prince's unease, stepped in on his behalf. "Your Highnesses, accompanying gentlemen, we've been working through this for hours now. Regrettably, I doubt we will be coming to an agreement today."
Prince Femio visibly deflated, but his advisors (Montand, in particular) remained stone-faced.
"Might I suggest we call for a continuance?" Karon forced out as amiably as he could muster. Secretly grateful for this, Siegfried subtly released a breath and threw a grateful glance in Karon's direction.
The Rungholtans leaned in toward their prince with hushed murmurs. This was a regular occurrence, it seemed, and Siegfried began to doubt that Femio was capable of coming to a conclusion or decision on his own at all. Finally, Femio straightened and grinned, resting a hand over his heart with a bow of his head. "Agreed! Then, in the meantime, we must prepare for the celebration!"
Imperceptibly, the Vinetian side of the large table marginally dropped their shoulders in dismay. "The celebration," Siegfried repeated to clarify as politely as he possibly could in his exhausted state.
"The celebration!" Femio leaned back dramatically, draped his arm across the back of Montand's chair, and lounged in front of them. "Undoubtedly, to commemorate my stay and our fruitful endeavors, you must have planned a grand gala for your people! They may finally have the greatest distinction of being blessed with my presence!" He laughed with a delicate "ho-ho!" behind his hand, only for his expression to melt into one of intense agony. "Alas, those poor maidens who will inevitably wish for my heart will only be met with disappointment and heartbreak—woe is me, for I can never share myself with only one!"
Siegfried fought the urge to scowl. Wouldn't it have been wonderful to be truly loved by one? Was that not enough?
It was apparent that Femio knew not the importance of deep love. Not the sort of "love" born from prestige or birthright, but a genuine affection and admiration thriving from a real connection.
Truly, the only celebration that Siegfried wanted was one that rejoiced in his beloved fiancee's safe return.
As Femio continued to blabber on about himself and matters of love and ladies, Siegfried let his eyes fall shut and took a deep breath. To snub the spoiled Rungholtan prince and refuse to sanction a ball in his honor wouldn't be the best course of action in the middle of their precarious dealings, but would bending to the will of such a silly ruler mark Siegfried as some sort of catering coward?
He lifted his gaze to meet Karon's, trying not to appear as weary as he felt. The crows' feet and stress lines along Karon's face were deep and tired. When Siegfried turned to his left, General Lysander was pale, with dark, shadowy bags hanging heavy beneath his eyes.
Siegfried's chest continued to pang with fierce insistence, but he spoke clearly and carefully when Femio's ramblings finally tapered off. "... We will not host any galas before properly burying our dead."
"... Ah." Femio's expression softened somewhat, much to Siegfried's surprise. "... Of course. We must honor your loyal knights and their sacrifices in such a dreadful time as this—!"
Montand leaned in with another hushed whisper into Prince Femio's ear. Karon and Siegfried shared, once again, a significant glance.
When Montand pulled away, Prince Femio blinked and cleared his throat. "That is—do as you will, then, but do know that we will be impatiently waiting! Honestly, this hardly reflects well upon your state of affairs!"
As if it wasn't readily apparent.
The meeting came to a polite, yet abrupt close after that, with firm handshakes and a flip of Prince Femio's hair. The Rungholtans excused themselves and flittered off to take part in casual games of badminton with other servants, leaving the Vinetian councilmen, Karon, Lysander, and Siegfried to themselves in the conference hall.
As soon as the conference hall quieted, Prince Siegfried stood from his seat, turning toward the tall window at the end of the room in an attempt to conceal the way he clawed at his tunic. His chest pierced and gnawed. It was suffocatingly difficult to breathe …
"Are you alright, Your Highness?" Karon asked, his voice soft now that their negotiations were at an end.
"—Yes, yes, I'm alright. Just tired." Siegfried forced himself to straighten and turn to look over his shoulder with as comforting of a look as he could manage. It wouldn't do to show such weaknesses. Not now. Not when they'd lost some of their best men, not when they needed to come from a position of strength to Rungholt, and certainly not when his fiancee was still missing.
His heart clenched further at the thought, but he refused to display it.
The tension was stifling, each man afraid to breach the silence with their collective worries. Siegfried knew there was too much to consider, especially in his current state.
Somehow, he believed that if Ahiru was by his side, he could handle it all. His eyes fell shut, his heart soothed by thoughts of her sweet smile, her kind eyes, her gracious and polite manner …
He pressed his forehead to the cool glass of the window, gold eyes distant and lost. "General Lysander," he sighed, breath fogging the clear surface, "please dispatch what men you can spare to the northern regions. Equip them well and advise them to carefully and cautiously investigate the forested areas; perhaps Lady Ahiru is held captive among the bandits. I will not yet be able to join them in the search for her."
Lysander's voice was heavy. "... Aye, Your Highness. It shall be done."
"And Karon?" The prince took a deep, shuddering breath. "Call for the physician as soon as the funerals are concluded. I'm feeling rather unwell, and it's best if I'm in better shape for the weeks to come."
"Of course, Your Highness. I—"
"For now, I'd like to be left alone."
"But, Your Highness—!"
"Now."
Behind the prince, Lysander and Karon exchanged worried glances, the other councilmen visibly astonished by Siegfried's curt impatience. Thankfully, no one protested to the prince's command. They each stood from his seat and bowed to Siegfried, but he unnerved them with his lack of acknowledgement. He merely remained by the window, his gaze far away and blankly staring down into the empty gardens below.
As the room emptied completely, Siegfried realized that he never was able to stroll with Ahiru through those gardens. He wanted to lead her through the hedge maze by a gentle hand, to the gazebo and the grand fountain in the center. They would've partaken in pastries and tea (instead of the sweets being offered to Prince Femio), exchanged pleasantries and learned more about one another.
Perhaps they could have danced, as well. She must've been an elegant dancer.
He wanted to shrug off every other responsibility that weighed down on his heavy shoulders. He wanted to mount his Pegasus, take to the skies and not return until she was safe in his arms.
Siegfried straightened his posture despite the burdensome ache in his chest, and instead of flying out through the doors to find Ahiru as he so desired, he dusted off his embroidered tunic, took a composing breath, and turned around. It was time to organize several funerals and, regrettably, a grand ball in Prince Femio's honor.
The usual life and vitality in Prince Siegfried's golden eyes dimmed into a dull, pink emptiness.
Ahiru wept for a good, long while. In fact, she stayed by Fakir's bedside until she cried herself to sleep, tearstained cheeks and hiccuping sobs muffled into his sheets.
She dreamed of blessedly happy things. Pique and Lilie excitedly burst into her bedroom to help her dress for the day in a flurry of excited rambles and enthusiastic giggles; Miss Raetsel and Mister Karon led her out to the gardens as white lace and tulle trailed after her in an elegant train; Prince Siegfried, her Mytho, stood at the end of the aisle, looking radiant and adoring as the wedding march echoed in her ears.
She dreamed of Wyvern, the little town never having been dragged beneath the ground. Hermia, Freya, Malen, and Rue were all together in the square, laughing and dancing and drawing with flowers all around; Raven stood proudly among his people beside a smirking Autor; Elder Edel cradled little Uzura in her arms, strolling beneath the sunlight with peace in her countenance; Fakir sat by the lake with his fishing pole, writing, and catching a big one.
She dreamed of her father, blue-eyed and strong with an expression full of mirth and freckles. She dreamed of her mother, demure, lovely, eloquent, and utterly regal, yet always, always so magically warm. And she dreamed of their embrace—she dreamed of curling up beside them, and never needing to wake.
If only.
Ahiru stirred, wincing from the tightness in her muscles and the kink in her neck. With a sleepy blush, she wiped her saliva from her chin, rubbed her puffy eyes, and sat up from her hunched position on her knees.
Freya's hut was lit with only a small candle, the flickering light casting shadows across the walls and reflecting off the dusty surfaces of the many jars and containers in the room. Before her, Fakir still slept, his wing twitching idly, its shadow large and imposing behind him.
But he seemed a bit more peaceful now. At least there was that.
She didn't find it in her to stand just yet and settled for turning around to press her back against the bed and sit on the ground. Mildly surprised when she felt the sudden shift of light cloth, she found that someone draped a thin blanket over her shoulders while she slept, and a bowl of food had been placed beside her. Even her scrapes had been wrapped, her feet bandaged and cleaned, and the gash on her temple tended to.
It served as a brutal reminder that the people who had taken her were … not bad people.
In fact, they had been wronged. Dreadfully, violently, horrifically wronged. And the one who wronged them was Ahiru's own ancestor.
Would Mytho still want her … if he knew what sort of blood ran through her veins?
She drew her knees to her chest, trying to fight back tears. She wasn't hungry, but she was suddenly cold and brought the blanket around her shoulders with a shiver. Unbidden, she found herself turning to look at Fakir's resting form once more.
Some of the scales sank back into his skin, and when she really looked at it, she noticed that the wings shrunk down a bit. The harsh, suffering lines that marred his face before had eased, and he looked almost at peace—like he had when he was sitting in front of that lake with his fishing pole and his quill, almost three centuries ago.
She never would've guessed. He looked so youthful, with his richly tanned skin, dark hair, and angled, strong features—perhaps only a couple of years older than herself, even if he was far taller than her. They all appeared so young and moved with such energy. The idea that they'd been alive for so long was unfathomable.
And considering that they'd been underground the entire time, she was certain that their suffering continued even now. They were stuck down here for three hundred—
—But … that wasn't right, was it? They weren't stuck down here. Not really.
Fakir was in Vineta. Ahiru lifted her head as the realization dawned on her. When he kidnapped me, he was definitely above ground! So … what's keeping them here?
Ahiru stared at Fakir, her lips pursing with newfound determination, willing him to open his eyes and give her answers. For all of their suffering, and for all of the terrible things she'd just found out about her heritage, there were still missing pieces to this puzzle. She wasn't ready to just roll over and accept what was going to happen to her. Not until she knew all of the facts!
Maybe there was some sort of loophole! Maybe they still didn't tell her everything!
Ahiru braced herself to stand, but before she could sit up from her hunched position, Rue suddenly swept into the hut, balancing a basin of water and a washcloth in her arms. They startled one another, Ahiru uncertain and Rue uncomfortable.
Ahiru bit her lip, brushing back a strand of red hair behind her ear as Rue stepped up to Fakir's side, intent on ignoring her. Helplessly watching, Ahiru lowered her chin to her knees while Rue dipped the washcloth into the water, and then reached out to dab Fakir's forehead and brush the sweat from his brow. The silence was stifling. Maybe Rue was still angry with her for starting that whole fight before, and injuring Fakir so badly.
If she felt guilty before for causing such destruction, she certainly felt worse now that she had become terrifyingly aware of what they'd all gone through. It became harder and harder to blame her kidnappers for anything, even if what they'd done still wasn't right.
… But what was right anymore?
Antsy and needing to fill the silence with something, Ahiru spoke up in a low, unsure tone. "Um … thank you … for the blanket. And the food."
"That wasn't me," Rue countered dismissively, tending to Fakir and continuing to avoid eye contact with Ahiru, "Thank Hermia and Freya. They worried over you after hearing you've seen Autor's story."
"Oh …" That story wasn't really a story, though. That story was history itself—her own history. A history that never arose before and now threatened her entire existence and the lives of the people in this town. She didn't just watch. She lived it with them. Ahiru curled up further, tightening her grip around her legs and pulling the blanket taut around her form. What could she possibly say to Rue after all of that? "That was all so—I didn't mean for—" She bit her lip, finally settling on the words she deemed to be the most important right now. "... Will Fakir be okay?"
Rue seemed mildly surprised by the inquiry and placed the washcloth back into the basin, finally glancing up to meet Ahiru's gaze. Once again, Ahiru was stricken by her beauty—sad and tired in a way that reminded her of a forlorn queen. "Freya assured us that he is healing well." Rue turned her nose up, a sardonic smile touching her lips. "The fool. He is as reckless as always."
Ahiru, comforted by the slight-but-certainly-there opening that Rue had given her, earnestly sat up, lips firming in worry. "It was to help me. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to cause—" She shook her head, emotion spilling from her words. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen—!"
"Shhh." Rue brought a finger to her lips, eyebrows furrowing. "Calm down. You'll wake him."
"Ah … sorry …"
Rue stood in thought for a moment, though Ahiru couldn't even begin to guess what was going through the woman's mind. At least she didn't seem angry with her anymore.
It was all so complicated. She shouldn't have felt remorse for upsetting her kidnappers. But things were different now, weren't they?
Too many gray areas.
Finally, Rue's expression lightened somewhat, softening as she crossed the room to place the basin onto Freya's table. "... I had never seen someone stop in the middle of a transformation. And in the chaos, you chose to help him. How? And why?"
Ahiru answered truthfully. "I don't know. It just sorta happened, and he was in pain and if he turned into a dragon just after Autor turned into one, then that would've been big trouble for everybody and it looked like he was doing his best to fight it, so I thought that someone had to be there to talk him out of it, and I didn't know it would actually work, but someone had to do something—!"
"Talkative, aren't you? I suppose I should thank you, then, for … whatever it is you did."
"... I'm glad that it … didn't turn out worse!"
"... I'm glad as well. There have been … incidents in the past."
From somewhere among the plethora of vials, jars, and baskets that littered the shelves, Rue pulled out a small, clean brush. "You look like a mess. Come here." She dragged a stool out from beneath the table and patted the surface.
Ahiru blinked, glancing cluelessly back and forth between Rue's face and the stool a few times.
The woman raised an eyebrow, frowning impatiently. "Well?"
"Ah! Sorry!" Ahiru scrambled to her feet as quietly as she could, attempting to untangle her legs from the blanket without tripping over herself.
"Calm down, would you? Sit."
Obediently, Ahiru plopped down onto the stool, and let Rue begin to work through the tangles of her hair. She didn't realize just how matted and coarse her long tresses became over the trials and tribulations of the past couple of days, and it relaxed her to have it finally tended to.
Pique loved doing her hair. Ever since childhood, Pique would giggle as she pinned and piled curls of red onto Ahiru's head after a good brush-through. "If only I had your hair!" she would say, "There's so much I'd do with it, it's so long and pretty!"
For a while, Ahiru wanted to cut it short like the elegant style her mother wore, but Pique and Lilie simply wouldn't have it. "You would never pull off the look like your mother can~!" Lilie gushed dramatically, "Best to stay just as you are, silly and awkward Lady Ahiru~!"
She missed them fiercely. She wanted so badly to see them again.
Ahiru glanced up, watching the rise and fall of Fakir's steady breaths from across the room as Rue worked the brush from the roots to the ends. The tension eased. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity to bring it up. "Um … Rue?"
"Hm?"
How could she breach this subject? "Ah … are there … other things I don't know yet? I mean, it doesn't seem like you're all really trapped here, are you …? Fakir was in Vineta when he took me, so you are able to leave, right?" She felt Rue pause mid-brush. "I just—! I'm just trying to learn all that I can! If I know more, then maybe there's a way—I just want to make sure that—so much has happened and I don't really know how to explain what I'm thinking or how I'm feeling, but I know that I have to do my best … !"
Across the room, Fakir stirred in his sleep. Ahiru clapped her hands over her mouth and Rue sighed. "I said, hush. It's fine. No one can blame you."
Ahiru blushed. Of course no one could blame her Why did she feel so bashful about answers she deserved to have? Why did nothing make any sense anymore? "So … why are you all still down here?" she ventured, keeping her shrill voice down this time for Fakir's sake.
Rue resumed brushing, but slower this time. Her tone lightened, nostalgic and whimsical. " … I remember how lively Wyvern once was. There were so many of us back then, still together and still happy."
Ahiru's eyes widened. She hadn't noticed it until now, but Rue was right. In that vision, she witnessed an entire village teeming with such life and abuzz with activity. Now, perhaps half or less remained here underground, and she was suddenly afraid to ask what happened to the others.
Rue took it upon herself to go on. "After that night, once we recovered and came to terms with … our situation and what Edel had done for us, some wondered the same as you do now—perhaps Elder Edel's sacrifice truly did save us from our fate. It wasn't as if anything kept us down here, right?" Ahiru felt Rue gather her long hair at the nape of her neck, parting it into three sections to braid. Rue's voice sounded far away. "The first to leave was a good friend of mine. Her name was Giselle."
Was …? Ahiru bit her lip. "What happened to her?"
"... She was a free spirit. One of the few who ventured away from Wyvern before our curse fell upon us. She asked me many times if I would go with her. I … I never did."
Rue braided with precision and continued speaking when Ahiru couldn't find it in herself to respond. "Somewhere in her travels, she met a man, and fell in love. Her visits with him became more and more frequent through the years, and she left Wyvern more often than not.
"One day, Giselle returned home, weeping. I never did find out exactly why; she never told me, and I never asked. Until Drosselmeyer came to our village, she refrained from leaving again."
Ahiru's heart sunk into her stomach, already imagining the spirited young woman who loved so deeply and lived so freely. It was the sort of way Ahiru wanted to live her life as well … until her family history recently caught up with her.
"... You have such long hair," Rue suddenly mused.
"A-Ah … I always kept it long, yeah! I thought about cutting it, but …"
"Don't. It's quite pretty this way."
A blush bloomed across Ahiru's freckled nose. Such a compliment coming from such a beauty like Rue … Ahiru didn't know how to react. She was also reminded of Pique and Lilie, and a strange sense of peace washed over her for the first time since her kidnapping. "Oh … thank you! I'm glad you think so …?"
"I do think so."
The room fell into silence as Rue worked her way down, braiding the long locks carefully and tightly. Then, her story continued. "Drosselmeyer cursed us. The pain of transformation took hold of us on that first night, and it was only Edel's intervention that saved us from destroying ourselves at once. Perhaps that was what Drosselmeyer originally wanted. She did what she could to protect her people. She … did her very best.
"We thought she saved us entirely. But, if we lost our tempers or composure, there was always the possibility of losing control of our minds and changing into those monsters you saw. We learned this the hard way—we lost people. You know, there used to be four more levels in our village."
Ahiru's mouth went dry.
"So, naturally, quite a few of us wanted to leave. But if we remained composed, learned to temper ourselves and our emotions, then how could we go wrong? We thought we simply gained the ability to change into powerful beasts. The world could belong to us, because of our Elder's sacrifice.
"Giselle smiled at me one day. She told me that now was the best time to see the world, and to not be afraid because we were given a second chance by our Elder. She told me that she would find love again, and that it was so worth having and seeking out. And she left."
Rue tied off the end of Ahiru's long braid with a ribbon borrowed from one of Freya's baskets. "One by one, villagers began to follow suit. Over the years, we considered doing the same. But Elder Raven had his suspicions, and forbid the rest of us, we, the loyal ones, to leave. You see, we began to realize that … time had stopped for us. Only for us. Our bodies … were not aging. Our minds remained stagnant. Uzura never grew. We could not move forward. And I think Elder Raven knew that leaving Wyvern would not save us from this perpetual sameness."
Rue's voice tapered off, as if she was in another place and time altogether. Perhaps she was, in her mind.
"A decade went by, and none of us changed.
"Finally, he asked Autor to use his power to find out what happened to the others, gather more information on the nature of our curse. Perhaps we'd had been wrong. Maybe the key was to leave and follow our people."
Ahiru hadn't even noticed that Rue was finished with her hair until she saw the woman cross the room to sit by Fakir's bedside. And her eyes widened, never having seen such a mournful expression on Rue's face before. It made Ahiru's heart ache anew, remorse and realization flooding her. "I … I guess the key … wasn't to leave? You needed to stay?"
Rue slowly nodded her head as she checked Fakir's bandages. "Mm. Autor soon discovered the fates of the people who decided to go.
"Exactly twenty-one days after leaving Wyvern, Giselle disappeared in a flash of light."
Ahiru's lips parted in dismay and she wrung her hands in her skirt. "A flash of light? Just … just like that?"
"... Yes. Autor kept writing about each and every single one of them. And each time we read a new story, we watched as exactly three weeks passed, and our people simply vanished. No trace of their existence, except in our memories.
"Elder Raven had been right all along. They never should have left. We should always trust in his judgment."
"So … you only get … three weeks above ground before you all …?"
"Later," Rue interrupted, quiet and contemplating, almost as if she hadn't even heard Ahiru at all, "Autor decided to search into our past and rewrite, verbatim, Drosselmeyer's curse. The fine print, the details, the manuscript we didn't see.
"Three seems to be the magic number. Three weeks above ground and we disappear in a flash of light.
"And in three centuries, at the completion of a certain constellation, we either sacrifice you, or we, the rest of us, the final survivors, disappear in a flash of light."
Blood running cold, Ahiru almost fell off of her chair. The gravity of their story weighed heavily upon Ahiru's already slumping shoulders, the dismal reality like cold ice in the heat of her former optimism. Aging eluded them, freedom escaped them, and death—no, a lack of existence itself—awaited them. These people were utterly trapped, both down here and within themselves.
In the grand scheme of things, Ahiru's life looked so small in comparison
Rue watched Ahiru's reaction carefully, before lightening her tone just a bit and continuing on.
"Elder Raven forbid us to never leave here unless out of necessity. Just in case we accidentally surpassed those three weeks. In fact, he only sent Fakir out every so often in these past couple of decades to find you. When Fakir brought you home to us, it was nearing the end of his twenty-one days. Uzura and I grew so worried for him during his absence. I was frightened I would lose two important people in a silly flash of light."
It was strange to think, looking back on it now. The entire time Fakir had been searching for Drosselmeyer's final descendant, he was also keeping track of the time he had before he needed to return, and then head out again. How frightening of a thought it was, not knowing how far to search before needing to come back.
What if he had gotten lost …? What if he had just been a couple of days late …? Ahiru let her gaze wander back to Fakir, still resting while Rue sat beside him.
What if they never were able to find her? They would simply disappear? Just like that? And Ahiru never would've known that she was responsible …?
They all were on borrowed time, herself included.
"Until the curse is broken," Rue ventured, almost carelessly, "as Elder Raven said, I will never leave this place, and I will not let Fakir leave again either. But … sometimes, I reread Autor's story about Giselle. Even in the end, encompassed by light, she was smiling. I think she thought that love was worth it—simply having it once was enough for her. And I wonder if finding such a thing would do her memory justice. If I had one wish for myself when this curse is broken, then it is to feel that very thing in which she believed so deeply and so passionately."
It sounded like something Ahiru's mother would've said once. It was a feeling worth living for and fighting for. Rue believed in it, Giselle believed in it, her mother believed in it.
She let her mind wander back to Mytho, who must have been so worried, with his gentle eyes and noble heart …
Ahiru leaped up to her feet before she could stop herself, the words tumbling in a mess from her lips. "Maybe there's another way! I—" but was that selfish of her to say? Was she being too self-serving? They were just as worried for their own lives as she was, but—! "... I have a prince—he'd never be able to know what happened to me—is there a way I can just look over things? Maybe I can see Autor's story again! See if we missed anything! I … I want to help everyone, but I'm—!"
Rue lifted a hand to stop her. "My, you're quite excitable, aren't you?" Her nose turned up again, and it seemed that Rue's usual haughtiness had returned. "Settle down. I'm sure you're free to investigate as much as you want, and I know you must want to return to your prince, but I assure you that any possible alternatives simply don't exist. We have been analyzing his story for almost three hundred years now."
Ahiru refused to let her hope be extinguished. Not this time. "Please, I just want to find out for myself! Up until now, I've been begging for answers, and I have them now, but maybe the trick is for me to find my own! R-Right?! I don't know what I can do, but …"
Rue's frown deepened. "... Fine. Do what you want. But … you must know that, in the end, we do intend on breaking this curse. Don't forget that."
How could Ahiru forget such a thing? It was all she could think about.
The only answer couldn't have been through sacrifice. There had to be something else.
… Right?
"I know. So … where do I start?"
"Fakir's hut." Rue stood from her seat on his bed, clasping her hands in front of her. "I'll show you."
A little less than a week had passed since the conference between the two princes ended in an impasse. The funerals conducted without incident. The knights were given heroes' burials, and their families received their posthumous honors.
Prince Siegfried stared at himself in the mirror, not even attempting to mask his exhaustion and bitterness from his own reflection. His servants garbed him in his finest: a blue tunic hemmed with embroidered gold, a collar of white feathers, and white hosiery beneath white trousers. The picture of nobility and dignity, Prince Siegfried certainly looked the part of the handsome, gracious host to visiting royalty.
He was saving this outfit for the ball announcing his engagement to Lady Ahiru, Duchess of Hedeby. Still, no word returned from the soldiers he sent out in search of her.
Karon entered Siegfried's chamber, likewise dressed in his best and appearing quite grim himself. "Are you ready, Your Highness?"
"No," he replied with an acerbic smile, "But I must try."
After these past few days, he'd grown used to the constant, dull ache in his chest, so standing straight and appearing presentable wasn't as difficult as it was when the pains first began. Once Prince Femio finally took leave of his country, Siegfried would be sure to consult his physician.
For now, there were "celebrations" to be had.
He made his way down the halls and grand staircases of the Chateau, and stopped at the entrance to the vast ballroom. Guests had already been admitted into the circular chamber that was lined with windows to allow the moonlight to filter in. The chandelier's light bounced off its crystals and danced along the white walls and marble pillars. Tables brimming with fine meats, fruits, and pastries lined up on one side of the hall while the musicians sat on ornate chairs across the floor, sliding their bows along strings and covering flute holes with their fingertips. Couples danced merrily, people conversed excitedly, and all partook in the party's dinner offerings. Ultimately, Raetsel and Ebine had outdone themselves.
And Karon did well to organize and invite the villagers along with the families of his advisors. Every gala Siegfried held was an open one—any celebration worth having in the Grand Chateau would always be shared with his beloved people. Though one could easily discern a person's station by the amount of finery they wore, each and every one of them was treated with the same respect from his servants and the patrolling knights (both likewise welcome to enjoy the festivities at any time). Though Siegfried was hardly in the mood for a ball, at the very least this party conveniently displayed Vineta's respect for those who worked under others to the Rungholtans. Siegfried's country was not, and never would be, a country that promoted slavery.
Overall, the pristine beauty and sophistication of the ball impressed all who attended, and it was a sight that would've taken Lady Ahiru's breath away had she been here to see it with Siegfried.
He imagined that the ball was in her honor, with her on his arm, appearing lovely in a white gown and gracefully sweeping into a waltz …
The prince held his head high as he descended the staircase and into the ballroom, his presence announced by Karon. The crowd collectively paused all celebration to turn to him and bow or curtsy. He lifted a hand and smiled to signal them to continue on.
Poised and regal, he strolled with hands folded behind him, greeting his guests. Several of his councilmen approached to introduce him to their families, all of whom Siegfried referred to by name, but he made certain to take time to say hello to the villagers as well.
It didn't take long for him to regret that decision.
"Oh, Your Highness!" some cried, "Have you been able to locate your lovely fiancee?"
"She was such a delight to meet! Is she safe?"
"I do hope she is well and protected!"
"Lady Ahiru! Will she be attending tonight? Has she been saved?"
"What a shame, Your Highness … I pray for her return!"
With every excitable inquiry, Siegfried's heart sunk further and further, pulling apart in his chest. The dull ache was fresh all over again. He forced out polite smiles (weak, but suitable enough) before politely excusing himself to the edges of the party.
Thankfully, Prince Femio took it upon himself to enter in his grandiose way at that moment. The doors flew open as Karon announced the Rungholtan prince's arrival, a hush flying over the crowd as Femio's royal bull marched into the room, hooves clopping against the marble floors. His trumpeters and flute-players flanked him once again as Montand fanned rose petals into the air and across the ground. And draped across the bull's back was Femio, arching backward and posing with the toes of one of his feet pointed in the air and his arms held out on either side of him. A rose stem sat between his teeth, and he winked toward Pique and Lilie. The girls proceeded to duck behind one of the dessert tables to hide.
The bull trotted to the center of the room as Femio's fanfare came to a thunderous close. He swung his legs to the side and leaped from the bull's back, landing into a twirl and then an impassioned bow. It astonished everyone that he could move with such boisterous enthusiasm while wearing heaps of velvet and lace and countless medallions and badges upon his sash. His crown weighed down upon his plum-colored hair, jewel-encrusted and dwarfing Siegfried's own simple, gold headpiece.
Silence continued to reign for an extended moment, before Montand cleared his throat and began to clap slowly. One by one, the crowd followed suit, a low and uncertain applause echoing through the room.
With Karon's signal, the band reinstated the music, the tension dispersing somewhat. Those who approached Montand and Prince Femio to introduce themselves were polite, but noticeably uncomfortable with Femio's antics.
Siegfried blushed with embarrassment on Femio's behalf and decided to step in. Clearing his throat, he strode to Femio with as much poise as he could muster while his heart continued to throb, and bowed. "Prince Femio, in the name of peace between our lands, I welcome you to my kingdom."
Femio returned Siegfried's bow with a flourishing one of his own, reaching up to hold his hefty crown in place as he lowered his head and straightened once more. "And I wholeheartedly accept your welcome, Prince Siegfried! What a quaint little set of peasants you have to serve you! Such woe and such pain to know that the ladies of your court have now rested their gaze upon my visage and cannot have me, however!" He made to swoon, and Montand appeared behind him to support his liege. "Ah, non-non, Montand~! I must … muster the strength to stand upon my own feet, despite the burden of my beauty!"
Siegfried fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Ah … yes, please, enjoy the ball then."
After a few exchanged pleasantries, the princes parted ways, Siegfried allowing Femio to mingle and embarrass himself further. Honestly, he behaved with such astounding … deludedness.
The ball went on, but Siegfried neither ate nor danced. The last thing he felt was festive, so he allowed his people and his Rungholtan guests to take part in the merriment while he wandered along the borders of the ballroom, swallowing back his pain and his grief.
He'd taken note that General Lysander decided not attend; his knight was emotionally drained from the funerals still, so the prince held no blame against him.
If Siegfried had a choice, he would be in his own bedchambers right now, secluding himself until his fiancee's return. Or even better, out there with his scouting knights, searching for her with every ounce of his will.
The music filled the room with jubilant energy, his people enjoying the rare occasion of being within the castle walls with eclairs in their hands and smiles on their faces, servants setting out more plates and wine before joining in on the conversation and celebration, the couples twirling about the dance floor and holding one another close as the waltz continued on …
At the edge of it all, Prince Siegfried felt lonelier than he ever had before.
He only dared to pay attention to the party when it was forced upon him.
A terror-ridden squeal erupted from the center of the room and startled him from his somber thoughts. Siegfried glanced up as a pretty, young woman stumbled away from a shocked Prince Femio. Strawberries and cream had been smeared down the front of Femio's tunic, ruining the fabric and clinging to his many pendants and ribbons adorning his chest. And he looked positively horrified.
Femio's hands, covered now with the cake that the young woman splattered all over his front, shook and wiped at his soiled clothing, his bottom lip trembling and his eyes watering. He fell to his knees right there in the center of the ballroom floor, jaw dropped in alarm.
The woman, a young villager who came to the ball with her father and older brother, dropped the empty plate in her hands and shook her head in panic. "I-I'm terribly sorry, Your Highness, I—but you simply surprised me with the flowers and kissing my hand, I just reacted, I—!"
"Non-non!" Femio interrupted, unseeing and unflinching even as the entire ballroom went silent to stare at the prince's melodramatic display. "I cannot be seen like this—my pristine countenance, my romantic elegance—! Oh, this cannot be! Montand! Montand~!" The prince leaped to his feet, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead in dramatic fashion as he half-ran, half-floated to the exit of the ballroom.
The woman, frightened near to death for insulting the Rungholtan ruler, clung to her worried father, her dress likewise stained with cream and cake. Siegfried took it upon himself to approach them and offer his comfort. "It will be alright. It was an honest mistake, have no fear. Let us assist you in cleaning up, and we'll escort you safely home."
"Th-Thank you, Your Highness! Oh, thank you!"
Meanwhile, Karon, in his attempt to calm the guests and close the party in the most polite way possible, took notice of something strange.
Montand had left the party early without his prince.
Raetsel sighed as she wheeled some empty plates into the kitchens. Ebine, the head cook, tall and boisterous as she was, grinned widely at Raetsel's entrance. "Well, how did it go?" she asked, jolly as ever as she piped cream onto a pastry.
Tucking a long lock of hair behind her ear, Raetsel sighed, smoothing out her apron. "I'm afraid your delicious strawberry shortcake went to waste this evening." Her eyebrows rose with a significant glance, undoubtedly amused. "All over the front of His Highness, Prince Femio's shirt, no less."
Ebine could only laugh, full and joyous. "Oh, if I only could have seen it!"
Despite the situation, Raetsel couldn't stifle the small giggle that escaped her colored lips, bringing her fingertips to her mouth as she laughed. "Oh, if only. But I do hope this will not sour His Highness's dealings with him. I've heard from Karon and Lysander that both princes are quite stubborn, though in different ways."
"Ahh, it doesn't quite help that they're both still very young men!" Straightening, Ebine turned away from her project to wash her hands. "And for all his kindness, Prince Siegfried's got quite a bit of pride!"
"That, he does." Raetsel sighed and retrieved a towel and a pitcher of water from the counter nearby. "At any rate, I should check to see if Prince Femio needs additional aid."
"Oh, I doubt it! He brought his entire staff with him on this trip!" Ebine sighed, but winked good-naturedly. "But you are ever the wonderful hostess, Raetsel, dear."
Raetsel gave her a smile before retreating from the kitchen, heading down the hall and up the stairs to the guests' chambers. It appeared that, in Femio's haste to rush inside, he'd left his door ajar. She smiled a little, shook her head at the spoiled prince's carelessness, balanced the towel and pitcher into the crook of her arm, and reached up to knock.
"—his people are so different, Montand! They do not know how to cope with their adoration for this sweet face of mine, that must be it!"
Raetsel paused, lowering her arm. Perhaps she felt a bit sorry for him. He must have been no older than young Prince Siegfried. Truly, eighteen years of age was far too young to take on entire countries. They were simply … boys.
Despite herself, she leaned around the side of the door to peek into the opening, expecting to see a pacing, cake-covered prince looking rather like a petulant child, while Montand nodded and tended to his liege.
… Her breath caught in her throat, and she almost dropped her pitcher.
She was half-right. Femio, indeed, paced the floor, his arms waving about in his typical expressive fashion, cake still clinging to his entire form.
But Montand was on the ground, in center of a circle of candles and red rose petals—she couldn't count how many. The servant mumbled to himself, hissing whispers escaping his lips as he pulled flower petals from a nearby basket and scattered them with intention. In a strange pattern she couldn't recognize.
Prince Femio ranted on, unfazed. "—you left my side half-way through the gala for your silly rituals once again! With his people! Alone! I simply cannot understand these peasants! Is there … are there things I must learn? Why have I felt so judged in this place—? Perhaps the problem could be—Montand, have I behaved badly? Is it so possible that this perfect prince could be … wrong?"
Montand responded with another harsh whisper, words Raetsel couldn't make out. She bit her lip and watched as Femio paused in his step, hesitation on his face. "I—indeed! You must be right, I have done nothing wrong, yes! It is Siegfried's doing, it must be! I must discuss with him—!"
Another whisper.
"—But I don't know if we should! We want peace—!"
Another.
"—Surely, yes, but at such a time as this? Prince Siegfried's fiancee … to be missing such a profound love is a terrible thing—!"
And another, and with this whisper, the candles surrounding Montand snuffed out simultaneously. Raetsel took a quivering step away from the door.
"—I … suppose now is the best time, but … I was hoping for something else to come about all of this! An agreement! Of some sort! But … yes, of course!"
Raetsel's heart raced and she couldn't bring herself to hear any more. She crept away in a rush, seeking out Karon, Lysander, and Prince Siegfried. Immediately.
—
Montand crushed rose petals in his fist.
—
Prince Siegfried's heart clenched, sharper and far more painful than it ever had been.
When one had less than two months to live, five days seemed like a large chunk of that time. And it flew by all too quickly.
At least, it felt faster than her first couple of nights, and that was likely due to Ahiru actually having some answers. Still, she sought out more. As a result, she felt … productive, instead of miserable, and that was certainly a start.
When Rue showed her Fakir's hut five days ago, as barren as Ahiru's own room but for a few scrolls and books on a tilted shelf, Ahiru asked her why everything had been kept in his residence instead of that library.
Rue's expression was carefully neutral, ruby eyes sharp. "Elder Raven demands that all scrolls and stories pertaining to our curse be kept here—to remind Fakir that it was his power that caused all of this." She gave Ahiru a wry smirk. "Though, Fakir doesn't have that power anymore."
It was unfair, Ahiru thought, for anyone to blame Fakir for something he couldn't help. But she kept silent on it for now, already moving toward the shelf to pick up the first book. "He doesn't?"
"No. You saw it. It was taken away from him completely. He hasn't been able to write for almost three hundred years now."
So, Ahiru began her own investigation.
There were several manuscripts and pages about Drosselmeyer's history written in Autor's hand (thankfully, none that had taken her to another time all over again) and even some memoirs by Raven about the curse and his experiences. It became apparent that Raven sorely missed Edel, and they'd been very close while he was under her tutelage. His journals ended about a century ago, and it didn't look like he'd written anything else recently, as far as she'd seen.
And she found a word-for-word copy of D. D. Drosselmeyer's cursed story. That, she made certain to look over again and again.
As Rue had told her, it dictated the details of the curse—they were to be dragon-creatures, frozen in time within themselves, trapped and tied to Edel's haven for three hundred years, and upon the completion and alignment of the raven constellation, they must spill the life and blood of Drosselmeyer's descendant, or they vanish in a flash of light …
Ahiru really didn't like having to reread the manuscript. At all.
… She was never a naturally studious sort or an avid reader, however, and was easily distracted or confused by complicated wording (mostly on Autor's part). That was probably why she was still in Fakir's room, five days later, and only getting through three scrolls and two books on the shelf (and that was by skimming).
She would get through half a page before growing restless, and then would find some excuse to take a break.
Ahiru found that there was, surprisingly, quite a bit to do underground, and it was very easy finding less mentally exhausting things to occupy herself aside from the tedious task of flipping through pages in Fakir's hut. At first, she wanted to go back to that trapdoor and find that fairy again, but something else always seemed to come up instead.
Rue always needed help doing laundry and Ahiru actually enjoyed the mundane act of scrubbing more than Rue seemed to. Malen, shy as she was, let Ahiru look through her pretty sketchbook once—most of the pages had beautiful charcoal drawings of Rue and she wondered why Malen never showed them to her. At some point during the past five days, Freya allowed her to help harvest some herbs from the garden area of Wyvern, telling her which each plant did and what potions to make with them (all of which Ahiru had forgotten immediately after, regretfully). Hermia, as empathetic as ever, constantly checked in with her, bringing her food and reminding her to clean up, rest, and freshen up every so often while making pleasant conversation. And all the while, Uzura followed Ahiru around, entranced and enthralled with this new person in her life, and after five days of drumming, playing chase, and sitting around laughing at nothing, Ahiru could safely say she was very, very fond of the little girl.
The other villagers paid her little to no mind, accepting her presence, but likely still seeing Drosselmeyer in her and giving her a wide berth. If Elder Raven crossed her path, he would give her his usual, cool smile and bow in her direction. She never stuck around to make conversation, unsettling as he was (and she decided that she didn't like the blame he placed on Fakir). Autor woke up as well, but he made a point to avoid speaking with many people as repairs were still underway.
But she needed to stick to the bottom line!
"Okay!" she announced from the floor on the fifth day, half to Uzura on the bed and half to herself, "I need to research! No matter how many distractions there are or how much laundry's gotta get done! Gee, they really did keep me pretty busy these past couple of days, huh, Uzura?"
Uzura drummed and grinned. "Ohhhhh, busy busy busy busy-zura!"
Ahiru nodded with determination, picking up the next book—the next ones were all dustier than the scrolls and tomes she already looked through. "This is kind of boring stuff, but it has to get done! And there aren't a lot of chores to do in town today. The only thing I really wanted to do is—"
… She'd asked every day if she could see Fakir and help tend to his wounds, but they always said he needed rest. No one told her how he was feeling or anything, and it had all been her fault in the first place …
She worried for him.
Ahiru's expression fell, and she shook her head, glancing up at Uzura before opening to the first page after blowing dust off the cover. "Okay, I'm going to start now, so like before, okay? Drum softer?"
Uzura obeyed, but her eyes widened upon seeing the leather-bound tome in Ahiru's lap. "Ohhhhh! It's Fakir's-zura!"
"Eh?"
"Fakir's book, Fakir's book, Fakir's book-zura!"
Ahiru's jaw fell slack as she glanced down at the book. In clean, sweeping letters, Fakir's name had been scrawled across the top of the first page, dated centuries before.
… Was it things he wrote about the curse, like Raven had written …?
She turned to the next page. No, it wasn't about the curse at all. These pages were more brown, more worn, the ink smudged in some places, corners torn and folded. This was older than even Drosselmeyer's curse itself.
Once upon a time …
Ahiru had stumbled upon Fakir's stories. From back then, when he could still write.
She slammed the cover closed.
… She opened it again.
"I-It's for research!" she cried out to no one in particular. Uzura stopped paying attention and stared at the little flame in the lantern on Fakir's desk. "It's just in case this might have something to help! That's all! Right? I was given permission to look at things and see for myself! And I haven't found anything yet to help at all, so this is just me being thorough! Right? Yeah!"
So, she began her journey through Fakir's stories.
There were a few pages here and there that displayed the practice of his craft: a short story of a pair of shoes that revealed itself after being misplaced; a fable about a lost puppy finding its way back to a young Wyvern girl; a tale of lost little Uzura making her way from the hills and safely back home to the village and into her mother's arms … Things that gave Ahiru a glimpse of the things Fakir cared enough to write about in such a way.
Then, there were other stories—full epics, of knights and chivalry, of princes and battles against forces of evil, of princesses who fought for freedom, of ducklings and towns and clock towers and magic.
While the other writings could hardly keep Ahiru's attention for more than half a page, she spent hours soaking in Fakir's stories, enraptured by the magic he weaved with more than just his power.
She never would've imagined that the fire-breathing kidnapper who treated her with such disdain and roughness before could have such a deep and vibrant imagination. She knew she would daydream of his worlds every day from now on, so full of interesting characters who overcame insurmountable odds …
… They all had happy endings.
"What the hell are you—?"
"Ah?!" Ahiru dropped the book she had been reading—the third one of Fakir's, since she'd finished the first two already.
And the writer was right there, standing in his doorway, bandages visible from beneath his ratty shirt and his arm in a sling. His wings and the scattered scales across his skin had disappeared. And he looked rather … perturbed. "F-Fakir, you're okay!"
"Don't touch those!" He reached out to grab the collection of books from the ground, but stopped and winced with the sharp pains of his injuries.
"I'm so sorry!" Ahiru scrambled to her feet. "I just—I was looking for things to help with your curse! I-I saw everything while you were asleep, so I thought if I helped, then there would be some other way to—! I didn't know I was—!"
"You know exactly what you were doing!" Fakir snarled, trying to kick the books away from her and toward the corner. It was only then that Ahiru realized that Uzura left the hut while she was so enthralled with Fakir's stories, leaving her alone with the angry dragon.
Angry … dragon …
Ahiru squared her shoulders, a pout forming on her lips. She needed to stay firm here. She couldn't let him—! "Y-You'd better calm down! You're hurt still, and this place might get worse if you change right now!"
At this, Fakir took pause, his hands clenching at his sides and within the sling. Though his temper calmed somewhat, the scowl remained. "Don't you tell me what to do." He shoved past her, lowering carefully to his knees to pick up his books.
But Ahiru was incensed like never before. He said not to tell him what to do, but he seemed to have listened anyway. So what was his attitude for?! "Don't you tell me what to do either, then! I was only trying to help!" She took a step toward him, trying to appear as threatening as she could (a ridiculous notion in itself), while simultaneously dipping down to assist him. "Now, come on, you're still hurt, so let me—!"
He growled, shoving her away and then tossing his books onto his bed with his abled arm. Then, he whirled around to face her. "These things were none of your business! And if you want me to keep calm, then you'd better keep your own mouth shut!" Leaning down, he made to tower over her tiny frame, trying to use his superior height to get her to relent.
But she wouldn't back down. Though she couldn't hope to match his height, she certainly wasn't going to step away. She turned her chin up to face him as he all but loomed over her, her expression as angry as a round, pouting, freckled face could look. Petulantly, Ahiru stomped her foot, stress and anger erupting from her belly and out past her lips. "I was only looking around because I wanted to make sure I was being thorough! You're the one who kidnapped me! I'm trying to do my best here and maybe if you learned to listen, then you wouldn't get so angry!"
"I'm not angry! You're just annoying! This was not for you to touch! You nosy, little—stay out of my things!" he bellowed into her face.
She didn't even flinch. Shaking her head, she drew her hands into fists. "Oh, who cares?! What's so wrong with seeing your work?! It was good! The stories were amazing! I really liked all of it and I couldn't put them down and they were more interesting than all the other stuff! Is that so wrong?!"
He grit his teeth together, his green eyes wide and stunned for a brief moment before they narrowed sharply. "That's not—just leave. Get out!" With that, he finally moved away from her, pointing toward his doorway with his uninjured arm.
"Okay, fine! You don't have to yell at me, okay?!" she screeched, ironically matching his volume on an equal level.
"I said, get out!"
"Ooooh, you—! Ugh!" She stomped again, folding her arms across her chest and whirling around to step closer to the doorway. "If you weren't so badly hurt, I'd-I'd-I'd shove you!"
"Fine, I don't care, just go!"
"Fine!" Ahiru swept past the cloth covering the threshold and stepped outside.
"Fine!" Fakir called out after her.
She poked her head back in with one last, "Fine!" And finally, she rushed off before he could get the last word in, her heart hammering wildly in her chest and cheeks red from frustration. Ignoring the strange looks that she garnered, she marched toward the ladder that led to the lower ground, angrier than she had ever been in her entire life.
Honestly, for him to react so strongly over a couple of books was ridiculous! Sure, she was likely pushing into his personal boundaries, but …
… She really, really loved his work. And if he got so angry over it, then it must've meant something important to him. Something that he needed to be kept private. He was so defensive and so determined to keep his writing away.
All of his stories were dated before the time of the curse, too. Since losing his power, he hadn't even written another story, even just for recreation.
Well, it could've been worse. Thankfully, it didn't appear that Fakir was struggling to transform at all when she'd left. Perhaps he was able to take her advice and stay calm enough to be angry without transforming or anything like that.
Ahiru's steps slowed as her irrational temper tantrum dissipated. She … really did push him far, and he had just woken up, too.
She really had to make it up to him now for being her nosy self, even if he did deserve a good scolding. She shouldn't have looked through his things without his permission, but he had no right to just scream at her like that!
… Ahiru had never allowed herself to behave that way. Something felt so freeing and liberating, letting loose like that, though. Mytho would've been utterly mortified.
And in all of that, she'd forgotten that her main purpose was to find out a way to save the people of Wyvern without … having to die. And she failed to do so.
Well, Ahiru needed to get to the bottom of it all—a better solution to the curse, and Fakir's strong reaction to his writing. And by figuring all of that out, she could help everyone.
Time was of the essence.
Beta-read by Docktor Locktor