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❤Queen of Hearts❤
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a story by
alyson yang
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a pokemon adventures fanfiction
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Diamond Arc:
◊Chapter Two- When in Rome◊
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The inhabitants of Celadon City, in the depths of Kanto, have long been used to the mysterious mists that creep through the streets every night, vanishing with the passing sun. Nobody knows what it is, or how it forms—the only thing that the residents can agree on when explaining the phenomenon is that the fog is there to hide something, something that does not want to be discovered.
Silver frowns, tracing a map of the city with the tip of his pointer finger. There is something not quite right about the occurrence, something unsettling and sinister, and he is determined to track it down to its roots, if only to satisfy his own restlessness. With his father's ever-growing mysterious absences and Yellow's worsening health, he can feel the stress piling onto him, and he urges for an escape—anything, at the very least, that will keep his mind occupied and away from the harsh truths of reality.
His finger stops on an inconspicuous building near the Southern part of the city, exactly alike to all the buildings in the vicinity. Rocket Game Shop. The name is strangely familiar to him, although he cannot place it from where exactly in his hazy memory. The logo—a large red R, with a black background—does not ring any bells, however, and he dismisses the store as a possible lead, moving on to more probably originators of the mist. The small aquarium near the department store appears more and more interesting to his eye every second.
"Lord Silver." A quiet voice interrupts his thoughts, and he turns to see Lyra standing at the door, hands held primly in front of her as she bows. Her brown pigtails pop up almost comically when she does so, and he stifles a chuckle that builds up in the depths of his throat. "Lady Blue instructed me to give you this before she left for a trip to town." She fishes the pockets of her apron, drawing out a slim white envelope, and presses it in his hand. "Please read it." She bows again, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Did she say anything else when she gave it to you?" he asks, eyeing the envelope warily. Whatever Blue deemed unnecessary to tell him herself in person when she left for her monthly visits to town usually ended up to be trivial things, but he is a man of caution, and will not throw his fate out to the wind. "Do you know who the original sender is, perhaps?"
"No, I do not know for certain, Lord Silver," Lyra says primly, folding her hands together. "I believe it was Master Cheren, though, as there are still traces of his rosemary cologne on it. I can remember it from the last package he sent, a few weeks ago."
"Father?" Silver says, surprised. "Why would he—" Pausing, he fingers the edges of the envelope suspiciously, feeling the bumps and grooves in the outside parchment, before frowning. "Lyra, you are to be dismissed for now. Leave me be until teatime."
"Yes, Lord Silver." Lyra bows once again, gaze directed at the floor, before quietly exiting and closing the door behind her.
When he hears the last of the footsteps die away in the distance, Silver all but rips apart the envelope, savagely tearing it in two, three, four sections. True to his expectations, two pieces of stark-white paper flutter to the ground, falling neatly at his feet. The smaller sheet is crammed with words, and bending over to pick it up, he recognizes Blue's elegant penmanship immediately.
Father bade me send you a copy of this prophecy, from when he visited the Oracle of Spades in one of his travels. He hopes it will assist you in the future.
Below, words are filled into rigid columns, letters inconspicuously made thinner when it became clear they would not fit as it was. The ink is still drying on some of the bottom lines, smeared throughout the margins, and, careful not to crinkle the letter, he scans through the prophecy.
Child of misfortune, son of hell
In the shadows forever you dwell
Be watchful of those gold and bright
For shining stars are filled with spite
The kindred soul will lead you wrong
Your final choice will come erelong
Within the shadows of your past
Drown within the souls of
Silver frowns, turning the page around to the other side. There are no more words to be seen, although it is very evident that the prophecy is not finished. Perhaps Blue had forgotten to add the last tidbits in...? But no, his elder sister is just as cautious as he is, and would never let such a glaringly obvious mistake slip in beyond her notice. The more reasonable explanation would be, of course, that the prophecy had simply never been completed, although that, too, is unlikely; Oracles are renowned for their stellar performances and accurate divinations. Unfinished prophecies are considered to be the ultimate shame of prophesying, especially to someone as famous and experienced as the Oracle of Spades.
It was easier not to think of the subject matter at all.
He tosses the paper carelessly away and onto his desk, focusing his attention on the larger sheet. There are only five words in comparison to Blue's cramped note, all in rushed handwriting that he makes out to be belong to his father's desk secretary, Leo:
Beware the Sign of R.
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Emerald folds the napkins carefully, matching the fabric fringes together in an enviable display of dexterity. The cafe will not be open until noon, but he will need all the practice he can get if he is to inherit the family business; his mother's declining sanity and his father's weak constitution will be unable to support their middle-class lifestyle for long.
He is half-finished with his task when there is the tell-tale sound of the front door opening slowly, the groan of old wood against rusted metal resounding in the silence. Before he has the chance to turn away from the now-crumpled napkin in his fingers, delicate hands cover his eyes and a warm breath brushes against the top of his head, causing tawny locks of stray hair to move hazardly against his forehead. "Guess who?"
"Crystal," Emerald says, exasperated, placing the napkin onto the table, "and I was almost done with this, too."
Crystal laughs, a soft, tinkling sound that echoes through the air like silver chimes in the wind. She has been a regular customer of the cafe for almost two years, and is his closest friend from the outside world—and hopefully, future wife—as well. "Well, I suppose I simply couldn't resist when you made such an interesting face. And you must understand, when I have not eaten for a long time my nature will change due to excessive hunger."
He snorts disbelievingly, but packs away the unfinished napkins into the designated gray bin inside the storage cabinet regardless. "Since you're here, I might as well prepare something. We still have the brussel sprouts Pa was planning to dispose of yesterday, a moldy cut of lamb shank we were going to feed the dog with, and a bag of fermented beans soaked in balsamic vinegar—"
"By any chance, does that list include fresh-baked apple pie?" Crystal asks, fiddling with the pale silver ribbon tied on the end of her plait; it is a shade lighter than the metallic grey color of her sundress, and matches the livid blue-grey of her eyes. "I thought I smelled it when I entered the room."
"You freeloader," Emerald snorts, readjusting his ponytail. "No, Pa's saving that for a customer. Come back next week; Ma's planning to bake some chicken pot pies. I could probably sneak one under a sleeve to give you."
"Oh, yes, I almost forgot," Crystal says, and brings out a few small bags of tea leaves from a small pouch in the folds of her dress. "These are imported jasmine leaves from Unova. We had a rather... affluent guest stay over at my house just the other day, and I thought Auntie Platinum and Uncle Pearl would like some. I heard they have both been rather under the weather these few days."
Emerald takes the bags gingerly, tucking them into one of his trouser pockets. He has always known Crystal to be from a well-off family, an aristocratic one even, but the amount of wealth to buy even one bag of such leaves is no small number. To give such a large number so carelessly away to a commoner like him, the position she holds on the social ladder is most likely higher than he will ever be able to reach. "Thank you, Crys," he smiles, trying not to look as disappointed as he feels. "I'm sure Ma and Pa will love it."
"Then I shall be back soon," Crystal smiles, giving his hands a tight squeeze. "And who knows, perhaps when we next meet, there might be a certain surprise awaiting on my finger I will certainly be looking forward to show you."
She leaves before he can say anything more. Emerald stares at her back, wishing he could say something more interesting than just genial chatter and words of empty congratulations; suddenly, it seems that she is miles away from him instead of a mere ten feet.
Another sharp clatter, and his mother enters the room, still donned in her muslin dressing gown and her hair untamed. Her eyes are unfocused, a sign that she is in the midst of one of her episodes; his father is nowhere to be seen, although it more than likely he is still asleep. She does not seem to notice him, instead walking across the room in some sort of distracted trance.
"Ma," Emerald says, blocking her path. "Ma, snap out of it. You're doing it again."
His mother stares at him impassively, as if processing who he is. He has never noticed before, but her eyes are the same shade as Crystal's, a stunning silver-grey color like the reflection of the sky on a polished sword—although Crystal's eyes are bright and filled with joy and life, and his mother's eyes are painfully empty.
She reaches her arm outwards, as if to caress his cheek, but clutches the edge of his chin instead. "Ma," Emerald says uncomfortably, backing away slowly from her painfully tight grip on his jawbone. "Ma, you're hurting me."
His mother does not seem to hear him. Instead, her fingers tighten around the skin of his jaw, one hand slipping downwards and encircling his neck instead.
"Ma!" Emerald shouts, flailing wildly, his voice taking a desperate edge to it. "I can't breathe! You're okay now! It's me, Emerald!"
His mother freezes, dim coherence resurfacing in her eyes slightly. Emerald takes advantage of her confusion to escape her grasp, clambering clumsily on a nearby table and catching his breath. In one fluid motion, his mother jerks backwards and collides with a untucked chair, landing on her heels with a loud clatter.
"Emerald?" his mother asks, her eyes wide and confused. She is no longer unaware and impassive, but disoriented and frightened, a light flush rising on the curves of her cheeks. "What—why am I here? What happened?"
"You had another one of those episodes," Emerald says, feeling his heart thump wildly in his chest. "Your fingers were around my neck and I wasn't able to breath and I was so scared, Ma, that I would die right then and there."
"...Die?" his mother says dumbly, almost as if she can't believe his words. Using the armrest on an open chair to support herself into a sitting position, she sinks onto the wooden seat rigidly. "I—my dear child... I almost killed you?"
"Ma, please, don't worry about it," Emerald says, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from her back. "When I inherit the family business, I'll earn enough money to pay for a doctor so that he'll be able to find out what's wrong with your mind. It must be some sort of evil demon that's been plaguing you, or a curse cast by some wicked sorcerer, or something equally horrible to that. There's no way that someone as kind and nice as you would do—"
"No," his mother interrupts him, sounding weary, but the solidity in her voice is enough to startle Emerald into flinching. "I think you're old enough, child. I shall tell you the truth today, about what happened to me before you were even conceived in my womb. I was the third wife of the Joker—"
Emerald gapes before he is aware of it, breathing hard in shock. "The Joker? Do you mean the most powerful man in the Poker Council—"
"Hush, child, and yes," his mother says, resting her neck on the edge of the chair backing. "I married him in a formal ceremony, yes, although in reality I was simply a disposable card used to cover up the existence of his second wife and play wet nurse to his two daughters. At the time, however, I had a lover, and when I slept with the Joker on our wedding night I did not know that I would give birth to two children of different fathers, as twins.
"When I found out at the time of the conceiving, I was so awfully ashamed that I fled his residence immediately by myself, effectively abandoning my daughters to his mercy. But he found me once again somehow, and, blackmailing me to stay with him for a little longer until my children were old enough to be weaned by cow's milk, I was forced to return. I left him after the span of a few short weeks, and though I will admit to having slept with him in that period, we ended things for good. I started a new romance with a man that I truly loved. Or so I thought.
"My short-lived union was extinguished when my new husband died of plague, and that man reentered my life. He said that he would be collecting his dues, and took away my son, who was still a babe. Not even a child yet. He stole my son away, and left me with nothing, until I finally met your father and gave birth to you."
"What does that have to do with your illness, Ma?" Emerald asks, furrowing his brows in confusion.
Platinum sighs, a long, tired sound. "I tried to commit the ultimate sin of killing my daughters when they were newly born," she says, running a hand through his hair. "The Joker had great ambitions, you see. He married the Queen of Spades, White; and then the Queen of Hearts, Bianca; and would have gone on to marry the widowed Queen of Diamonds, Delia, if she had not been on the verge of death with two young sons. So he resorted to marrying me, who was thirteen years younger than him, but the Queen of Clubs. A girl, not a woman, forced into marriage just like that. But for what purpose?"
"Cheren, that despicable excuse of a Joker, wanted to reenact the Prophecy of Four."
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