Chapter 11

The Dilemma

She hadn't expected the man to take it all so well; alas, there they stood, introducing themselves like it was completely normal. The doctor always managed to have something surprising up his sleeve every time they met, whether or not he realized it himself.

"Alto? As in... the musical term?" he questioned, raising a brow.

She nodded. How would she make up with Claire like that? The Harvest Goddess honestly didn't expect her to run around as a sprite, did she?

"I see. My name is..." he began, hesitating for a moment.

She finished for him, "Trent, right?" She refused to call him "Doctor" in her current state. Why on earth would he want a little sprite to call him Doctor? Was he really that used to it? He seemed more like a workaholic every time she met him or someone brought him up.

His eyebrows shot skyward, then returned to their normal position. "Y-yes... How did you know?" he confirmed. Trent slowly maneuvered himself into a cross-legged position, never taking his eyes off her, as if she'd disappear in a split second.

"I'm a Harvest Sprite, silly. I know things," she smirked. She might as well have a bit of fun with it, after all. It's not every day that a goddess turns you into a magical being.

He frowned, slightly miffed by her behavior, and replied, "You can't expect me to know things just because you do." He crossed his arms.

The tone seemed rather familiar, in a way. "Excuse me, then."

"Hm," he grunted. The doctor scanned the area, for what, she knew not.

"Why are you even out here? Aren't you always at the Clinic?" she interrogated, crossing her tiny arms.

His eyes widened for a moment. "It's Wednesday. The Clinic is closed on Wednesdays. Shouldn't you know that, being a Harvest Sprite?" he inquired.

Dear Goddess, since when was he so... sassy? "I don't keep track of that stuff. Time is meaningless for us immortals," she retorted, pursing her lips. Well, it was half true. She rarely, if ever, kept track of times and dates. She was notorious for that back in high school.

"I see," he nodded, hints of irritation in his voice.

Why was he even still there? He was talking to a Harvest Sprite. Gosh dangit, leave already, so I can go have some words with that stupid Goddess.

"Could I ask you to assist me with finding herbs? I suppose you would know the mountain better than most," he suddenly requested, staring at her expectantly.

What happened to leaving? Well, her knowledge of plants paled in comparison to what a sprite should know. "I suppose I'll help you," she agreed. It couldn't hurt, right? Nothing was wrong with such a simple task.

"You... Suppose?"

"I'll help you!" she snapped, marching away toward the flower field.

"You needn't be like that," he scolded quietly, "I was merely making a request. If you don't want to help me, I can do this by myself. It'd probably go faster. You know, seeing as I'm much taller - n-not that being short is bad, you see, I was just..." he trailed off with a sigh. "You don't have to help."

While the words would sound empty and forced from most people, they tumbled out of his mouth in such an earnest way that she couldn't help but believe that his intentions were nothing short of good. "Oh, stop. I do want to help you. I just haven't had a good day. Sorry for that - you didn't deserve it," she apologized, tilting her head all the way back to look at his face. She hadn't noticed before, but he probably towered over her even when she was human.

"It's alright. Thank you for helping," he replied calmly, his face back to its usual odd mix of calm and... not amused.

She grinned, tiny feet turning and pattering over the plank bridge.

Trent's loafers clunked heavily behind, drowning out the noise of her tiny shoes.

As soon as she crossed, the tall grass enveloped her in warmth and... Er, dirt and pollen.

"Wait, where are you?" Trent called, nearly stepping on her.

She tugged at the hem of his pants. "Here!" she replied, grabbing his attention, "Now, what plants do you need?" She quickly changed the subject to the problem at hand.

"I need the roots of any of these flowers, and preferably some red grass," he informed swiftly.

"Roots and red grass, right..." She scanned the area, looking upward at the buttery yellow of a Moondrop flower. Gripping its stalk tightly, she yanked upward. It didn't budge. Her teeth clenched, and a bead of sweat dribbled down her cheek. After an exhausting bout of pulling and grunting, she huffed and fell backwards into the grass, gasping for breath.

A a quiet chuckle sounded out behind her.

She rolled to her feet and looked up at Trent. The corners of his lips were turned up in a tiny, amused smile.

She pointed a minuscule finger at the man and shouted, "Shut up, you." Though, she regretted the words when he really did stop smiling. A silent desire for the expression to persist tugged at the back of her consciousness. That's not right, she scolded herself, that shouldn't be there.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry. Um... I could pull the flowers up. I can see them from up here. It's the grass I need help with," he stated, holding his hands up, "I apologize, I should've clarified." The corners of his lips twitched.

She pursed her lips. "You don't look very sorry."

"Well... I am," he replied, so simply and thoughtfully, staring right at her with those dark eyes of his.

It didn't sound like a normal comeback in an argument, but the words weren't meant to serve that purpose. It was a statement of truth. But, no words came to her mind in that moment, so she nodded, feeling much smaller in more than a physical way, and looked around for the familiar hues of cranberry red among the foliage.

For a while, they went on that way. She would scurry over with red grass and toss it at his feet and they'd exchange a few quips about how small she was and how he could do it himself but she had nothing better to do, really, so here she stood.

For a while, that suppressed (and possibly took away from) the panic threatening to boil over the edge. The thought of herself raging in her current form was enough to prevent it, anyway.

"Well," Trent yawned, gathering the herbs they'd collected, "I must be going. Thank you very much. You were helpful today, and I appreciate it, even if you may or may not be real." He gave a curt little wave.

"No problem! And, well, I'm too sure I'm real, either," she laughed. It had all happened so fast, she had no time to think or even react... But busying herself with the task helped take her mind off things. "In fact, thank you."

His gaze bored into her for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. "You're welcome." He nodded, as if he could somehow understand what she was feeling.

In a way, he really did seem to share her pain. It was probably just wishful thinking, anyway. She hoped they could meet again like this; well, the Clinic was closed every Wednesday, was it not? He could come back. Well, only if she was still a sprite... And she intended to fix that problem. Quickly.

He turned to leave.

"See you later," she choked out.

He stiffened.

Right. He probably hadn't believed a moment of it - he'd probably told himself it was all an illusion, that he was hallicinating from too much caffeine and whatnot. How foolish of her to expect anything more than that.

He turned quickly, a shellshocked expression on his face. "I... Well, I have work tomorrow," he responded, as if that was dangling in front of her face, obnoxiously obvious.

"Well, of course you-" she halted, her face suddenly tingling with warmth. "Of course you do. Sorry. Next Wednesday, then?" she requested politely. Yes, of course. She was an experiment, a test. He'd have to come back to see if she was real, but if he came on any other day it'd be suspicious.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. "Well... I was actually planning on staying in next week. I've been looking into something, you see, and..." he trailed off, his eyes glued on her face.

"That's not okay," she reprimanded, stomping a miniature foot on the ground.

For a moment, his face turned stern, and he replied cooly, "I'm sorry, but it's just how I've planned it."

"Well... The week after, then?" Althea suggested. Okay, so there was still hope... Hopefully. Ugh, how redundant. Her thoughts were even getting redundant. She was losing her edge.

He chewed his lip, drawing in a breath. "I'm not sure. This project could take a while. A... Long while," he sighed.

Seriously? What a joke; he was obviously trying to avoid the subject. "You're kidding! Even just a few moments?" she pleaded. Don't be like the rest. Don't let me down.

"Look, I really can't afford to waste time coming out here. I honestly wasn't planning on coming out today at all," he defended, his lips in a slight frown.

She only heard the first half. "Waste of time?" she echoed. The second bit finally registered as a silence ensued. Though she should've waited and listened to what he had to say, an urge to wait and hear his answer begged her to stay silent.

"I..." he faltered, "I didn't mean it like that." His face seemed genuinely concerned, in a scientist sort of way, like his experiment results were all wrong.

So, that was it, then. "Okay," she mumbled dully, shrugging. "I get it. You don't think I'm real." Of course, she shouldn't have hoped for anything else. She let herself down.

Cicadas chirped dully in the background.

"Well, I... You're right," he confessed firmly, "I don't think you're real."

"Why? Why not?" she queried.

He blinked and looked up at the sky, as if pulling together his thoughts. "Well, as a man of science, I don't quite believe in things like magic," he stated, nodding curtly.

She knew the feeling, but she was there! Right now! In front of his face! "Isn't magic just science that has yet to be discovered?" she countered. Aha! Brilliant!

He then turned his gaze on her seriously, as if just realizing she was there. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, stuttering. "I-I suppose," he huffed stubbornly.

"So, do you think I'm real, now?" she asked smugly. She had him pegged; there was no way out, of course. Actually, well, he could've been one of those stubborn doctors who always thought they were right. Oh... Oh. Oh no.

He held his arms stiffly at his sides. "Quite honestly, no," he breathed, "I'm sorry, but I just can't believe you're real." He frowned deeply at her, like she was the reason his experiment backfired.

"Then leave. Leave, and don't come back," she spat. Well, if he didn't believe she was real, then he wouldn't take her seriously. And she didn't have time for people who saw her as less than what she was: an intelligent adult.

To be frank, she regretted her words a few seconds afterward.

His gaze lingered on her. After what could've been seconds or minutes, he slowly, one foot at a time, turned and walked away.

She blinked away tears. "I went and did it again," she muttered forlornly, after he disappeared. What had she done? Oh, even if she looked like a sprite, it still hurt not to be believed in. Maybe that's how Claire felt; like a mere fairy tale, like background noise, like she didn't matter. Well... No, that couldn't be right. She was just concerned that Althea hadn't talked to her. It wasn't like she really cared. Claire could befriend anyone she wanted, and obviously, Althea wasn't exactly her best choice. Like a human, Claire would pick the best. Like a human, she wouldn't care.

He cared. Even for a moment, even if he thought you weren't real. He noticed.

No. Shut up. He was using me to get herbs.

He isn't stupid. He could've gotten it done much faster by himself.

And what does that mean? That he enjoyed the company of a Harvest Sprite? No, he's not stupid at all - in fact, he's too smart for this juvenile trick. He didn't believe a second of it, and you know it.

The mentally spat words quelled the thoughts in her head, leaving a sort of empty feeling behind. Good. Thinking was getting tiring, and the longer she put it off, the longer she'll have until she would deal with her anxiety. Why her, though? Why not someone else? If everyone was punished for committing a stupid sin like jealousy, no one in Mineral Town would be where they are.

Was it some cruel joke upon humanity? Did the poor, lonely Harvest Goddess need some entertainment? Oh, but of course, use the guilty confession as an excuse to throw some magic around and screw up someone's life. All in the name of something lovely, like friendship.

Or maybe she didn't need friendship. Maybe... Yes, oh yes! Seeing as trying to be friends stuck her in this trap, she really didn't need such a trivial keepsake. She'd live as a Harvest Sprite forever, leaving humans alone for the rest of eternity.

Oh... But... Who would take her stuff?

More importantly, who would miss her?

"No one," she whispered.

Everyone, she thought.

"I... Really don't know," she realized. Her feet were moving. How long had she been walking?

Somehow, she ended up staring into the Goddess Pond. The still surface reflected a foreign image back at her, an entirely surreal experience.

Her spritely ears pointed out of dark green hair that matched her human hairline, but... It wasn't blonde, and instead of a ponytail, a little pointed hat sat atop her head. Her entire body felt heavy and light at the same time, and her face tingled. Now what? What could she do? Would she keep crying?

In all honesty, that's what she wanted to do. She always kept her feelings in. So, as it turned out, crying about the hard things never came easily. Sure, it was easy to watch a sad movie or read an emotional book and cry, but the feeling was so superficial and everyone accepted it because they understood. There was no use trying to explain her deepest reasons for crying to others, because they wouldn't get it. And whenever she tried, the response would be something empty, like "that's just how it goes," or "welcome to reality."

Maybe she wanted to cry because... At first, she thought she could be free. A Harvest Sprite could do whatever it wanted. But making Trent upset made her realize that she couldn't escape reality.

And she knew that. She had always known that. But still, there was an ever-existent, human desire to somehow escape all the bad things, somehow.

But she was alone, then. She could cry when she was alone. It was okay.

Sunlight spilled over her bedsheets. The comforter trapped the heat in, making it difficult to move. Where was she? The familiar color of the walls indicated she was back at the Inn.

She looked at her hands, and then at her feet, two lumps under the sheets at the far end of the bed.

Wait... She was normal sized. So, that meant the whole thing was some crazy, insane dream, right? ... Right? Well, of course, it couldn't have been anything else. No, it wasn't real.

Oh... But... That meant she really hadn't talked to Trent. Wait, why did that disappoint her? She barely knew the man. Well... Maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to twinkle when he smiled, and the funny way of ruffling his own hair, and his awkward laugh - all these things seemed so strikingly familiar, it... It made her ache in a way she didn't think possible.

She sat up, slowly, carefully, her back arching downward in a hunch. She sat numbly for a while. It could've been seconds, minutes, or hours. She just sat, reveling in the peace and quiet, telling herself she should do something, but when did she ever listen to her own good advice anymore?

Then it hit her like flaming brick. Of course, how had she not seen it? She flung herself off her bed and ripped her suitcase out from underneath, fumbling with the latches to pry them open. The top bounced off the bed and slammed shut again. Growling, she forced it back open and held it there, raking her fingers through the contents jammed into the leather case.

"Where is it?" she hissed, "I knew I had it in here - aha!" She triumphantly thrust the object upward, so she could clearly see it in the light.

The photograph, though poorly positioned and its subjects with awkward smiles on their faces, was her only picture with her music teacher. The dark-haired man had a hand on her teenaged shoulder, and his other hand on Claire's shoulder as they tried to keep their eyes open in spite of the glaring sun. Of course, her mother insisted they face the direction of sunlight to get the optimal view... Therefore, sacrificing any notion of a pleasant expression.

She giggled at the memory, which turned into more of a strangled sob. She blinked the tears away and they faded as quickly as they sprung up.

Though her parents had passed, her music teacher - Aoyama Takuro, or "Uncle Taku", as he insisted she call him - had been very much alive when she left her suburban home to travel the world. She really knew little about the man, just that he never married and had a niece and nephew with whom he never spoke. That indicated to her that he probably rarely contacted the sibling who parented said niece and nephew. Could he be related to Trent, though? Their mannerisms were eerily similar. Uncle couldn't be Trent's father... The doctor talked about how his parents were in the medical field. Aoyama would never allow himself to be tied down by such a rigid job. Besides, any other way it was possible didn't make sense.

Regardless, Uncle Taku taught her things not even her parents could. He was the last person she said goodbye to when she departed, and she knew it was on purpose. Though not even remotely blood related, he might as well have been her real uncle. He probably went and did something stupid when she left, and ended up getting himself killed, too. Ah, well, he would've lived a life he didn't regret - spreading the joy of music, and doing not much of anything else.

All his students both adored and were terrified of him. But they gradually accepted that. For his seemingly cool attitude, Aoyama could be incredibly strict... And scary. But he welcomed all, and easily calmed others in his presence. She desperately wished to do that. One day, she expressed that wish to him. He responded by saying, "Then just keep wishing that. One day, when you really, truly want to make others feel at peace, you'll do it, Alto." He then proceeded to talk about the piece he was teaching her as if he hadn't dished out words that would puzzle her for the rest of her life.

Ah, yes, Claire took lessons from him, too. That was how they met, actually - their teacher decided to have a "band party" at his small house (for no apparent reason, of course), and she and Claire wiped the floor with everyone at Rock Band. Althea beat Claire once they dueled each other, but she owed it to her considerably nerdy past.

Right. All her video games probably still sat in the corner of a closet in her sister's house, the house where they used to live. The house was left to both of them, but Althea resigned from partially owning the house and gave it to her sister and her sister's husband.

She struck out on her own, and didn't look back. She regretted it, unfortunately, but she would've regretted it more if she stayed.

Stretching, she flicked the photograph onto her bed covers and strode over to the vanity, lightly combing her golden hair with her fingers. She brushed the locks behind her pointed ears.

Wait.

"Oh my goddess," she gasped. Okay, okay, remain calm... She squeezed her eyes shut. Slowly, she cracked an eyelid open, reaching a shaky hand to touch her ear. Her senses didn't betray her; her ears tapered into tiny tips. So it wasn't a dream? Then how did she turn into a human? How did she end up back at the Inn? Did she really make Trent upset? Would she turn into a Sprite again? Why were her ears pointed?

A knock jolted her into reality.

"Coming!" she shouted, realizing she'd slept in her day clothes. She hastily arranged strands of hair to cover her ears.

The knock came again.

"Holy fudge, I said I'm coming!" she huffed, wrenching the door open.

Ann stood, straight as a broomstick. "I need your help," she declared, glancing behind her at Popuri. "We need your help." Her eyes were wide and wild, like a spooked horse, and her face was red and sweaty.

Popuri meekly shuffled over to the door. "Chickadee went missing this morning, and we-" she slapped a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling over.

Ann patted her friend's shoulder, holding up a yellow piece of paper. "Rick found this tapes to the inside of the coop door," she stated.

Altea took the piece of paper, instantly recognizing the curled handwriting.

I thought this beautiful bird would make a nice companion.

I'll be back at midnight to steal away another silky-feathered friend that caught my eye.

It's in the stars. ;)

-Phantom Skye

"Okay, the winky face is a bit much," Althea sighed.

Guys guys guys

Trent looks like Darian/Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon. *w*

Huehuehue. o3o *cough* Anyway, if you follow all my stories, you may have noticed something. And your resulting conclusion may be right. Or not.

I liked the backstory here. I've been developing her backstory for a while, and this resulted... Of course, it's a teensy bit angsty, but not like she was abused or her parents were brutally murdered by a mafia gang or something typical of an OC. This sets things up for later chapters. :D

I also felt the dialogue between her and Trent was still awkward... But, who am I kidding? They're still very awkward people. ewe

Kinda cliffhanger? XD But the Phantom Skye is back, and Althea's got some problems of her own. :0