Chapter 5

I walk in silence with Carlotta still firmly planted on my side for several minutes. She seems to be in deep, meaningful thought, and I'd hate to interrupt that for some petty conversation she's not ready for. I start keeping track of time with a new song, humming gently so I don't distract her. After four repetitions, twelve minutes, she kneads my shoulder gently, almost thoughtlessly, like she's preparing to speak but isn't quite ready yet. Another half repetition later, she nudges me, and speaks.

"I have never had a friend before." She says. I'm not sure what she means by this.

"I've never had a friend quite like you before." I reply. And that's true in a lot of ways. Most of my friends are at least my species. Most of my friends I met in school, not in a fairyland.

"What is it like to be a friend?" She asks. I'm taken aback. What does it mean to be a friend? Everyone knows what it's like to have a friend, or what it's like not to have a friend, but how often do we define it?

"Um.. well. When you're friends with someone, you care about them. You like what they have to say and you like to talk to them. You spend time together, and generally you just try to have a good time when you do."

"What do friends talk about?" She seems perplexed, like talking is a waste of time.

"Anything. What they did that day, or things they've thought about, or they have themed conversations, like this one. For instance, I once had a very long debate with my friend Meg about our favorite bands. Other times you talk about things that bother you, and it's always very important to talk to each other about things that you do to each other that hurt your feelings. Because if you always hurt each other, it's not a very good friendship. Sometimes it's unavoidable, though, because you want different things, and you have to come to terms with that." I shrug, the gesture somewhat impeded by Carlotta hanging so heavily on me.

"Hmm. That seems like an awful lot of work." She grumbles, pouting.

"Well, I suppose that it doesn't always seem like work. This isn't work, is it?"

"… No."

"And I guess friends don't always have to talk either. They can be quiet together too. It just depends how you like to be together. I.. I suppose I'm the wrong person to tell you all this, since I don't really have too many friends. This is just what I've observed in other friendships and my own few." I laugh at myself. Carlotta 'harrumphs' quietly. So I just fall quiet and keep walking.

Before I can find something meaningful to say or decide to start humming again, a loud howling tears through the peaceful quiet. Carlotta shrieks, digging all four sets of claws into me, causing me to shriek as well. It hurts, it hurts, as she jostles me, the pointed ends of her feet surely tearing into me- but then she swiftly starts to fly away, hurling herself away from me.

"Carlotta, wait! Friends stay together!" I reach out with a hand as I lose my balance from her pushing off me so harshly. I stumble to my knees, roughing up my hands on the harsh stone.

Hardly pausing, I hear her call, "Carlotta has no friends! Carlotta is no one's friend, except her own!" And then she's gone. I sigh. I actually feel quite torn up, this time. I thought.. I thought we were getting somewhere. I stand a bit solemnly, feeling.. sad.

Well, I figure there's only one thing to do, now. That's to face the source of that awful sound and see what's up. Feeling brave, I charge up a large set of stairs, possibly thirty steps, and turn a few corners rapidly, until I find something that disgusts me.

The howling is coming from a huge furry something, hung upside down, being prodded by several smaller creatures with sticks that have mouths on them. It's obviously not in defense or out of need; the damn gremlins laugh as it howls with pain. I am horrified and infuriated but I don't know what to do. Those.. mouth-sticks would do a number on me, and then we'd both be trapped and bitten. I want to do something but what? What can I do that doesn't end with us both as victims? I'm one, weaponless girl against at lest five of those jerks.

As the poor thing howls again, several small bops on my ankles alert me to some stones. I pick them up; they're dense, heavy stones. I allow myself a small grin as I begin to hurl them at the gremlins, the stones clanging loudly when they collide with their cheap armor.

I laugh, glad to pay back their cruelty a little. A small chaos ensues as their stupid sticks end up pointed at each other, and soon, in their confusion, their attacks are aimed solely at themselves. Eventually one yells, 'retreat' and their fight breaks up, and they go dashing off.

"Ha!" I shout, victorious, still laughing a little. It falls apart quickly, though, because the creature, still strung up by his wrists and ankles, is baying softly in pain.

"Oh, you poor thing.." I follow the line with which he's held up to the stakes in the ground. I hold onto the slack as I kick out the stakes, but my tiny weight is nothing compared to his, and so as he plummets a few feet to the ground when the stakes are released, I am pulled just that much into the air. I fall on my back when the rope snaps tight and I let go accidentally, but I've had worse falls today alone. I try not to groan as I sit up, my back sore.

The creature rolls to his feet, his arms significantly longer than his legs and torso combined. He's got a doggish face, with big right-angle horns on either side of his head. His hands are long and clawed, dark grey in tone like his face and feet. He's got a bit of an underbite, the two canines of his lower jaw poking over his top lip. All in all, he's actually really cute, or he would be, if he weren't cowering in fear of another attack. His short tail is tucked low.

"Hey, hey.." I call his attention with a gentle voice. He looks over at me, looking me up and down with suspicion. "I'm the one who threw the rocks. I got you down. You're safe now. Or, safer, I suppose." He flexes his nose at me, curious.

"Friend?" He asks in a surprisingly clear voice. I nod, encouraging.

"Yes, yes. I'm Christine, I am a friend." I smile. "And you? What's your name?"

"Raoul." He pronounces it with a single syllable: 'rall'.

"I have a friend back home named 'Raoul'." I say it with the two syllable pronunciation: 'ra-ool'.

"Friend." He purrs, smiling. He finally stands up, all the way back on his legs, his long arms dangling awkwardly in front, knuckles close to the ground.

"Yes, friend." He only purrs again, a deep throaty sound that could easily be mistaken for a growl. The pleasant grin on his face tells me it's not, though, and I feel like I can definitely trust him. He seems a bit simple, but kind, and I suppose that's all that matters. "Raoul, do you know how to get through the labyrinth?"

"Hmm." He rumbles, eyebrows pulling tight together in thought. He looks at the castle, and all around, craning his neck, nose flaring softly. "Hmm. No." He shakes his head sadly as he looks back to me.

"Oh, that's okay. It's really hard; I wonder if anyone knows their way through the labyrinth. Well, aside from Carlotta, but seeing as she's not here and not likely to come back, I guess we're on our own. Oh, that is, if you want to come with me?"

"Hmm." Raoul nods, tail wagging softly. "Raoul will help Christine."

"Thank you, Raoul! You are a kind beast. I wish I knew what you were, though. Carlotta called herself a siren, I think? But she looks like a harpy." Raoul just shrugs, but follows all the same.

I take to humming again after I run out of things to say to Raoul, and he seems quite content to listen no matter what I do, hardly having anything to say himself. That's alright, though, because he's putting himself into the task of navigation quite seriously. Sometimes he smells something and leads me away from certain paths, with little explanation, though I'm quite glad to have someone openly helpful. Though, I do miss Carlotta. I hope she's alright.

Raoul and I wander through the maze for a good thirty minutes before we find another door- scenario. Another two doors, separated by only a foot or so of wall space. These have huge knockers on them, with decorative bronze heads bearing the knockers. The left one is a very round head and face, balding with a curl of hair in the middle. The ring for the knocker comes out of his ears, and he looks disgruntled at that. The right one is a longer, squarer face. His hair is fuller, thicker, ridiculously curled. The ring for his doorknocker is placed in his mouth, and he, as well, does not seem pleased with this.

"Well, Raoul, which of these poor souls should we pick?" He grunts, sniffing at both of them briefly, but then:

"It's very rude to stare!" The head on the left hollers, overly loud considering how close we're standing, though the ring in his ears gives ample explanation.

"Oh!" I squeak. I hardly expected these to be sentient, but I should probably expect everything and anything to at least have the potential, given everything I've seen here. "I- I'm sorry, we're just trying to decide which of- which door to choose."

"Hrr crnt hrr yrrr." The right head mumbles around his ring.

"Uh, hold on." I say, and I take the ring out of his mouth. I nearly drop it, the thing must be five or ten pounds. How can he bear this weight constantly on his mouth? "Ah, you were saying?" I ask as I adjust the knocker in my hands.

"Ooooh, that feels so good… I haven't been able to speak clearly in centuries.." He rolls his eyes, but he's obviously very relieved. He stretches his lips and jaw a bit more before continuing. "As I was saying, it's no point trying to talk to him-", he rolls his head towards his counterpart. "- for he's deaf as a post." He nods, concretely.

"Mumble mumble mumble- you're the worst conversation partner!" The left one replies.

"All you do is holler and moan, you decorative door knob!" The right retorts.

"Ugh- it's no good, I can't hear you." The left, I'm sure, would shrug if he had shoulders.

"Ah, pardon." I interrupt. They both 'turn' back to me, what little they have in necks angling their faces awkwardly. "Where do your doors lead?" I ask the right head after a small hesitation, since he'll be able to give me an actual answer.

"Heavens above if either of us actually know; we're just the knockers." He laughs sardonically. I think it's cruel that they more or less guard an unknown. I sigh in sympathy.

"Well, how do I open them? You don't appear to have any handles.."

"Knock, and the door will open." He states a bit dramatically, pointing his face as far up as he can, attempting to look regale. I look between the two, unsure who to choose.

"Well… I think I'll take your door. Would you mind taking this back?"

"No, no, no!" He squirms, clenching his lips together.

"Doesn't want that thing back in his mouth? Can't say I blame him." The left head calls. I groan. Well, he didn't say how I had to knock..

"I'm going to try something." I take the ring and bop it against the door, the head's eyebrows shooting up in surprise. We both look around, everything is still for a moment, then the door creaks open. "Ah! I didn't think that would work!"

"I hardly expected it to as well!" He seems delighted.

"What should I do with this?" I hold up the ring.

"Well… I guess I should take it back anyway, then. So it doesn't get lost… Duty and all." He sighs. "It was noble of you to try to keep me free of it, but there's no escaping it." He opens his mouth expectantly.

"Are you sure? I could.. hook it somewhere?" I offer. I look around for a post or a particularly heavy rock or something to keep it handy so that he, at least, doesn't have to deal with it. I'm not sure I could do anything for the other door, given that his ring is hooked in his ears.

"No, no point. Someone will steal it or it'll turn into- into butterflies or something absurd." He sighs again. "Give it here. I wish you luck, little lady." He opens his mouth again, sadly resigned.

"Well.. If you are quite sure. Thank you. I hope you don't have to wait too long to be able to speak again." I say as I place the knocker in his mouth again. He nods, the edges of his mouth almost turned up in a smile. "Remember that trick, though, maybe you'll figure out a way to be rid of it forever one day. Come on, Raoul." I take Raoul by the hand, as he seems a bit torn about this decision. I understand; it's a bitter kind of victory.

"Good-bye, good luck." He says as we pass through. He sounds sad. I wish I could help.

The next area is dark, but full of plant life that reaches for the light that streams in. It's like a natural greenhouse, in the way that it feels crowded and lively. Raoul rumbles behind me, but I keep leading him forward. Soon, though, he starts to pull back a little, softly, hesitantly, his big hand gently gripping mine and holding me back. I look back to him, and find that he's very anxious. His eyes shift around nervously, his body language screaming 'alert, high danger'.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"Scared." He says shortly. I don't see what there is to be scared about, though. This place seems no more threatening than any other.. though I suppose the labyrinth is good with things not being what they seem. Still, until I can quantify the danger, we can't stop.

"That's okay; we're okay. I don't think there's anything to be afraid of here.." He whines in reply. "I think we'll be okay if we stick together, and it's safer to keep moving.. Oh, I could hardly imagine someone as big as you being afraid of anything." I laugh shortly, patting his hand. "Come on, I'll show you." I say, and take a few confident strides forward, letting go of his hands, into a beam of light. I close my eyes and make a show of turning around, arms out, asking something to go wrong. It's a leap of faith that this area, at least for now, is not out for our heads.

"See? Nothing's wrong here." I open my eyes and Raoul is gone. I look around, even walk back a few yards but I don't see him, don't even hear him, and his steps are usually quite tangible both in sound and feel. "Raoul?" I whisper, afraid. Was I wrong to doubt him? To try to reassure him? Is he safe, is he hurt? Is this my fault?

"RAOUL!" I start to panic.

~{(Carlotta)}~

I huff as my wings start to tire. I hate that I am cursed with such tiny wings, I deserve wings as big as an angels! But I have what I have, so I simply drop to my feet, grateful no one else is around to witness me stumble. I am still on edge. That girl, that stupid girl has Red Death himself chasing after her! Nothing good comes of his attention, and I refuse to be associated!

It was bad enough he asked me to lead her back to the beginning in the first place. I say 'ask', but no one dares refuse the Angel of Death when he requests you to do him a favor. Once upon a time he may return it, but these days to encounter him and live to tell are a miracle. If he was ever kind, he isn't anymore and has not been in living memory. To earn his ire is certain suffering; long and drawn out like the wailing of his instruments each night. I have heard it said that lucky ones are turned into instruments themselves, and they live only when he plays his pain into them, their lives one of suffering, both his and their own. And that is what happens to lucky ones.

No, I do not want to be lucky or unlucky. I want to be uninvolved, singing and flying far away from this mess of a kingdom. Damn the girl who has caught his eye; Carlotta needs and wants no one, and she can become his favorite ukulele for all that I care!

I am back to the mountainous region when I hear her. I feel a pulling in my heart, a clench of fear on her behalf, and before I can name it or reject it I am flying, rapidement, on tired wings towards her. Yet something grabs me by the tail and pulls me back. I land harshly on my back, spine aching from the yank.

"And where are you going in such a hurry, my feathered one?" Damn, damn, triple damn! It's him. The red he wears now is less bright, much darker, yes, it is the color of murder. He is drenched in it, his cape the darkest of it all. Bloody murder, Red Death.
"Y-you! Sire!" I quickly pull myself into a bow. I am afraid of him, he is terrible and powerful and in his shadow or light, I am nothing. "I- I lost the girl, she is very slippery, you see, but I hear her now, and I am to take her back!" He looks most unimpressed. The magic mask moves like a face, so the eyebrows pull back in disbelief.

"I see." He's only playing along, I know he suspects me, but of what? Betrayal? I am not so stupid. "For a moment there looked to be some kind of fondness in your rush to her. Such a pitiful display of emotions would be most, ah… unbecoming." His voice is like thundering water; simple and deceptive but powerful, so powerful. A person could drown in his voice..

"Me? Fondness for anyone but you or myself? How darling an idea, my lord, but no, no, to betray you so? Aha, I am no fool! I take her back!" I assure, cowering, hiding behind a silly smile. Off in the distance the girl cries out again. She sounds most unhappy. I almost want to whine for wasted time.

"No. You don't take her back anymore." Red Death intercedes, mocking my speech. He leans coolly against a rock face, almost appearing deep in thought.

"Then what do you want I should do?" I am genuinely curious. Does he mean to hurt her, or have me hurt her? Could I bring myself to do it?

"You will give her this." He summons a crystal ball in his wicked fingers, then with a mystic wave of his hand it is an apple- a very large, golden yellow and red apple. He delicately hands it to me, a single, knobby hand placing it softly in my own. It is large enough in my hands that I cannot wrap my longest fingers around it to touch.

"What is it?"

"A test. A present. None of your concern, Carlittle." He hisses a butchering of my name, and I shrink a little under the weight of his gaze.

"It.. it will not hurt her?" I ask, unsure myself why I care so much. He rises up, looming over me. He is furious that I dare defy him, dare to question his motives.

"I would never harm her." He kneels down so he is my own height, and somehow this is more frightening. "Now: why are you so concerned? She's mine, no matter what she called you."

"She called me friend… I do not wish to hurt her." I whisper, the words forcing themselves out my throat. Air seems to come slow to me, each breath painful and exhausting but gone too quickly.

"And hurt her you will not, especially not in my name or if you value existing in flesh and feathered form. But you will deliver this gift to my Christine, or I will make a golden harp of you, harpy, and I will let the Cleaners play with you. Are we understood? She may be your friend, but you are not hers. You will do my bidding, or you will come to regret it. Yes?"

He is like a mountain in the form of a man; I shake at his feet even as he meets my eyes. I look at the apple. The ground feels loose underneath my feet, the air itself seems to shake me and I almost wish that a tear in the earth would open up and take me away from this moment, this decision. I feel sick.

"Yes."

"Then fly along, and play 'friend' with her until a time is right. Do not fail me." He growls, teeth bare as mask and lip draw back. Then he pulls away and is gone into the mountain, and I am left with a beautiful, poisonous apple, and a wicked, guilty heart.

Christine calls again, and I waste no more time. I am coming to you, Christine. I am coming.

~{(Christine)}~

I run through this new part of the labyrinth, the panic of losing both Raoul and Carlotta making my vision and rational thought blurry. The terrain turns to forest, mulch underfoot, which I only know because I seem to have lost my shoes in my hurry. I feel like I'm falling apart, like the world around me is collapsing and there is nothing I can do but run.

I stumble into a clearing, dazed, the world finally seeming to slow down. I slowly stand up, the cool, damp ground feeling nice on the scratches of my palms. Though I know this is just another part of the labyrinth, this forest feels deep, evoking a primal wildness that scares me. I feel small, and I don't like it.

There is a strange music that calls from deeper in, and I decide to follow it. Music has a source, after all, and more often than not it's people. I've gotten this far with help, so maybe these people can help me find Raoul? Or at least point me in the right direction. I'd like to find Raoul before continuing, but I'm running out of time, I can feel it.

I am unsurprised to find the source of the music is indeed a collection of people, however, I am quite bewildered when I see them performing what constitutes as dancing. They are graceful, thin creatures, birdlike and hauntingly childish as well. They look like.. alien ballerinas, wiry, loose feathers spreading out from their hips like tutus. Even their voices make me think of Meg's ballet troupe, young and feminine.

Despite their high energy dancing, which consists of no less than articulately removing their limbs, they seem to lazily notice my presence. Still, they flock around me, their conversation, muddled though it is, seems to turn to invitation. Me? Join them?

"Come on, girly, we're out to have a good time!" One of them says, clutching me by the shoulders, far too enthusiastic. I vaguely see another clap her hands together, creating a fire in a pit that definitely wasn't there before. The main one, the one holding me, starts to swing her hips to a new rising song and I realize with dread she's going to sing.

"Don't got no problems," She starts, her companions echoing her, "Don't got no suitcase. Ain't got no clothes to worry 'bout, ain't got no real estate." She pulls me in a spin around their circle, her delicate frame far too effective in turning me to a marionette.

"Or jewelry or gold mines to hang me up!" Another tacks on, far too fast, the tune of the words lost over top the tune of the music.

"I just throw in my hand," I watch in horror as the first one pulls off her hand at the wrist, turning it around like she's showing off a prized possession, "With the chilliest bunch in the land. They don't look much-" She throws her hand into the fire- only to flick her arm and have it reappear, as if she'd never removed it.

"But we're sure chilly chilly." Another one grabs me by the wrists, grinding her hips on mine, her face much too close to mine.

"But they're positively 'glow glow'!" The first one takes over again, tearing me, almost thankfully, away from the grinding one.

"Chilly down with the wild gang! Think small with the wild gang! Bad hep with the wild gang!" They collectively sing what must be the chorus, dancing around me in a chaotic circle, pulling themselves and each other apart artfully.

"When your thing gets wild, chilly down, chilly down with the wild gang!" The main one sings again, spinning me around again. Too fast, too harsh, everything they say after that is lost in dizziness. All I'm aware of is a jumble of discordant sound and their hands, oh their hands, all over me. They grab me, pull me, turn and twist me around, too close and too familiar for my liking. I hate close contact, I hate being touched, especially by strangers, and it sets my skin to crawling.

"No, no, please stop-" I try to ask them but they only sing louder and 'dance' harder. I start to panic again, pulling away, but they hold me tighter, and I scream, pushing them away.

The sound pierces through their music, finally cutting through the toxic melody that pervaded the very forest. In the quiet that follow, they draw back, afraid and angry both, and I run.

Their ensuing shouts are a mess, but their tone leaves no room for doubt. I 'ruined' their fun, and now they're out for blood. Or something. Somehow they're not physically threatening, but they make me uncomfortable all the same. They chase me through the woods, and I make a significant lead on them until I hit a wall.

Not literally, thankfully, but I'm trapped, the forest suddenly too dense on either side for me to skirt the wall. I can't go back the way I came, there's only one path which the dancers are coming down.

"Oh, no, no, no!" I shout, frustrated. I bang my palms on the stone wall, but there's nothing weak or hidden about it. It's solid, and I'm stuck.

"Up here!" A familiar voice calls from above. Before I can look or respond, a rope drops down on my head. "Climb, girl, climb!" It's Carlotta! Without hesitation, I take hold and start to shimmy up the rope, strangely happy to have had a gym class these last few years in high school.

The dancers finally reach the wall when I'm half way up, their shouts of annoyance and disappointment echoing mutedly upwards. I grin, just a little, at having outfoxed them, though once again my success is only at the hands of someone else. Still, I'm not upset to have been helped, that would be stupid. Instead, I feel relief when I finally see Carlotta's face over the wall, and I nearly vault over its edge to hug her.

"Oh, Carlotta, thank you!" I can hear the unintended extra emotion in my voice, something like desperation, but I don't care. I squeeze her tightly, grateful to have one friend back. Except she pulls away, her smaller limbs extraordinarily strong. I try to let go but my shirt sleeve gets caught on a wing, and in her efforts to disengage the embrace, she pulls backwards over the wall.