Hey, guys! Welcome back to Hear a Tale! So sorry it's been so long since I updated, I was busy with getting accustomed to my new job! Yay! But that does mean that I now have less time/energy to write. Boo. And of course the adjustment period had to happen when I was working on one of the longest chapters yet...oh boy. But now, I'm back!
I'm going to be trying out a new update schedule, posting new chapters on Sundays instead of Fridays, since I think that'll work a little bit better with my work schedule. Depending how things go, I might also officially change it to "every other week" instead of "every week," but I'll see what works best for me! All that said...review time!
Thanks so much to CitrusChickadee (Glad you enjoyed! I always love a good Theri/Prim interaction :) and Guest (If there was ever a perfect word to describe Therion, it's definitely salty lmao XD) for reviewing!
With that, on with the tale!
Relevant Events: Primrose's Chapter Four
45. Illusion
The balcony was awash in a golden glow, lit like a sunset by the edges of the spotlight that spilled onto the stage, though the rest of the audience below was shrouded in darkness. The actors' voices echoed through the dim theater, the only audible sounds in the otherwise hushed building, but Primrose paid them no mind.
She had already heard more than enough on the way there.
The dancer lurked in the shadows of the entrance to the balcony, glaring daggers at the man who lounged in an ornate chair as he gazed languidly at the play unfolding on the stage below. The firelight bled across his silvery hair, turning it a bright flame-red. With one hand, he lazily swirled a glass of wine, while the other tapped a slow, steady rhythm against the arm of his chair. He was entirely unguarded, but also utterly uncaring and at ease.
Simeon had been expecting her from the start, of course.
Primrose tossed a glance over her shoulder, where she could see the silhouettes of her seven companions a little ways away as they waited for her signal.
If nothing else, she was sure Simeon had not expected her to bring so much help.
With any luck, though, she could finish this without needing to call upon them. She took a slow step forward, fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger as she envisioned dragging its blade across his crow-marked throat -
"Primrose, dear," Simeon spoke up without turning to face her, "I must say, your penchant for terrible timing is impeccable."
She stopped in her tracks, wary of his easy nonchalance. "Simeon…" she breathed before she could stop herself. Her eyes flicked about the balcony, but the two of them were indeed alone. Still, she dared not fall into the trap of feeling safe.
"Would you be so kind as to not interrupt?" he continued. "This is one of my favorite scenes, you know." Simeon tilted his head to look back at her, a leery smile spreading across his face. "Perhaps you'd care to watch it with me? I saved the best seat in the house for you."
With a casual flick of his wrist, he indicated a chair beside him that was a twin of his own. Primrose's lip curled in distaste. Knowing him, there could very well be needles hidden in the cushions or poison slathered across the arms.
"...I'll stand," she said shortly.
"Mhm. Suit yourself, then."
Her fists clenched at her sides. "You know what I've come to do."
"Now, now," he laughed softly, "let's not rush things. I invited you for a reason."
"'Invited' me…?" For a moment, Primrose's temper flared. "You tried to kill me!"
"Now, why on earth would I do a thing like that?" Simeon set down his wine glass and turned in his chair to gaze at her fully. He was draped over the chair's arm, his chin resting in one of his hands and a calm smile stretching across his pale face. "Darling, I took care to stab you in just the right place, that you could have lived or died. It's the uncertainty that makes for true drama, you see. If you had died…the play would have ended. But if you lived, then the next act could begin!"
What a sick bastard, Primrose thought.
Simeon stood, coming around to lean against the back of his chair, hands folded demurely behind his back in the picture of innocence. On instinct, Primrose gripped her dagger tighter.
"I would have been satisfied with either outcome, of course," the playwright continued casually. "There are any number of ways to end a tale. But…live you did. And now, you have dutifully taken the stage to play out your role in this tragedy." He chuckled pleasantly to himself. "Such a delightful show…let's not lower the curtain yet, hm?"
The nails of Primrose's empty hand dug deep into her palm. "I should have known you wouldn't bother to take this seriously," she spat. "I'm just a character in your precious show, am I? A pretty little puppet dancing on your strings, is that it?"
The playwright laughed. "Must you look at me with such a face? Are you, too, not an artist of sorts? Surely you can appreciate the beauty in this." He spread his arms and cast a grin back in the direction of the stage. "All the suffering, the pain that humans are capable of feeling, condensed into a few brief yet sumptuous hours…theater is life, and life is theater! Surely you can see this, yes?"
He took a step towards her, and Primrose instinctively drew back. Her retreat only further incensed the predatory light in Simeon's eyes, however, and the man continued to advance on her as she backed ever further into the hallway outside the balcony.
"Your life was a beautiful tragedy from the moment you were brought into this world as a squalling babe," he purred as he bore down on her. "How many times in your life have you felt blessed to be here? When has life ever seemed a gift?"
Far more times than Simeon could ever understand, that was for sure. Still, she did not contradict him. She only swallowed the lump in her throat and continued slowly backwards, leading the playwright out into the darkened hallway, where every sconce on the walls had been extinguished.
"This world is nothing but pain nigh beyond the point of bearing…" Simeon glanced about and gestured at the blackness that now surrounded them. "...constant, inescapable darkness."
The man's outline was backlit by the glow of the balcony's doorway, but his face was almost entirely shrouded in shadow. Only the whites of his eyes and his wide grin were distinguishable through the gloom, glowing eerily in the traces of candlelight that spilled out far enough to reach them. Primrose felt her heart miss a beat and her hands start to shake, but she stood her ground.
He was almost perfectly in position.
Simeon finally took the last few strides toward her, and it took every ounce of willpower the dancer had not to pull away when he leaned in close to her face, placing a cold hand against her cheek. She inhaled sharply, but did not move. She forced herself to stare directly into Simeon's shadowed face.
"My dear…I will tell you the only joy I have found in life," he murmured, slowly caressing her cheekbone with his thumb. "...watching the lives of others fall apart. The sweet fantasies that people imagine their existences to be inevitably crack, then shatter to pieces. And I savor the tragedy of of each and every downfall, because…" He drew in a shuddering breath. "Oh, it is delicious…that one moment - that glorious instant when I see a man, a woman, lose all hope. That is the only time I truly feel alive."
He cocked his head to the side, serenely peering into her eyes, which she knew would betray nothing. "...do you understand now, Primrose? Your love for your father, and his for you, it was a beautiful, fleeting thing…but it was all the more beautiful to see it all come apart. I thank you, Primrose, for inspiring me so…"
Simeon smiled gently, and placed his other hand on the hilt of the dagger Primrose still held in an iron grip. "And have I not inspired you in return, my dear? You have lived all this time for the sake of your revenge…" His grip on her jawline tightened ever so slightly. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me the name of your muse…of your reason for making it this far."
Primrose's face may as well have been made of stone. She tilted her head up just a hair, lifting her chin in defiance. Her eyes flicked to a spot just over Simeon's left shoulder, as she spoke clearly and calmly. "...Therion."
The playwright's face immediately twisted into a scowl. "What - ?"
The sound of snapping fingers echoed through the darkness. Suddenly, a stream of flame burst to life, lighting each wall sconce in turn until the corridor blazed with sudden light. In one swift movement, a hand shot out and slammed the door to the balcony shut.
"Hey there, jackass," Therion said flatly, flicking a few embers off of his fingertips and leaning back against the door, "looks like someone forgot about a few important supporting characters. Not a good look for a storyteller, I gotta say."
"Well, now…" Simeon sneered, finally releasing his grip on Primrose's face, "if it isn't our scruffy little knight aspirant." His steely blue eyes darted to each of the nearest six wall sconces in turn, under which each of the remaining six travelers stood, weapons all held at the ready. "Along with the rest of your ragtag crew, it would seem…"
"That's right!" Tressa piped up, pointing the end of her spear in Simeon's direction. "We're not gonna let you get away with hurting our friend!"
Simeon's eyebrows lifted. "Friend? Hmph, don't make me laugh." He extended a hand towards Primrose once again. "Something you should know about our dear Primrose - there's no room in that frozen little heart of hers for something as trivial as friendship. Do the seven of you really believe that you're anything more than accomplices to her? Pawns in this game of revenge she is playing? Because I have known her for most of her life, and - "
Primrose grabbed his wrist before he could touch her again, relishing his look of surprise as her nails dug into his flesh. "Don't you dare assume," she said in a low voice, "that you know anything about me, Simeon. I am not your character, and my life is not your script."
Her dagger flashed, its point cutting through the air until it stopped a hair's breadth away from Simeon's neck when he caught her wrist in turn. The surrounding seven travelers instantly tensed, every one of them ready to attack at a moment's notice, but the dancer and the playwright were still, each holding the other in a tense stalemate.
Simeon's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "My Primrose…you have lived all this time for the sake of your revenge. You clipped the left of my wings…and then the right." His thumb found the pulse in her wrist, pressing hard against the pounding of her blood. "And now you stand before me, your true foe. But do you not find yourself wondering…what your father would say if he could see you now?"
She wanted to snap at him in return, but her voice died in her throat. It was a question she had refused to ask herself all these years…one she knew she wouldn't like the answer to.
The man's wolfish grin only widened. "Do you truly believe this is what he would have wanted for you? To throw away all your hopes and dreams for the sake of revenge?"
"...my father is gone," Primrose said faintly, avoiding his eyes, but Simeon wasn't finished.
"I don't think he'd be happy at all. I think he'd say this…'Live not for me, for I am dead and gone. You must find your own happiness.'" Though his right wrist was still caught in her iron grip, he opened his hand, allowing a white mist formed from magic to spill forth from his palm. Primrose was vaguely aware of her companions exclaiming in alarm, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She only idly noted the gradual transformation of their surroundings from a firelit hallway to the center of a fogged, illusory stage.
"Our performance will end here, Primrose, one way or another," Simeon purred, leaning forward so that only she could hear. "Whether you want your final act to honor your father or to disappoint him…that is entirely up to you."
Primrose, however, could scarcely hear him. She may as well not have even been there at all, entangled as she was in the web that was her past up to this point. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.
"...Father…"
()()()()
"Primrose…will you dance for me once more? I wish to burn the sight of you into my memories, that it shall never fade…"
"Yes, Father."
…
"She will need to be strong indeed. For the future of our house will one day rest upon her shoulders."
…
"You haven't forgotten your debts now, have you? You haven't forgotten who owns you."
…
"It's a shame, Primrose. You were always my favorite…"
…
"...quite the dancer yourself, in the end."
…
"And I know that, deep down, you have a good heart."
…
"Primrose…you must find that faith in yourself."
…
"I will send you to your father's side."
"Now two remain…"
…
"Lady Primrose, what do you believe in?"
…
"She will be strong. We will raise her to be a fine lady - strong, kind, and just."
…
"Yes…it reminds me of the fire in your father's eyes when he faced his end."
"...this man should not live a moment longer."
…
"Oh, I'm sorry. I heard that you were looking around for my friend here. And you know what they say about birds of a feather…"
…
"Oh, the tragedy! It moves me to the depths of my soul! Ahahahaha!"
…
"But someday, you must find a cause of your own…a cause that will bring you happiness. I will always love you, Primrose…"
…
…
…
"In any case, we are in enemy territory now. We must proceed with caution."
…
"Courage is all well and good, but so is vigilance. Don't let your guard down."
…
"I swear, who does that Simeon oaf think he is!? Playing with someone's heart like that…well, I won't let him get away with it! You have my full support, Primrose!"
…
"He won't get his way."
"Good. And I'm going to be right by your side to make sure of it."
…
"If you are so resolved, then I shall be honored to march with you. Know that I pledge my blade to your cause."
…
"I wolde that he payen for his wickedness. Of course, I will yielden to thee the final blow…but ere that, I wolde land a few of mine own."
…
"There…I looked around. Now let's get going."
"Right behind ya!"
…
"I…need you to look me in the eye and tell me that you won't let yourself become that. That you'll take the other road - the one that lets you just finish this and move on with your life without becoming a miserable asshole like so many others. You're not the kind of person who should fall that far."
()()()()
"I…I…what has this all been for…?"
Primrose suddenly became painfully aware of Simeon's hand still clamped over her wrist, and she drew in a sharp breath, wrenching herself out of his grip and taking several steps back.
"No…" she hissed, holding onto the feeling of the gazes of each of her seven companions resting on her. "Father would understand. And this…this will be the end of it. When I plunge this dagger into your breast…it will all be over." Her eyes narrowed into burning slits. "I will finish this."
The playwright laughed faintly. "Perfect…" he breathed. "Yes, just perfect…the depths of emotion that burn in those eyes…! That is the girl I fell in love with so many years ago…"
Primrose felt her skin crawl and bile rise in the back of her throat, but she did not break her stance.
"A woman truly worthy of my genius," Simeon continued, spreading his arms theatrically, as though the stage upon which they stood was anything more than an illusion. "Now, come to me, Primrose…and let me bring this beautiful tragedy to a close! First, however…I believe we have several side characters who are in need of roles." He lifted his hands, palms glowing with violet energy. "Worry not, for there is plenty of room on this stage for an ensemble!"
The magic in Simeon's hands stretched forth from him in countless rigid lines, at the end of which formed the dancing limbs of nine life-sized yet faceless puppets. Two of them, though featureless, were especially realistic, taking the forms of a beautiful blonde dancer clad in azure and a broad-shouldered man in a nobleman's tunic, who heavily resembled Geoffery Azelhart. These puppets stumbled their way towards Primrose directly, their arms and legs jerking unnaturally as they fixed her with a blank-faced stare.
Meanwhile, each of the other seven puppets faced her friends in turn. A scrawny figure in peasant's rags with a badly rusted knight's helm covering where its left eye would be lurched towards Therion. A hulking brute of a puppet, misshapen and covered in scars, swung its tremendous fists at Olberic. A tall figure, cloaked in scholar's robes that dripped with what was either ink or blood, channeled the magic coursing through its strings through its own palms, flinging spell after spell in Cyrus' direction. A sickly-looking marionette, its flesh gray and sloughing off in several places, made jerking, hacking movements while it reached for Alfyn. A tiny puppet, barely waist-high and almost resembling a ratkin more than a human, jangled with gold trinkets that covered its arms and chest as it viciously attacked Tressa. A feminine figure made from heavily cracked porcelain flung itself at Ophilia, scraggly white feathers flying off of the pair of shoddy wings that sprouted from its back. A large, beast-like puppet with the head of a man lunged at H'aanit and Linde on all fours, a strange snarling sound emanating from the mouth it did not have.
Even now, Simeon refused to do anything but mock them.
Primrose bit back a snarl, lifting her dagger and preparing herself for the puppets' assault. She trusted that her friends could all handle themselves, so she focused her attention on the dancer and father caricatures that clunked their way towards her.
It was an incredible feat of magic, she had to admit, even as she ducked beneath a high kick from the dancer puppet. Simeon had created these figures from nothing, and was controlling each separately from one another as though it too were nothing. They looked sturdy as well, their comparatively slow, jerking movements indicative of their limbs' density.
Unless…their apparent strength was only an illusion.
She was certain that a blow from any of them would hurt, but she couldn't quite believe that Simeon's split-second craftsmanship would result in anything completely structurally sound. Realistic as they seemed, the marionettes were likely held together by nothing but thin wood and threads of magic.
And that was something she could use.
Primrose spun out of the way of the father puppet's wide swing, bringing her dagger up to slash at its arm. The blade glanced off of the wooden surface, leaving a thin, bloodless gash, but the puppet barely seemed to notice. They couldn't feel pain, then, and at least parts of their bodies were well-constructed.
Their joints, though… Primrose thought, eyes narrowed.
She lunged for the father puppet's elbow, aiming her dagger right for the gap between the two halves of the arm. Unlike a real person, the marionette did not flinch when its forearm went spinning away from the rest of it, clattering to the ground. Primrose wasn't sure that it had any awareness of the loss of its limb at all - it simply continued waving around the shortened stump at her as though it believed it could still attack as normal.
"The cost of spreading your attention so thin, is it, Simeon?" the dancer muttered. She dodged another swing from the father puppet's other arm, then severed that one at the elbow in the same manner as the first. Her suspicions had been confirmed - the wood was thinner and weaker at the joints in order to allow for a wider range of motion. Naturally, she was going to take full advantage of that.
"Aim for their joints!" she called out to her fellow travelers, even as she was forced to draw back to avoid a kick from the dancer puppet. "They'll break like the flimsy stage props they are!"
There was no time to check whether or not her companions had received her message. The dancer puppet was relentless, and even as Primrose successfully broke apart the father puppet's knees, sending it clattering to the floor in a writhing heap, she found herself struggling to dodge a constant flurry of rapid kicks. She was able to avoid most of the onslaught, but was still occasionally grazed by the marionette's shoes, the toes of which had been sharpened to fine points that scraped painfully across her skin.
The two of them were locked in a frantic sort of dance, the puppet jerking around on its magic strings with surprising force, while the real dancer fought to reach its rattling joints. Finally, after sustaining several thin, shallow gashes across her arms and torso, Primrose managed to duck beneath the puppet's extended leg, plunging her dagger into the back of its knee. The wooden construct was thrown off balance, and though the strings of magic that held its remaining limbs did not allow it to fall, its momentary stumble was enough of an opening for Primrose to dart forward and destroy the rest of its joints. Before long, the dancer puppet had joined its father-like companion in a twitching pile of parts on the floor of the illusory stage.
Before Primrose could release a sigh of relief, however, she felt a sharp pain surge across the back of her leg. She drew in a sharp breath, biting back a scream as she jumped and whirled around to see the dancer puppet's first severed leg flopping limply on the ground, its pointed toe raised and soaked in a thin layer of fresh blood. The wound, like the others, was not severe, but gave Primrose a slight limp as she backed away from the evidently still-dangerous collection of limbs.
"Damn it all…" she hissed. Distantly, she could hear Simeon's manic laughter, but she did not turn to look at him.
She was too busy formulating a plan.
The limbs had been severed from their respective bodies, but they were all still caught in the glow of Simeon's violet strings. He was still controlling them, however subconsciously, which was what allowed them to move seemingly on their own. Whatever the state of the puppets' bodies, their limbs were still directly connected to him.
Primrose could use that.
Stepping carefully around the most violently thrashing arms and legs, she made her way towards the dancer puppet's left arm, which had been mostly pinned under the rest of its wooden body. She crept up on it like a cat on the hunt, then pounced, snatching it up and bending its wrist back until it snapped. The string of magic, unlike real strings, stayed attached to the stump of the puppet's wrist, so Primrose tossed the now-lifeless hand away and instead focused her attention on the slightly twitching forearm.
"Night Ode," she hissed at the animated wood, "bring your shade."
Ink-dark shadow magic streamed from her fingertips, engulfing the puppet's arm and rushing its way up the straight line that connected it to Simeon. She poured all of her energy into the attack, which eagerly devoured the playwright's magic as it drew closer and closer to him.
Unfortunately for Simeon, he did not notice the dark magic's approach until it was far too late.
Primrose caught the briefest glimpse of his cobalt eyes widening in shock before the blast of shadow connected, knocking him straight off of his feet. She watched with a cool expression as the magical threads that sprouted from his hands flickered and died. All around her, she heard the thuds and clatters of collapsing wood, the marionettes useless now that their strings had been cut.
Her eyes swept over her seven companions, silently taking stock of their injuries. They were all at least somewhat bruised or scraped up, but none of them seemed to have sustained any serious damage. Her gaze locked with Therion's, and he nodded at her, smirking as he tossed a wooden, rusty-helmeted head over his shoulder. Primrose couldn't help but smile in return.
"An impressive display of magical prowess, admittedly," Cyrus commented, nudging the bloodied scholar puppet's remains with his foot as he made a face, "if nothing but pure spectacle, in the end."
"I don't know about that, Professor," Ophilia panted. There were several ragged, white feathers stuck in her hair, and she was actively brushing shards of porcelain off of her robes. "They still put up quite the fight…"
"Hmph…" Olberic grunted, resting the edge of his sword on the ground and leaning on the hilt. "Not enough of one, evidently."
H'aanit scoffed, placing a hand on Linde's head as the snow leopard continued to growl at the puppets' motionless remains. "Serveth him right. After the way he hath treated Primrose…he deserveth to watchen his creations' destruction."
"Agreed!" Tressa jabbed the end of her spear into the body of the puppet she'd been fighting, then cast a sharp glare over at the spot where Simeon had fallen and had yet to rise. "Nobody gets away with talking to our friend like that!"
"Hold on, now - anybody hurt?" Alfyn interjected, reaching into his satchel of herbs. "'Cause I can give some quick treatment, now that we've got a moment to breathe - "
"Don't get ahead of yourself, medicine man." Therion's piercing jade eye was still fixed on Primrose. "This isn't over yet."'
Everyone's attention shifted to Primrose as she slowly made her way towards Simeon's prone form. He was still clearly breathing, but had been temporarily stunned by the blow from Primrose's magic. Only now was he just beginning to return to his senses, groaning softly and raising a hand to his forehead.
"No…" he rasped, struggling to his hands and knees. "No, something's not right! This isn't enough…not yet! W-We…We still haven't seen the full depths of the darkness inside you! Show me more, Primrose…show me the darkest shadow in your heart!" The playwright grinned widely, all traces of the debonair facade he'd built for himself beginning to melt away. "You hate this, don't you? You are full of regrets!"
Primrose gazed down at him with half-lidded eyes. "...I regret nothing."
Simeon's eyes widened a fraction, but his smile remained glued to his face. "F-Foolish girl! You think your father would be proud to see you like this!? Bloodying your precious family heirloom for petty revenge!?"
She said nothing.
He laughed, a wheezing cackle that made the crow tattoo on his throat ripple as he lurched to his feet. "Tell me - have you even visited your father's grave!?"
He was growing desperate. Trying so hard to get under her skin, to rattle her as he'd done so many times before. This time, however, she was not going to let him win.
His illusion of control was gone.
"No," Primrose said simply. "First, I must do what must be done. When I can look him in the eye and tell him he is avenged - then, and only then, will I go."
Simeon barked out another laugh. "My poor little Primrose…how you lie to yourself so. Can't you see that you are running away!? You can't bear to face your father - to show him your bloodstained hands!"
"If seven strangers can come to accept and care for me, bloodstained hands and all," she replied coolly, "I see no reason why my own father couldn't."
"Don't lie to me!" Simeon snapped. "This was never about avenging your father, was it!? You were simply trying to fill the emptiness in your heart…tch." He shook his head. "But you couldn't accept that…so you twisted your memories of your father beyond recognition, until you convinced yourself that he would want this! It's true, isn't it? Tell me the truth!"
Primrose scowled. "You speak nonsense." Her grip tightened on her dagger, though she did not yet raise it.
Simeon took a step towards her, then another, leering at her as he hissed, "How did it feel when you killed my men? Did that fill the hole in your heart even a tiny, little, bit?" His hair was more unkempt than she'd ever seen it, and a bruise was slowly blooming on his cheek, from when he had fallen.
The dancer drew back before he could touch her again. "Enough!" she snarled. "Shut up!"
Simeon, however, was undeterred. "You can admit it, Primrose!" His voice fluctuated strangely between high and low, manic and nurturing. "You don't need to be strong anymore…"
His hands were coming for her once more. He had grown so comfortable with touching her, hadn't he? They all had. Night after night, man after man, grabbing at her body as though it was their right.
No more.
"Stop it!" she screeched, raking her dagger across Simeon's palms. The blow sent the playwright reeling and cursing under his breath, and Primrose took several staggering steps back, adrenaline coursing through her in exhausting waves. "Just…stop. You have no place in my heart any longer!"
()()()()
…
…
Father…
Can I tell you something, Father? Something I've never told anyone before…
The truth is…
I hated it.
I hated my life without you.
I hated the loneliness…I hated not having you by my side.
But it's almost over now…
Please, Father…
Forgive me.
…
I'll be alright, you'll see.
After all…
I'm not alone anymore.
()()()()
At Simeon's distraction, the stage illusion wavered around them, but ultimately held its form. Despite his bleeding palms, Simeon still managed to straighten, ball his hands into tight fists, and flash that eerie smile in Primrose's direction.
He has truly gone completely mad, she thought distastefully. Or…perhaps he has been this way for far longer than I'd ever realized.
"Come now, Primrose," he crooned, a layer of laughter hidden beneath his words. "It's okay…abandon this madness, my dear girl. You don't need to lie to yourself any longer. That hard look on your face doesn't suit you…you know you were made for softer things."
Primrose's eyes flicked around the room. Her companions were all tense, all watching her with mixed expressions of concern and fear. The only one whose face remained perfectly neutral was Therion. As she locked eyes with him, he gave her a solemn nod which, though silent, conveyed everything she needed.
She smiled thinly. It was time to end this.
"I am Lady Primrose of House Azelhart," she said firmly, straightening and lifting her dagger to chest height. "And I swear on my ancestors' name, and on my father's blade…I will not lose faith! My faith shall be my shield against you!"
The dancer extended her arm, pointing the tip of her dagger directly at the crow that covered Simeon's throat. He stared at the blade as though transfixed for several moments, then a slow grin spread across his face.
"Bravo…" He began to applaud. "Oh, bravo! Could this truly be the full depths of your heart…? My…it is more beautiful than I could ever have imagined…mhm…and now, for our climax…I suppose you intend, Primrose, to come and plunge your precious dagger into my breast? If that is really what you mean to do…I doubt I will ever be able to stop you."
Primrose's eyes narrowed. Surely this had to be some sort of trick. Then again, Simeon did seem to value the perfect tragedy over even his own survival…
"Every show must come to an end, Primrose," he chuckled, almost giddily. "It is time to lower the curtain…it is time to make your choice!"
He fell to his knees, his arms spread wide. Suddenly, Primrose realized just how ragged he looked. Had her darkness magic really done so much damage to him? Or had he drained his own energy reserves by animating all of those puppets and keeping them trapped in this illusion of a play? She couldn't be sure either way, but if it was the latter…she supposed it wasn't at all out of character for him to give his own life for his ultimate performance.
"'And when the moon waxes full and bright in dark heaven,'" Simeon began reciting, staring almost longingly up at the mist-wreathed ceiling, "'and stars glitter worlds away from earthly sorrow…would that Sleep hold you in her soft embrace…then, shall my eyes close, lips open in prayer, for it is only in dreams that we may meet again.'"
Primrose took a breath.
She lowered her head, shrouding her eyes in shadow.
"...goodbye, Simeon."
She stepped forward and plunged her dagger straight into his throat.
Simeon might have preferred a stab to the heart. It would have been more poetic that way, wouldn't it? The woman he'd "loved" in his own twisted, vile meaning of the word, breaking his heart for the final time. She wasn't about to go out of her way to grant him such a fantasy, though. Just as she'd told him, she was not his character, and her life was not his script.
And really, she just hadn't wanted to look at that damned crow anymore.
White mist bled into orange candlelight as the stage illusion faded alongside Simeon's life. She sank to the floor, her energy draining just as quickly as her tormentor's lifeblood. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the final lines of the play being performed, and the roaring applause that followed. She could feel her companions gathering around her, a steady presence even as she felt like the room was spinning around her. She caught a flash of violet as something soft was draped gently over her shoulders. Suddenly, she felt pleasantly warm.
Primrose closed her eyes and breathed in deep.
No more tricks. No more blood. No more smoke and mirrors.
At last, she was free.
See you guys next time for Tale 46: Family!
