was lamenting to my gf that a book cleverly titled “The Afterwife” wasn’t a suki stackhouse-type romance/murder mystery about a zombie wife, to which my gf told me i should clearly write it myself, and of course my imagination went wild and i ended up writing a potential summary:
Anna Barclay’s wife, Meagan, was pronounced dead at the scene of a water-skating accident two weeks ago.
Except the coroner must have missed something, because the next Friday, Anna discovers a bedraggled, decidedly reanimated Meagan dripping on her doorstep and begging Anna’s help. Meagan doesn’t remember much of the incident, but she does know this: what happened on those skis wasn’t an accident. Her killer is still on the loose— and they’re running out of time before he finds a new victim.
With the help of a little black magic, Meagan and Anna embark on a mission to find out just who killed Meagan Barclay, why she’s back from the dead, and who the killer’s next victim might be— and in the process, remind themselves of what it truly means to be in love.
Tristan attends what he thinks is a typical day at school. He does something atypical and pays the price for it with his blood. A small scratch, but enough to leave a lasting impression.
~6400 words
Trampled paths carved through a thin layer of snow in two opposite directions, converging on an old, small schoolhouse. The wider, well-trodden path of footprints led between a pair of farms to a road that led eventually to the village proper several miles off. The smaller path consisted of only one set of very large tracks, boot prints of an unusual size, that led to the small river beside the school. The owner of the large boots crouched by the bank and tucked a sealed bottle into the rocks along the river’s edge, well away from a collection of similar bottles. With any luck, the bottle would still be there by the time he got to it at lunchtime. Tristan turned back to the schoolhouse and eyed his large tracks, hoping that the midday sun might melt the snow enough to obscure them.
He lingered by the river to watch the other students funnel into the small door at the front of the schoolhouse. The door swung outward, held open by a kind bull on the verge of graduation. When the door had to be replaced some years ago, Tristan recalled the village carpenter stressed over the direction of the hinge for days before the installation. He returned every day afterward for a week to apologize for installing it wrong.
As he waited, he allowed his eyes to roam over the schoolhouse’s exterior. The paint chipped very slightly on the older slats of siding to reveal the numerous and varying colors the building had been over the years. He remembered well the year the teacher had organized the students for a day of painting the schoolhouse a vibrant green. The previous color, a faded pink, had been splashed by a graduating student’s experimental project for admittance into the doctor’s college in the capital. She had the carpenter and his wife provide her with information of how they treated the wood to maintain longevity and had the village’s merchers bring books back to describe how the paints earned their pigments.
The door cracked against the frame, the students finished filing inside. Tristan moved to join the wider path of boots and made his way to the door. He opened it gingerly and ascended the few short steps into the mudroom. He moved slowly, careful not to bump his large frame against the door or his horns against the doorframe or any of the other students. The village children paid him little mind, having their heavy woolen coats and other articles on the hooks along the wall. Stains marred the mudroom benches, the wood slightly bowed from years of harboring rain and melted snow. The floorboards creaked with every shift of weight, every step through the one-room schoolhouse. The whole building smelled of faintly of smoke from the small firepit and potbellied stove in the center of the main room, despite the pipe that extended up through the roof.
Tristan pulled the door closed, lifting up on the handle to set it properly in the frame. One step to the side and he lifted a small charcoal bit to scan for his name on the roster hung by the door. His eyes hesitated at the familiar names, ones he remembered from his first few years before the growth spurts started. After that, he stopped trying to remember the newcomers, to connect names on the list to faces. He found his name and checked the small box for his attendance that day.
Several of the girls seemed happy to see each other, giggling and shrieking with glee, leaning to whisper conspiratorially as they headed to their seats. Evelynn lead the group, smoothing and fussing with her hair as they walked, making sure her ringlets survived the morning. Tristan noted that the group appeared smaller, but the little herd never had the same numbers, its members dependent entirely on Evelynn’s whims.
The younger ones, the calves, moved awkwardly, as calves do, and climbed onto the benches to hang up their hats and scarves. Some preferred to stuff their things into the bins below the benches, too short to hang their things. After the removal of their hats, one of the calves became surrounded. Tristan just barely made out their young pronunciations of shock and amazement at the nubs protruding from the center one’s scalp. It would be several years for the nubs to turn into anything even resembling horns, but with the arrival of the nubs, that calf become the coolest and most mature among their little herd. He reflected on his brief moment of approval when his nubs arrived at a surprisingly young age. And struggled to forget the subsequent frustration and terror from his peers as the nubs grew larger and longer than normal at an alarming rate.
A frown pulled at his features and he dropped off his gear on his half of the mudroom. Despite moving to the furthest corner of the mudroom, none ever dared cross beyond the door except to check their attendance. He tried not to let it bother him. This left the boys of the class to wait to remove their gear. Ladies first, as the manners say. And calves have little sense of propriety. Having doffed his gear, Tristan gathered his materials for class, plus an ancient-looking leather journal.
As he finished pulling the drawstring on his pack, Tristan’s ear perked up at a voice that rose above the din.
“We didn’t think you or your brothers would make it today, Jorgus. Are you okay? What happened to your father?”
“Doesn’t really concern you, does it, Seamus.” A thud sounded as Jorgus threw his bag down on the bench under his hook. The adolescent bull had yet to grow properly into his limbs, gangly and long, his shaggy ginger hair left to grow over his eyes.
Seamus, a sturdy young bull with brown hair and a square jaw with the slightest bit of stubble, furrowed his brow. “I’d think it concerns all of us! The attacks have been happening more often, yeah? And with all our grandparents-”
Jorgus spun and growled at the older bull. “Seamus, I said drop it.” The tan and white splotched young bull jerked his head pointedly to his little herd of younger brothers.
The Jones boys, four young calves of varying ages and colorings, sported red and puffy eyes. Tristan glanced at the roster and wondered which brother belonged to which name. The youngest two of four sniffled openly, the older of the pair grabbing his younger brother by the shoulder to lead him to their desks. The youngest’s shoulders lifted and jerked in the obvious signs of barely contained sobs.
Seamus watched the calves, then shared a look with the other boys in Jorgus’s usual group. “We’ll… catch up on the way home, then?” He did his best to sound optimistic.
Tristan watched the boys offer support via a pat on the shoulder or some muttered promise and turn away one by one. The youngest, probably one of Jorgus’s brother’s friends, lingered, fussing with his pale splotchy fingers. Jorgus tilted his head slightly, the only indication on his shrouded face that he noticed the calf, and waited. A light thwack from another broke the calf’s resolve and he scurried through the room to his desk near the front and the younger Jones boys. Jorgus started to turn back to removing his winter gear and caught Tristan’s prying eye. He sneered and angled his horns at him. Tristan started and jerked back to his own preparations.
Part of him wished he could walk home with those boys, to make a group of friends and… do whatever friends do together. He wished he could talk about the orchard with them, about the plants along the path, about their crops, and the state of their land. He wanted to make friends his own age. But he knew how he looked, how they all looked more like his children than friends. Or perhaps younger brothers. He hadn’t grown any manner of stubble yet. The elder Lunars, those that heard the voices from beyond, told him that he had aged quickly, gaining a few years in a few months as a babe. Blessed by the Spirits, they called it. He called it a curse.
The commotion over, Tristan took barely a few steps to round the wall that split the classroom from the mudroom. He settled into the last bench at the table in the back left of the small open schoolhouse. This area in the back typically held the eldest students, the ones closer to the front reserved for the younger calves, or most in danger academically. He caught Seamus chatting with his neighbor on the other side of the aisle. Tristan held the bench in the back alone for years simply due to his size, too large to sit anywhere else in the room. He might block the view of the other students was the official reason, but mostly he took up a desk and a half on a good day. He tried not to think of the bad days.
Unbidden, he remembered vividly the pain in his chest the day the girl he typically sat next to, perhaps eight at the time, had complained before class that he had crushed her hand when attempting to use his ink and bone splinter pen. He barely remembered moving his arm out far enough to even touch her, painfully aware of his size even then. Not that the other students would let him forget it. The teacher had simply calmed the girl down and offered him the bench in the back. As he moved, he watched the girl’s best friend eagerly move up to take his seat with no objections from the teacher. He sat in the middle of the bench and spread out comfortably over the two-desk wide table. He felt his size for the first time and tears stung at his eyes. He looked up then as Miss Shaunessy moved to the blackboard and continued with class, though not without offering an apologetic smile. That remained his table for the following seven years.
He enjoyed the space the longer table provided over the years. In the early days of the schoolhouse, students normally shared one large desk, the top able to lift to reveal a compartment below. However, too many instances of one of the students at the desk lifting the table’s top without their partner’s consent resulted in broken pencils, splattered ink, or scattered papers. Deemed far too impractical for use by calves, the village’s carpenter frantically redesigned the furniture for single use. Tristan preferred the width, able to hide plenty of things in his desk that the others had to keep in the mudroom, under their desks, or in the river’s banks. He reveled in the ability to lean forward, elbows as wide as he wanted, his books and parchment and inkwell spread comfortably apart. He never had to worry about knocking over his own inkwell or his neighbor’s.
He placed the leather journal on the middle of the table, his inkwell on the corner with the bone splinter pen leaned away from the aisle, and his parchment squarely between the journal and the edge. Half the table for him. The other remained empty, as it did every day.
An aging Taurus woman, pale splotches covering more of her dark, umber skin every year, walked down the center aisle of the classroom to check the roster by the door. Wrinkles threatened at the corners of her eyes, a few locks of silvery hair escaped from the hair buns under each horn. She assessed the youngest calves first and shot harsh glances to the group of gossiping girls as she walked by. Evelynn greeted her with an overly saccharine, performative “Good morning!” Miss Shaunessy smiled to the girl, not nearly as hollow, but nothing like the warm and silent “Good morning” she mouthed to Tristan. At the head of the room once again, she smiled to the class and listed off her plans for lessons that day. Calves first, as their attention span dwindled as it grew toward lunch, then the higher education lessons for the older children.
“This morning will be the next chapter of history for the calves. After that, a bit of arithmetic as a class. After lunch, we will be going over the essays I assigned you last week, then we will work on our spells and rituals together before the end of the day.” Miss Shaunessy’s face pulled together slightly. “Please, pleaselook over the essays of your friends and neighbors. Some of you are very good with prose and could stand to share your skills with others.”
No names, but she stared very pointedly at a few of the students on the other side of the room. For Tristan she offered another warm smile, then an encouraging nod, all as she swung her attention back to the calves.
“All righty, little ones. Who can tell me what we went over yesterday?” A bright and happy smile took her face, her whole aura changing to matronly and polite.
As a calf, Tristan coveted her to act as his mother at home. When he brought the suggestion to his father, the bull fell into a melancholy. He remembered the oppressive silence that filled their small house for days afterwards, hating every tense and silent second. When his father finally broke the silence, he promised to tell Tristan more of his mother and encouraged him to seek out the journals and diaries she kept around the house. At his young age, Tristan did not understand all the words in the books he found. It became a nightly ritual to read the books together before bed, at least until he could read them on his own.
“We talked about the Bindings, Miss Shaunessy.” Aishling, Evelynn’s youngest sister and lookalike, waved a hand in the air.
“Very good Aishling!” Miss Shaunessy clapped brightly and started to pace as she lectured. “A very brief recap: The Bindings are what led to our ancestors, the Unbound, starting to evolve and change into what we are today. The result of these changes came in the form of the separation of what we now call Constellations. All of us here are called Taurus. But there are eleven others. Can anyone tell me what the other eleven are?”
For the first few years, Tristan eagerly engaged in the lectures about history and the Constellations and whatever else the teacher taught. But as the years moved on, he grew tired of the same information. Then the banishment to the back of the room. After that, his interests became focused on a different kind of history.
As the drone of teacher and student buzzed into the back of Tristan’s ears, his mind drifted to the work left in the orchard. Wasps had moved into a section of the trees that he needed to discourage from the area. An increasingly common occurrence, but nothing difficult. Fruits and flowers had been scattered under a few trees, easy enough to clean up and add to the compost bin or salvage for his jams and jellies. He still had several jars to fill. It might behoove him to check if any of the fruits and nuts could stand to be harvested. And that unknown flower at the edge of the orchard still haunted him. Once he identified it, he might be able to decide its fate. With the shorter days of the season, he pondered how much light he would have to work with.
Old leather straps creaked under the strain of turning pages after many years of neglect. Tristan loved the smell of these journals, the old paper and leather and glue. As the thin leather binding on the outside flopped open with a soft slap on the table, he jumped. He glanced up to find a few of the older students near him turn at the noise as they quietly “discussed” their papers. Their curiosity sated, they returned to their work. He focused his attention on the journal and the detailed diagrams with disproportionately scribbled but familiar handwriting.
The almanacs that littered his family’s home formed the physical connection between his father’s memories and his mother. Each one held notes in the margins, ink splotches, paints that bled through to the parchment beneath, the occasional hidden treasure of dried flowers between the pages. Curiously, every journal contained the same handwriting, no matter their age. Their sister journals contained a language so old not even Miss Shaunessy recognized it, though his father understood a few phrases. His father always dodged questions on how he knew those phrases and Tristan learned to limit his curiosity to what remained in the text.
Thumbing absently through the pages, scanning the detailed diagrams as they passed, he paused on a page and studied the flora depicted. He had started to lose hope that he might find his quarry, his stock of books running low. Only a few more journals and he would’ve had to ask Miss Shaunessy for the latest herbology almanac, though most of them contained the same information as his mother’s journals. But finally, his search had come to an end. It had to be the flower that appeared at the edge of the grove. He tugged a sheet of parchment out of his bundle and dipped his bone into the ink well on his desk to scribble the page number down. The journal contained that old language; he would have to seek his father’s guidance.
At midday, Valerie showed up for a visit. The village’s Postwatch visited Miss Shaunessy often, usually to drop off the special papers the teacher ordered for the roster, though not always. The pair seemed to be best friends. Valerie hauled the box of special order papers into the closet behind Miss Shaunessy’s desk and beckoned the older woman into the room. After a bit of whispering, Miss Shaunessy’s normally warm and grounded cadence shook slightly as she encouraged the students to take lunch outside. The class cheered and headed eagerly to the door. Tristan hesitated by the mudroom as the others filed out with their bundles and their herds. When no chuckles or insults found their way to him, he peeked outside and found the ground glistening with melted snow. He heaved a small sigh of relief, forced into a sharp exhale as Jorgus elbowed him out of the way. Tristan straightened up to allow the boy and his friends passage.
On his way to his things, Tristan caught sight of the Mayor’s daughter, Isolde, watching him from the other side of the mudroom. He furrowed his brow to her, a simple unspoken question. She stiffened, blushed, and turned back to her things to hastily throw her scarf over her head. It caught in her little female horns, the movement too fast or the girl still not used to her horns’ length. The flush moved to her ears as she untangled the knitted muffler to drape around her neck. He watched in amused confusion as she hurried outside with her wrapped bundle of food.
Tristan lingered in the building, watching through the windows as everyone else grabbed their bottles of milk or juice from the river bank. The hushed whispers from the closet gained a frantic and worried tone. Tristan resisted the urge to move closer and kept his focus through the windows. After the other students all split off into their herds and settled down for their meals, Tristan forced himself outside to grab his own bottle of juice. Despite a few snide remarks from the usual suspects, Tristan found his bottle where he had left it in the morning. A small thank you to the Spirits and he took his lunch around the back of the building. A small herd of rambunctious calves gathered around the smith’s son. Not keen to be injured by whatever tool the bull had brought that day, Tristan returned to his desk to eat his salad in peaceful loneliness.
The calves normally spent the time after lunch free to play outside as the older students took their lessons, but Miss Shaunessy herded them all inside with Valerie’s help. Afterwards, Valeria made her way back to her home at the Postwatch. Miss Shaunessy provided the younger calves with some harder math problems to focus on, a topic to discuss amongst themselves, and permission to borrow a few of the easier books from the bookshelf in the closet. She had to approve the book, of course, but everyone had to remain inside.
Dismissal marked an explosion of relief among the students as they darted from their desks and gathered their things. Today, however, the girls from that morning gathered together to whisper again, pointing to Jorgus occasionally. Tristan slowly gathered his books and papers and lifted his inkwell to stopper it.
“I told you to drop it!” Jorgus’s voice filled the small building, startling and quieting the girls for a moment.
Seamus and the herd of boys, all friends of the Jones brothers, shrunk away from their friend’s outburst. Tristan looked down to his desk, dotted with splatter from his inkwell, made by his jump at Jorgus’s shout, and pressed the stopper in. A bin under the bench in the mudroom held the spare cloths to clean spills with. He lifted his eyes back to the scene as the girls’ whispers grew again. Jorgus unceremoniously scooped up his things before Miss Shaunessy could approach him.
Seamus and the herd followed Jorgus and his brothers to the mudroom. Tristan rounded the wall behind his desk and crouched down to seek the box of throwaway cloth under the bench.
Miss Shaunessy clapped as she made her way through the classroom, checking desks for cleanliness. “Oh, and students! Miss Valerie informed me that from now on you are to travel in a herd as you head directly home.” A few of the students groaned. “It was also emphasized to not be out after dark for any reason. Winter has shorter periods of sun, which means you will have less time to dally. And there is always safety in numbers.”
She wandered the aisles, calling out names attached to messy desks. Liam Jones, Isolde Cennaire, the MacBanions, Kevin McGabhan. At one desk, she picked up a piece of paper and squinted at the top corner. “Oh, Jorgus Jones, it appears you left your essay here.” She placed the paper back down.
The called names sighed and headed back to tidy whatever Miss Shaunessy called them out for. It helped with the bodies attempting to cram through the door at the same time. Apparently one of them had managed to forget a whole tool. Must’ve been the young bull Tristan avoided at lunch.
After checking the whole room, Miss Shaunessy caught sight of Tristan. “Oh, Tristan, I noticed you weren’t paying very close attention during lectures today. Did you need help with anything I covered?”
Heat found Tristan’s cheeks. Miss Shaunessy noticed far more than he gave her credit for. He rarely gave her anything to pay attention to, after all. He shook his head in answer and grabbed a cloth stained with spots of paint and ink from the scrap bin. He brandished the cloth at her with a hopefully gentle smile by way of explanation.
As he stretched to his full height, she leaned back slightly to keep her eyes on his. No fear entered her features. She merely smiled back and patted his arm. She shifted out of his way and walked with him the few steps back to his desk. A small gasp drew his attention. “You don’t have anyone to walk home with, do you, dear?”
He shook his head absently as he cleaned off his desk. Silly question.
A soft and wrinkled hand lifted to tap her fingers against her chin. “You do live alone on the other side of those woods…” She paused, her eyes darting through her thoughts before focusing on him again. “Would you like me to go ask for an escort for you from town?”
His expression darkened immediately with all the heavy and unhealthy thoughts his father attempted desperately to cleanse him of. She pulled back slightly, eyes wide, and he tempered his expression with a gentle shake of his head.
An uneasy smile crossed her face. “No, I suppose you’re big enough to handle most things on your own. But you’re still just a boy, despite outward appearances. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of, is all.”
His breath hitched.
“You mean someone was attacked last night!?” A brown-haired girl with the smallest horns in the group lifted her fist to her chin, brow knit with concern.
Evelynn, the ringleader of the girls and owner of the largest horns, nodded as she made her way to the mudroom. “Isn’t it just awful? And the attacks are getting more frequent. That’s why they want us to walk in herds now.” She gestured to a pair of girls, both younger, as they scrambled for their things. “You heard that right, calves?”
The two calves, one girl and Aishling, chorused a “Yes, sissy!” and proceeded to haphazardly don their layers of clothing. The youngest children moved quickly, faster than their teenage counterparts, thanks to the small growths on their heads not yet formed into horns. Evelynn rolled her eyes and continued on to her hook to don her own set of weather gear. Miss Shaunessy smiled absently at the children and patted Tristan on the arm before wandering back toward her desk.
“But my father told me it was-“ Evelynn glanced at the group of boys across the mudroom and whispered loud enough for them to hear. “-Branach Jones that was attacked last night.” The girls shared a gasp with varying reactions of surprise. “Jorgus’s father-”
“You keep my family’s name out of your dirty mouth, Evelynn!” Jorgus burst through his group of friends, finger pointed sharply at the pale, splotchy ringleader of the gossipers.
Miss Shaunessy stopped in the middle of the building by the firepit. She shared a look with Isolde still at her desk as she turned to the commotion. Tristan dropped the rag on his desk and moved into the mudroom. Though he had no intention of intervening, his size intimidated most folk, forcing cool heads in tense situations. Noone had caught the quake in his hands yet, too focused on their own anger.
Evelynn swatted his hand away as she crossed her arms, big brown eyes glaring daggers into him. Her friends and sisters fanned out around her to cross their arms at Jorgus, though not all of them had their heart in it. One girl stayed behind, the brown-haired one, and glanced at Tristan.
Jorgus narrowed his dark eyes at Evelynn, his head angled to brandish his longer and sharper horns at the girls. His friends, too surprised at his actions, hesitated before stepping in beside their friend to brandish their horns, smaller than Jorgus’s but still as harmful if used properly. Though the youngest Joneses did not involve themselves in the standoff, their friends brandished their nubs as well, eyeing the older bulls for correctness.
Evelynn did not appear fazed, though the tremble of her voice betrayed her. “My father told me that yours was injured last night while they were hunting. He said they had to take him to the doctor because his injuries were so severe.”
All the posturing broke. Whispers of “The Doctor?” moved through both groups, each losing their members to gossip, conjecture, and fear.
“He’s fine. He’ll be home by dinner tonight and tomorrow we’ll work on tilling the land.” Jorgus cracked his neck.
Evelynn’s lip curled. “I’m sure the Doctor will also finally let the Lunars go home, too, then? I haven’t seen my Mamó in so long. I guess if you say so, it has to be true. But, then again, your family has been saying every harvest will be their biggest yet. Until counting day comes and you show up with barely a cartload.” She grinned, confident in her victory.
Jorgus tilted his head the other way, alone in his threats. “The doctor told me himself that Pa would be back by tonight.”
Miss Shaunessy stepped slowly down the center aisle toward the two little herds of teens. She caught Tristan’s eye and nodded at him to step down. He lowered his shoulders and stepped back a bit, but remained ready in case Jorgus made the wrong decision. He had no idea what he might do, but better that he get hurt than someone else.
Just as Miss Shaunessy crossed into the mudroom, the energy between the herds changed. Evelynn rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Young bulls and their posturing.” She grabbed her things and stormed out the door into the chilly winter air. “Come on, girls!”
Most of the girls shot hateful looks as they grabbed their things quickly to follow Evelynn. The brown-haired girl that did not join the posturing, moved slowly to grab her things and hesitated at the door. Jorgus crossed his arms at her. She squeaked and disappeared through the door.
Jorgus growled and stalked back to his desk. His small herd of friends and brothers stayed in the entrance and moved to begin dressing in their jackets and scarves. Isolde hesitated at her desk, but returned to packing up her things. Miss Shaunessy heaved a small sigh and trotted down the center aisle back to her desk.
It didn’t take long for the herds to drift outside to wait for any stragglers. Only Miss Shaunessy, Jorgus, and Isolde remained in the schoolhouse building. He hoped, despite his own solitude, that Jorgus or Isolde had a group to walk home with. Especially if the monster sightings proved to be true. He hoped that Jorgus’s father recovered and that Evelynn’s gossip proved to be only that. But in the case that Tristan’s hope had no basis in reality, he knew the only tangible thing to do. He knew the only thing he wanted his whole life.
“Uh, hey, Jorgus.” Tristan lifted a large hand to wave awkwardly to the young man.
Jorgus jumped at Tristan’s low timbre and backed away, eyeing him up and down as he jammed a few scraps of paper in his bag. “What do you want, cull bait?”
Tristan’s brow furrowed despite being used to the insult. “I just… uh, wanted t-to tell you that… um, I-I’m sorry about your father. I know how… how difficult it is to-to worry about your f-father and, uh… I guess you’re the-the man of the house while he’s injured. A-and at least you still have your-your mother and your little siblings-“
Jorgus’s mouth lifted in disgust as Tristan rambled, his eyes shrouded under his shaggy hair. “What are you rambling about?” He thrust the last of his items into his satchel.
Tristan lifted a hand to the shaft of his horn to grip it and rub absently, a habit from when they had hurt growing in. “If… If you need any help-“
Jorgus spun on the larger boy. “Help!? From you?” He dropped his satchel on the desk. “I can’t believe you haven’t gotten it through that thick skull of yours that nobody even wants you here.” He scoffed. “We’d want your ‘help’ even less.”
Isolde tightened the leather strap on her stack of books and papers. “Jorgus-“
Jorgus shook his head and turned to her, poking a finger at her face. “No, not even from you. Mayor’s daughter, as if that excludes you from suffering just like the rest of us.” Something imperceptible crossed Isolde’s face. “I heard your father is sick. From that plague. The one from before. That it’s coming back. Despite all that stuff your father or the doctor say.” His jaw tensed for a moment. He looked back to Tristan. “I also heard it’s your fault. You and that foreigner father of yours. Your mother knew about it and cast a spell to protect your land, but nobody else’s. That’s why you’re safe. And we’re not.”
Tristan’s arms quivered. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve just gone home, alone, like he did every night. He closed his eyes and gripped his horn tighter, his other arm lifted to cover his torso. He wanted to disappear.
“And then you have the nerve! You continue living here, coming to this school, as if you have any right!” Jorgus angled his head down to brandish his horns again. “You and your father should be driven out of town!”
A sharp pain on his arm startled Tristan. He inhaled sharply. Blood blossomed on the sleeve over his torso.
“Tristan!” Miss Shaunessy bolted for the scrap fabric Tristan left on his desk.
Jorgus, stunned, raised a hand to touch his horn. It came back red. He shook his head, muttered something, and grabbed his satchel. Isolde hurried around the desks and stumbled as Jorgus pushed past her to run from the building.
“Come here, poor child.” Miss Shaunessy pressed the fabric to Tristan’s arm. “That boy… He may be a handful but ever since his horns grew out the way they did…” She looked to Tristan’s face. “Don’t take it too personally. Like you said, he’s having a rough go of it. It was nice of you to try to connect with him and offer to help out.”
Isolde hovered by the edge of the row. Tristan looked to her, chest empty. He never should’ve tried. He knew what the town thought of him and his father. He knew better. Tears welled in his eyes and he pressed his hand to the cloth. Miss Shaunessy released him with the promise of salves or something, but Tristan had to get out. He had to go home.
He moved back to his desk and found Isolde holding his satchel, all packed and tied and ready. He barely registered the act, how she had moved so fast, and accepted his bag. He dropped the fabric and satchel on the mudroom bench to slip into his woolen clothes. A stray thought reminded him to be careful of the wound bleeding onto his jacket as he only had the one. He growled. All because the town hated him. All because of a stupid rumor.
He grabbed his bag and ripped the door open. A few groups of calves lingered and chatted as they headed back toward the village. Jorgus’s brothers and their herd had waited for him, despite his protestations, and crowded him to point at his bloodied horn.
Tristan’s blood. He stomped down the short stairs. Fury overtook him, strengthening him to speak without a stutter. “All I wanted was to help, Jorgus Jones!”
Jorgus spun around at the voice. Terror pulled at his features at the massive bulk of Tristan charging toward him. He whipped back around and moved swiftly for the path that led back to town.
Tristan growled. He wanted to stop him, to make him understand, to hold him responsible for injuring him. So many emotions threatened to split him open. “Everyone should be allowed to help each other! We’re a community! That’s what it means to be a community!” In his frustration, he looked to the rest of the students that had lingered to gawk.
A loud thud drew everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to Jorgus, groaning on the ground, a large root split through fresh soil at his feet. He writhed a bit and got to his hands and knees. A shrill chuckle came from further up the path. Tristan caught Evelynn through the blur of his tears, hand in front of her mouth, as she laughed at the unfortunate bull on the ground. The rest of her group chuckled, one by one, with varying degrees of mirth. The laughter spread through the rest of the students, including Jorgus’s little herd, even his brothers. He grunted as he stood and bolted down the path, past Evelynn and her friends, horn still pink.
Tristan sniffed and continued to wipe his face, the cold winter air unpleasant on the slight moisture around his eyes. He slipped his satchel over his shoulder and checked the sleeve of his coat. A chill wind whipped past him and his hands hurt. He left his other accessories in the building. He turned around to head back inside and almost bowled over Isolde.
“Oh! Excuse me, Tristan.” She smiled brightly to him, in an uncomfortable way he could not place.
He barely nodded and attempted to move past her.
She gently placed a hand on his arm. He froze, eyes on the contact. He recognized her mitten, knitted by his father some winters ago and sold by the village seamstress Ciara. His brow furrowed. Her other mitten lifted to offer him his forgotten accessories; mittens similar to hers, a long scarf knitted by his father with a less intricate design, and a warm knitted cap that he tied around his horns. He muttered a thank you and dropped his sack on the ground to don the accessories.
She held his items as he donned them individually. “I agree with you, by the way.” He lifted his wet eyes to her. “We should be allowed to help each other, as a community. I think it’s just awful that we are so discriminatory to those that are sick and injured. Or who have been in the past.”
He nodded absently. Paranoia and fear shook his fingers. He looked up to the rest of the students, those that lingered, and found hateful glares. Isolde, the mayor’s daughter, held high regard among the town, high enough that even her father’s illness did not dull her priority among them. To find her speaking to him? He snatched his scarf and easily tossed it over his horns to drape from his shoulders.
Before she could continue, he hurriedly wandered away from her, down the path to the thick row of trees that separated his orchard from the school. He barely heard Isolde sputter after him, the crunch of dead plantlife under her boots with a few steps. He heard the whispers of the other students, however, and quickened his step. He should know better. And so should Isolde.
Tristan attends what he thinks is a typical day at school. He does something atypical and pays the price for it with his blood. A small scratch, but enough to leave a lasting impression.
~5400 words
Trampled paths carved through a thin layer of snow in two opposite directions, converging on an old, small schoolhouse. The wider, well-trodden path of footprints led between a pair of farms to a road that led eventually to the village proper a several miles off. The smaller path consisted of only one set of very large tracks, boot prints of an unusual size, that led to the small stream beside the school and back to the door. Tristan eyed his large tracks as he closed the schoolhouse door and hoped the midday sun might melt the snow enough to obscure them.
The school stood in that spot, by the thinnest part of the river, for a number of years. The most recent coat of paint faded on the building to a dull and muddy green, a project started and enacted after one of the older students tested a new magical mixture shortly before graduating to the capital’s college. The newest addition to the building a replacement window after one of the younger, more rambunctious of the students broke the glass with the tool brought from his father’s smithy.
Tristan backed away from the door and turned slowly, careful not to bump his large horns on the doorframe or any of the other students. The villager children paid him no mind, hanging their heavy woolen coats, hats, and other cold weather gear on the hooks in the mudroom. Stains marred the mudroom benches, the wood slightly bowed from years of harboring rain-slicked coats and melted snow. The floorboards creaked with every shift of weight, every step through the one-room schoolhouse. The whole building smelled faintly of smoke from the small firepit in the center of the main room and the aged wood of the old building.
Several of the girls seemed happy to see each other, giggling and shrieking with glee, leaning to whisper conspiratorially as they headed to their seats. Evelynn lead the group, fussing with her hair as they walked, making sure her ringlets survived the morning. Tristan noted that the group appeared smaller, but the little herd never had the same numbers, its members dependent on Evelynn’s whims.
The younger ones, the calves, moved awkwardly, as calves do, and climbed onto the benches to hang up their hats and scarves. Some preferred to stuff their things into the bins below the benches. After the removal of their hats, one of the calves became surrounded. Tristan just barely made out their young pronunciations of shock and amazement at the nubs protruding from the center one’s scalp. It would be several years for the nubs to turn into anything even resembling horns, but with the arrival of the nubs, that calf become the coolest and most mature among their little herd. He reflected on his brief moment of approval when his nubs arrived at a surprisingly young age. And struggled to forget the subsequent frustration and terror from his peers as the nubs grew larger and longer than normal at an alarming rate.
Tristan frowned and dropped off his gear on his half of the mudroom. Despite moving to the furthest corner of the mudroom, none ever dared cross beyond the door. This left the boys of the class to wait to remove their gear. Ladies first, as the manners say. And the calves have little sense of propriety. Having doffed his gear, Tristan gathered his materials for class, plus an ancient-looking leather journal.
“We didn’t think you’d make it today, Jorgus. Are you okay? What happened to your father?” Tristan’s ear perked up at the voice of one of the other boys.
“Doesn’t really concern you, does it, Seamus.” A thud sounded as Jorgus threw his bag down on the bench under his hook. The adolescent bull had yet to grow properly into his limbs, gangly and long, his shaggy ginger hair left to grow over his eyes.
Tristan turned and watched Seamus, a sturdy young bull with brown hair and a square jaw with the slightest bit of stubble, furrow his brow. “I’d think it concerns all of us! The attacks have been happening more often, yeah? And with all our grandparents-”
Jorgus spun and growled at the older bull. “Seamus, I said drop it.” The tan and white splotched young bull tilted his head pointedly to his little herd of younger brothers.
Four young calves of varying ages and colorings sported red and puffy eyes. The oldest of the group glared between the older bulls and moved into the schoolhouse’s room. The other two sniffled, the older of the pair grabbing the younger by the shoulder to lead him to their desks. The youngest’s shoulders lifted and jerked in the obvious signs of barely contained sobs.
Seamus watched the calves, then shared a look with the other boys in Jorgus’s usual group. “We’ll… catch up on the way home, then?” He did his best to sound optimistic.
Tristan watched the boys offer support and turn away one by one. The youngest, probably one of Jorgus’s brother’s friends, lingered, fussing with his pale splotchy fingers. Jorgus tilted his head down, the only indication on his shrouded face that he noticed the calf, and waited. A light thwack from another broke the calf’s resolve and he scurried through the room to his desk near the front. Jorgus started to turn back to removing his winter gear and caught Tristan’s prying eye. He sneered and tilted his horns at him. Tristan started and jerked back to his own preparations.
Part of him wished he could walk home with those boys, to make a group of friends and… do whatever friends do together. He wished he could talk about the orchard with them, about the plants along the path, about their crops, and the state of their land. He wanted to make friends his own age. But he knew how he looked, how they all looked more like his children than friends. Not just because of his incredible size, because as the older Lunars told him, those that heard the voices from beyond, he had aged far too quickly, gaining a few years in a few months as a babe. Blessed by the Spirits, they called it. He called it a curse.
He took the last bench at the table in the back left of the small open schoolhouse. This area in the back typically held the eldest students, the ones closer to the front reserved for the younger calves, or most in danger academically. He held the bench in the back for years simply due to his size, too large to sit anywhere else in the room. He might block the view of the other students was the official reason, but mostly he took up a desk and a half on a good day. He tried not to think of the bad days.
Unbidden, he remembered vividly the pain in his chest the day the girl he typically sat next to, perhaps eight at the time, had complained before class that he had crushed her hand when attempting to use his ink and bone splinter pen. He barely remembered swinging his arm out far enough to even touch her. The teacher had simply calmed the girl down and offered him the bench in the back. As he moved, he watched the girl’s best friend eagerly move up to take his seat with no objections from the teacher. He sat in the middle of the bench and spread out comfortably over the two-desk wide table. He felt his size for the first time and tears stung at his eyes. He looked up as Miss Shaunessy moved to the blackboard and continued with class, though not without offering an apologetic smile. That remained his table for the following seven years.
He enjoyed the space the longer table provided, a protoype desk for the others that had survived the years. In the early days of the schoolhouse, students normally shared one large desk, the top able to lift to reveal a compartment below. It eventually became deemed impractical, forcing the village’s carpenter to redesign the furniture for single use. Tristan preferred the width, able to hide plenty of things in his desk that the others had to keep in the mudroom, under their desks, or in the river’s banks.
The aging Taurus woman, the pale splotches covering more of her dark skin every year, walked down the center aisle of the classroom. Wrinkles threatened at the corners of her eyes, a few locks of silvery hair escaped from the hair buns under each horn. She assessed the youngest calves first and shot harsh glances to the group of gossiping girls as she walked by. She nodded a warm and silent “Good morning” to Tristan and turned back. At the head of the room once again, she smiled to the class and listed off her plans for lessons that day. Calves first, as their attention span dwindled as it grew toward lunch, then the higher education lessons for the older children.
“This morning will be the next chapter of history for the calves. After that, a bit of arithmetic as a class. After lunch, we will be going over the essays I assigned you last week, then we will work on our spells and rituals together before the end of the day.” Miss Shaunessy’s face pulled together slightly. “Please, please look over the essays of your friends and neighbors. Some of you are very good with prose and could stand to share your skills with others.”
No names, but she stared very pointedly at a few of the students on the other side of the room. A warm smile found Tristan, then an encouraging nod, all as she swung her attention back to the calves.
“All righty, little ones. Who can tell me what we went over yesterday?” A bright and happy smile took her face, her whole aura changing to matronly and polite.
As a calf, Tristan coveted her to act as his mother at home. When he brought the suggestion to his father, the bull fell into a melancholy. He remembered the oppressive silence that filled their small house for days afterwards, hating every tense and silent second. When his father finally broke the silence, he promised to tell Tristan more of his mother and encouraged him to seek out the journals and diaries she kept around the house. At his young age, Tristan did not understand all the words in the books he found. It became a nightly ritual to read the books together before bed, at least until he could read them on his own.
“We talked about the Bindings, Miss Shaunessy.” Aishling, Evelynn’s youngest sister and lookalike, waved a hand in the air.
“Very good Aishling!” Miss Shaunessy clapped and started to pace as she lectured. “A very brief recap: The Bindings are what led to our ancestors, the Unbound, starting to evolve and change into what we are today. The result of these changes came in the form of the separation of what we now call Constellations. All of us here are called Taurus. But there are eleven others. Can anyone tell me what the other eleven are?”
For the first few years, Tristan eagerly engaged in the lectures about history and the Constellations and whatever else the teacher taught. But as the years moved on, he grew tired of the same information. And then banished to the back of the room. After that, his interests became focused on a different kind of history.
As the drone of teacher and student buzzed into the back of Tristan’s ears, his mind drifted to the work left in the orchard. Wasps had moved into a section of the trees that he would need to discourage from the area. An increasingly common occurrence, but nothing difficult. Fruits and flowers had been scattered under a few trees, easy enough to clean up and add to the compost bin or salvage for his jams and jellies. He still had several jars to fill. It might behoove him to check if any of the fruits and nuts could stand to be harvested. With the shorter days of the season, he pondered how much light he would have to work with.
Old leather straps creaked under the strain of turning pages after so many years, the thin leather binding on the outside flopped open with a soft slap on the table. Tristan glanced up to find a few of the older students near him turn at the noise as they quietly “discussed” their papers. Their curiosity sated, they returned to their work. He focused his attention on the journal and the detailed diagrams with disproportionately scribbled but familiar handwriting.
The almanacs that littered his family’s home formed the physical connection between his father’s memories and his mother. Each one held notes in the margins, ink splotches, paints that bled through to the parchment beneath, and the same handwriting throughout. Their sister journals contained a language so old not even Miss Shaunessy recognized it, though his father understood a few phrases. His father always dodged questions on how he knew those phrases and Tristan learned to limit his curiosity to what remained in the text.
Thumbing absently through the pages, scanning the detailed diagrams as they passed, he paused on a page and studied the flora depicted. It had to be the flower that appeared at the edge of the grove a few days ago. He tugged a sheet of parchment out of his bundle and dipped his bone into the ink well on his desk to scribble the page number down.
At midday, Valerie, the village’s Postwatch, visited. Not a rare sight, as she seemed to be best friends with Miss Shaunessy, but the pair engaged in a bit of whispers. Miss Shaunessy’s normally warm and grounded cadence shook slightly as she encouraged the students to take lunch outside, the sun shining brightly for long enough to raise the temperature a few degrees. The class cheered and headed eagerly to the door. Tristan hesitated in the mudroom as the others filed out with their bundles and their herds. When no chuckles or insults found their way to him, he peeked outside and found the ground glistening with melted snow. He heaved a small sigh of relief, forced into a sharp exhale as Jorgus elbowed him out of the way. Tristan straightened up to allow the boy and his friends passage.
On his way to his things, Tristan caught sight of the Mayor’s daughter, Isolde, watching him from the other side of the mudroom. He furrowed his brow to her, a simple unspoken question. She stiffened, blushed, and turned back to her things to hastily throw her scarf over her head. It caught in her little female horns, the movement too fast or the girl still not used to her horns’ length. The flush moved to her ears as she untangled the knitted muffler to drape around her neck. He chuckled quietly, despite himself, as she hurried outside with her wrapped bundle of food. Tristan returned to his desk to eat his salad in peaceful loneliness.
The calves normally spent the afternoon free to play outside as the older students took their lessons, but Miss Shaunessy provided them with some harder math problems to focus on, a topic to discuss amongst themselves, and permission to borrow a few of the easier books from the bookshelf in the closet. She had to approve it, of course, but they all had to remain inside. While the calves groaned, the older students shrugged it off easily enough, distracted by their own lessons.
Dismissal marked an explosion of relief among the students as they darted from their desks and gathered their things. Today, however, the girls from that morning gathered together to whisper again, pointing to Jorgus occasionally. Tristan slowly gathered his books and papers and lifted his inkwell to stopper it.
“I told you to drop it!” Jorgus’s voice filled the small building, startling and quieting the girls for a moment.
Seamus and the herd of boys, all friends of the Jones brothers, shrunk away from their friend’s outburst. Tristan looked down to his desk, dotted with splatter from his inkwell, made by his jump at Jorgus’s shout, and pressed the stopper in. A bin under the bench in the mudroom held the spare cloths to clean spills with. He lifted his eyes back to the scene as the girls’ whispers grew again. Jorgus unceremoniously scooped up his things before Miss Shaunessy could approach him.
Seamus and the herd followed Jorgus and his brothers to the mudroom. Tristan rounded the wall that separated his desk from the mudroom and crouched down to seek the box of throwaway cloth under the bench.
“Oh, and students! Please do not forget to travel in a herd as you head directly home.” A few of the students groaned. “I’m just telling you what I’ve been told, sweetings. They also emphasized not being out after dark. Winter has shorter periods of sun, which means you will have less time to dally. And there is always safety in numbers.” Miss Shaunessy sauntered the length of the classroom as she spoke to fix Jorgus with a particularly intense gaze. He sneered. She turned around and caught sight of Tristan. “Oh, Tristan, I noticed you weren’t paying very close attention during lectures today. Did you need help with anything I covered?”
Heat found Tristan’s cheeks. Miss Shaunessy noticed far more than he gave her credit for. He rarely gave her anything to pay attention to, after all. He shook his head in answer and grabbed a cloth stained with spots of paint and ink from the scrap bin. He brandished the cloth at her with a hopefully gentle smile by way of explanation.
As he stretched to his full height, she leaned back slightly to keep her eyes on his, but she did not show any fear. She merely smiled back and patted his arm. She shifted out of his way and walked with him the few steps back to his desk. A small gasp drew his attention. “You don’t have anyone to head home with, do you, dear?”
He shook his head absently as he cleaned off his desk. A silly question.
A soft yet wrinkled hand lifted to tap her fingers against her chin. “You do live alone on the other side of those woods…” She paused, her eyes darting through her thoughts before focusing on him again. “Would you like me to go ask for an escort for you from town?”
His expression darkened immediately with all the heavy and unhealthy thoughts his father attempted desperately to cleanse him of. She pulled back slightly, eyes wide, and he tempered his reaction to a gentle shake of his head.
An uneasy smile crossed her face. “No, I suppose you’re big enough to handle most things on your own. But you’re still just a boy, despite outward appearances. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of, is all.”
His breath hitched.
“You mean someone was attacked last night!?” A brown-haired girl with the smallest horns in the group lifted her fist to her chin, brow knit with concern.
Evelynn, the ringleader of the girls and owner of the largest horns, nodded as she made her way to the mudroom. “Isn’t it just awful? And the attacks are getting more frequent. That’s why they want us to walk in herds now.” She gestured to a pair of girls, both younger, as they scrambled for their things. “You heard that right, calves?”
The two girls, Flora and Aishling, chorused a “Yes, sissy!” and proceeded to haphazardly don their layers of clothing. The youngest children moved quickly, faster than their teenage counterparts, thanks to the small growths on their heads not yet formed into horns. Evelynn rolled her eyes and continued on to her hook to don her own set of weather gear. Miss Shaunessy smiled absently at the children and patted Tristan on the arm before wandering back toward her desk.
“But my father told me it was-“ Evelynn glanced at the group of boys across the mudroom and whispered loud enough for them to hear. “-Branach Jones that was attacked last night.” The girls shared a gasp with varying reactions of surprise. “Jorgus’s father-”
“You keep my family’s name out of your dirty mouth, Evelynn!” Jorgus burst through his group of friends, finger pointed sharply at the pale, splotchy ringleader of the gossipers.
Miss Shaunessy stopped in the middle of the building by the firepit. She shared a look with Isolde still at her desk as she turned to the commotion. Tristan dropped the rag on his desk and moved into the mudroom. He had no intention of intervening, but his size intimidated most folk, forcing cool heads to arguments.
Evelynn swatted his hand away as she crossed her arms, big brown eyes glaring daggers into him. Her friends and sisters fanned out around her to cross their arms at Jorgus, though not all of them had their heart in it. One girl stayed behind, the brown-haired one, and glanced at Tristan.
Jorgus narrowed his dark eyes at Evelynn, his head tilted to brandish his longer and sharper horns at the girls. His friends, too surprised at his actions, hesitated before stepping in beside their friend to brandish their horns, smaller than Jorgus’s but still as harmful if used properly. Though the youngest Joneses did not involve themselves in the standoff, their friends brandished their nubs as well, eyeing the older bulls for correctness.
Evelynn did not appear fazed, though the tremble of her voice betrayed her. “My father told me that yours was injured last night while they were hunting. He said they had to take him to the doctor because his injuries were so severe.”
All the posturing broke. Whispers of “The Doctor?” moved through both groups, each losing their members to gossip, conjecture, and fear.
“He’s fine. He’ll be home by dinner tonight and tomorrow we’ll work on tilling the land.” Jorgus cracked his neck.
Evelynn’s lip curled. “I’m sure the Doctor will also finally let the Lunars go home, too? I haven’t seen my Mamó in so long. But I guess if you say so, it has to be true. But, then again, your family has been saying every harvest will be their biggest yet. Until counting day comes and you show up with barely a cartload.” She grinned, confident in her victory.
Jorgus tilted his head the other way, alone in his threats. “The doctor told me himself that Pa would be back by tonight.”
Miss Shaunessy stepped slowly down the center aisle toward the two little herds of teens. She caught Tristan’s eye and nodded at him to step down. He lowered his shoulders and stepped back a bit, but remained ready in case Jorgus made the wrong decision.
Just as Miss Shaunessy entered the mudroom, the energy between the herds changed. Evelynn rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Young bulls and their posturing.” She grabbed her things and stormed out the door into the chilly winter air. “Come on, girls!”
Most of the girls shot hateful looks as they grabbed their things quickly to follow Evelynn. Maeve, the brown-haired one, moved slowly to grab her things and hesitated at the door. Jorgus relaxed slightly and straightened his head to glare at her. Maeve squeaked and disappeared through the door.
Jorgus growled and stalked back to his desk. His small herd of friends and brothers stayed in the entrance and moved to begin dressing in their jackets and scarves. Isolde hesitated, but returned to packing up her things. Miss Shaunessy heaved a small sigh and trotted down the center aisle back to her desk.
Tristan furrowed his brow. Only Miss Shaunessy, Jorgus, and Isolde remained in the schoolhouse building. He hoped, despite his own solitude, that Jorgus or Isolde had a group to walk home with. Especially if the monster sightings proved to be true. He hoped that Jorgus’s father recovered and that Evelynn’s gossip proved to be only that. But in the case that Tristan’s hope had no basis in reality, he knew the only tangible thing to do. He knew the only thing he wanted his whole life.
“Uh, hey, Jorgus.” Tristan lifted a large hand to wave awkwardly to the young man.
Jorgus jumped at Tristan’s low timbre and backed away, eyeing him up and down as he jammed a few scraps of paper in his bag. “What do you want, cull bait?”
Tristan’s brow furrowed despite being used to the insult. “I just… uh, wanted t-to tell you that… um, I-I’m sorry about your father. I know how… how difficult it is to-to worry about your f-father and, uh… I guess you’re the-the man of the house while he’s injured. A-and at least you still have your-your mother and your little siblings-“
Jorgus’s mouth lifted in disgust as Tristan rambled, his cheeks lifted to squeeze his eyes into narrow slits, his brow furrowed. “What are you rambling about?” He thrust the last of his items into his satchel.
Tristan lifted a hand to the shaft of his horn to grip it and rub absently, a habit from when they had hurt growing in. “If… If you need any help-“
Jorgus spun on the larger boy. “Help!? From you?” He dropped his satchel on the desk. “I can’t believe you haven’t gotten it through that thick skull of yours that nobody even wants you here.” He scoffed. “We’d want your ‘help’ even less.”
Isolde tightened the leather strap on her stack of books and papers. “Jorgus-“
Jorgus shook his head and turned to her, poking a finger at her face. “No, not even from you. Mayor’s daughter, as if that excludes you from suffering just like the rest of us.” Something imperceptible crossed Isolde’s face. “I heard your father is sick. From that plague. The one from before. That it’s coming back.” He looked back to Tristan. “I also heard it’s your fault. You and that foreigner father of yours. Your mother knew about it and cast a spell to protect your land, but nobody else’s. That’s why you’re safe. And we’re not.”
Tristan’s arms quivered. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve just gone home, alone, like he did every night. He closed his eyes and gripped his horn tighter, his other arm lifted to cover his torso. He should disappear.
“And then you have the nerve! You continue living here, coming to this school, as if you have any right!” Jorgus tilted his head down to brandish his horns again. “You and your father should be driven out of town!”
A sharp pain on his arm startled Tristan. Blood blossomed on the sleeve over his torso.
“Tristan!” Miss Shaunessy bolted for the scrap fabric Tristan left on his desk.
Jorgus, stunned, raised a hand to touch his horn. It came back red. He shook his head, he muttered something, and grabbed his satchel. Isolde hurried around the desks and stumbled as Jorgus pushed past her to run from the building.
“Come here, poor child.” Miss Shaunessy pressed the fabric to Tristan’s arm. “That boy… He may be a handful but ever since his horns grew out the way they did…” She looked to Tristan’s face. “Don’t take it too personally. Like you said, he’s having a rough go of it. It was nice of you to try to connect with him and offer to help out.”
Isolde hovered by the edge of the row. Tristan looked to her, chest empty. He never should’ve tried. He knew what the town thought of him and his father. He knew better. Tears welled in his eyes and he pressed his hand to the cloth. Miss Shaunessy released him with the promise of salves or something, but Tristan had to get out. He had to go home.
He moved back to his desk and found Isolde holding his satchel, all packed and tied and ready. He barely registered the act, how she had moved so fast, and accepted his bag. He dropped the fabric and satchel to slip into his weather gear. A stray thought reminded him to be careful of the wound bleeding onto his jacket as he only had the one. He growled. All because the town hated him. All because of a stupid rumor.
He grabbed his bag and ripped the door open. A few groups of kids lingered and chatted as they headed back toward the village. Jorgus’s brothers and their herd had waited for him, despite his protestations, and crowded him to point at his bloodied horn.
Tristan’s blood. He stomped down the short stairs. “All I wanted was to help, Jorgus Jones!”
Jorgus spun around at the voice. Terror pulled at his features at the massive bulk of Tristan charging toward him. He whipped back around and moved swiftly for the path that led back to town.
Tristan growled. He wanted to stop him, to make him understand, to hold him responsible for injuring him. So many emotions threatened to split him open. “Everyone should be allowed to help each other! We’re a community! That’s what it means to be a community!” In his frustration, he looked to the rest of the students that have lingered to gawk.
A loud thud drew everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to Jorgus, groaning on the ground, a large root split through the soil at his feet. He writhed a bit and got to his hands and knees. A shrill chuckle came from further up the path. Tristan caught Evelynn through the blur of his tears, hand in front of her mouth, as she laughed at the unfortunate bull. The rest of her group chuckled, one by one, with varying degrees of mirth. The laughter spread through the rest of the students, including Jorgus’s little herd, even his brothers. He grunted as he stood and bolted down the path, past Evelynn and her friends.
Tristan sniffed and continued to wipe his face, the cold winter air unpleasant on the slight moisture around his eyes. He slipped his satchel over his shoulder and checked the sleeve of his coat. A chill wind whipped past him and his hands hurt. He left his other accessories in the building. He turned around to head back inside and almost bowled over Isolde.
“Oh! Excuse me, Tristan.” She smiled brightly to him, in an uncomfortable way he could not place.
He barely nodded and attempted to move past her.
She gently placed a hand on his arm. He froze, eyes on the contact. He recognized her mitten, knitted by his father some winters ago and sold by the village seamstress Ciara. His brow furrowed. Her other mitten lifted to offer him his forgotten accessories; mittens similar to hers, a long scarf knitted by his father with a less intricate design, and a warm knitted cap that he tied around his horns. He muttered a thank you and dropped his sack on the ground to don the accessories.
She held his items as he donned them individually. “I agree with you, by the way.” He lifted his wet eyes to her. “We should be allowed to help each other, as a community. I think it’s just awful that we are so discriminatory to those that are sick and injured. Or who have been in the past.”
He nodded absently. Paranoia and fear shook his fingers. He looked up to the rest of the students, those that lingered, and found hateful glares. Isolde, the mayor’s daughter, held high regard among the town, high enough that even her father’s illness did not dull her priority among them. To find her speaking to him? He snatched his scarf and easily tossed it over his horns to drape from his shoulders.
Before she could continue, he hurriedly wandered away from her, down the path to the thick row of trees that separated his orchard from the school. He barely heard Isolde sputter after him, the crunch of dead plantlife under her boots with a few steps. He heard the whispers of the other students, however, and quickened his step. He should know better. And so should Isolde.
(This is a bit of exploring of some primordial gods I am making with Death and Emptiness as domains. This is also placed in another plane I am making.)
The umbral plane was a place of rolling darkness, crumbling buildings made out of sparkling black stone that could reflect like a mirror. Within the center of it stood a towering citadel with a single white star that sat above it, the only light in the vast darkness.
The citadel was filled with narrow and twisting hallways as well as wide open rooms with a thick layer of dust in it. Others were busy with all manner of creatures silently moving about without rest or pause. Corpses were pushed through hallways and spirits floated aimlessly before being directed to their proper place-death was not as easy as mortals would like to believe after all.
In the heart of the citadel sat a grand throne in a dusty room, the air stale as a figure sat upon the seat of stone. They were a slim, wiry thing with light grey skin that seemed stretched over their skeletal frame with a crown of bone white horns around their head. Hair so dark it seemed to have a blue sheen to it was bound back as a veil covered most of their face, concealing their eyes. The clothing they wore seemed to be made out of the darkest ink, making the rest of the realm appear brillant beside it as ghostly faces formed in the fabric before fading away again.
The only sound in the room was the tapping of a single finger on the arm rest of their seat, head resting on the other hand. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound went on as a silver moth flew out of the shadows, landing on their hand, the tapping ceasing as they looked over, raising their hand slowly a moment.
“You have been lost in thought, Mort’ith.” an airy voice spoke as the figure in the seat turned their head toward the noise. “I was beginning to worry you’d blend in with the dust soon.” A dark figure went on, featureless nearly save for pure white eyes they had.
“Apologies, Shomi.” Mort’ith responded, voice deep and soothing to hear as they slowly rose from the throne, moth still on one hand as the other reached out, a jeweled cane appearing in hand as Shomi glided next to their sibling silently. “I am…troubled I think. Where are you?” they asked.
“On your right. Like always.” Shomi answered as Mort’ith nodded, beginning to walk forward, cane tapping here and there.
“Of course…” They said, face looking toward the moth again. “What does this look like to you?”
“A moth.” Shomi answered, tilting their head. “White like snow with translucent wings.”
“It sounds lovely.” Mort’ith said as the moth took flight, the deity following it’s path. “I only see the soul. A light with form-strong yet fragile.” they went on as it flew off toward the ceiling before Mort’ith began walking again.
“What troubles you, sibling?” Shomi asked, walking with them, their feet making no noise. “You are known for getting lost in your mind but this is different.”
“Souls pour in from all planes to this place. The Shattering sent so many lights to me yet I still stand in the dark to what caused it. What cracked our beautiful world and nearly destroyed it.” Mort’ith said, pausing as they came to a balcony, looking down as if to survey the umbral realm they called home. “Our one purpose was to create something that would last. Yet I am here, a reminder that nothing may last…”
“Death is ever present. In order for there to be a beginning, there must be an end.” Shomi told them. “Do you not enjoy your lights?”
“I do.” Mort’ith said, continuing along a path that built itself as they walked along the outside of the citadel, Shomi floating behind. “But I am concerned that I will be needed to tell an ending I do not wish to utter.”
“I do not understand your concern.” Shomi said, looking at the white star that sat above them. “If we fail, then we fail. And we will begin again from the emptiness. Back into the void and we will fill it again. Purpose or not, we will march forward.” they stated as Mort’ith paused, Shomi nearly running into them.
“Hmm…” they hummed, not saying more for a moment before walking forward more. “I forget your apathy. Perhaps I should speak with the others about this.”
“I do not conceal my nature.” they agreed. “Though you have expressed annoyance for the others.“
“Yes. But creation has suffered a wound and with Dayfaa sealed away, it will not heal easy. Better to express caution and see what is trying to fester before it can worsen.” Mort’ith said, Shomi not commenting.
(Another Hag dream of Roisin! This is pretty stand alone I think though I do write so much of this fucker, I might be wrong) As sleep came and claimed Roisin, a familiar sound filled his ears, carrying him off to that different realm, feeling that strange feeling of disconnecting from his body. Then, he was standing in that forest with too still branches and a heavy silence. His feet were bare and sunk into the thick blanket of pines and moss below him as he tried to stiffen his muscles-tried to do anything to try to pull away from the sound that seemed to be an undeniable force that pulled him forward past twisted black trees and under a canopy of leaves so thick the light seemed to be tinged green from it. He walked through thorns and brambles though they didn’t cut his skin as he approached a small clearing with a hovel of a house built at the base of the tree. Was it always that way? He couldn’t remember anymore even though this had happened so much it should have some sort of familiarity by now. He should recognize something but it still felt like he was falling and unable to grab the strings that flew by to catch himself. There, standing at her cauldron of iron was the hag, another joining her now suddenly.
The one he knew had molted green skin and long matted white hair. The one he didn’t recognize seemed older, having more of a presence that seemed to make it harder to breathe even though he didn’t need to during this. Not when he was like this. The other hag had dark purple skin pulled back over her skull so it looked uncomfortably tight with a large protruding forehead. A belt of skulls sat along her waist as she loomed over Roisin.
“This is the child?” the purple hag asked. “Strange I have not seen her before.”
“Yes, this is her.” the green hag said, stirring the cauldron as it bubbled and foamed. Roisin felt like he was banging inside his own skull, unable to do anything but watch these creatures eye him like a toy that needed breaking.
“She seems quite…off.” the purple hag noted, stepping over to Roisin, grabbing his hair as she lifted him up by it, pain burning along his scalp as she turned him this way and that, wanting to get a better look at him. “It has metal in it. Do you know why?”
“Something that elves did to improve it. It actually has helped our cause as well.” the green hag said. “Improves her abilities but also makes her so easy to control-she has quite the fire in her yet the song is still undeniably in control.” she said as the purple hag grunted, dropping Roisin as he fell to the ground.
“What will she become?”
“Something new.” the green hag answered with glee. “Something young-its so much easier to lure other faire folk away when we have a pretty face. Plus she has made a relationship with that titanian. Him.”
“Oh?” the purple hag asked, intrigued as Roisin laid there, unable to even dust himself off without being puppeted to do so. “How interesting…This one will prove very useful then. How much longer does she have?”
“Not too much longer. I merely wait until the perfect time to call her-body and soul-back to us. She made a journey to the courts before. If she ends up doing so again, we can bring her to us with our song.”
“Or by force.” the purple added as Roisin’s lip twitched, Roisin wanting to snarl and dig his teeth into them both. The green hag laughed as she noticed the movement as the purple one lifted Roisin and held him over the cauldron, the heat unbearable as he swore he could feel his skin sizzling from it. Taking out a blade, the green hag took his hand and sliced him, dropping his blood into the cauldron as the color changed, the scent becoming almost pleasant though Roisin desperately wanted away from it. Wanted to never see it again as the hag dipped her spoon into it, grabbing Roisin’s face.
“Just let the mind fade away, child. Let your sister’s take care of you.” she said, a wicked grin on her face as the liquid burned its way down Roisin’s throat and settled into the center of him. Roisin woke shaking in a ball, sweating but also freezing as Mote was still in front of his face, making a mewling noise at him as the cat curled close. Slowly, the tremors faded away as Roisin found himself falling back asleep, the details of the dream fading away even as a part of him tried to grasp them.
(This is a fic of Roisin, my dnd character, being so totally subtle as she talks to Dysa, another PC character belonging to @theabsolutevoid)
Roisin was sat with a book in hand in Jive’s bar, hoping the music and atmosphere would help keep her awake though the words on the page began to blur together as she tried to focus her eyes, a soothing call echoing in the back of her mind…
“Roisin?” Came a familiar voice as she started slightly, blinking as she looked over, Dysa there, a large crate balanced on one shoulder as she stood above him. “Shouldn’t Lorn’el be with you?” she asked as Roisin found her voice.
“Oh, yes. He is currently busy however-he spent nearly four hours with me trying to get me to sleep. Seems my body chooses inopportune times to try to nod off.” she said, pushing her hair back.
“Have you tried some sort of sleeping pill when Lorn’el is with you?” Dysa asked, worried.
“I won’t use them. Used more than a few when I was with the Shadows and not on myself.” she told Dysa, placing a bookmark in her book as she closed it. Dysa gave a nod at that.
“Understandable. Come with me then, I am running errands for Destin and can try to help keep you awake until Lorn’el is free again.” she offered as Roisin mulled it over for less than a second.
“That sounds perfect.” she answered, smiling at Dysa as she stepped beside her friend and the two began walking to Destin’s bar.
The bar had just about been refurnished, the shelves of alcohol still a little bare but looking better than they had after the attack though Roisin noticed Destin was not about.
“Where is Destin?” she asked.
“I told him to rest. That is why I am caring for his bar.” Dysa said as Roisin nodded, taking a seat on one of the barstools.
“Makes sense.” Roisin said, dropping her glamor. “And I am sure this is redundant but me and Xyrha are dating now.”
“I thought as much.” Dysa said with a nod. “Given how you two behaved at the tournament.”
“Yes, well…” Roisin said, blushing. “It’s still a bit…new. And given my track record with relationships, I didn’t want to jinx it.” she admitted. “I doubt there’s a planet I’ve been on that I don’t have some stupid mistake wandering around…Or someone who wants to kill me.”
“Given your performance at the tournament, that will be more difficult than they think.” Dysa said, stepping behind the bar, her back to Roisin as she did something. Roisin rested her chin on her hand, staring at the muscles across Dysa’s shoulders though her cloak did obscure them slightly.
“Hmm…” Roisin responded, distracted as Dysa looked over, snapping her out of it.
“You are much stronger than you think, Roisin. I don’t think you have anything to fear.” Dysa added as Roisin felt her heart do a little flip as she reddened slightly.
“Uh, yes. You’re right.” she stammered, clearing her throat as Dysa eyed her, raising a brow but not commenting. Instead, she placed a drink in front of Roisin.
“Drink this, it should help keep you awake until Lorn’el is back from his business.” Dysa told her as she nodded, taking it as she sipped it, blinking it at it.
“Oh, this is very delightful…” she noted, a coffee taste lingering though there was definitely more to it.
“Thank you though it is one of Destin’s recipes. He has showed me how to make different drinks.”
“Oh, that’s always a useful skill.” she noted, sipping the drink happily as there was an awkward lull in conversation as Roisin tried to find a way to shoehorn what she really wanted to talk about.
“Have you had many romantic relationships, Dysa?” Roisin asked as she gave her a strange look.
“No, not really…I am sure you are aware of that however.” Dysa noted, Roisin feeling very exposed under her friend’s gaze as Dysa crossed her arms, drawing Roisin’s gaze to her muscled arms before her eyes darted back to her friend’s face.
“Uh, yes, must be the lack of sleep…” she tried, taking a big gulp of the drink she had. “Anyway…Have I ever told you a story about a…well, definitely toxic but slightly funny polycule I was a part of?” Roisin asked, Dysa looking confused.
“A…what?” Dysa asked. “Sorry, I think I’ve heard of it before but have not had it explained to me.”
“Oh, uh, I should start a little bit back then…” she said with a chuckle, glad she had someone got to this topic, even if it was with the grace of a bull. “So, I am polyamorus so I maintain a consensual relationship with multiple people who are all aware of each other. A polycule is used to describe a group of people participating in a polyamorus relationship.” she explained, slightly proud.
“Oh, I see. What is the story then?” she asked, interested as Roisin paused.
“Story?”
“The story of the polycule you wanted to share?” Dysa prompted, tilting her head, a spark of worry in her eye.
“Oh, right, uh…” Roisin stammered, smiling as her mind went through her various relationships, pausing as she quickly reviewed them. Hm…Those…those aren’t as funny as she remembered them being. “Well, uh…” she stammered, caught off guard suddenly. “Sorry, uh…Thinking back now, it suddenly doesn’t seem as…funny.” she noted.
“Hm…” Dysa said, eyeing Roisin. “Do you know what business Lorn’el was attending to?” she asked, taking the mug she was sipping from away. “You seem…off. And I think getting you sleep is more important than whatever he is doing.” she said, coming back around the counter.
“Oh, uh, I don’t know but I am fine, really-” she began as Dysa carefully took her hand, much gentler than she’d expect.
“Let’s go find him.” Dysa insisted, Roisin following while she was trying to find her voice again.
Gods, she was so gay for her friend and her friend had no concept of romance or flirting when it comes to her.
(I am building a world to write short stories from so this is a story just sort of helping me begin to paint that picture)
The fire crackled in the small house, giving an ominous, pink glow to the cluttered room. Books and trinkets bowed the shelves of a bookcase as more items were haphazardly stacked atop it even more. There was an old worn chair between the bookshelf and the fire as, on the other side of the room, there was a table similarly cluttered while pots bubbled and boiled on a nearby stove as an old, haggard woman leaned over the table, a girl at her side.
The old crone might have once been tall and young but now her back was hunched with the untold years she carried as her long white hair was left an untamed, oily mess.
“Give me that, child.” she spoke in a voice like stones hitting each other as she turned to a girl, petite with pink eyes and small horns beginning to grow from her head amid her blonde hair as patches of nearly not-there scales could be seen if the light of the fire danced just so. The child handed over a bottle with a faded label and a clear liquid within.
“What’re you doing, Grandmother?” the child asked in a soft voice.
“Making an Oracle Pool.” she said, setting sticks and stones just so as she threw dry ingredients in a mortar and pedestal, using her knobbly hands to grind them ever finer. The girl let her eyes wander a moment amid the cluttered cabin.
“You wish to look into the future?” she asked.
“Don’t be so daft.” the crone scolded. “The future is more fickle than the wind and plays games with the gods even. No, no. I will use it to look into the past.” the girl seemed confused at that, trying to carefully pick her words.
“What good could that do?” she asked. “There is no changing what is already done.”
“Your incessant questions are especially grating today.” the crone muttered. “The past can reveal the direction that we march in.” she said, reaching over and grabbing something from the girl’s arms as she stumbled forward.
“Hey!”
“Oh, catch your tongue before I pluck it out for you.” the woman ordered, the girl scowling as she looked at the woman. “Don’t give me that look. Without me, you’d be dead in the wilds or used as a sideshow or as a pleasure woman.” the crone said as the girl looked away.
There was silence as the crone laid out the ingredients, pouring the vial along the outer edge of the sticks as she grabbed the boiling pots and poured them in, the brackish liquid swirling within the twigs and stones without spilling onto the floor as steam rose from it. The girl turned back, curious as the woman leaned over it, hands looking like monstrous claws with the lighting as the girl stepped closer to it.
Within the liquid she could swear she saw lights as she moved closer, standing beside the crone, her eyes equally fixated on the swirling liquid. The girl saw the powdered and crushed ingredients swirl and build a landscape of rolling hills and towering mountains. Icy towers stood to the north while tropical jungles laid to the south.
“The world as it was…Before your time.” the crone said quietly as they watched armies rise and fight against each other, dark magic was flung from towers as plagues were sent toward other countries. On and on the horrors went as the girl took steps back, eyes wide as she tripped over a chair that had been pulled back, causing a clatter.
The crone’s head whipped around, the brackish liquid bubbling more before it rolled to the floor, the crone calling out as it burned her feet, the girl hopping onto the chair. The old woman spun around to her, eyes filled with rage as she stormed over, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up, nails digging into her skin as the girl tried to push her back only to be thrown into the pool of boiling liquid as she cried out.
Whatever the crone had to say next, however, was drowned out the deep rumble of a call so impossibly large, it was felt more than heard as they froze a moment. The call came again as the two silently moved, the crone putting out the woodfire stove as the girl went to the fire place, throwing a blanket over it and using her hands to snuff it out before opening a metal chute for the embers to fall into as she closed it after. Looking over, she saw the crone was closing the blinds, shuffling in the darkness to her chair by the empty hearth. The girl didn’t move from her spot, pitch darkness the only thing in her vision as the sound came again, the windows shaking as the walls groaned slightly. Slowly, the girl crawled along the wall, ignoring the burns on her back as she came to a window with a heavy curtain pulled over it.
Carefully, she pulled it back enough to peer through, looking over the rolling green hills with craggy rocks jutting up out of the ground all lit by the moon. To the east where the girl looked, the sky was merely a shadow of a terribly dark shape. Hands with claws able to grab mountains as its body floated by, suspended in the air by an unknown force.
“Away from the window you little-” the crone was cut off by another call, a deeper, guttural tone to it than the last one as they stood, frozen as they waited. Waited for the sound of splintering wood before their vision went dark forever.
Instead, the call came again, back to its passive tones as it sailed by.
(A short fic of retired PC characters reacting to some news we learned about another former PC character)
The moon shone in the night sky, full in its radiance as stars blanketed the sky. Below the sky laid a large pool full of petals of all colors the water still enough it reflected the moon back. From the untarnished light, silently the goddess descended. The first to the meeting as she always was. Her hair was black and white with long braids and decorations in it to denote her status as a warrior. As a protector.
Zazriel landed on the edge of the pool, bare feet feeling the grass as the air entered her lungs, a small smile crossing her lips. She walked over to a clearing in the trees not too far from the secluded pool as she waved one of her hands, stone rising at her command. A table emerged from the ground along with two chairs, one lower to the ground than the other. The other chair was quickly claimed by vines and flowers-even moss quickly trying to spread along it. The ground here was well aware of who would be coming and prepared for her arrival.
Digging into her bag, Zazriel pulled out a beautifully crafted teapot and two cups as she gingerly set it all upon the stone table. The goddess then pulled out a waterskin of the clearest waters from her realm and filled the teapot with them before letting out a breath and taking her seat. Just as she did, she felt a familiar warm breeze and a scattering of petals as Zazriel smiled, hearing a rustle of leaves before arms encircled her neck, the fast fluttering of wings filling her ears.
“You need to visit more, my old mountain.” Thistle’s voice said, light and playful, a contrast to the deep rumbling laugh that escaped Zazriel at the statement as she stood and embraced her friend with all four arms.
“I am sorry, my friend. It is all too easy to slip back into my old ways and find centuries slip through my fingers as easy as the wind.” she said, taking her seat again as Thistle took hers as well.
“Wind does not escape you as easy as most, dear Stormlord.” Thistle chided as Zazriel smiled at her.
“I…I have missed you, Thistle. So dearly. I feel as if I did not appreciate having those I love but a call away these days. Especially my most beautiful friend.” she said, four eyes soft as they gazed upon the other goddess. Thistle smiled.
“You didn’t, Zaz.” she assured. “Your heart is too big even for you. Near or far, I know you always hold us close.” Thistle pulled out various dried leaves, flowers, and herbs as she dropped them into the teapot, waving a hand as a flame appeared beneath the vessel. “You are always too kind, Zaz.”
“You deserve kindness.” Zazriel said, watched the flickering flames. “How have you and Nyx been?”
“It’s been busy but we’re doing our best.” she said, Zazriel’s eyes flicking up to her.
“You sure?”
“Stop that, Zaz.” she said, waving her off. “You aren’t our therapist, dear. You’re our friend. Trying to play both as you do only leaves you more tired and everyone a little hurt.” She scolded as Zazriel chuckled. Sharp as ever.
“I guess…I just worry about you two.” Zazriel admitted.
“We’re fine. Now, since you started it, how’re you and Zillia?” She asked, leaning forward with a light in her eye, Zazriel smiling so wide it should have split her face.
“I keep her near me as often as I can.” she said. “We have worked together to ease her worries and my unhealthy habits. I must admit, I believe her name is missing from the lips of those down here. However, she is happy with her role.” Thistle smiled at the larger goddess, a slight pang in her chest.
“And the kids?” Thistle asked innocently.
“We don’t have kids-” Zazriel began, Thistle ready for it.
“I think the koibra would argue that.” she shot.
“That’s different-”
“Well, how about those little warriors you’ve taken a liking to and raised to help you with your realm?”
“They have parents-well, had-” Zazriel began, getting a little flustered.
“Whatever you say, dear.” Thistle said, an innocent smile on her face as she poured them both tea.
Zazriel sighed at her friend’s antics. “You tease me for being a grandmother, certainly I am too old to be a mother."
"Oh you and I know it’s never too late for us.” She said. “And I see that pleasant little light in you, Zaz. You like the idea of being seen as a mother.” The fey told her as Zazriel smiled.
“You are…not wrong. Though I am wary of the title as you know. I can bear the weight of a goddess-that can be distant and impassioned or keenly felt and heard. Mother, however? That is a role I cannot stand the idea of coming up short in.” She said as Thistle nodded, placing a hand over Zazriel’s.
“Zazriel, you’re a great mother.” she told her, smiling. “Even when you make a mistake, you own up to it. You are willing to grow. And I know that any child in your care will never doubt for a second the unwavering love you have for them. Plus, all your children have told me.” she added, a smile on her face as Zazriel seemed to almost flush despite not having blood.
“They speak to you?!” she asked before clearing her throat. “I mean…Thank you, Thistle.” she said. Thistle smiled at her as the two spoke of times long past and sipped their tea for a time.
“Now, if you’ll allow me, I think it’s time to address the elephant in the room.” Thistle said, looking to the empty space at the table where a third seat was lacking. “Where is Jive, my old mountain? What did you need to talk about that she couldn’t be here?” Zazriel’s gaze fell to the spot, her expression becoming sad as she looked away, guilt stabbing her chest a moment.
“I love Jive.” Zazriel started as Thistle settled in, prepared to listen to her friend wind her words around akin to a mountain path. Her old mountain of a friend… “I love you too.” Zazriel continued. “You are family to me. We have experienced so much together and I have grown wiser thanks to you both. Jive is smart and charming and so many look to her as a leader and as a dependable pillar that holds aloft so much.“ Zazriel’s gaze moved lower, looking at the sturdy trees around them. "But she has made choices I still cannot move past. I put on a face because speaking against one part of her seems to have others rising against me as if I reject all of her. As if I can envision a time where it is not the three of us watching the sands of time flow by until the end of all things claim us all.” she said, one hand pushing her hair back, another feeding tea into the open maw in one of her hands. Her lips were pursed and she could not meet Thistle’s gaze. “I know you may share my concerns and wanted to air them without my standing being misconstrued. I love Jive. So much it hurts. But Vecna is not her friend. He is not to be trusted. He has already made it clear he will take her body if ever given the chance. And now we are not by her side to help lessen his hold. I wonder….I wonder if this was the greatest failing of mine. Abandoning Jive to her own existence.” She said, setting the cup down heavily, her grip tight as Thistle touched her hand, taking the cup away.
“You worry so much, Zaz. It’s a wonder you don’t have more white in your hair.” She joked, Zazriel giving a small smile. “Jive is her own person. No one abandoned her-we are but a call away and she knows that. She has shown that she can handle Vecna, as unique as the arrangement is.” She stated as Zazriel looked off in the distance.
“Your words sound empty, my friend. I hope my ears have grown sharper and not that you have somehow learned to lie.” Zazriel said as there was a pause.
“We didn’t abandon her.” Thistle assured. “But…I do have concerns regarding the arrangement going on there. But there is nothing to be done. The sword has been destroyed and we have to trust her.” Thistle said as Zazriel was quiet.
“That’s it? Just sit back and wait? See if she truly is strong enough to never slip with Vecna for eternity? He only needs one opening. One chance.” Zazriel said, swallowing. “Even I cannot fight for so long without rest…” Thistle’s eyes sharpened slightly.
“What are you doing?” She asked, voice having concern in it.
“The sword was forged. It was made by someone forever ago…I am a protector. I cannot leave the people of this planet and those scattered between my stars undefended. I…I am not powerful enough to forge a weapon capable of-…killing Jive forever on my own.” Zazriel said, emotion bubbling up as her head dropped into two of her hands, shame and guilt and grief swirling within in a storm even she couldn’t control. “I-I am so sorry to ask…I need your help Thistle. And I need your discretion.” she said, tears dropping from all four eyes. “I trust Jive with everything. That is why I feel I must do this. If she were to find out, I fear she will turn from me completely and lock me out of her life. But…still, I feel I must do this. Something in my very bones-my being-that we will need this one day.” She said, the air silent a moment as she tried to pull her emotions back and stop the tears. "I am ready to carry the act myself if that time were to ever arise. I am ready to face the hatred and condemnation that will bring me. I am already vengeance and fewer and fewer speak of me as anything save for the darkest part of me. Maybe their words already twist me to a darker shade for even coming up with this…” she said, trailing off as her face was grabbed and yanked, Thistle flying and looking down at her. Carefully, she wiped her tears away.
“I will help, Zazriel. But you will not endure this alone. You have my discretion.” She said. “You are the best of us, Zazriel. You are not turning ‘dark’ or whatever nonsense. People get things wrong. You are the moon and the stars and you pull and push the waters of Terra and planets so much farther away. You are you. And you decide what that is.” Thistle said as Zazriel nodded, sniffling slightly as she held Thistle close again.
“I have been alone with these thoughts so long…I am sorry for not coming sooner to you. I…I was scared. As if speaking it would be admitting I was going to lose Jive.” She said softly as Thistle patted her hair.
“We aren’t going to lose her. We are just going to be ready. That is what she would want I think.” She said as Zazriel nodded.
“Thank you, Thistle…” she said, sitting up and she composed herself.
“Of course Zazriel.” She said. Oh her mountain…Her mountain who would part herself for the smallest river. Thistle was determined to stand with her through whatever may come.
(A short story about how painful it would be if my DnD got dragged back into the assassin organization he is working to destroy)
Roisin woke slowly, head feeling filled with cotton and his mouth dry, ginger curls sat in his vision as he tried to reach up to push it aside but felt himself restrained as he grunted in frustration. He flung his hair to the side, a wave of dizziness hitting him that had his stomach rolling a moment as a whimper escaped him. It was his wrists and ankles that were bound to a hard table, not an unfamiliar situation but he couldn’t remember how he got there. His entire mind felt so…blank. He was leaving Zahon to board a ship to a new home with the Shadows. Then he escaped-he actually did it-but…there was only worse suffering out there between the stars. People who hurt him whenever they could.
Roisin looked around, antlers scratching on the table a bit as he took in the room. It seemed to be some sort of med bay but was much nicer than the one the Shadows had in their hidden base yet also had the impression he wasn’t on the ship they were promised to have a home on. Everything was light grey with golden accents-gold was believed to have healing properties among the drow-as the walls had painted murals of Lolth and great healers.
Just then the door opened as Roisin looked over, seeing Mister Barnum enter as he stilled, not wanting to earn his ire if the table made a sound from his movements. Celeste entered as well, his hair kept short and a few scars he didn’t recognize on his face, his dark red eyes were cold and gave nothing away as he stayed off to Mister Barnum’s side.
“Fawn.” Mister Barnum spoke, voice worse than the metal table he was restrained to. “You have not been with us for many years now. This is quite the reunion.” he said, looking down at Roisin as his pulse quickened slightly. Were the Shadows going to throw him away now too? Mister Barnum looked at a screen to the side that seemed to be giving some sort of report or readings to him though Roisin couldn’t read it from his angle. He wanted to speak, beg forgiveness, but he had not been asked a question so he stayed silent.
“Lucky for you, however, things have changed.” Mister Barnum said, sighing as he looked back to Roisin. “Lolth, in her wisdom, has dictated the Crown move to new blood and has selected Her Majesty Grey to serve as Queen of the Zahon drow. However, few have chosen to return to us here on Zahon.” he said, closing his eyes a moment as he took a breath. “However, more will return in time. And we are to be ready for them.” he stated, eyes opening, his eyes locked on Roisin’s. “You will be a great asset to us, Roisin. You will not be further punished for your transgressions, however, let me enlighten you on this: You were insane when we found you and brought you back in. Surrounded by those who only pushed your madness farther. No one accepted you out there. Your place is here. Among the Shadows.” he said as Roisin nodded, throat tight. No one…no one in the whole universe…Even from what he remembered there wasn’t ever a kind face.
Mister Barnum cleared his throat, commanding Roisin’s attention again. “Your re-education program has already begun, as you can tell, and it was the method used to give you back your sanity. You will undergo these daily procedures until you are evaluated and cleared for full time duty again.” he told him as Roisin nodded. “Your other bionics and attributes have also been given a tune up and you should expect upgrades to be scheduled very soon. While not cleared for duty, you are expected to be resting and reading past missions and files to catch up on what has been going on here since your sudden departure. Am I clear?” he asked.
“Yes sir.” Roisin answered, no emotion in his voice as Mister Barnum released him as Celeste was finally able to go to his side. As he moved, Roisin only realized then what agony his body was in, barely able to put any weight on his right side at all as Celeste put an arm around him.
“Wolf, take him to the barracks to rest.” he ordered as Celeste nodded, leading him off carefully.
The hallway he was lead to was ornate with subdued colors and beautiful stonework as he looked about.
“We’re in the castle.” Celeste explained without hearing the question. “Since our numbers are small and we need to be ready to protect the Queen, we are living here while we begin to rebuild.” he said as Roisin nodded, a whimper escaping him as he blinked back tears.
“It hurts-Wolf it really hurts…” he said, voice barely a whisper as tears ran down his cheeks.
“Hey, okay, lets stop here. I’ll carry you once you get your breath back.” Celeste said, leaning Roisin against a wall as tears kept coming, a soft hiccuping noise escaping him.
“N-no one…no one was able to love me-accept me.” Roisin said, lip shaking as he looked into Celeste’s dark eyes. “I thought…I thought it’d be easier but look at me…” he cried as Celeste pulled him near in a gentle embrace.
“I know…I know, I’m sorry. My innocent Fawn…” he murmured as he kept crying.
“You were right…I’m so sorry, Wolf. I never should have left. I don’t want to be alone again.” he said as Celeste rubbed his back.
“I know. I know, I’m not going anywhere. Lets get you to bed now. The others are itching to see you before you rest more, okay?” he said, looking as Roisin as he nodded, face still wet. Celeste wiped his tears away gently before carefully picking him up and carrying him the rest of the way to the barracks.
The ‘barracks’ as they were called were much nicer than Roisin thought. It was a section of repurposed rooms, all unnecessary furniture removed while everyone got their own room nearly with a few shared bathrooms and even a common living space. It was honestly the best thing Roisin could have hoped for as he felt more pain in his chest for abandoning people who still saw him worthy enough to treat so well. Celeste took him to a room with a large bed with files piled high on a desk as well as a tablet and television in the room.
“The television is restricted currently but there is some video footage you can cast to it.” he said as Roisin nodded as he was helped into bed carefully. “If you need anything, you just call and one of us will be there for you.” Celeste said as he put a hand to Roisin’s cheek as he nodded, eyes still bright with tears.
“C-can I see the others? Please, I…I just need them.” he murmured softly as Celeste nodded.
“Of course, stay here.” he said as he got up and headed out the door to go get them, giving Roisin a chance to look over the room. It must just be Celeste’s room-they had shared a room since they had been allowed to partner together.
Just then, the door opened as Roisin barely laid eyes on them all as they rushed in before gingerly surrounding him, no one saying anything as tears poured down Roisin’s face.
“I-I’m…I’m sorry…” he sobbed, gripping the blanket around him. “I missed you-I won’t do it again.” he promised as they rushed forward. Vasidil hugged him as others offered comforting words or jokes to lift his spirits. It felt so normal so quickly. As if he never left them as he drank in their presence as long as he could.
“Alright, everyone.” Celeste announced, all eyes on him immediately. “Back to your duties. Fawn needs to rest.” he said as they grumbled but left one by one, Celeste giving Roisin a kiss on the head. “Sleep right now.” he told him. “I will see about getting something to ease the pain and will have food and water ready when you wake up.” he assured as Roisin nodded, laying back carefully as sleep took him without pause.
Roisin had murky dreams of disconnected moments of faces he couldn’t recall anymore and yet they brought a ghostly comfort he couldn’t quite place. Eventually, the hag called his dreams into a different direction as he awoke with a start, looking about in the empty room as he carefully sat up and looked around. It was empty though looking at the end table there was some food and water there as he took it and began to drink and pick at the food a bit. He felt…strange still. Disconnected from what was happening though with the intensity of the re-education he went through, that was to be expected. Once he healed more, he was sure it would fade a bit. Roisin’s gaze fell to a window that overlooked the city below, still and dark as he thought back to when the streets were alive with soft lights and drow in the streets doing their various tasks. It would be hard to get back to that. Reclaim that honorable world he remembered. Yet, it was still possible.
A pressure started in Roisin’s skull then, starting small as he just sipped more water, but soon it proved excruciating as he ended up gripping his head, clumsily pulling blankets away as he tried to stand. He needed help, this wasn’t normal.
Roisin…Help…Stay Calm a voice called to his mind though it was weak, the voice fading away as it was speaking before returning. He stood as the pain reached its peak, his legs buckling as he collapsed on the floor, on the edge of consciousness a moment before it ended as quickly as it started. The door flew open then as Celeste was there in an instant, carefully murmuring comfort as he helped him up.
“Fawn, what happened? I told you to call for help if you needed it.” he told him, sounding frustrated as Roisin nodded.
“I’m sorry…” he managed, beating back the swimming feeling he still had and focusing on Celeste there. “There…there was a voice in my head.” he said, looking up at him as he felt cold at the expression he saw there. Celeste’s lip was twisted and brow furrowed, angered and disgusted. Panic began to rise in Roisin’s chest before the expression was gone, replaced with concern as Celeste helped him into bed again.
“I will look into that. Don’t worry, dear.” he assured, kissing his head.
“Are…are you angry at me?” he asked, looking at him as he smiled, putting a hand on his cheek.
“No. Just worried.” he assured as he stood up. “Don’t tell anyone about this. I am handling it.” he ordered as Roisin simply nodded, watching him go.
—
Hours ticked by slowly as Roisin paged through files in his room silently. Missions had not slowed down even as the drow left for The Nest. However, it seemed this ‘Nest’ was not habitable for them-it tried to strip them of the honor and rights they deserved as a noble people. It made it hard to understand why people would stay there. Did they suffer from the same madness that afflicted him before the Shadows took him back? It must be that… He pushed his hair back, letting out a sigh as he set the file to the side. Carefully, he moved and managed to stand through the pain as he winced and took a breath. He would not be a burden. He would not be a burden. He was determined to prove his use once again. Stepping lightly, he made his way to the door as he opened it, gripping the door frame as he looked down the hall but didn’t see anyone.
“Hello? Anyone here?” he called, not wanting to disobey orders to call for help. In a moment, Alton-an average drow with long silky hair and bright eyes-popped around the corner and rushed to him, putting an arm around him.
“Fawn! You shouldn’t even be moving on your own-I told them you should be in a wheelchair.” she tutted. “I assume you need a bathroom break?” she asked as he nodded.
“Yeah…I also have a favor to ask, Snake.” he mentioned as she nodded.
“Well, lets take care of business first.” she said, helping him to the bathroom as he took care of himself from there, Alton coming to help once he had washed up.
Snake took him back to his room as she sat him on the bed, sitting with him.
“So that favor…” Roisin began as she sighed.
“Magical healing can only do so much. You know that. And speeding up natural processes can cause more harm than good.” Alton said sternly as he nodded.
“I know, I know…” he said, swallowing hard as he looked into his lap. “But I…I really fucked up.” he whispered, pausing a moment to control his voice. “I can’t be laid up like this. I need to do something.” he told her as she sighed, taking his hand.
“It’s okay, Fawn. We’ll protect you from now on.” she promised as he looked at her, unsure. “And healing you right now could cause a permanent limp on your right side-might even leave you with pain. You weren’t okay at all when we got you back. I was surprised you weren’t dead.” she said gently as he shook his head.
“I need to be able to do something…” he insisted as she pushed his hair back gently.
“You will…” she said, looking around a moment before back at him. “One of the teachers were supposed to tell you this once you settled back in but I think it’ll help if you hear it now.” she told him as he paused, looking at her. “You and Wolf are going to be trusted to help in a procreation program.” she said with a smile as Roisin’s eyes widened. “Science and magic has come a long way and you know better than anyone that children can be made regardless of the sex of the parents.” she said as he nodded, shocked.
“Yes, but…But I’m a monster.” he murmured. “I’m not a drow…” he said.
“Your body has been heavily affected by magic and it has altered your structure greatly.” Alton confirmed. “But your DNA? Your blood? Its still the blood of a drow-and not only any drow but a noble bloodline. You’re going to be taken off of active duty to be a parent. Just what you always wanted.” she said as she squeezed his hand, Roisin smiling. “And before you get dirty thoughts, there’s really no, uh, contact needed in this particular process. However, once you recover, I doubt that you and Wolf won’t celebrate a little.” she said with a wink as he reddened.
“Stop it, your still an ass.” he said, looking away as she laughed and hugged him gently.
“Your more important here than you know, altered or not, your a drow like the rest of us.” she said as he smiled a little to himself, hugging her back.
“I…I can’t wait to have my own children…” he told her as she nodded, rubbing his back.
“I know. You’ve earned this.” she told him. “Keep resting. I will get some more food brought in for you.” Roisin agreed as Alton helped him get back into bed before leaving to head to the kitchens.
Outside the barracks, Celeste leaned against a wall as Alton emerged, seeing him as she moved to walk by, pausing as she was near him.
“He knows.” she told him softly as he smirked.
“Good.” he said simply. “His reaction?”
“Shocked but positive. He wants a family still.” she reported back.
“Very good.” Celeste said. “He won’t be leaving again anytime soon then. Keep up the good work.” Celeste told her as he walked off, Alton pausing there a moment longer before walking again.
Fawn should have known better than to fall for a Wolf.
—
Another fitful round of sleep had Roisin staring at the ceiling, ears straining to hear the others return from their duties for dinner. All he wanted was to sit with his family as they ate and chatted. He just wanted them back.
Instead of the sound of a door opening and feet in the hallway outside his door, however, there was a deep, bass filled crash instead. It violently shook Roisin’s room and knocked things over as he blinked, sitting up as he did so. What on earth was that? An attack? An experiment?
He got an answer in the form of Alton all but breaking down his door as she moved to his side, raising a hand as grey light began to wash over him. “Snake?!” Roisin called, shocked.
“Situation has changed. While still having a limp, we need to move faster than your injuries in this state will allow.” she said, voice all business.
“What is the situation?” he asked.
“Those who drove you insane are here. They want you back. The others are holding them back while I get you in hiding before rejoining them.”
“I can-”
“No.” Alton said, leaving no room for argument. “You are their target. Putting you in combat will only make it more difficult.” she said, pulling him up. The pain was gone but it was true that he had a limp and just this strange feeling of something clicking inside him almost. Alton dragged him out of the barracks and down the hallway, navigating a confusing maze of hallways for anyone who had not studied them like they had.
However, luck can always turn the tides in battle. As Alton dragged Roisin around a corner, a giant tiefling man was there, looking over at them as his eyes lit up as he saw Roisin there.
“ROSIE!” he called in a loud voice as Alton cursed, digging in a pocket as she threw down pellets that exploded into smoke. She then dragged Roisin down a different hallway as there was coughing and running behind them, Alton cating a minor illusion to look like Roisin as she pulled him down a different hallway abruptly.
“Get out of the castle and hide in the city. Wait for an all clear signal before returning.” she ordered as he nodded, running off as she took off in another direction. The tiefling went after Alton as Roisin ran as fast as he could as he came to a window that overlooked another part of the building, allowing him to climb on the roofs if he was careful.
“Roisin!” a voice called as he looked over, an orcish woman there as he felt a pressure in his head begin again while looking at her. Quickly, he looked away and headed out the window. “ROISIN!” she yelled again as he moved carefully among the stone rooftops, the woman heading out after him.
Roisin was carefully hurrying around the stonework, needing to hug the walls and ledges.
“Roisin!” the woman called as he looked back, heart sinking at seeing that the woman was closer than he thought, partial tusks sticking out of her lip, pink eyes…pleading? She looked hopeful as Roisin paused a moment.
“Roisin, I know this is all a lot, but we’re here to help you.” she said in a gentle voice. “I only ever want to protect you.”
“I…I don’t know you. I belong here. With the Shadows.” Roisin said, something making him uncertain as he slid farther away along the ledge he was on.
“If that’s your choice then I will respect that. However, I have reason to believe you are being manipulated.” she said, slowly creeping closer as Roisin looked away, getting to the other side of the ledge.
“You don’t know anything about me. This is the only place for me.” he said, moving to continue running when there was that sudden pressure in his mind, more painful than before. He grabbed his head and stumbled. The orcish woman rushed forward as he felt gravity pull him over the edge, everything going dark as his eyes rolled back.
Dysa barely got there in time to grab Roisin’s arm before he fell to the ground as she pulled him up, pulling his body into her arms as she held him tight a moment. Her chest felt tight as she swallowed and stood, holding him up as as looked at his face, noticing he had a bloody nose. Damn it. Something was wrong, she had to get him back to the ship. Pulling out her phone, she sent out a message to the others before running across the rooftops, Roisin held in her arms.
—
Roisin woke, head feeling better as he blinked a moment before wincing as he groaned. Why was it so bright? There was a whisper as the lights were quickly dimmed as Roisin blinked as his eyes adjusted. He was in a white room in a med bay as he looked over, seeing several people standing by the lone door in the room as he sat up quickly. It was the tiefling and woman from before as well as a few people he couldn’t quite place.
“What’re you doing?!” Roisin demanded as he sat up, trying to get up quickly as Dysa quickly ushered the others out before turning over to him.
“Everything is going to be okay-” she began
“The hells it is! Where are the Shadows? Where am I?!” he demanded, trying to get up as she went over to him, trying to call him, various cords and cables attached to him and beeping loudly.
“Deep breath. You aren’t getting out of here without a conversation.” she said sternly as he paused but, knowing he couldn’t escape without information, calmed down a bit. “Thank you.” she said as he paused at that. “Please sit down, you may have ripped some sensors off.” she said as he paused but obeyed as she made sure everything was working. After that, she looked at the monitors and such, making sure it was reading properly and he was fine as she looked back at him. “Let me go over what we’ve observed medically and what I know. Then you can ask questions.” she said as he paused but nodded as she turned several monitors around so he could see it.
“While on the roof, you fell unconscious. I picked you up and took you here as quickly as I could. It appeared that stress mixed with whatever process used to adjust your mind cause some side affects. However, those seem to have passed for the moment.” she explained. “Your injuries are still extensive however and seemed to have been rushed in the healing process-”
“And I have a limp now, I am aware.” Roisin told her. “If no one had attacked the castle, I would have been fine.”
“You should have been in a wheelchair or-better yet-left to rest with a plan for physical therapy.” the woman told him, concern on her face as he looked away. “You’ve been left with one life altering change to your body at least.”
“I am aware. And I can handle it.” he said as the woman paused but nodded.
“I see. Then let me start from the beginning.” She said, straightening a bit. She then described how they had met and how he had met the rest of the people he had been traveling with as of late. There were tales of fighting gods while befriending others as she described Terra and the Nest. She described him making deals for power and using charm to get his way. Yet, in all of it, she seemed to describe him in a very positive light despite it all…
“I see…” he said after she finished, silent a moment as she watched him. “I don’t know who you met, but I am no hero. I would not give up so much time and energy without cause.” He said, looking at her. She looked…sad it seemed. A look that pulled at something in his chest. “I can’t imagine changing so much in the ways you describe. If I were to leave the Shadows, it would be to grow greater than they could offer. To become a monster that strikes fear with a name alone. Not be hailed a hero. However, all I remember finding after I left was suffering. Suffering for decades. And I am grateful that the Shadows took me back after I have done this.” He told her as she kept her face even but he noted a flash in her eye.
“I see…” she said quietly. “Are you alright if I show you some things then?” She asked as he eyed her but nodded.
Dysa stepped out of the room a few long moments as he sat there silently, looking at his hands with the eye like markings, thinking to himself. Why were these people so attached to him? Did he offer something to these people that caused him to be that necessary to them?
The door opened again as the woman stepped in with a book, papers, and…a cat? He raised a brow at that but the creature all but leapt from Dysa’s arms and onto the bed, purring like a motor.
“Uh…What is this?” he asked, holding his hands to stop it from climbing up his chest, the cat rubbing against his fingers.
“That’s Mote. He’s your cat.” the woman explained as he blinked at that, surprised as he looked at the creature, seeing scales on his face. Something small flashed in his mind at that a bit, the cat using the moment to curl in his lap. Roisin just sat there a moment, trying to grasp onto whatever danced right at the edge of his awareness.
“Roisin…?” Dysa asked as he looked over at her.
“Oh…sorry Dysa.” he said, reaching for the book and papers.
“No worries.” she said, examining him as he took the papers and book. He started with the book, paging through page after page of his innermost thoughts addressed to a ‘Lorn’el’. His emotions-good and bad-written out as he blinked at it. It was so very familiar, his atrocious handwriting barely legible to him. Roisin set the book aside, not looking at Dysa as he began to go through the loose papers. They were…death letters? A few marked with blood even as he read each one. It was so very…vulnerable. The headache returned, the pressure pounding in time with his quickening heart as Dysa’s eyes flicked over.
“Roisin-” she began but he cut her off.
“I need to go.” he said flatly, pushing the letters away. “Nothing makes sense-I should be in the barracks resting. I need to attend my re-education sessions.” he said, pushing everything away as he tried to get up, Dysa stopping him as he tried to uselessly push her away.
“Roisin, its going to be okay.” she assured awkwardly as he shook his head.
“No, no-this is wrong. I serve Lolth and the Crown. I am a Shadow-a servant chosen because I can survive to the end of the mission.” he babbled, head hurting more. “This makes sense. This is all I can have.” he insisted as Dysa pulled him close as he realized he was shaking like a leaf.
“Its going to be okay.” Dysa said again. “We will get your memories back.” she promised.
Roisin felt a strange mix of terror and relief at the words. He wasn’t sure if remembering would help at all anymore.
(In my DnD game, there are actual AU versions of our characters that might pop up here and there. I am very excited to see what comes of it)
Roisin and Xyra sat silently together on the couch, Roisin dressed conservatively as Xyra kept an arm around him, holding him close as a movie played though neither really watched it, the air tense between them.
“Maybe they’re fine…” Roisin said quietly, Xyra holding him tighter as his throat felt tighter. “They’re the commander of the fleet, they wouldn’t-” tears began to spill over as Xyra pulled him closer, rubbing his back as a sob was pulled from him.
“They…Maybe Thorn’s fine.” Xyra offered though both heard how weak it was.
The drow were all prisoners in their own homes-some forced into prisons even as they were all held as prisoners by an unknown group of people. Roisin and Xyra were paraded around at points, an unspoken threat to the people who watched. They were both safe for now. They were unharmed for now. If they stepped out of line, however, that could change quickly. Food was brought to their room and guards would check in every so often and Roisin was sure they could hear them. The only silver lining was that while being paraded around, Roisin was permitted to stop and offer healing to anyone who was ailing and would request food or medicine on the behalf of any who needed it. Some days he would just play music while Xyra pushed him in his chair-something to raise their spirits in this time. As long as the people had hope, they could survive this.
Now though it was hard to feel that way, Thorn had been out when it all happened and the two of them hadn’t gotten any contact except through what they were told by guards. By their reports, a ship matching Thorn’s was destroyed-but they’re with law enforcement. Uniformity was their thing! Still, that didn’t stop the tears running down Roisin’s face as Xyra held him tightly.
“It’ll be okay Rosie, I promise.” Xyra told him as he nodded though the tears didn’t stop as he pulled in shaking breaths, clinging to Xyra.
“Promise me you’ll stay safe, Xyra?” Roisin asked, feeling small in his arms as he nodded.
“I’ll stay safe. And you will too.” he said as Roisin began to calm a little, face in Xyra’s chest. It took a while but, eventually, the tears began to fade as Roisin began to drift off, exhausted from crying. Without a word, Xyra carefully adjusted, hooking an arm under Roisin’s legs as he carried him to the bedroom. Roisin mumbled a bit but nuzzled closer as he was placed on their bed, the two settling together.
“I love you, Xyra.” Roisin said, feeling a kiss on his head.
“I love you too. Get some rest, this is a lot.” he told him gently as Roisin drifted off with him.
–
The two woke later to the door suddenly being thrown open, Roisin quickly pulling himself up as Xyra already poised himself between Roisin and the multiple guards that were entering their rooms.
“The Royal Consort is needed for a meeting-just him.” one said as Roisin began trying to move away from them.
“No, no-I want to stay with my husband-” he began as the guards already were heading toward him. Xyra moved to swing at them as another rushed forward, grabbing his arms and slamming him into a wall quicker than Roisin could follow.
“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” Roisin shouted, trying to pull himself over but was dragged off the bed by a guard as he tried to struggle but was subdued easily as his legs hung unmoving as he wished he could just kick them.
“Neither of you will be hurt-just cooperate.” one of the guards said as Roisin’s wheelchair was brought, set to its manual mode as he still squirmed slightly. He was placed in the chair as the guard dropped a bag in his lap-a variety of things he’d take when he left the room. It was everything he needed to heal someone and protect himself as Roisin felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn’t coming back there. Not for a while.
“Don’t touch him! Don’t FUCKING TOUCH HIM!” Xyra screamed as they began to wheel Roisin out who reached to pull the brakes, mind racing, but when he pulled it and stopped they just pulled out handcuffs and after more screaming, his wrists were confined to the arm rests and the break released as he was pushed out of the room, wide eyes looking back at Xyra as he screamed at the guards.
The door closed behind them and was locked as Roisin saw the darkened street, guards patrolling around as some glanced at him from behind their masks. The handcuffs were removed now that he was away from Xyra, the guards knowing he had no place to run or escape to. They pushed him forward, Roisin having a white knuckled grip on the arm rests as he was pushed through the silent street. Eyes peeled out of windows as Roisin tried to appear calm and controlled but he couldn’t get his shoulders to relax correctly or ease his death grip on his chair. His chair was a part of him and these strangers were touching it. It felt so invasive but his throat had closed and he couldn’t find his voice enough to tell them off. Why did they want him? He was well liked in the public but he had no real power politically speaking. People may ask him for his opinion but that was more of a courtesy.
Eventually, after a slow walk, Roisin was brought to a large metal pad where a town square had been before the arrival of these villains. He was pushed onto it as one of them spoke into a radio behind him.
“We got the cargo, take us up.” The bored voice said as, immediately, everything turned white as Roisin cried out, hands flying to his eyes though nothing eased the painful light. There was a rush of air as suddenly the familiar scent of the underdark was gone, replaced by the scent of food with a sterile scent underneath it.
“Idiot-The glasses!” Someone said as his face was taken, hands pushed away as a pair of glasses were put on his face as the white light turned into dancing spots as he blinked it away, everything slowly clearing up.
“What’s going on here? Where have you taken me?!” Roisin asked, the sudden pain of being introduced to such bright light helping him find his voice.
“Blackcrow has requested a meeting with you.” One of the guards said, pushing him forward as Roisin threw the break again.
“Stop touching me!” He all but yelled at them. “I can move myself. Now remove your damn hands.” He said, the guards pausing but decided to comply, taking their hands away. Roisin released the break as he followed the guards, pushing himself as his mind does forward. Was this the person holding them all hostage for seemingly no reason? Was he finally going to give a list of demands?
Roisin was lead through a ship as he was taken into a large, ornate office with many gothic stylings to it as he looked around slightly before his eyes landed on the man behind the desk. A medium sized man sat there in nice clothes with cold eyes and a smile befitting a demon.
“Ah, Roisin Ó Fáilín, yes? Royal Consort? It is good to meet you, you can call me Blackcrow.” He said, leaning over to offer a handshake as Roisin looked at his hand and then his face again.
“Apologies, sir, you’ll understand if I am hesitant given I was just dragged out of bed for this meeting that I wasn’t even told the purpose of.” Roisin said as Blackcrow took his hand back and sat down.
“Understandable, I did tell them to be gentle with you…” Blackcrow noted, scanning Roisin’s face and wrists.
“I am fine but being ripped from my husband during this circumstance does not show good will-especially since he is my main caretaker-"
"Yes, your ‘caretaker’ that you don’t need.” Blackcrow said, pushing an open file near him as Roisin looked down at it, seeing clippings of a few exploits of his. Healings and miracles and even battles he had won. “You are much more capable then you would have us believe. Though you did make these very hard to find, many of your people did everything they could to hide it as well. A good move, few people would expect the paraplegic to be the one with more combat experience than the able bodied prince.” Blackcrow said as Roisin worked his jaw slightly.
“What do you want from me?” He asked as Blackcrow smiled at him.
“I am so glad you asked. See, all this-” he said, waving his hand absently. “-is all because I needed your cooperation with a task.” He said as there was a tense silence, Roisin letting that sink in.
“You captured all of the drow-trapped us in our homes-just to get my cooperation?” Roisin asked slowly, trying to keep an edge out of his voice.
“Bingo!” He said with a smile though it seemed more like a mask. There was a certain air of control to his body that was almost unnerving. “No is not an option here.” He added as Roisin took a breath. Tearing into this idiot wouldn’t help his people at all…
“The drow are a peaceful people and dedicated followers of Lolth and her traditions. It is my honor to help those who need it. There is no need for such violence or extreme means that if you have taken if your cause is truly so dire.” he said carefully.
“My cause is indeed dire and may affect the survival of not only your people but the universe as a whole.” Blackcrow stated.
“If your task risks so much then there is no need to hold my people captive. Having their help may even assist us-”
“No.” he said sharply, cutting Roisin off. “Only very particular people can help with this task. Involving anyone else risks the entire operation.” he said.
“What is this operation you are planning then? You say it affects so many but what even is it?” Roisin asked him.
“That’ll ruin the surprise! Don’t worry, your team mates are on their way and you’ll be briefed together.”
“Sir, you aren’t giving me many reasons to trust you…” Roisin noted as he laughed though it sounded forced and fake.
“I am not asking you to trust me, in fact…” he said, laying a paper down in front of him as Roisin looked at it. It seemed to be some sort of contract with jargon that would take him more than a glance to truly understand. “I am just asking for your signature. Complete this task and I will tear up this contract and set your people free.” Roisin looked at it, pausing.
“Why bother with a piece of paper when you have what you need to control me without it?” Roisin asked.
“Insurance.” Blackcrow said simply, eyes predatory as they locked on Roisin as he paused, looking at the contract. He had no choice…Even without outright stating it, he made it clear the drow were just pawns to get him to bend.
“I want an amendment…” Roisin said, looking at him as he seemed slightly amused, raising a brow.
“And what is that?” he inquired.
“Release all of the drow…Except for one.” Roisin said. “There are children and elderly among our people, they need to be permitted to live their normal lives and get the help they need…Xyra is the prince. The people will not attack you as long as you have him.” he said as Blackbird leaned back.
“Trading your husband for your people…” Blackcrow mused, a slight smirk on his face. “How noble of you.”
“I will do anything to keep my husband safe. And the people are loyal to him and will follow him to the very end.” Roisin said as Blackcrow seemed to mull it over before taking out a pen.
“Your amendment has been rejected.” he stated as he held out the pen to him. “Now…Sign it. It will be torn up upon completion of your task and your people freed. And not a second before your task is completed.” he said as Roisin swallowed, not taking the pen. “Would you risk the safety of so many for your pride?” he prompted as Roisin’s face twisted and he took it, signing the contract. Blackcrow hummed slightly, taking it before the ink even dried as he carefully placed it in a drawer in his desk.
“Thank you, Lord Roisin.” he said, the words mocking despite the neutral voice used for them as he swallowed. “You will be taken back to your husband though don’t get too comfortable. The others who will be helping you on your task will be arriving soon.” Roisin didn’t answer as Blackcrow pressed a button, guards entering as Roisin silently wheeled himself out, angry at how helpless he felt in the situation as a hand went to the pendant of a spider he wore around his neck. Lolth, please, help them all…
(Another snippet from my DnD character’s super terrible past! This is connected to the last post called ‘Anniversary’)
Roisin made it around a corner, hand over her side as she felt blood seep into her clothing. Feet ran down the hall as she stepped deeper into the shadows as they stopped.
“Where did that traitor go?!” she heard Thorn’s voice yell as she closed her eyes. “Come on out, honey, I just wanna finish our talk.” they yelled, their voice bouncing around the moving parts of the ship around them. “Don’t just stand there, spread out-and don’t kill her…I want her brought to me alive.” Thorn said as their men began to fan out and search every nook and crevice Roisin could have possibly slipped into. One of them-Terrik-began to approach her hiding hole though the shadows hid her well. Still as he stared down at her, he began to raise a light as she began to summon flame into her hand, knowing she could have it down his throat before he could draw a weapon. Guy had a partner. They were thinking about leaving to start a family…
“THIS WAY! She’s over here!” someone yelled as Terrik whipped around and ran over, the flame disappearing from her hand as she sighed. Finally…Roisin had jumped Belle-her only crime being kinda a bitch here and there-and disguised the elf as herself, binding her wrists and gagging her before putting a cloak on her, hiding that.
Roisin did hope they’d kill her. Just a little bit. Just so Thorn would look and know they’d been tricked.
Roisin shook it off as she quietly tried to make her way the rest of the way to the escape pods, her distraction letting her get to them as she began to prepare to launch all of them. Just as she got most of them ready, a shot rang out, hitting her in the shoulder as she cried out. Whipping around, she saw none other than Thorn standing there in the hall.
“Leaving so soon?” they asked as she rolled her eyes.
“You’re an idiot. And too fucking stubborn to realize it.” she shot back, venom in her voice as she summoned a great ball of fire in her hand. She could incinerate them and a dozen of their men…She threw it before they could get another shot off as it landed ten feet in front of them, creating a wall of flame.
“ROISIN!” they yelled as she ran to a pod, looking back a moment as she hit the red launch button.
“I hope you figure it out, Thorn…” she said, heading into the pod as they took a shot, the bullet bouncing off of her pod as it sealed itself and she was launched into space.
The escape pod was…shockingly quiet after everything. Roisin’s blood roaring in her ears as she collapsed in the chair by the controls, a lump rising in their throat as tears burned in her eyes. She thought Thorn was different. She really thought she’d get some sort of happy ending-as close as she could get. But no. They couldn’t pull their head out of their own ass enough to tell she was being set up and should be going after one of the scummy little weasels that tried to grab at her and didn’t like she was strong enough to protect herself. Didn’t like that she was able to cuddle up to Thorn as quickly as she did.
“FUCKING GODS DAMN IT!” she yelled, smashing her fists into the arms of the chair she sat in as tears burned hotly down her face. “Is this still part of your fucking ‘tests’ Lolth? Still watching and having a grand old time?” she asked, glaring out the window into the stars. “Or did I upset you somehow? Garner your wrath because I had the fucking BALLS to leave the second I could? Well FUCK YOU! I bet you’re sickened by me anyway…” she growled, reaching under her clothes to pull off the symbol of Lolth she wore, returning to her natural form. “A hexblood with a drow name. I bet that pisses you off along with those fucking racist purist that infected the drow. Fine. Go ahead and hate me because you will NEVER be able to hate me more than I hate my own DAMN SELF, YOU FUCKING BITCH!” she roared, huffing as she held her wounds. “I dunno why you keep letting me live…Didn’t think spiders liked playing with their food so damn much.” she muttered, more tears falling as a sob pulled its way out of her throat as she succumbed to the emotion. “I’m sorry…” she whimpered. “I’m sorry I’m not a drow. I’m sorry if I fucked up…I just wanted a chance to be happy. I just wanted to live my own life for a little while. I just want my family together and to live in a nice house with a partner. Maybe some kids-if I can ever put all this bullshit behind me which I don’t think I can anymore.” she cried. “You win…I can never not be Fawn. Never not be a Shadow…I-I can’t keep trying to get something for me and losing it…I’m just a monster-what all my teachers wanted me to be.” she sobbed.
She wasn’t sure how long she had cried, only realizing she had fallen asleep when the familiar dream of the hag beckoning to her began. Roisin started awake as a beeping started, the escape pod indicating she only had a few hours before landing as she swallowed, wincing at her injuries. She took off her clothes, taking out a med kit as she treated her wounds and took something to ease the pain. She pulled out a spare set of clothes she hid there-sickened that her paranoia was proven right again-and dressed, putting the necklace on to take her drow form. Clear skin, perfect and flawless.
Looking at the time, she realized she still had a chunk of time left as she worked her jaw. Thorn would find the pod. Not before she was in the wind but they would find it…
Her fingers were tapping buttons on the control before she really figured out what to say, looking into a camera as she sat in silence a moment, fingers over the record button. She took a breath and steadied herself, pressing it as she saw herself. Cheeks tear stained, the hair of the drow illusion’s hair a mess.
“Hey, Thorn.” she said, swallowing hard. “I’m not going to gloat or anything in this message-we both know that’s not what I do. I am recording this to say goodbye and…well, to maybe tear you a new asshole. Who knows-I didn’t write a fucking script for this.” she told the camera, lips twisted bitterly as she took a breath. “I loved you, Thorn. Despite the secrets or never really knowing where we stood, I did love you. And I thought you loved me. I rationalized it that you just weren’t good at talking about feelings.” she said, blinking a few times as she kept her composure. “I like the role of the heartless whore. The femme fatal or whatever you wanna call it, using physical attraction, sex, and charm to get what I wanted out of people. Though, here’s the kicker: I didn’t ever want a lot. I just wanted to be protected-not to end up someone’s punching bag. My standards are that fucking low.” she let out a bitter laugh, pushing her hair back. “At first, our relationship was just like all the others I had. Fake, shallow, just keeping each other company until something better came along. But that changed. I let down my guard around you…You kept me safe and I opened up to you. I trusted you, Thorn.” she said, swallowing hard as she looked at her hands a moment. “I remember when I got hurt real bad on a mission and I woke up in your bed and you were right there next to me, promising me that everything was okay. You’d take care of it. I realized just then…that I had finally found someone who might actually be decent to me. I made you promise to be there when I woke up again. And you were. You barely even let doctors in to see me.” Roisin felt tears rise to her eyes as she closed them. “I won’t let you see me cry, Thorn. You lost that right. You lostit the second you let anyone trick you into believing I would do anything to endanger you.” she said, looking at the camera, jaw set, eyes cold. “The first time you lose everyone you love, that’s a tragedy. The second time, the universe has something against you and you just get angry and bitter. Third time, though? Oh, the third time is a pattern. So, maybe I should thank you, Thorn. Thank you for helping me realize that I don’t get a family. I don’t get to care about people around me. Because in the end, they’ll all just turn on me.” she said, sitting up straighter. “You are dead to me, Thorn. I am not going to come looking for you to make you understand-you chose your side already. I am going to disappear out of your life and do my damndest to make sure you never find me again. I hope whoever you take to bed next knows better than I did. Goodbye. End recording.” she said, the screen flicking off as she sat there in silence a moment, working her jaw.
Her eyes stung but no tears came. She was still too numb. All the better as she readied for the incoming descent.
She would disappear. Find some other hole to keep herself safe in.
(Another short story from my DnD character’s past before they ended up with the party)
Roisin awoke to something warm on his forehead as he groaned, red eye opening to see Thorn smiling above him, hair a mess still and also looking like he had just woken up.
“You better have a good reason for waking me up.” Roisin grumbled, curling up tighter a moment as Thorn laughed.
“Is our anniversary a good reason?” they asked, pulling the elven man closer and giving another kiss to his face. “And what is it today?”
“I thought that would be a reason to sleep in.” he muttered. “And you got a boyfriend today.”
“Explains why you’re cranky.” Thorn stated as they earned a glare from Roisin. “Ah, that got both eyes open.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Roisin told them as he sat up, Thorn kissing the back of his hand.
“I’m lucky in a lot of ways.” they said, looking at Roisin as he blushed but scoffed.
“Asshole.” he said, Thorn laughing as they pulled Roisin to their chest, rubbing his back.
“Love you too.” they said as Roisin blushed and grumbled but didn’t offer any protest as he pulled Thorn close.
“Happy anniversary, Thorn…It really doesn’t feel like three years.” Roisin said after a moment as they nodded. “Yeah…” they agreed, another moment passing as Roisin felt himself begin to slip into sleep again. “Babe, you know what anniversary means?” they asked as Roisin groaned. “That’s right! You have to give me my gift now.”
“You’re a child.” he told them. “You know the lengths I went to hide it from you and you still went looking for it?” Roisin said as he sat up.
“Yeah…Is it sex cause I didn’t find anything.” they told him as he scoffed.
“No its not sex, we can do that whenever we want-not this morning, you woke me up.” Roisin said as he got up, putting a robe on as he went and opened the bedside table.
“I looked there already though.” they noted.
“I know. I have my tricks, love.” Roisin said as they pouted slightly. Smiling, Roisin pulled out a bundle that he sat with as Thorn moved next to him. He unwrapped it and revealed several items as he lifted up a blade in a sheath. “I know you go through daggers like you would clothes but…Well, I had this one made special. The sheath is enchanted so it will always return to you. If someone tries to use it without the sheath, it will disappear.” he explained, unsheathing it to reveal the shining blade as he handed it to Thorn who looked it over with awe.
“‘May death never catch up to you, my rose’…” he read out as Roisin blushed.
“A little cheesy…” he admitted as Thorn kissed him.
“It’s perfect.” they assured as Roisin smiled at them.
“Now, this one is even more cheesy…” he admitted, revealing a pair of necklaces. “If you tap the pendant, the other necklace will glow. You can let me know you’re safe…When you’re away a while.” he said as Thorn nodded, smiling as he took it.
“I’ll never be without it.” they assured as Roisin smiled, pulling them close as he held them. “I have presents for you too.” they told him.
“I told you I didn’t want anything.” Roisin said as they escaped his embrace, leaving him on the bed as they pulled out a bag and pulled out a folded piece of fabric that seemed to shimmer.
“And I didn’t listen to you last year either.” they reminded, sitting with him as they revealed the beautiful cloak. “Its adjustable. You can wear it full length, as a cape, a caplet, or whatever other ways you wear these things-the lady made sure it was versatile.” Thorn explained as they handed it to Roisin as he unfolded it, the fabric soft and nice to the touch. “And it helps cloak you-literally. Makes you harder to spot when you put it on and uses magic to blend you into your surroundings.” they said, helping put it on Roisin, hand going to his cheek. “I…I worry about you too. I know you aren’t the type to wear armor but…This’ll help you slip away easier.” Thorn said as he leaned into their touch.
“Thorn…” Roisin said, feeling the cloak around him. “It’s perfect…” he said, pulling them close as they kissed, Thorn smiling at him with that sharp, cheeky smile.
“So…still no morning sex?” they asked as Roisin swatted at them.
“Absolutely not, I need to put together an outfit to show this off now.” he said as he got up and headed to the closet, Thorn laughing. “Grab me after the meeting today!” he added as Thorn snorted.
“I’ll be happy to grab you anytime.” they called, watching Roisin putter and make the perfect outfit to show off his new gift as they smiled at him. Well, they had plenty of time now that Roisin was obsessing over his outfit.
Thorn took out his phone, looking over messages and other things that had popped up, frowning at something that was sent to them as their eyes flicked to Roisin who didn’t notice. An email from one of their many underlings had come in. One claiming Roisin was a traitor. A spy. Sent with some files. They swallowed as they began to look through it slowly. It was all little things-nothing really. Still…Roisin had connected to them fast…
“Thorn, what you think?” Roisin asked, snapping them out of their thoughts as Thorn looked up, seeing their beautiful partner dressed in his usual provocative manner that showed off the cloak-in capelet form-perfectly. They smiled.
“You’re beautiful.” Thorn said. “You sure you wanna wait on the-” A pillow was thrown, cutting them off.
“Stop it. I want to have a romantic moment without your childish thoughts.” he said as Thorn laughed.
“Alright, alright.” they relented. “You do look beautiful. Striking. I…I love you so much, Ro.” they said as he blushed and seemed to melt, ears hanging low.
“I love you too…Coming to breakfast?” he asked.
“I’ll catch up, go on ahead.” they said as Roisin nodded, heading out.
In the silence of the room, Thorn went to the coat they had planned on wearing that day, pulling out a small velvet ring box as they held it. It felt so heavy suddenly.
It was nothing. It had to be…But holding off couldn’t hurt. What was another month or two compared to three years? Carefully, Thorn hid the ring where no one would find it, dressing and following Roisin to breakfast.
(This is a little drabble I wrote about a DnD character of mine and an NPC in the game. I don’t think this interaction ever actually happened but they are dating now instead.)
Roisin carefully fixed her makeup, braiding her hair and putting it in her usual style. Appearances were important after all. After that, she looked at herself, turning her face here and there and stepping back as she looked herself over. As close to perfect as she would get. And much better than she looked planet side.
It was nice having that interruption dealt with finally.
Catharsis was out looking for vantage points out of the ship to see the stars so she had some time to herself. Time she decided to use for a walk to clear her mind and try to relax a bit. Leaving her room, she walked along the twisting, jagged halls as she hummed to herself quietly, letting her path take her where it would.
After some time, she heard a child’s cry as she paused, heading towards it with a bit more sharpness in her steps, heels clicking sharply on metal flooring. Turning a corner, she let out a breath. Two small drow children had a ball, one on a ground holding her knee while the other looked worried. Nothing horrible. She stepped over to them, smiling.
“Hey, what happened here?” She asked. The children didn’t even look around fifty years old.
“She fell really hard! We were running and playing catch the spider and I was the spider but she fell!” The uninjured boy answered, barely taking a breath as Roisin nodded, kneeling by the girl. She assured the girl everything would be fine, wiping her tears away as she slowly calmed.
“Do you want to see a magic trick? Roisin asked the children as they both perked up, any fears or tears momentarily forgotten at the prospect of a magic trick.
“A magic trick?” the small girl asked as she nodded, showing her empty hands as she made a gesture, biting back a wince as a flower of a bright royal blue color appeared in her hand. The girl gasped and held out her hands as Roisin handed the flower to her. She gently touched the petals as Roisin helped her up.
“For being so brave, you can keep the flower. Just promise me you’ll go home and get a bandage for your knee.” Roisin asked as the girl nodded, a big smile on her face that left an ache in her chest.
“Quite the gift.” a voice said as she turned, seeing Xyra as Roisin’s expression hardened and became more guarded. The children looked a bit more starry eyed at the prince. “Do as she said and head back. Don’t want your knee getting worse.” he added, the girl nodding as both of them ran off, blue flower clutched in hand. Roisin turned away, preparing to continue her walk.
“Didn’t picture your type as the child friendly kind.” Xyra said as she felt her blood boil as she spun, heels clicking sharply as she stepped over to him.
“My ‘type’?” she demanded in an even voice, her posture all poise and elegance. “Do not dare to act as if you know anything about me. You know nothing of me. Whether you or I like it or not, I earned my place as a Shadow not because of some prestigious bloodline.”
“You lecture me about presumptions and then go and make your own?” Xyra scoffed, not backing down from Roisin.
“I am sure you are more than your blood.” she said. “However, so far, all I see is a child who uses lazy indifference as a shield instead of giving a single shit about the people here. Instead of showing people you care you let them face abuse and bigotry from every other person in this ship.”
“I care about the people-I do everything I can-” “Why is no one going to the council and advocating for better accommodations? Why are the drow sent to these metal slums? Why is no one WORKING to bring the drow up to equal standing with the other races on this ship?” she asked, eyes hard. “Why did Bluebird bring me onto this ship to attempt to do this instead of contact you or the Queen or anyone else in our government?” she asked, the prince silent though his gaze burned holes into her.
“Its complicated…We’re doing what we can.”
“No one cares about that.” She shot back. “They will look around and judge you based on that.” Xyra worked his jaw, looking like he wanted to hold a blade to her throat again.
“You just got here. You have no idea what’s going on.” he ground out.
“Well, I’m certainly not impressed.”
“Listen.” he said sharply. “I don’t need the opinions of a murderer to know what I gotta do for these people. What were you doing with those kids anyway? Scouting out the next generation of Shadows?” he asked as there was a moment of silence as Roisin looked at him, Xyra swallowing at the shift in the air, almost feeling cold as Roisin’s gaze burrowed through him.
“I came to you and was honest of my past. And you have treated me like scum for it, Xyra.” she said, voice quiet yet commanding. “I was given over to the Shadows after being kidnapped-a child myself. I killed other children then because it was either me or them and my survivor’s drive won out. I will not apologize for surviving-for refusing to roll over and get thrown into a ditch for the insects to eat.” she said, tears rising to her eyes. “The person I was-I could have been-died in that place. They had to. I might still use the name Roisin but I am aware of the mockery I make of that little boy’s memory everytime someone calls me that. But hearing the name Fawn makes me go back to that place. The experiments where I was awake and screaming as they cut holes into me to put something in me to make me a better servant. Adding mechanics to me- ‘improvements’. Having to kill the friends I made there. And then the education and training-all of it.” she said, swallowing. “I would rather die than subject another generation to what I went through. They have had generations of training and know how to break a child and form them into a Shadow. The other Shadows were the only family I had and you better start respecting the fact I am willing to join you to go against them. Because as much as I want to believe they can change, I know better than to believe in miracles.” she said, Xyra struck by the emotion she was showing, frozen as he watched, Roisin wiping away tears. “This doesn’t matter anyway, I’m not looking for pity or validation. I am still a Shadow and I plan on ridding the world of them and I am not exempt from that goal. Once I put all those deserving in the grave, I will follow them so don’t worry about that.” she said as she turned and began to walk away, pausing. “Oh, and Xyra? Sorry you had to see me with the children…Before that little Roisin became a shadow, he wanted to become a parent. Live a quiet domestic life in a little house surrounded by flowers. I know where we stand so don’t worry.” she said as she strode off, Xyra standing in the deafening silence.
Fuck.Fuck.
How did he end up the dick in this? After all her snide remarks and venom, how did he end up feeling like shit at the end of this? He walked off in the opposite direction, thinking maybe he should look into her supposed kidnapping.
