Chapter Text
There is a man who never lies.
It feels odd to say. During her life thus far, Trucy has seen lie after lie after lie. Nowadays, she knows that lies are the water that churns the water wheel of her little town, and though she sees them, she keeps her head down, wishing to not be a stick clogged in the wheel.
Yet still, there is a man who never lies.
The important thing about this man, because he is not the only man she has met who she has never seen lie, is he says things that should be lies, but are not. An inaccurate “I’m fine!” here and there, food preferences, pet preferences, affections, they all contradict each other, over and over again, until Trucy’s head spins. But still, the man has not told a single lie.
Sometimes Trucy loses sleep over it, thinking over his statements, his actions, wondering what she missed, what made this man so prone to both truthfulness and deceit, wondering what he did to deceive her. Sometimes she takes comfort in it, knowing that there are people out there who can wield the truth with the versatility of a lie, and that maybe somewhere, there is a world without lies where she can finally know peace. Or maybe he is lying and she doesn't know, and there is a world with lies she can’t see where she can also know peace. Either way, there’s comfort and terror in the knowledge of a man who never lies.
There is another man Trucy sees that can only seem to lie.
He has tried to not, she knows, but his discomfort projects to everyone around him and he can’t seem to get the words out until they're spun into something untrue. She sometimes sees him with the man who doesn’t lie. In those moments, they seem inseparable and unknowable. She’s seen people give them a wide berth without realizing, staying away from their little corner of the world, and she understands. There’s a quality to them both, one she can never pin down, that leaves her feeling as if the world is a much bigger place than she imagined, that there are bits and pieces of it unknowable to any man, woman, child, or anyone in between.
There is a woman who can change her voice on the dime.
The woman is bright and full of laughs and lies just like everyone else, though maybe to a lesser degree. Her lies mimic the man who doesn’t lie’s truths, as if she’s playing a game with him, where she proves his words are lies instead of misaligned truths. She doesn’t win, of course. The lies she speaks are as riddled with unspoken truths as his words are riddled with unspoken lies, and lies are much easier to wield than the truth. But still she tries, and Trucy admires her all the more for it.
With the woman who can change her voice on the dime, there is a girl whose face changes in the single moment of Trucy's blink.
Her face is all that changes, yet still, she uses her dynamic face for matchmaking, her tiny fists bashing against anyone who tries to stop her, keeping the whole little group in line. The man who doesn’t lie seems to be who she throws her fists to first, though, as if she feels that he can never die, never be hurt, just as Trucy does.
There is another woman and another man there who don’t give off the same inhuman vibe as the rest. With the whip on the woman’s hip and the unnatural misfortune of the man, though, their place among the group remains unquestioned. Neither seem to like the man who doesn’t lie, as if any affection the man receives must come from something as inhuman as he, and with the humanity the two keep, the few steps they stay from him are the same as Trucy’s insurmountable distance between her and the group, one that the crossing of feels sacrilegious, like a promise that must not be broken lest they all suffer for it.
And so, despite the warnings, despite the tales, Trucy goes to find a circle of mushrooms in the woods. She may not be able to cross the distance, but the man who doesn’t lie will come when she calls him. She’s seen it before, done by a man who she never saw again, and she hopes she does it right. Because if it goes wrong, the circle where the man who doesn’t lie belongs will not contain him, and bad things happen when you set loose the fae.
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There is a girl who sees the truth.
With no assistance, no crutch, she sees all, as if the force of her eyes is enough to pass each and every barrier a man may put up. Human through and through, she sits, watching, as if one day, she’ll see Phoenix lie.
There is a girl who sees the truth and Phoenix is a man who cannot lie.
There is a boy who knows how to see the truth.
He smells the same as the girl, and like the girl, he is alone. However, he has the guidance of a bracelet passed down from a mother, who didn't deign to give the girl her own. He does not sit and watch when Phoenix walks by, but his gaze lingers a moment too long, as if he knows Phoenix is a puzzle he cannot solve. He does not seem to notice the girl, nor she him, but Phoenix sees both. He watches not, but when eyes are on you, you must respond in kind, lest a knife finds its way to your back.
There is a girl that hears the truth.
Phoenix should fear her. She may hear when his voice skims by a lie, yet still, she trusts as Phoenix speaks. The few times she’s heard his voice carry its way to her, she has listened and trusted. Maybe she cannot hear him in a way that matters, yet when she hears the voice of another of his kind, she flinches and runs, like she knows what not to trust. Still, she puts her faith in him, as if it’s that simple, as if he means no harm, as if he isn’t the cruelest of them all.
With the girl who hears the truth, there is a man who stands in chains.
Phoenix hears the chains rattle, shrill in his ears, and when he looks, the man is not shackled in this realm. Yet he is too human to be anything that can reach such a realm as the one that holds him back, and so the chains stay, dragging him down, an unrelenting weight, though Phoenix knows not what for. The man sees Phoenix, sees him speak to the girl who can hear the truth, yet does nothing. He chases off any other entity, anything inhuman in the wrong way, yet he lets Phoenix stay, as if he cannot deceive, cannot trick, cannot foil. Phoenix can, though. His world knows he can. This world does not.
He sees spirits follow these four, yet he knows not why. The spirits stare and stare at him, as if they cannot comprehend. Even when another inhuman is beside him, the spirits are not deterred, having eyes for him and him alone. He wonders if the humans’ eyes, ears, and chains are what draw the spirits in or if the spirits are why they’re there. He wonders if it matters.
Though he has spoken to the girl who hears, he does not wish to approach to these four. Their spirits stare at him, far too long, far too hard, and far too scared, and Phoenix knows not to mess with unknown spirits. Yet, when the girl who sees the truth calls, he has no choice but to come, lest his own spirits come to choke him.
After all, bad things happen when a fae does not come when a human calls.
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There is a girl who sees the truth and a man who never lies.
There is a boy who knows how to see the truth and a man who only ever lies.
There is a woman who has many voices with girl who has many faces and there is a girl who hears the truth with a man who stays in chains.
There is a woman with a whip and a man with misfortune and there are spirits who do not know if they were called or if they were made.
There are some people in this world that should never meet. Yet still, when the girl who sees the truth calls the man who never lies, the world must bend its rules and let the two meet, for the consequences of when the man who never lies stays put are much worse than the consequences of when the girl who sees the truth meets of the man who never lies. Yet there are consequences all the same. There must be consequences, after all, when a human who cannot be fooled by man decides to meet a fae that cannot be outwitted by fate.