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Chapter Text

“When I see him, he’s ‘gonna kiss me!”

“Kiss you? He’s kissing me!”

“Well I’m going to marry him.”

The two other girls gasp, momentarily quieted by the third. This was then followed by a stomp from the fourth girl who had yet to speak, “Raphahowl only marries beeee- u -tiful girls—not you!” and an argument ensues.

If Charlie could shut off her ears, she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d cut them off for that matter.

Not one day passed that her cousins didn’t ‘screee’ and gawk and practically slobber about the “magnificently fetching boy wizard, Raphahowl”. Everything was Raphahowl: their conversations, their doodles, their diaries, their fantasies, their dreams and all three of their wishes. What was worse, their ridiculous desires to be rescued by him. 

"I’ll fall off a building, 'an Raphahowl will save me!" or, "If a bad guy possesses me, Raphahowl’s kiss will turn me back to normal!"

She heard his name and the description of his supposedly glamorous red hair, thoughtful brown eyes and knee-buckling smile so many times, that even she was beginning to dream about him—him whisking her bridal-style into the breezy air as both she and he laugh and giggle like idiots. Tenderly he’d call her ‘bien-aimée’ and right before his lips touched her rosy ones, she’d wake with a start—the dream (nightmare, more like) dissipating from her eyes. She practically screamed at her cousins the next day to stop talking about the stupid wizard.

They knew Charlie didn’t like Raphahowl but still, just to get on her nerves, did they tease her with his name.

“What about yooouu, Charlie~?”

They always did.

“Secretly deep down, we know you like him. You can’t not."

And that had been the last straw.

“No, I don't like him, I can easily save myself so I don't need to be saved by him - which I add, isn't even possible because he doesn't even exist!”

She remembered how her words shut her cousins up, how their faces instantaneously opened with shock. Forever she would have relished in that moment, had their eyes not next twinkled and ‘ooooh’s - which gradually rose in volume - not escaped them. For whatever ludicrous reason, her angry outburst seemed to intensify their outrageous (that is, outrageously false) belief that she was madly in love with Raphafraud.

And one of them, with words Charlie would never forget, said:

“One day, he'll whisk her off her feet and you know what’ll happen next…”

This line was finished by a chant sang in unison.

“He’ll steal her heart!” 

*****

“Ouch!"

Charlotte looked down at her finger, a small bead of blood having formed from where she pricked herself with her needle. So far gone in that horrendous memory of her equally horrendous cousins, she hadn’t paid attention to where the slim barb emerged from the fabric of the new dress she had been sewing for Marie.

Marie, her adopted sister, who she was close to both in age and bond, had also been heads-over-heels about the famed wizard Raphahowl—but she was nowhere near as bad as her cousins were. For one, she never ogled about him - yes, she might’ve dropped an ‘Isn’t it romantic?’ here and there, but never anything to exasperate, or deliberately mess with her. Charlotte knew though, Marie was enthralled by Raphahowl; maybe she didn’t show it all aloud, but there, in her endless daydreams the wizard was sure to be.

Maladroit! Charlotte mentally reprimanded herself, stopping her work to grab a tissue.

In the room conjoined to the boutique, there her fascinatingly annoying cousins were - dressed from head to toe in ornaments and pretty fabrics and preparing to go out with Emma, her mother. She sure hoped they’d take their time. The only task she had today was to deliver Marie her dress, and she'd like to return home without the air sopping wet with girly gossip. But as trying as they were, her cousins were nothing short of beautiful. Each had long pretty hair, gorgeous eyes and quirky personalities. The constables always sent winks and blew kisses their way, and they'd giggle and shyly wave like the posh oafs they were pretending so hard to be. She however—her hair was very short, eyes unremarkable, and… well, she was popularly described as being mean.

Charlie scoffed. Just because she wasn't slobbering everyday about Raphahowl and the compliments given to her by flirty men, didn't mean she was mean. She wasn't. Sewing held her attention, in any matter. If her pieces weren't good, each their own sensible characters, she was surely going to fix them until they were. It took all her mind off her cousins' crooning, off any underlying worries that maybe she really wouldn't find someone. In the end, she was content being huddled up in her room at her dresser - "stuffed" as her cousins had put it - stitching away, pricking her fingers at times, all of it for charming results that having a consort held no candle to.

She wasn't mean, her priorities were just straight.

Then there was Marie… she had everything. She, as aforementioned, was not annoying like Josette, Colette, Stephanie and Olive. She was quiet and kind and words could never hope to describe how beautiful she was. With long golden hair, and blue eyes full of hope and humility, she was a princess waiting to be whisked off her feet by the prince who was Raphahowl. It would happen, because she was beautiful and Raphahowl only stole the hearts of beautiful girls.  

And beautiful, Charlie was not.

“Oh, Charlove!” she turned her head to see her mother standing behind her, looming over her with a happy smile at Marie's dress. She wasn't wearing anything remarkable - unlike like her cousins. Just a short-sleeved pink blouse and a green skirt. Then again, the woman was never helplessly frilly like they were. “It's beautiful… you've yet again done a stunning job. And it looks like it's just about finished!”

Charlie held it up, smiling when her mother's own grew wider, “Yes. It's nearly done - in fact, I'll be leaving to drop it off to Marie shortly after you and-” she looked at her cousins with a flat look, “-the dolts leave.”

“I know your sister will—”

Suddenly, Charlie heard a thin gasp and an excited “Look!” and then she was looking over to the doorway, just in time to see said dolts hastily dart to the windows. Bewilderment dropped to something flat when her cousins screeched again. Speak of the devil.

“Look girls! It's Raphahowl’s castle!”

“Where? I don't see it, where?”

“Look, Charlie! It’s your man!”

“He's coming for you, Charlieee~!”

A glance out the window confirmed it.

Amid the rolling hills, a noisy contraption emerged through the swirling mists. The castle of the wizard Raphahowl was on the move - and hardly a castle. That people considered that moving miscellany a castle, was beyond her. It was dirty and rusty and loud - it looked like it could break down and fall into metal bits and pieces at any given moment. A castle? Yeah, right. Charlie was surprised it lasted for so long.

“Say that again, and I'll make sure to leave needles in both of your dresses!” she shot back.

What's more, it looked like a roach.

Raphahowl probably did, too.

*****

The bell atop the door jingled as Charlie left. As expected, she was practically out the door a second after her mother and cousins were. She didn't know where they were going, didn't exactly care to ask - they always went out - but the chorus of shouts in her ear probably had something to do with it. The streets, which oozed with the pomp and circumstance of military display, were crowded with civilians. Flags were strung and strewn on every house and sign, window doors opened with those shouting cheers and fluttering napkins.

In other words, a mess. One she wasn't getting herself into. Luckily, there were more ways than one to get to the bakery. The backstreets!

Charlie wasted no time slipping there.

*****

“Hey there, cutie.”

Charlie grimaced. So much for going the quiet route!

The other man laughed, “Man, stop while you're at it. Look at her! You should know ladies don't like when men throw themselves at them.”

“Oh, well, look at you being a gentleman!”

“Look, idiots,” Charlotte spat. “Not only am I the last girl you want to accost - and you'll find out why if you keep on - but I have someplace to be, so if you'll excuse me…”

...And before she could completely slip away, one of the men grabbed her arm and - and darn it, she dropped Marie’s dress! The flower-adorned package flew just a few feet in front of her, dangerously close to a puddle of gunk. A blink closer and it, alongside her hard work and Marie's expectations, would be ruined! Instinctively, Charlie dove for the package, but the grip (which definitely wasn't letting up) on her arm jerked her back. When she whipped around to chew her capturer out, the murderous glower in her eyes faltered and ice accumulated in her veins.

The playful manner about the constable - no, about both of them - had dissipated and changed into something sterner. At the same time Charlie realized she was in danger and that her heart was somewhere in her throat, she was subconsciously reaching for the paring knife she carried in the back pocket of her dress...

“Three seconds. Three seconds is all I give you for you to unhand me.” Blisteringly white hot fury swelled in her veins, replacing the prior split-second fear she'd forever deny. “Else, you will regret it and I will go to jail.”

...One.

“Hey, hey… we just ‘wanna chat, little lady.”

“Yeah, it was pretty rude for you to just walk off while we were talking to you…”

...Two.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle. She was ready for everything - the adrenaline and determination in her bloodstream could attest to that.

Three.

The wind picked up.

Right before she swung, someone tapped her armed hand still (their other took her waist) and his breath was in her ear. His footsteps were kin to feathers.

“There you are, dear," he said, a charismatic smile playing in his voice. “I've been looking for you everywhere.”

I've been looking for you everywh…

What?!

Charlie was at a loss for words. Her breath hitched and her body (after the shiver; the result of the man’s entrancing voice in her ear) tensed. How had this guy… who even was this man? What crime did she commit to deserve this ensemble of now three idiots? Two pervs, and one… oh, she didn't even know! He was pretending to know her, and she didn’t know him at all! She didn’t think she did.

But now they were off. He took her hand, tucked it under his arm and placed it in the crook of his elbow so that she was suddenly walking side by side with him.

“So,” he started, and Charlie jumped. He looked her dead in the eye, and she couldn’t suppress the inevitable blush creeping on her cheeks. What was she doing?

“Where are you headed? I’ll be your escort today.”

“Th- the bakery, just down thi-”

One of the constables, the fool who had grabbed her arm, marched after them in protest. “Hey! We were–”

And just as quickly as he gave chase, he and his friend suddenly whipped around and paraded the opposite direction - ‘hut hutting’ as they went. Charlie watched as the man at her side ‘twiddled’ his fingers and her eyes widened upon realization that that – that he was the cause for it. Her mouth was clamped shut - as if he was responsible for that, too.

Or maybe it was her shock that was to blame.

Nevertheless, they walked on like it was nothing. Like nothing weird, or strange or magical just happened.

Then the impossible. Straight out of a nightmare, things that were big and dark and blobby leaked out of the crevices of the surrounding walls and the bricked pavement beneath them. Charlie’s hair stood on end when she looked ahead and saw these gelatinous creatures sprout around the corners of buildings. They were behind them too! They were looking dead at them, and– wait. Were they..?

…

They were! They were coming straight after them!

As if on cue with this realization, the wind picked up again and they moved faster. Then the monsters quickened their pace to match theirs; a good attempt but nothing, she was sure, in this entire world was going as fast as they were. Charlie (and yes, she would forever deny that she did) threw herself into his torso.

“Guess we'll just have to soar!”

Soar.

Like the birds they weren’t.

“Wait, what?” she practically squawked. “Wait, no, we can’t–“

This time there was definitely a teasing note in his voice. He tightened his hold on her waist. “Hang on tight!”

Zwphoom!

The air pelted down on her head hard as they leapt and spiraled into the skies. Just as they’d launched, a simultaneous splash from below erupted against a wall and Charlie just knew they'd been a blink away from being caught.

“Straighten your legs, bien-aimée.”

...Had he lost his mind?

“N-no, you idiot! We are not birds! We're going to fall, and when we do, we're going to die!” How could he be so relaxed? Charlie couldn't look. She shut her eyes tight - her legs were up and her arms were squeezing into this man's body.

“Not at all, Charlotte,” he laughed. “See for yourself!”

She peeped an eye, looked down and her breath hitched again. They were… they were floating in the sky! But how?

He unpeeled her arms from around him and took her hands in his. Charlie was never more certain that they would’ve fallen by now.

But they didn’t.

Reluctantly, very very reluctantly, she straightened her legs (what did the sky feel like?) and looked down in breathless astonishment. Her prior confusion was now gone, the fear, the anticipation - all of it.

All that was left, was sheer incredulity.

“There's no way…” she whispered.

“See?”

She absolutely did. As cliche as it was to say it, she could see her house from here. The hullabaloo below them was still going on and, goodness, everything beneath them looked like tiny, colorful little dots. The people walking about, the carriages on their way, the multi-colored flags fluttering in the wind - everything scuttling around like ants. Slowly, she turned her head to look at the man flying beside her, who was still looking on with that same unbothered smile.

He wasn't looking at her, so she figured now was her chance.

His hair was red - very much so red. Messy and flying every which way, and sort of on the shorter side. His eyes were an unremarkable shade of brown, but they were also… Charlie bit her lip, mentally kicking herself. His eyes were about as boring as the color of her hair, and there was nothing more to them than that.

Then there was that stupid smile he stupidly had plastered on his stupid lips, and–

Hold on a second.

She heard his name and the description of his supposedly glamorous red hair, thoughtful brown eyes and knee-buckling smile so many times…

No.

Tenderly he’d call her ‘bien-aimée’ and right before his lips touched her rosy ones…

She couldn't believe this.

“You! Y-y-you’re Raphahowl!”

His smile widened. Charlie never wanted to drown herself this badly before ever in her years of living.

Her cousins couldn’t hold a candle to this. Here she was, float-walking in the air, holding hands with of all people, the idiot who plagued her dreams, who her cousins and practically every other female in this world slobbered over. After all those teases pitched at her about how he was going to ‘steal her heart’, after all those nightmares, after everything, this. Charlie promised to herself she'd never let him near her and now– gah! She hated him, he was her nemesis!

If Olive, Stephanie, Colette and Josette only knew…

“You're that stupid wizard every girl slobbers over!”

Raphahowl shot her a look of feigned hurt. “You don't?”

“No! I'd rather di–”

She didn’t realize that by now they’d crossed most of the sky. Gently, Raphahowl swung her from his side and onto the top floor of… was this Marie's bakery?

Wait.

“Her package!” Charlie shouted, stepping forward to tug on his blouse; so close that he could kiss her right there if he wanted to, “In the alleys with those two constables, I dropped it! I promised my sister I'd get it to her today, and it was white with pink–”

“Flowers,” Raphahowl nodded, smiling at her. Suavely, he brought the package from behind his back and gave it to her. Charlie immediately inspected its condition, and it… it was perfectly unscathed! There wasn't a single rip, tear, or tatter! Taken aback and grudgingly thankful, Charlie looked back to the wizard - but he didn't give her a chance to speak (not that she was going to thank him or anything).

“Those beasts back there won't follow you. Au revoir!”

Her heart dropped a beat for the third time today when he all but dove off the wooden railing. That suicidal maniac! What’s he–? Charlie immediately ran over to look, but the wizard was nowhere in sight.

He was gone.

I can't believe this…

“Charlie!”

And when she turned around, Marie was dashing towards her– panic in her eyes.

*****

“Someone called! They said that you were floating in the air!”

Charlie hesitated. They saw that? So that dumb, supposedly amazing wizard didn't cast some sort of invisibility spell to at least prevent people from seeing the unimaginable? That doof! How was she supposed to explain that to anyone else who might've seen it?

“Please Charlie,” the look on Marie’s face was earnest. “Please talk to me… Was it true? Was that really how you got here?”

“It was impossible. Humans don't float! He sure couldn't’ve been one…”

“He..?”

Shoot!  

Marie only smiled. “It was Raphahowl wasn't it?”

“Doesn't matter, I told him off! Two things are for sure: he knows that I hate him, and he'll think twice before he does anything like that to me again and– and why are you giving me that look?”

Her sister simply giggled and shook her head. She thanked her for delivering the dress and headed back down the stairs. Charlie glowered and crossed her arms.

She had a feeling she knew exactly what Marie was thinking - but she was wrong. Dead wrong.

Raphahowl might've saved her—which was completely unnecessary and hardly counted since she could've done that herself (and those blobs from earlier were very likely only after him, which meant Raphahowl did her more harm than good!)—but a third thing was for certain: he hadn't stolen her heart.

Despite this, Charlie subconsciously reached her hand to her chest to see if it was still there beating within her.

It was.

*****

It was night time now, and Charlie was closing up shop. The stars were out and shining, and the moon was somewhere she didn’t care to look for. Surprisingly, she had nearly the perfect amount of time to be home alone before her annoying cousins came back– unsurprisingly all spent on reminiscences of this morning’s exasperating, infuriating, sickening affairs. First, those inauspicious constables - grabbing her arm like that, they must’ve had a death wish! - then of all people, Raphahowl - her childhood abhorrence. How wicked was fate? What’s more, Marie probably now thought that she liked the stupid wizard. And him with those cheeky, smooth-tongued remarks and unmistakable looks of affection... Charlie groaned and she squeezed her eyes shut. It should’ve been a recyclable moment, should’ve, but it was far from that. How she had all but crammed her arms around him, and all that blushing she knew - but denied - that she did (eugh!). She told her cousins she’d never be saved by him… but she ended up eating those words back in the alleyways - when yes, he did just that. He didn’t steal her heart, though. He’d never steal her heart - she’d kill him long before he tried.

(She hated to admit it, but it was probably a close call.)

Charlie had just finished folding a dress when suddenly the bell at the door rang. Probably the largest woman she’d ever seen entered in. Behind her, her pitch black carriage was stationed in the middle of the street.

The first thing Charlie noticed was how well-dressed this woman was. She was bedazzled in thick pearls and long jewelry, and clothed in expensive furs and covet-worthy fabrics. Her hat, fancily draped on one side to cover the right side of her face, was also nothing short of costly. Everything of and about her screamed vanity and pomp. There was no doubt that she was high in class - what was someone like that even doing in here?

The showy woman looked around in the shop - unfavorably eying and flicking at dresses with her long and adorned fingers. After a moment, she paused.

Her voice was plummy and orotund; it trailed like the smoke she blew from her cigarette.

“So, Marie…”

Marie? What…?

“Firstly ma’am, désolé, but the shop is closed - if you’re looking for a dress, we open in the morning. There’s also a ‘no smoking’ sign there–” Charlie pointed to where the sign rested against the wall, “–in case you hadn’t seen it.”

Did she really neglect to flip the open sign to closed? She could’ve sworn she did. Maybe she didn’t, silly her.

More importantly...

“Second, I’m not Marie.”

“Ne fais pas l'idiote, Marie. You speak to the Witch of the Waste - I know who you are,” her voice deepened, “and I know you know about the wizard Raphahowl…”

The witch left from where she stood at the end of the boutique and strode towards her, bending slightly to stuff her exhaustingly perfumy face in hers. Charlie’s breath stilled. This woman… she called herself the Witch of the Waste! Charlie heard of her; the narcissistic woman who worked tirelessly and would go to no ends to take the wizard Raphahowl’s heart.

...What's more, this dangerous woman was after her sister.

Why?

“You know I’m surprised,” the woman added after a moment's pause, not giving Charlie a chance to respond. She leaned back, and there was now something cocky in her expression. “They say that you’re the most beautiful little ‘gal in this quaint, little town. The perfect candidate for my beloved Raphahowl. No one else rivals your supposed looks, but… my, there’s no way those rumors could possibly be true. Just look at you.”

“Lengthy golden hair, they said; sky blue eyes, they said…” She laughed a booming, haughty laugh; her fingers spread out over her mouth in a ‘ladylike’ fashion. “To think I came all this way to eliminate my only competition and she’s not worth the claims.”

Charlie was shocked. More than anything she was shocked by this woman's audacity to just… to just march in her family's clearly closed shop, call her someone she wasn't and then downright insult her. What's more, the fruit of her reason for coming to the shop in the first place was not for a dress she probably couldn’t fit anyway, but for Marie - she wanted to eliminate her!

Charlie was powerless, the paring knife in her pocket would be completely useless in this situation. If anything, it’d make her a laughingstock before her inevitable demise. It’d buy her time, but that was all. To boot, every scenario bouncing off and in her mind was detrimental, if not riskily close. If the witch believed she wasn’t her sister, Charlie would be saving herself; killing Marie. On the other hand, the witch might do away with her anyway for fear that she might warn her sister of her probably, very much inescapable death - thus also killing Marie. The options were distasteful, and the more she thought of them, the more anxious she felt.

There...was one other thing though. 

It would still be risky - but she’d do everything to help her sister out, just like her sister would for her. Charlie sent out a short prayer, clenching her fist as though to confirm her earnesty. She had no choice. I have to be Marie!

She prayed that the witch would buy it.

“As you can see I cut my hair," ‘Marie’ said matter-of-factly. Her hand drew up to flick at her short strands. “Its color is not naturally golden—rather it's this, and obviously those tales about my eyes being blue were false.” A moment’s pause and her eyes darkened. “What are you going to do now?”

To her surprise, the witch scoffed. “Marie, darling… It's become obvious to me that I don't need to kill you to win Raphahowl’s delectable heart. You’re not in the least bit pretty.”

Charlie stiffened.

She was sure, if the Witch of the Wastes had slapped her, it would have stung less. Of course she wasn't as pretty as Marie was - she wasn't very pretty at all! She didn't need anyone to tell her this, she knew. And she'd already come to terms with it long ago, so frankly it hadn't licked anywhere near the forefront of her mind in ages.

But curses.

Raphahowl, confound the man, was who knocked her off her feet, smiling eyes just enough to send her trodden down diffidence reeling back at her like a punch.

She scrunched up her face at the memory of earlier, sweeter than the cream on a fork, almost too dazzling to be believed! He was hideously handsome, confound him twice.

But this woman, she just walks in and… and oh, had she stooped to a new low this time.

Well, two can play at that game! She'd wipe that wicked sneer right off her face.

“If that's the case,” Charlie reared, “then you can't possibly not know that Raphahowl wouldn't come close to courting the ugly mug you got going on with you!”

She didn't bother to hide her satisfaction when the large woman's eyes turned into pinpricks.

“Also, if you think he’s going to look at those neck rolls and still fall in love with you, take another guess. The ‘Raphahowl only steals the hearts of pretty girls’ - emphasis on the 'girls' - crap applies to everyone.”

“You’re a foul little thing…” the witch breathed, galled. “I don't believe you're old enough to talk to me that way…”

Charlie didn't respond. She crossed her arms expectantly and watched as the witch sauntered towards the shop’s exit. Much better.

“Have a horrible evening, ma’a–”

The air turned cold.

As if some sort of time spell had warped the space they were in, it took Charlie a moment or more to register her new predicament. Suddenly seized by her face, the woman's painted nails pressed hard into her cheeks. Any further, and she feared it’d draw blood. She struggled against the woman's hands, but it did her no good. This woman was strong.

“You should know your place after tonight, little girl." With this, she effortlessly cast Charlie aside. She landed on her side with a loud ‘thump’ and a pained (and oddly feeble) yelp. "Oh, and I do hope you'll keep your mouth shut about this little secret of ours...” 

The store doors slammed shut behind the witch, the doorbell ringing and the dress hangers and other assortments clattering against the walls. The sound of her carriage taking off could be heard from outside. Charlie picked herself from off the floor, rubbing her cheeks from where the large woman had all but dug her nails into. That saggy old good for nothing! She wouldn't put that hag being the ‘Witch of the Waste’ past her - a snooty, rancid witch she was. The only good, not to mention the most important, thing that had come out of that awful situation was that she succeeded in protecting her sister; as long as the Witch of the Waste of oxygen thought Marie was her, she would be fine. Charlie grudgingly turned to lock the shop doors, and—

Wait.

Something was different, something was wrong. Why was the shop door so tall? When did…? Charlie looked down.

And her hands! They were smaller, chubbier!

When she darted over to look herself in the mirror, Charlie felt her heart in her throat for a third time that day. Nineteen year old her was gone.

She was ten again.

Chapter Text

Every insult in her vocabulary was racing through Charlie’s mind on repeat.

Idiot, stupid, freak, stupid, dim-wit, imbecile, pinhead - every slander she could think of heartily directed towards that stupid wizard. Bah! Charlie rested her case. Raphahowl was useless. Raphahowl was the type of person who would only sweep in to save girls from flimsy dilemmas, but when it came to something far more dangerous, time consuming and magically death bringing, he’d disappear without a trace.

Not, however, without slipping a hastily scribbled ‘IOU’.

This was his fault. From beginning to end, this was all his fault. She knew he was no good. Every other girl was heads-over-heels about him, tricked by his charms, and positive that he was some sort of dreamy thing, but she at least had some sense. There was more to their heartthrob than what was written in the books and feverishly told on the streets: he was a target. Those blobs from earlier, and then that grizzly, snooty, repugnant…

Just the thought of that saggy, old dishrag made her want to throw up!

"Sidling into people's obviously closed shops, and cursing them—what I wouldn't do to the old hag!" She could’ve easily gone out to Raphahowl's ‘castle’, ripped it straight from his chest, or do to him whatever other figurative meaning to ‘stealing his heart’ was, but no.

Charlie had left home the following morning - obviously without a single word to her mother and Marie. As it happened, she wasn’t able to sneak many meaningful provisions. All that she was able to grab, without being seen, a parcel hastily stuffed with whatever was left in the fridge and a few other things.

She couldn't believe it. It didn’t make sense that she was the one traveling amongst the jagged rocks and windy fields, and now rain, of the Wastes with her ten-year-old girl legs to try and catch up with his heinous moving home when she couldn't stand Raphahowl’s guts. But if he could fly, and float and dive off of a building without at least scraping himself, he would fix this. She’d force him if she had to. If not, kill him.

It was the only other way.

Though it was not a heavy downpour, any extended period of time outdoors in these conditions would render anyone soaked to the bone. Seeing as now she was small, becoming drenched would come faster than it might've if she was nineteen again.

She threw a pudgier hand under her bangs and continued walking, parcel bag stuffed awkwardly in the crook of her elbow. This was stupid.

So were these rocks she was tripping over, and the rain too, and that long stick she'd just kicked unstuck with, of all imaginable things, an eggplant attached to one end.

Charlie did a double-take.

It was… one stupid looking stick. It was like a scarecrow, except this particular one had on a jersey of some sort, a pair of matching shorts, an odd cap and probably the most ridiculous thing about it was that stupid eggplant.

“Someone must've really had nothing else to do...” she muttered. But when she reached her hand and the thing suddenly stood up straight - honestly, what was she supposed to think? - Charlie blinked.

…

Then she was gone.

*****

“It's not everyday you come across a living scarecrow with an eggplant for a head,” Charlie admitted casually to the stick now hoping alongside her. “So say whatever you like, you can't fault me for running away.”

Really, she shouldn't have been surprised. Having her recent fair share of magical happenings - from floating in the air without falling and dying (only after barely escaping strange creatures) to being turned ten-years-old by the Witch of the Wastes - a living scarecrow shouldn't've been… actually, no, she was horrified and had every reason to be.

Scarecrows didn't live.

But this one wasn't malicious. After she ran out of stamina from her sprint to the anywhere the scarecrow wasn’t, he proved his alignment as good and so she told him that she was after Raphahowl’s moving trash house to get her spell broken. Immediately he lit up (she thought so anyway), seeming to know of its location and lead the way.

Which brought them to now.

Now that she thought about it, it wasn't so bad having a scarecrow as a companion.

The clouds above them oozed and billowed across the greying sky, casting the meadow into a shadowy darkness. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a bolt of lightning, brilliant and buzzing with electricity, cracked the sky into two. Charlotte groaned. Wonderful, she thought, just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse. Now her hair was in her mouth from the wind relentlessly blowing it there.

Ahead of her, Eggplant-head was struggling against the weather too, clothes fluttering and stick arms wavering in the wind. He was leaning against the current but, being mostly stick, this wasn’t his battle. A second later and Charlie was turning towards where he had all but blasted off to.

“Are you alr–!”

Just then, something loud and large shook the ground, sending her off of her feet. When she looked up, squinting her eyes through the storm, her heart leapt. No way…

There it was.

The castle.

(And it did look like a roach!)

Through the swirling fog, the noisy moving machine was only a little ways in front of her - bits and pieces of it (were those legs?) disappearing and reappearing from where the mist dispersed and regathered. She’d caught up to it!

“Come on, Eggplant-head!”

Her feet took off, and Charlie didn’t realize that she’d dropped her food-bag in her sprint’s wake. She had to get there, she was so close to getting her curse unlifted, so close to chewing that insufferable wizard out - nothing in this entire world could stop her. She could taste victory. Even the previously useless rocks helped; her trips over them propelling her forward at a much quickened - albeit temporary - pace.

Her mind was reeling and her heart felt very much like it was going to burst from her chest at any given moment. But it dropped when she looked up and, darn it, the castle was getting further and further away. Shoot! I’m not fast enough!

“Come on!” Charlie nearly screamed, squeezing her eyes shut from both the beating rain and physical exertion. She had to be fast enough, she had to get on that house, she had to. She came all this way, and to lose it now… she couldn’t lose it now! Heat was surging in her legs, and - oh.

Suddenly she couldn’t feel her feet anymore.

When she opened her eyes, she found that she hadn’t fallen; she was in the air, and Eggplant-head was beside her…

Wait.

Realization struck her like a brick; he’d strung her up on his twig arm! He had her hung from her dress - one arm hole to the other! With energy Charlie initially didn't think he had, Eggplant-head pushed off - thrice as fast on his pole leg as she was on her two human ones. Charlie's eyes lit up when the castle came into view again.

There was a low-lying back door ahead, lit up by a single lantern. Reaching her arms, she just barely managed to grab onto the railing when her genial companion swept off from the surge of wind. With a strong push against the door, Charlie fell in.

…And her senses were immediately blasted with dust.

She coughed and sneezed, and then she whipped around, hands cupped around her mouth as she yelled to the distance, "Are you alive out there!" And she brightened when Eggplant-head came into view - just barely amongst the stirring fog and wind. “You should come inside!" she waved him over. "Granted! The roof’s really short and you'll never have any room to hop about!”

A turn-off apparently. The scarecrow hopped off in the opposite direction. Can't blame him, I guess.

Charlie whirled around, took a deep breath.

Then she was inside.

*****

The inside matched the exterior perfectly. Ugly, crude, and definitely in need of some cleaning.

The fireplace was the first thing she noticed. It wasn't lit for one, it had a really odd shape - much like a fish with its mouth wide open - and the ash that thickly blanketed the top had long begun to spill on the floor. The table closer to the right side of the room was covered in assortments of just about every miscellaneous thing imaginable - from old-looking tomes, random candlesticks, letters and vases with the brown remains of dead flowers, to boxes and food that definitely had to be stale. The cabinets just behind it were equally a cluttered mess, filled with the most random of things. The floor was dirty, the walls were dirty - this entire castle was an indoor junk yard!

“What a dump.” Charlie muttered. “You'd think with all his fancy lavaliere, his house would reflect it.”

Something growled at her the moment she spoke those words and she froze.

It was coming from the hearth.

Charlie squinted her eyes, barely making out the gleam of a little flame. So it was lit. She probably hadn't noticed it before since the light coming from it was so feeble…

But then out popped dot eyes and a loud "Woeuf!" and instantly, Charlie whipped around, tripped on something, fell, got back up and grabbed a chair.

"You!" she hollered, scared stiff and pointing the legs of her weapon towards it. “Y-you just barked!”

“Grrrr - Woeuf, warf!”

Upon closer inspection, the fire… It looked… it was…

“You're a… dog?”

At least it was in the shape of one, just tinier.

Now she’d seen everything. First evil black blobs, then floating, then a living scarecrow wearing a jersey and an eggplant for a head and now a barking fire that looked like an Alsatian cheesehund.

A barking dog fire.

Slowly, Charlie set the chair down. It was… a tiny little thing, and she hated to admit it but the little dog was in a way cute, too. She frowned as she watched it suddenly whine, pitifully gesturing at a pile of wood logs just at the side of the furnace. Ah, Charlie caught on, You're running low on fuel. If the fire by itself wasn't ridiculous enough, here she was feeling sad for it. Charlie sighed.

Things just got dumber and dumber.

She walked over to a log and was surprised at how heavy the darn thing was. In all her years of living, wood logs sure never looked like they weighed forty pounds of flour! Her ten-year-old arms wasn't helping her very much at all.

“Three’s enough?” she strained, tossing the last log on the ashy surface. She scooted all three on top of the flame and instantly, it went out. With silent alarm, she briefly wondered if she’d accidentally smothered it.

...That is, until a minute later, it burst with a fhwoom! into a much larger flame.

“GAH!” Charlie flew back, ducking away from the instant wave of heat. When she looked back up, the fire dog had returned to a reasonable size and was looking down at her with a furiously wagging tail.

...And was it smiling?

“Why'd you have to do all that, you barking fire hazard? You could've caught me aflame!”

She guessed he was probably saying sorry with how he whined in response.

Charlie waved him off. “Whatever, look, I need to know where Raphahowl is. I'm cursed and I need him to fix it.”

That sparked a plug. Fire dog immediately began to bark - not ruefully or anything - and he pointed to himself with a paw.

She blinked. “You're Raphahowl?”

“Aarf!” The dog shook his head. Well, she figured he wasn't.

He pointed at her. “Aarf.”  

“Me?”

“Aarf.”

“You..?” Charlie squinted. “Me and you… you're cursed too?”

The fire yipped, running in circles. Charlie almost cheered with him herself until she realized how dumb that would look.

“Okay…”

Again, he pointed to himself on the first bark, stamped his paw on the third, and pointed back to her on the fourth bark. “Aarf aarf arrf aarf arrf,” He pointed to her on the third bark, stamped his paw on the fourth bark, and then pointed to himself on the fifth. “arf-woeff aarf urff aarf mrrf!”

Charlie threw her hands up and groaned, exasperated. This was ridiculous. Absolutely, flat out ridiculous.

“Dog, I don't speak your language!” The flaming canine gave her a tilted look, and she sucked in a breath and sighed - turning her head so that she really didn't put him out.

“...But I think I understood what you said.”

Chapter Text

It would be cliché to say that she expected to wake up in her comfy bed in her room. Light would filter in through the blinds, the birds outside would chirp, and her remarkably annoying cousins would be in another room squealing as they read their love letters. As it’d turn out, her whole ‘adventure’ was all just one awful nightmare and Raphahowl didn't exist, neither did Egg-plant head or the Witch of the Waste for that matter. She would wake up, the thrill - and not the enjoyable kind - and realisticity of the dream sending a fwoosh of a chill through her and after making herself somewhat presentable, she’d walk down the stairs and recount its atrocity to her mother and Marie - still wonderstruck by how real it had all felt.

What Charlie hadn't expected, was to wake up to a pair of ridiculously large eyes staring right at her. 

She blinked.

And then she slugged their owner in the face and jumped back.

“OW!” the boy yelped, hopping to his feet and holding his nose. In the back Fire dog barked, and the kid groaned a moment before shooting her an affronted look. “…for a little girl, you sure hit hard!”

Charlie jumped up and dusted herself off.

“I'm not a–!” Nevermind, yes she was. “My name is Charlie and frankly, I'm old enough to be your older sister.” Although none of it was his business. Her business was with Fire dog and stupid Raphahowl and them only. Just who was this kid anyway?

“Yeah.. by six seconds…” he grumbled.

“It’s true!”

“Nevermind that anymore. I'm Jerome. Why, and how on earth did you get on master Raphaho–” then he stopped short and turned to Flame pooch with a blunt look. “It was you, wasn't it? You let her on.”

The dog whined.

“Thought as much," Jerome huffed. “I don't know how well master Raphahowl's gonna take to letting strangers on, Fonducifer...”

Charlie clicked her tongue. “I'm not a stranger to him or Raphahowl—I let myself in, anyway,” she added. “But I'm not leaving this poor excuse of a castle until he does away with my-”

Curse.

She couldn't say it.

“My-” she tried again. Her mouth wouldn't work for her. Didn't even budge.

Then the memory hit her with the crash force of a train wreck:

"Oh, and I do hope you'll keep your mouth shut about this little secret of ours.”

Charlie cursed inwardly. Darn that wrinkly old hag!

Jerome squinted at her as he tried to decipher what was going on. “‘Your…?’ Your what?"

“I can't,” she simply said, and she hated how feeble she sounded. Jerome stared at her a moment, and then he was opening his mouth to speak when Fonducifer chimed in with a high-pitched, “Woeuf!” 

Jerome turned. “What is it, Fonducifer?”

“Oeuf-woe-uf!"

And at that, his eyes widened and he turned back to Charlie—almost as if seeing her for the first time. “No way… Fonducifer here says you're cursed! Fiddlesticks, I should've seen that earlier!" He held the elbow of the arm that went up to cup his chin. "So... I take it you can't say anything about it?"

"Hardly a jot," she grouched. "Though I'll be able to say a whole lot more when he-" she jabbed a finger in the hearth's direction "-breaks it off me."

When his eyes followed her pointed finger, Jerome’s face opened up. “Fonducifer? Do away with curses?” For a long beat there was silence. Jerome stared at her wordlessly.

Then he burst into laughter.

“If that's what he told you, lady-” he air-quoted the word. “-he lied. All he does is move the castle and run Raphahowl’s baths.”

While Jerome continued to laugh, Charlie deflated, her arms falling to her sides in disbelief.

...Move the castle… and run baths.

So, all that translating she had to do yesterday, not to mention she gave him wood to keep him from burning out, and nevermind how she travelled all this way to get her curse broken; he gives her hope and all he does is move the castle and run bathwater.

Calmly she walked over to the sink and filled up a pail.

Meanwhile Jerome snorted, facetiously reprimanding the flaming mutt. “Fonducifer, you're a real dog for that.”

“Hrnnn…”

“I ought to put you out, you conniving fire!”

Fonducifer immediately yelped in fear and cowered. But Jerome quickly threw himself in front of her to block him, his face turning red. Whether it was from his flimsy little boy exertion or from Fonducifer's scalding flames, Charlie didn't know. But she didn't care - that fire was going to get it!

“Y-you can't do that! If you do, Master will–!”

The skirmish came to a stop when there was a sudden rap at the door. As one, all three of them looked up, and Charlie’s eye caught onto a spinning mechanism on the wall—green-down. She hadn’t noticed it before… had it always been there? She began to turn back toward Jerome, preparing to ask, but he passed her mid-turn without meeting her eyes again. The panic in his voice and eyes swapped with something serious, and she watched with shock as he pulled his hood over his head and changed into Raphahowl.

“That’s Lourvehaven door,” Jerome called. When he opened the door, Charlie was further surprised to notice that their location wasn’t in the Wastes anymore. Is this some sort of mirage?

“Ah! Raphahowl!” the man at the door heartily chirped. “Good afternoon! So sorry to bother you this fantastic hour.”

“Good afternoon to you, mayor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ah, well. I’m afraid it's about that foul thief again… The duchess’ prized possessions are still missing. However! I think we're but blinks away from cracking the case. I'm here to inform of our methods and what we've thus far found, since you’ve requested to be updated...”

He said something else, something about stolen paintings or whatever, but Charlie chose that time to tune him out - still stupefied by all of what just happened. Jerome mimicked him perfectly; he had his style down pact, his manners, his voice, and - everything. He even had the same allure to him that made her want hate his guts like the real Raphahowl did.

‘Raphahowl’ thanked the mayor and turned around. Briefly she met his gaze before the door mechanism shifted again (this time blue-down), and there was another ring.

“Woeuf!”

“Cassisese door,” Jerome called again boredly.

Scooting a chair so that she could stand on it, Charlie walked over to the window to peer out and her eyes lit up. Her suspicions were confirmed. They were moving different places or something. Their world really was more magical than she'd forethought... Here she was, playing along with Marie and her fantasies this whole time, when fairy tales really were… if only her sister had seen Eggplant-head and Fonducifer!

She'd probably have a far better time than I did.

As far as coping, believing and resisting the urge bludgeon something or someone to defend herself was concerned.

She heard Jerome shut the door and watched him revert back into his normal self. He threw her a look.

“Did he steal your heart?”

"Why in the world would you-?” Charlie stopped herself to keep her incoming insult in the back of her throat. Instead, she shot him a flat look. “...Yes, he did. In fact, I'm madly in love with him. The reason I came to this beautiful castle was to find him, in hopes he'll whisk me off my feet. The other girls aren't as daring.”

Jerome gave her a disgusted grunt and walked over to the table. Runt.

She hopped from the chair and reached her hand to turn the doorknob to another color - just to see where it’d lead to next. No harm in that, right? She didn't think it was... Maybe after Raphahowl broke her curse, a single twist of the doorknob would get her back home without her having to travel all the way back from where she came. Unless they could float walk there.

Before she could twist the thing though...

“Hey! Don't touch that! If you break it…”  Jerome’s voice trailed and he whined. “Ohhh… master’s gonna be so mad at me… Fonducifer, you really shouldn't have let her on!”

“Hrnnn…”

“Oh, come off it!” she snipped. “I would've gotten on whether the mutt had or not.” She paused, noticing the black color on the dial. Curiosity flickered in her expression as she looked at it. It looked ominous...

“Where does that one lead?”

This time, Jerome nearly jumped out of his seat. “Really don't touch that one - only Raphahowl knows where it leads!”

Charlie rolled her eyes. She was getting sick of all his sniveling. It was all he and Fonducifer ever did. She drew in a sharp breath and moved from the door. “Fine, stop being a pansy!”

Jerome seemed to ignore the jab, visibly more relieved that she backed off. Then he moved to clear a small section of the table, slathering cream cheese on one of those stale-looking baguettes she saw from earlier. Even though everything - which wasn’t much - on the table look unappetizing, it occurred to Charlie that she was feeling rather hungry as well…

Wait. Her—

Right. Her parcel was outside probably drowned in a puddle of rainwater and muddy gunk.

Just then, her eye caught on a package of… bacon, that was what it was. She went over to pick it up and it looked like it had been bought very recently. What, was Jerome the one who went out to buy things at the market then? She guessed judging by his ‘castle’ and he himself, Raphahowl was rather useless… she wouldn't put it past him that he probably preferred sweet talking girls into sharing their food with him over actually cooking or buying things himself. Maybe, alongside his dog running his baths and moving his home, the wizard made Jerome do all the cooking for the days he was feeling too lazy to float out and wink at gullible dames for a quick snack.

She scoffed.

If he wasn’t such a whiner, she’d feel more sorry for the tot.

Next to where the meat was, was a basket full of eggs. She was glad that that hateful witch didn’t take away her ability to cook the simpler things. Charlie took four eggs (two for Jerome; she wasn't heartless) and the thing of bacon over to the stove and Fonducifer tilted his head at her.

“Oh! Bacon and eggs, too?” Jerome chirped excitedly in-between bites.

“Yes, and they're just for me because you seemed to’ve already helped yourself to food.” The despondent look he gave her was very much worth the tease. She turned. “Fonducifer, more heat please–”

“Hrrnnnn…”

“–none of that, you owe me for that lie.”

“But only master Raphahowl can use the stove!” Jerome cried.

“He owes me, too!”

Just then, another ring at the door shut the trio up, and the color wheel switched to black. Jerome jumped as he watched the mechanism activate.

“Butter brickle! It's him!”

“Woeuf!”

“And finally!" Charlie exclaimed, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "It's about time that stupid wizard showed up!”

…Was what she probably would've said and done had the image of his tantalizing smile not flashed in her mind the second Jerome mentioned his name.

Charlie froze. This was… not how it was supposed to go. Definitely not how she was supposed to feel. This person, the insufferable wizard that she'd traveled on this equally insufferable journey to find was on the other side of that door and she was getting inexplicably nervous, like...

She didn't really plan this out, did she?

Still, the normal Charlie would’ve raced to that door, flung it open for him and berated him until he broke her curse. So why, in the back of her mind - the part she was now struggling to beat reason into - did she wish he wasn't behind that door, twisting that knob?

Forcing her head high, Charlie held her breath and clenched her fists regardless, and slowly the front door opened.

There he was.

Raphahowl’s face opened up with what looked to be surprise when he saw the scene before him. He paused a second in his step to look at all three of them - Jerome sitting at the table stiff and alarmed, and Fonducifer yapping (though Charlie hardly heard him over the blood rushing in her ears) in the fireplace. And herself? Well…

For one, she almost immediately had the urge to look away. Two, she nearly crumpled when the wizard marched over, some semblance to a sad smile on his face when he caught her eye. But turning away wasn't an option. She, Charlie Vergier, came here for one thing and one thing only: to chew Raphahowl out and get her spell broken.

…At least, that was the plan.

“To come in to see two kids helping themselves to breakfast… and cooking on you, Fonducifer, no less.” Raphahowl gave the cheesehund an amused grin, though he did not take his eyes off her. “I'm not sure whether I should be tickled or feeling bad for my own negligence.”

“In our defense, Charlie let herself in!”

“Bonjour, Charlie.”

Nonononono!

She didn’t move. She stayed put, floundering for the words that would not come as he stood in front of her, staring right at her as if looking for the answer to an unspoken question. It only spread the rush of blood across her cheeks.

“I'll take that, thanks.” He said, taking the package of bacon from her and turning to the hearth. He also grabbed a few eggs from the basket on the table, cracked them, and the goo fell into the pan.

Instead of those eggs, Charlie wanted to fry herself. Why was she flushing when she should be fussing?

“–And I told her only you can use Fonducifer as a stove, but she didn't listen!”

Finally she animated, her face contorting in agitation as she turned to the whiny snob. The runt. She was already irritated as it was.

“So you're a baby, and you whine too much, and you're a snitch!”

“Nuh-uh, I'm not getting in trouble because you decided help yourself and break the rules!”

“You'll really be in trouble when I break you!”

*****

Night fell and Charlie was staring at her hands. Jerome was sitting quietly on the couch across from her, fiddling with his fingers or whatever else she didn’t care to look up to find out. Fonducifer, no longer aarfing, was curled around himself sleep in the fireplace, his body heaving in steady breaths. The cheesehund was like a tiny sun for the evening, casting long shadows over the furniture and everything else. His embers curled and swayed, flicking this way and that, crackling as they burned the dry wood. Everything was rather lull and very still. Raphahowl had… he was… wherever. She didn't even care, her curse wasn’t even at the tip of her tongue anymore. The image of her standing in the middle of that living room, her cheeks inflamed, and at a complete loss for words, left her utterly devastated. That darn Raphahowl and his darn smile she hated so much. He was her childhood abhorrence, everybody knew it and she made sure they did. Marie, their mother, Josette, Colette, Stephanie and Olive, and everyone else - every last one of his gushing fans who so faithfully believed that no girl couldn't like the wizard. But if they saw her today looking probably like an idiot just standing there, fumbling dumbly over her words (she’d certainly felt like an idiot), she didn't know what they'd think. No, they would believe that she had a change of heart and actually liked the wizard She really just stood there - almost like it had been a spell.

Spellbound by him.

The thought would’ve probably made her nauseous if she wasn't already so crestfallen.

Still, as much as she hated to admit it, he wasn’t as worthless as she’d forethought. He certainly proved her wrong about him never cooking and being inconsiderate, and he did - he really, really did - save her from those constables and those gross gooey blobs back in the alleyways. Not to mention, he’d retrieved Marie’s dress for her. She wanted to hate Raphahowl, she wanted to, but whenever she reached for that childhood hatred, it’d burned so bright in those days, she couldn't. She had no problem doing it before. She had no problem doing it up until he saved her, and even after she found out it was him, she called him stupid.

But today, she…

Out of the corner of her eye, Jerome shifted.

“He totally stole your heart,” he mewed, breaking the silence. “When you got on the castle, you were all like-” and he made his voice whiny “-‘where's that stupid, dumb Raphahowl?! I demand him to break my curse, and if he doesn't he's getting clobbered!’ but then he comes through the door and you're... a whole new person.”

Charlie took a deep breath. Counted to five.

Didn’t work. Counted to ten instead. She was starting to feel sort of woozy.

“If you're just going to tease me about it, then you can go.”

“I'm not! Well, maybe about that very first part, but the rest of it, no.” A pause. In her peripheral vision, he looked like he was genuinely concerned. Not concerned, well, maybe that as well, but sympathetic, too. He probably knew she was upset. Normally she would've hissed at him for being so chummy, but none of it seemed to matter now. Not anymore.

She'd made a fool of herself.

“I'm just surprised, is all. I half expected for you to pick Fonducifer up and toss him at him.”

Charlie laughed a little. She was surprised herself.

But mostly disappointed.

Chapter Text

Parched.

That was the first word that came to her mind as she sluggishly sat up. She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep—honestly the last thing she remembered was her lying there staring numbly up at the ceiling with her fingers folded across her.

And before that, embarrassing herself downstairs.

Charlie threw a pillow over her face and squeezed it. She just stood there. She couldn't believe she really, actually just stood there. And then Raphahowl with that stupid ‘I thought so’ air to him like he thought she was absolutely too enamoured by him to fuss…

As if.

But somewhere along the way of staring at nothing in particular, she supposed she had finally slipped out of consciousness. And now that she was up, she felt lessened by the heavy emotions she felt within her chest earlier. She guessed that was something that sleeping did, but really, she couldn't even be mad about it anymore. She'd deal with the cringing as the memories thwapped her later on.

Nothing she hadn't done before.

With a sigh, Charlie put the pillow down and stared up at the ceiling again. She was up and how she wished she wasn't, but she couldn’t possibly go back to sleep when it felt like she had swallowed a mound of sand.

Throwing her blanket off of her, she jumped up and went into the hallway.

Outside, it was dark and her eyes hadn't adjusted to the blackness of the castle, so she had to feel against the walls and any other sturdy enough thing to continue through. It was only thanks to Fonducifer’s light (which illuminated the space down stairs) that she could see something of what she was doing.

Silently she thanked him for it.

…

Ah—the stairs. Had to be, unless she was about to fall into some unforeseen hole. Sliding a foot forward to confirm the existence (or lack thereof) of another step, she very cautiously reached the bottom—silently thankful she didn't trip and bust her stuff—and the space lightened up.

Fonducifer was snoozing soundlessly away in the hearth, curled into a little ball like how any normal dog would be. As Charlie made her way over to the sink to fill up a glass of water, she wondered what his curse was. Maybe he was an actual dog before.

Or maybe he was lying about that too, she thought, mood souring.

She put the glass down after she finished with it and made her way back upstairs again. Her hand was nearly on the doorknob to her room when she froze.

It took a moment to register that it was snoring she was hearing and not some creeping beast lurking around somewhere. Quietly she crept to the door the noise was coming from and peaked in. Or, well, tried to as silently as she could, but the door also happened to be just as creaky as the rest of the ‘castle’. She was honestly surprised she hadn't woke Sleeping Jerome up doing so.

Then again, he was probably used to it. That, or he was a really heavy sleeper (and the slob on his mouth could probably attest to that).

Plugged in his wall was a blue nightlight that cast an azure glow in his room and on his drooling face. His walls were also blue and crudely painted with yellow stars. His room was a huge mess, and there was no way she was stepping foot in the space even if she wanted to.

Charlie shot him a dull look and closed his door.

When she re-entered the corridor, her eyes wandered over to the next set of stairs and, if nothing else, it was a glimmer of curiosity that took her over there now.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say.

...But satisfaction brought it back?

No more than twenty or so paces found her in another corridor. At the very end of it, a lamp— several of them, it seemed —was on, casting a yellow glow through the cracked door that laid ahead.

Charlie held her breath. No use in standing there looking like an idiot, she decided.

She knocked.

Nothing.

Knocked again.

Nothing.

Counted to five.

Still nothing.

She wouldn’t waste her thoughts counting to ten.

“I know you heard me knock dimwit, so if you’re naked or something, you’d better hurry up and say so because I’m coming in,” she warned. Maybe he wasn't there at all, but still it was better safe than sorry— she really didn't want to walk in on a naked wizard.

She shuddered at the thought.

Slowly, cautiously she creeked the door open (just to make sure) only to balk...

...at his awfully, surprisingly tidy room.

Well, this was a curve ball. She wasn't expecting this. She expected something way different. Something like, on the messier side. Just like him. And his clothes.

His whole everything for that matter.

So then why was the rest of his house in such disarray? The entire downstairs was slop, and the exterior of his moving trash can of a house looked like it hadn’t seen soap and water in centuries. Charlie scoffed. Only showed how much he cared for himself...

“Are you in here?” she called, hushed, careful not to wake Jerome or Fonducifer up.

But the wizard was nowhere in sight and, at that, she finally confirmed that he was gone for tonight. He wouldn't’ve ignored her anyway—he wasn't the type to. He was the one who stole hearts, not run away from doing so. She walked over to his back room, it too lit with lamp light, and as expected, he wasn’t there either.

But something else caught her attention.

It was a painting hung on the wall—though its contents she didn’t care at all for. No, it was the insignia there that…

Wait.

Duchess Elisabeth?

The Duchess Elisabeth?

There were more paintings where that came from. They were all hung on his walls, each of them adorned with the Duchess’ symbol. If that wasn’t enough, aside from the fancy paintings, the room was absolutely littered with decorative pots and stones and artifacts. Each stamped with the same golden symbol! She must not have noticed it all at first…

After all, it was just a regular bedroom—regular lamps, regular dressers, the like. Many people had paintings strung up on their walls to boot, so that was just as regular.

So then why was..?

Ah, well. I’m afraid it's about that foul thief again… The duchess’ prized possessions are still missing. However! I think we're but blinks away from cracking the case!

It hit her.

“That doof!” she scoffed. “He was the one that man from earlier was talking about. He stole it all!” She also recalled something about the mayor keeping him ‘updated’. Raphahowl had them fooled the bunch of oafs.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Looks like hearts aren't the only things he fancies.”

With that, she turned and left.

*****

Someone was in the kitchen and they were loud. She was waking up every three seconds to another unnecessarily, ridiculously loud ack, groan and splatter. And for some reason, whoever it was downstairs was sifting their feet, like they were either running around or trying to reach something high up and failing over, and over and over again to do so. Rinse and repeat. At this point, melatonin was a mere second from being out of the window.

Charlie groaned.

Briefly, the thought struck her that it could have been a robber rifling through whatever he could open downstairs and trying to find something of value.

...Which he would if he liked dried herbs, dust, spoiled food, uninteresting-looking books or the ash from Fonducifer’s hearth...

(The lattermost would be nice; that way, there wouldn't be so much of it.)

Alas, she was losing her sleep over this imbecile and— another yelp from below that sounded more pained than the last —she stayed up all night after trying her hardest to rest, but she couldn't, and yeah, maybe she’d unintentionally found some black-mail on that stupid Raphahowl, but— a crash sound from downstairs, followed by a groan this time —stars was she tired.

With an annoyed exhale, Charlie grabbed a broom, and made her way downstairs

…and stared bluntly at the scene before her.

Goodbye melatonin.

There were cracked eggs all over the floor, the clear goop and yellow yokes splattered everywhere. There were egg shells lying about as well, but only in bits and pieces. Fonducifer probably ate most of them. The basket on the table—the same basket that, when she first got on the moving castle, was overflowing with eggs—was empty, save for six or so remaining eggs.

And standing right in the middle of it all, clothes and skin sopping with the same gooey stuff, was Jerome. And he was dancing.

Charlie slapped her forehead.

He was dancing with this dumb stained look on his face, snapping his fingers to a wobbly rhythm and doing multiple hops and twirls. In the hearth, Fonducifer was wagging his tail and aarfing with each of Jerome’s snaps.

If it wasn’t for the sea of eggs, she would’ve happily marched over and knocked him upside the head. Though she supposed she could just throw the broom at him...

Either way, he was getting got for waking her up with whatever atrocity he was doing.

“Jerome," she seethed.

“Ssh—sshhh!” the tot hissed. “Have to... keep... the rhythm!”

“What does that even mean?”

And just like that, the egg that was for whatever reason, wobbling around on the floor cracked and joined his brothers.

Jerome’s shoulders slumped. “Aw! And it was almost there, too!” he groaned. Fondue whined from his spot. “If I'd kept a steady rhythm, the eggs would walk and crack themselves into the skillet...”

“That's what this is all about?” Charlie gestured to the sea of splattered eggs, incredulous. “Jerome, you do realize that you just wasted a full basket of eggs for some dumb spell, that by the way you look ridiculous doing, that you could've just cracked yourself!”

“No, it's a cool trick! Master Raphahowl does it all the time! Doesn't he, Fonducifer?”

“Wouef!”

“So, you're in on this madness, too?” she asked the cheesehund, who wagged his tail joyously and shamelessly in response.

“Maybe…" Jerome hummed, his eyes gradually brightening. “Maybe it might work if more than one person was danci—”

“It won't,” Charlie interrupted flatly, knowing full well where this was going. “I don't dance.”

“Come on Charlie, it's easy! See, all you 'hafto do is…”

He trailed off into another goofy, squibbly dance. Fonducifer joined him, doing his own spins and twirls. Charlie rolled her eyes, smiling a twinge despite herself.

She found him and the fiery pooch utterly obnoxious and overbearing, but they certainly kept her entertained with their antics sometimes.

Just then, Raphahowl peeked low over the railing of the staircase with a towel covering his head. He had a hand on the top as he looked, in surprise, at the mess on the floor.

If he noticed her little jump, he didn't say anything.

“Good gravy, Jerome. If you hated eggs so much you could've just said so."

“What?” At that, Jerome blinked rapidly, stopping his work of hauling eggshells into Fonducifer’s waiting mouth. “No! I don't! I don't hate eggs! I just… thought…” He trailed off. “I thought for sure it would work this time!” His shoulders sagged and he twisted his lip. “Maybe I just suck…”

“You'll get the hang of it eventually. For now though, maybe try having a little more mercy.” When the towel nearly slipped from his head, he murmured a ‘whoops’ and fixed it right again. “I’ll never understand why Fonducifer finds them so scrumptious, but it's a good thing he likes the eggshells.” He raised an eyebrow and gave the flaming dog a look. “...Unless you've been having second thoughts?”

“Woeuf-euf!”

“Shouldn’t’ve asked. You know it's probably still a good source of vitamin A, D, and B12, though.”

“Do you really think there's vitamins and stuff in the eggshells?” Jerome questioned, looking thoughtful about it.

Raphahowl just shrugged. “I don't see why not? If it isn't in the eggshell itself, there's still egg goo… uh, in it. Unless you scrape it out.”

...Was he always in this good of a mood? She supposed she could tell why Fonducifer and Jerome seemed to be so fond of him now...

Still, it certainly wouldn't sway her opinion.

“Charlie,” he said laughingly, and she looked up. “Bonjour! I almost didn't see you there.”

And yet here she was standing at the bottom of the stairs with a broom in her hands, not even five steps away from where he was standing. She knew he was lying. He was just teasing her, the prick.

So she set the broom against the wall and threw her arms across her chest, fixing him with a sharp glare as she shot back, “Was that a crack about my height? Take a look at yourself, big shot! I'm surprised you haven't bonked your head on something high up yet!”

“He actually has before,” pitched Jerome in casually, and the wizard sent him a nobly wounded look.

“Have not.”

“Totally have to!”

“Sell out,” murmured Raphahowl with a fake frown. He tore off the towel like he couldn't believe the audacity of his apprentice and fixed him with an affronted look. “Obviously loyalty means nothing to you.”

Charlie stifled a snort at that, something he must've heard because he turned to her and that dumb smile was back.

“So," Raphahowl began pleasantly, pulling back a chair and seating himself at the table once he'd dried his hair and fried more bacon and eggs (the three of them anyway). He took the syrup dispenser from Jerome to keep him from drowning his entire plate. "Why don't you tell me about that curse of yours?"

Her heart did a tiny leap at the kind of-sort of question and for a moment she could've hugged him for at last getting to the point and asking.

But she shot that down in two seconds flat.

“The W—”

The Witch of the Wastes did this, she meant to say, but she couldn't get the words out.

“I was in my shop when she walked in and c—” No dice. This was almost as hindering as a runny, stuffy nose during a cold. She took in a deep breath, counted to ten.

She tried to say the bad ‘C’ word again, but again there was an invisible dam keeping her from even opening her mouth. She would've been flustered for her less-than-graceful display if her blood wasn't so close to boiling.

“It's no use,” she finally breathed. “I can't say anything about it at all… I'll probably give myself an aneurysm trying to force it out.”

“Oh, right...” Jerome trailed, and he turned to Raphahowl. “She can't say the word ‘curse' or who did it to her.”

In any other situation, she would've been upset for him speaking for her. Even now she felt a sting, but she knew Jerome was only helping her fill in the blanks. Literally.

For a brief moment, she imagined herself turning the Witch of the Wastes into a mouse and feeding her to a stray cat.

“Fonducifer says it's the Witch of the Wastes’ magic,” Raphahowl casually went on, “so that explains the ‘who’. The why, on the other hand...” He looked at her.

To her surprise, she found that she could tell him.

"She came in after the shop closed thinking I was my sister. Something about—” she paused to think of how to word it, “—getting rid of her competition. Of course, I wasn't going to just let that slide.” She explained the rest (what the Witch had told her) in full distaste. Talking about her made her angry and frustrated all over again, and she really wanted to throw a fit every time her voice caught on taboo words, but she had to work with what she had.

“...and she got snooty,” Charlie finished.

“And then what happened?”

She was tempted to ask, “What do you think happened?” right on the brink of it too, but instead she said, “I lost my temper is what happened.”

She would never forget that look on the witch's face when she told her about herself—clearly a sore spot she had hit. Although she'd grudgingly admit, she did sort of set herself up for the curse, but never let it be said that she took any guff and swam with it.

Maybe she should've that time.

“She was miffed, and then—” Charlie let an absent gesture to herself finish the rest for her.

Raphahowl blinked rapidly. “You insulted her?”

“And she didn't kill you?” Jerome pitched in.

Looking at Raphahowl she said, “Well, someone needed to knock her stuffy ego down several pegs, though I doubt I did much!” and then to Jerome, “I'm still standing here, aren't I?”

A heartbeat. Then Raphahowl threw his head back and laughed. At the look she shot him though, he sobered up and waved his hands. “No, no, sorry, I wasn't making fun of you. It's just—it explains the ‘why’. The Witch of the Wastes cares too much about her appearance, see. Any sort of criticism will drive her up the wall.”

Jerome took another bite of egg. “Master Raphahowl would know— he kind of jilted her sometime back.”

Charlie threw the wizard a quizzical look and he pinked instantly. He looked down, slid his glasses off, and used the hem of his shirt to wipe at the lenses tediously. “Not true. You can't jilt someone you never courted…”

“Yeah, but—”

“Anyhow! Plates? I'll take those.” He stood up fast as light, and she could've sworn he hit his leg under the table, but he played it off with his most charming smile. He didn't look at her as he took her plate, but she noticed he was still flushed in the face—almost a cherry.

She narrowed her eyes. If what Jerome had said really wasn't true, his master was doing a horrid job at proving it.

Nevermind how all of Colmar thought he and the witch had a thing.

Nevermind that the witch was still after his heart like a bitter spurn. A persistent, bitter spurn who went around trying to eviscerate the girls she thought were threats.

This was Jerome anyway, he probably knew a lot, if not everything, about Raphahowl. They were clearly close.

“Can you help her?” Jerome asked. Then all eyes, not excluding Fonducifer's dotty little ones, clicked on the wizard.

Raphahowl looked her over once more. Then he sighed.

“Not right away, I can't. But I’ll do my best to fix it. After all, I can’t have the Witch of the Waste going around cursing everyone I talk to.”

Well.

It wasn't exactly a no. It wasn't a yes either, but it wasn't like she had any alternatives—not that she knew of, anyway—so she really didn't have much of a choice.

She could wait.

“That's fine, I guess.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Fonducifer barked but Raphahowl stopped Jerome from jumping up in favor of answering the door himself. When he did, he put a hand on his hip, the other one on the door's handle.

“Hi there, Emilie. Comment ça va, today?”

A shy voice answered back, “Bonjour, mister Raphahowl, I'm fine! Et tu? Papa sent me here—”

“—to pick up the tincture he ordered? I'll have it right out for you in a jiff.”

So gingerly the girl, Emilie, stepped inside while Raphahowl whisked upstairs to retrieve her father's order.

“Hi, Emilie!” Chirped Jerome and the little girl smiled and waved at him.

“It's just regular stuff,” he absentmindedly explained to Charlie upon seeing her awkwardly standing by, not knowing what was going on or what to do with herself. “We make all kinds of spells and charms and stuff and sell them to all kinds of people who ask. They request them, we make it for them—that sort of thing. Emilie's dad's just one of those people.”

“Right…” Well that made sense. She had no idea Raphahowl was up to something like that, something so… well, normal.

When Emilie reached the top of the stairs, she immediately raced over to the hearth with a loud, excited, “Hi, Fonducifer!” and the flamehund yipped happily back at her. Raphahowl appeared again from upstairs with a brown paper bag in his hand.

“So what is it today, master Raphahowl?” Jerome chirped casually as he cleared himself a space on the table. He took a piece of cheese and bit a huge chunk out of it. Gross.

How does one just eat a block of cheese as is?

“At least put it in a sandwich or something...” Charlie muttered to herself.

“Dwimmer root again,” Raphahowl answered, also taking a seat at the table to scribble something down on a small piece of paper. “The usual.”

“Right…” Jerome trailed, seeming to stare into space, before his eyes took on a child-like flare and he paused in his eating. “Wait, what does dwimmer root do again?”

The wizard stamped the slip on the paper bag and folded the top. “Aside from putting people in happier moods, it's got other purposes. Insomnia, stomach aches, colds, easier time with bowel mov—erm," he coughed into his fist in a flimsy attempt to clear his throat. "I'll explain it all to you a little later.”

"Oh! Better moods, huh? Well that's—"

A shrill, ear-piercing scream cut him off.

As one, Charlie Raphahowl and Jerome turn to the hearth.

Fonducifer was whining and had his ears flat against his head. And the girl, Emilie, had thrown her finger in her mouth, her eyes tearing up horribly. Raphahowl walked easily over to her, unconcerned as a stream. How can he be so blasé all the time? Charlie couldn't help but think. Maybe it was just a burn today, but those other times—in the backstreets with those creatures, and even when he first saw her in his home—he hardly batted an eye.

Raphahowl kneeled and said something to Emilie that Charlie couldn't make out, but she watched him twirl his finger around hers— creating magic sparkles or whatever that momentarily danced around her finger —and healed the sting. The girl’s mouth hung as she inspected her finger. Only when he spoke up, did she hear Raphahowl say clearly:

“Wanna see a trick?”

Feverishly Emilie nodded, and the wizard made his way over to the table and grabbed the remaining eggs from the basket.

By Charlie's side, Jerome squeaked. “He’s ‘gunna do it!”

The two eggs in his palm warbled around a little before out ‘popped’ black pin prick legs and arms. Just as the little legs popped out, Charlie's eyebrows popped up.

She couldn't be certain how it got to this point but soon enough, Fonducifer was aarfing, spinning, tapping; dancing in his very own way, and Jerome was cheerily clapping along. Where Emilie was seconds from bawling her eyes out, she was now laughing and bubbling the moment they’d all started acting silly.

Not her, of course. Never her. While they were all dancing about, Charlie opted to sit at the sidelines, in a chair and watch them all do their thing. Jerome had gone up to her a couple of times to invite her into the high jinks and jolly; eventually he stopped altogether when she kept refusing him.

Charlie sighed to herself. Still… she couldn’t suppress a smile at the noisy, surprisingly not annoying, scene before her. They all looked so happy together. Raphahowl… he…

She shook her head.

He was still an imbecile, nothing was going to change that in her book. Not his willy antics, not his so-called charm, not his—she nearly groaned at the thought of how her heart would skip several beats when he looked at her. She didn't like how trapped she felt because of him. The moment he took this curse off her, she would be taking off—forget the time of day. She planned to go back to her perfectly mundane life and hopefully, hopefully she wouldn't have to see his mug again.

If she ever did, it would be too soon.

But because life hated her so much, an outstretched hand and a pair of oxfords stepped into her line of sight. Charlie looked up slowly and focused a miserable glare on the man in front of her.

She really didn't know how long she could keep this up.

“Mind if I steal you for a sec, Charlie?” the wizard asked.

Charlie momentarily broke her half-hearted glare on him to find Emilie, Fonducifer, and Jerome looking excitedly at her with goofy-looking, giddy grins. She shot them all a dirty look.

“I've never minded anything so much before in my life," she finally responded, remaining seated - her arms crossed over her chest, and eyebrows creased in disapproval.

“Mm,” he twisted his lip. “Different approach then. Did you know? Dancing helps to relieve stress?”

“The irony," Charlie rolled her eyes. “The only person stressing me out here is y—”

Before she could finish her sentence (that is to mention, too, the three dimwits also in the room), Raphahowl pulled her from her seat and with a defiant, “Hey!” the blood rushed to her face before she could think to control it.

The dance was different from what he, Jerome and the girl was doing earlier. It wasn't dorky with dumb twirls, snaps and steps—or “groovy” as the wizard would probably call it. It was slow, like ballroom, like a waltz. Charlie's gaze wandered to the ceiling, the floor, his collar—anywhere that his eyes and grin weren't. Any time she'd accidentally met his eye she’d shoot him a glare every time.

And he bit the inside of it cheek for it every time.

She would like to think that upon normal circumstances, she would've gone and stamped on his foot on numerous occasions. Really though, she couldn't be bothered. She signed up for things like this the moment she stepped in this place and hotly declared she was getting her curse broken. Slap, here was the consequences of her own actions.

She gave a secret huff.

“Annnd spin…” He took her hand and gently raised it. For the final time, she twirled and then the dance was over.

Then silence. This time she couldn't stop the blush that burned her cheeks red. She quickly averted her gaze to the floor, cursing her lack of response.

Rising from his bow, Raphahowl burst into laughter. “For someone who doesn't dance, you sure are good!”

“Shut up!” Charlie flushed, and moodily sank further. “I didn't ask to dance with you!”

The wizard only continued to laugh while she threw a melange of insults at him. Behind her, Jerome, Emilie, and Fonducifer gaped.

Chapter Text

Emilie went on her way, cheerily and a little sadly wishing them goodbye. Raphahowl had sent her away with the dwimmer root tincture but before she left, she heartfully promised that she’d be back so that they could dance again. Charlie wouldn't mind that; she would just be upstairs in a locked room the next time.

(In case a certain buffoon got any funny ideas.)

But she did mind the weird stares she was getting.

For some silly reason she didn’t know, Jerome was acting strange towards her after everything had gone down. "You really were cursed…" he would annoyingly hum inbetween mopping the floor—this among other murmurations that were all just some mumbo jumbo she got tired of trying to decode after he’d viciously deny saying anything when she’d asked:

“Jerome, if you're saying something to me,” about me. “Speak up. I can barely hear your mumbles!”

A bubbled had popped. “Mumbles? O-oh… I was just talking, er, mumbling about how I was going to find a buttontop! You wouldn't believe how rare they are! It's like—the off chance of fishing a donkey out of the sea!”

In no way did what he had said sounded like buttontop, but Jerome had gone into a rambling spree about the thing and she'd let him off.

Shiesty, little punk…

Same thing with that dratted Raphahowl, in fact. He spent most of the evening simply staring at her with a look on his face, like he knew something she didn't. She would even say he was scrutinizing her like she was some sort of spell in a book!

Needless to say, it aggravated her tenfold.

“You,” she had rounded on him. “What's your issue!”

And he had snapped his head in the other direction like she had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

At least Fonducifer had some decency.

“I suppose you don't have any answers either, do you?”

“Woeuf!”

Right.

After Jerome had cleaned the entire floor spotless, he slunked down—one arm over the top of the sofa and the other limp over the side. Fonducifer was now snoozing the rest of the afternoon away, and herself… well beside having nothing else to do, something else was nagging at her…

“What's your story anyway, Jerome?”

He looked up, both confused and looking somewhat out of it. Served him right for making a mess of the entire downstairs. “Huh?”

“Why are you here?” It sounded more condescending and accusatory than she liked, so she backpedaled. “Is the stupid wizard your uncle, or... brother, or something? Or maybe you're cursed, too?”

His face suddenly opened up. “Ohh! Nah. None of those things. It's just, I never really had anyone else but master Raphahowl and Fonducifer.”

Charlie's face dropped. Oh...

“When I first saw him, he was dancing and doing all sort’sa magic tricks. The crowd went bonkers! I was living on the streets at the time, so I always got to see his shows. But then I begged him and begged him to make me his apprentice, and he kept saying no at first, but eventually,” he laughed. “Eventually he gave in. I really, really, really want to be a powerful magician just like him when I'm older!” He coughed. “Anyway, sure, maybe him and Fonducifer are obnoxious at times, but that's why I like them! I get to be obnoxious just like they do! And it’s even funner when Emilie is over.”

He held his head high in childlike satisfaction before chirping, “So that's me in a bottle.”

Oh. Well that was cute. Sitting across from her, Jerome looked so happy and full of energy, like he had forgotten all about having to mop up the floor. Now that she thought about it, he never once looked despondent in this place. He didn't even mind gobbling down whatever stale food was on the table, or going a while without any. He was perfectly content—him and Fonducifer.

“What's yours?” Jerome spoke up, pulling her out of her brief reverie. “Your story?”

Charlie heaved a put upon sigh. “Nothing spectacular—at least, not until Raphahowl found me. Though 'spectacular' isn't the word I'd use for that... I worked at a boutique, my sister Marie works at a bakery and," she scrunched her nose, "ufh! I completely forgot about the girls.”

“What girls?”

“My stupid cousins. Now them I don't miss. Raphahowl this, Raphahowl that—they're just as bad as every other girl in Colmar who squeal about him. Maybe I'll introduce you to them someday so they can squeeze all the intel you have on Raphahowl out of you. They'd probably enjoy that.”

"What!" Jerome gave an affronted sniff. “I know I won't!”

“They'll probably chase you down and sit on you so you won't escape their pincers.”

“Not that they'll get the chance to! I'll use my magic and turn them into forks before then!”

Charlie laughed at that.

“Then one day,” she continued, “that w-”

Right. She couldn't say that word.

“-woman,” she restated, “came out of nowhere and turned me into of all things, a ten year old. Like you.”

This time Jerome laughed. “Then you chased master’s castle down, and when you finally got on, Fonducifer told you he'd break your curse!”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “You know the rest.”

They slipped into an easy silence then, nothing but the sound of Fonducifer crackling and popping embers in the hearth for several moments. After several tries of keeping his drooping eyelids up and opened, Jerome finally reached up to pull the blue throw that was draped over the sofa over himself.

“Well…” he yawned, and his words stretched. He curled the blanket around himself and stuffed his face into the cushions. “At least one good thing came out of all that. With the Witch, I mean.”

Charlie looked up. “What good could have possibly come out of that?”

“Er, well, you being here. I’m happy about that.”

Oh.

The sheer earnesty in his voice surprised her.

“Woeuf!”

Jerome didn't look up. “See? And Fonducifer is, too.”

“I'm not,” is what she would've grumbled under normal circumstances. If it was anything about Raphahowl, she utterly rebuked it. Every mention of the wizard’s name had almost always been followed by a insult, a scoff, a groan from her - it became a reflexive thing. But now she was in his castle needing his help, and this little tot of his was so...

Charlie mentally slapped herself. Her cousins would just love this.

Instead, she murmured, “Don't be so chummy.” Jerome probably hadn't heard her, with how he sleep and snoring now.

But being here… It wasn't as deathly horrible as she thought.

There, she said it.

*****

There were sounds of bustling around her. The clatter of heels and oxfords, and chattering. When she opened her eyes, the streets were a cacophony of honking carriages and shouting voices as some people were in a desperate rush to make it home—everyone else busy on their way to other things. She was standing in the middle of a… was this town square? Charlie's breath hitched when realization hit.

She was home.

“How in the world am I here?” She asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the people walking past her were casting befuddled looks her way, but she was too confused herself to care.

...The castle. And Raphahowl, and Jerome and Fonducifer! Where were they?

She turned to someone passing by, a woman. “Where's—? Pardon me,” she backpedaled. “Do you know where Raphahowl’s moving castle is?”

The woman stared at her for a heartbeat, before bursting into a hearty laugh. “My daughter used to love that book as well!”

Charlie's face dropped. “N-no, I meant-”

“But that was so long ago, I've never even thought about looking for that old story book. Probably in tatters by now, I'm afraid… I wouldn't be able to let you to borrow it.”

“No, not the book. The actual castle! Sometimes it goes through that—” she pointed “—mountain range over there, and it's loud and creaky, and I was just there!”

“O-oh…” the woman blinked. “Dear, Raphahowl’s moving castle is only a fairytale. Nothing more...”

Charlie couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“It's not though!” She barked. “It is real, I was just on it, and I saw Raphahowl more than once! Every girl and woman in this town are heads-over-heels about him!”

“Poor girl…” Someone in the crowd sighed.

“She must've really loved that book.”

“The book, or Raphahowl?”

“Doesn't he die in the book anyway? Some witch he ended up marrying eating his heart?”

Marrying?

She had to get out of there.

When Charlie opened the door to her house, her heart nearly jumped from her throat.

A woman's, the same witch that had cursed her, veined eyes bulged from their sockets, and out of her black, oozing mouth seeped, “YOU … ARE NOT… MARIE!”

And in the next second, she was shielding herself from a swarm of blurgling black blobs.

And that's when she heard it. A scream.

Marie's scream.

Amidst the rippling, rolling swarm of gurgling creatures was Marie backed against a wall, her face the epitome of unbridled horror.

Then ice cold terror rushed through Charlie's veins when she realized that the ground— this dark, indiscernible surface —was slipping away from her, giving way to a expense of blackness that would pinch at her skin and lap at her legs. She tried to scream, or climb, or swim—anything to get to the surface, but found herself only sinking further into its dark depths, and her breath no longer able to hold.

Charlie's eyes snapped open.  

It was dark outside.

The night was quiet, dark, maybe even a bit melancholy. The darkness had shrouded the sky and seeped into the household, filling into every space and crevice untouched by light. Only this time, it was not throttling. Charlie pushed herself up on one side with her elbow, the wood of the floor creaking a little.  

She stared out into the darkness for a moment, just to allow her eyes and ears to adjust. The castle was still, no longer making that creaking noise (it was stationary, that was why). She couldn't hear Raphahowl and the others, but she supposed the reason for that was because they were probably all asleep. Everything was where it should be, and so was she. She should be here, and as reassuring as that truth hadn't been at first, it sure was now. For a minute she was frozen, taking several moments to stare at her blanket.

The Witch of the Waste wasn’t here.

Charlie's face contorted. That good for nothing, raggedy old hag - how dare she? Everything was going fine for her, normal, until she had to waltz into her life. Yes, maybe she had made matters worse by insulting the woman, but what she said was very true.

Like Raphahowl would even consider courting her...

Something else bothered her though. It bothered her all this time, but up until now she’d swallowed it down and distracted herself with the goal of breaking her curse and only that. She would figure out the rest later, she'd told herself. But if the Witch of the Waste did find out that she wasn't her sister Marie… What could she do? Even if Raphahowl did revert back to nineteen again, that woman could toss her across the world with just the flick of her finger and that would be all she needed to do to put her out.

Charlie sighed.

Well. She supposed she needed Raphahowl’s help with more than just changing her back. She was going to be here a while. Fate truly was wicked.

Suddenly, her head snapped back up.

What was that?

…

Fonducifer?

That was definitely whimpering she was hearing. It had come in broken, faint yips and when she focused her ears to listen more closely, it became obvious that the noise was coming from downstairs.

She got up, no longer feeling like sleeping anymore, and walked out her room.

Her hand sliding down the wooden stair railing, Charlie ducked her head and, sure enough, there Fonducifer was, rolling about and squirming in his sleep. Briefly she considered just walking back upstairs and fetching Raphahowl or Jerome - what could she possibly do, after all? She wasn't a magical being, and she didn't have some sort of book to break and cast spells… and nevermind how he would probably prefer to be woken up by them rather than the ten year old girl who once nearly put him out with a pail of water.

But they were sleep and she didn't want to rouse them, not even Raphahowl who normally she would have gladly kicked awake. Charlie sighed.

Still…

It looked like Fonducifer was having a nightmare… just like she had. So she couldn't leave him there like that. The guilt would eat her away.

The hardest part was figuring out how.

I'll find a way, I guess, Charlie mentally concluded, and made her way over to the gigantic hearth.

“Grrr… aarf!” The cheesehund jerked, bits of flame popping off of him, and Charlie jumped back a little.

“Fonducifer...” she said with a hushed voice. The dog’s eyes squeezed harder in a wince, but he didn't respond. Charlie stifled the urge to shake him. “Fonducifer!” she tried again. Nothing. For a moment she just stood there with her hands hovering over him, completely blanking on what she was supposed to do.

“Hrnnn…”

"Fonducifer,” she hissed, “you're having a bad dream, you need to wake up!”

He did another violent roll, this time with a loud, “Wrnnn....!” and a shot of panic flared in her.

She really couldn't leave him there like that. But she didn't know what to do! She looked around for something, anything that she could use that wouldn't catch on - a fire poker. Raphahowl had to have a fire poker. Anyone with a fireplace had to have a fire poker.

And he did. Only, it was so high up in a place she could never reach with her ten-year-old legs. Charlie groaned.

“Great!”

Then, as her eyes swept over everything one last time to double check, something in her lit up when she saw the wood stack by the fireplace.

That could be of use. Sure it wasn't light like a fire poker would be, but she could get away with this.

At least it was something.

Charlie turned, absentmindedly resting her hand on the hearth while she reached for the littlest log to poke him awake with.

It was a moment too late that she realized her mistake.

With another distressed whine, Fonducifer leapt out and bit onto her hand. With a gasp, Charlie squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the burn, cursing the wizard's mutt.

Only the sting never came.

She opened her eyes, surprised to find her hand not up in flames.

What's more, Fonducifer was awake.

They stared at each other in silence for a couple of heartbeats. Then Fonducifer dropped her hand from his mouth, and Charlie turned her gaze to stare at it.

Unscathed… no sting... not a single blister. She’d had her hand in the mouth of a flaming dog, and not even a hint of inflammation.

“I can touch you," she started, slowly. “Without being set on fire.”

Fonducifer cocked his head. He seemed equally as perplexed as her. “Woeuf?”

Another long silence stretched out between them.

Did that mean she wasn't human anymore? ...No, that didn't make sense - of course she was a human; that nasty witch woman only turned her back into a little girl and that was it. But the girl from earlier, Emilie, she got burned and she was very much so human. She never saw Jerome touch Fonducifer, but then she wasn’t always around so maybe he knew something she didn't.

And Raphahowl, being a magician and all, was another story…

Maybe she was overthinking this.

…

No. Nobody could know.

Charlie turned to the flaming cheesehund. “You can't tell anyone this, do you understand?”

Not that he could anyway. He was a dog, and dogs couldn't speak English - they couldn't speak at all, really. But who knew... Maybe Raphahowl and Jerome could magically translate what he was saying. She wouldn't put that past them.

Still.

Charlie leaned forward. “Promise me you won't say anything?”

Fonducifer barked, nodding his head once. She watched him carefully for a moment.

“Okay.” She sighed. “Good.”

With hesitance, she leaned forward again and tapped his head, half making sure that really had happened. When she nervously confirmed that, yes, her hand wasn't on fire, she took her hand back and paused for another moment.

Why was it always something?

Just another thing to deal with she guessed...

“Well, since you’re okay now,” Charlie breathed, and turned to head back towards the stairs. “I’ll be going now. Don't forget about our promise—I'll really pour water on you and there will be no one to stop me if you break it.” 

"Hrnn... woeuf!"

Another pause.

She turned around again, one last time. “And no more bad dreams,” she added with a tiny smile.

Chapter Text

Waking up to loud noises seemed to become a thing around here. But where normally she would have thrown a fit, and thrown things, and deeply consider throwing people, each time didn't feel as bad as the last. One gets used to it, she supposed.

Still, it didn't mean she was any less annoyed.

When she walked downstairs, lo and behold, Jerome was slumped over in his chair and Raphahowl—though he was not dramatically draped over like his apprentice—was also looking a little perturbed himself. Even the mutt was slouched, quietly ‘hrnnning’ to himself in the hearth.

Charlie slapped her forehead, mentally cursing them all. Why was it always something?

“What the heck is wrong with you three imbeciles?” she demanded, exasperated already.

Jerome groaned. “Raphahowl and Fonducifer are hungry, but I'm staaarving… ”

As one, all three of them groaned. Fonducifer as a dog, she got, but even then…

She lifted an eyebrow. “Fonducifer, aren't logs the only thing you need?”

“Hrnnn…”

“Fonducifer’s a dog at heart,” Raphahowl answered for him.

She couldn’t believe she was losing her sleep over things like this. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were groaning like they did just to get her to wake up and make something for them. But little did they appear to know, she wasn’t their keeper!

Charlie crossed her arms and turned to Raphahowl. “Why don’t you just get up and make bacon and eggs, then?”

“We’re fresh out.” Slowly, lazily just about, he gestured to the empty basket where the mountain of eggs once were.

Right. Of course it was empty.

“Well, I wonder why that is!” She shot a glare at him, then at Jerome. “Do you waste all your food on magic spells?”

They answered her in more aggravating groans, and Charlie counted to ten. There was no way she was about to baby these half-wits. She turned her eyes to the dial by the door—it was set to blue; for Cassisese. Though she hardly strayed from her home’s general vicinity, she was certain there was a little seaside mart out there. Somewhere, anyway.

“There's a market nearby, I believe. Go out and buy something if you're so hungry.”

Raphahowl’s only reply was another famished moan from where he was all but sprawled over the couch. "Sorry, can't move... I might be dying… So hungry..." Then his eyes lit up, and too suddenly he sat up in his seat. “Could you—do you mind going out there for me?”

There was a comedian in the room.

Charlie scoffed. “Why in this world do you think I would ever do that for you?”

“The question is, why wouldn't you?”

“Right.” Charlie rolled her eyes, her tone sarcastic. “Because I'm madly in love with you. I forgot.”

“Madly, you said?” Raphahowl edged, batting his eyelashes at her in the most flirtatious way possible. She bristled.

“Now I'll do anything to get away from you. Come on, Jerome!”

“What? I can't stay, too?”

“No.” She then turned to Raphahowl and threw out her hand. “And whatever money you got, hand it over.”

“You're a lifesaver, Charlie. Really.”

"Kick rocks!”

They were only lucky she was feeling a little famished herself.

*****

The market was of course, busy. That much didn't surprise her. Jerome had said that the place was always crowded—save for when the tide was too high. All the same, the day was young. It sang noisily around them; the ‘click claddle’ and pitter-pattering of a thousand feet, the loud honks from the clutter of boats by the ocean, the friendly and commanding shouts of sailors and screeching seagulls, and then people (women, mostly) looking down at them, bringing gloved and ungloved fingers to their giggling mouths and tossing words like ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ their way.

Cute. Her and Jerome?

It took everything in Charlie not to gag.

She wasn't a cook. She wasn't even remotely interested in cooking, apart from when both she and Marie would help mother out in the kitchen; making things like cakes and breakfast and other things.

Enjoying themselves just as they always did.

…

But back to the task at hand, she still didn't cook.

She did know one simple recipe however.

“Potatoes and sausages?” Jerome hummed. “Never had that before, I don't think…”

“Then you’ve been missing out,” True, it was a cinch to cook, but that didn't take away how good it was. Her mother used to make it for her and her sister all the time… and for the dolts, too, whenever they were over. “Don't get your hopes high though. I already told you-”

“-Only a hundred times.”  

She shot the little idiot a look.

“D-don’t kill me!” Jerome shrank, backpedaling upon catching her death glare. “Anyway, I'm sure it’ll beat bacon and eggs, and starvation and bread scraps!”

And it would certainly add to the barren, cobwebby list of things Raphahowl knew how to cook because she was sure going to make him learn this one.

After a couple moments more of walking around, dodging countless people and drowning out the snickers and squeals aimed their way, Jerome spoke up again, pointing at someplace in the distance.

“Oh - there it is, Charlie! Master Raphahowl and I always get our meat from there!”

The place was small, but there were varying sized chunks of meat hanging about by meat hooks from the top, and smaller, packaged meats on display in the front. There was a tip jar on the wooden counter, along with another similar jar that read ‘We only feed our cows this’ (it had some sort of grain inside) and other things she didn't care to inspect. But if you looked deeper into the shop, you would see that there were even bigger slabs of meat in the far back; carcasses of butchered animals.

...As bad as that sounded, one would expect this from a butchery.

“Bonjour, mister Loïc!” Jerome chirped, running up to the counter despite being too short to see over it.

The tubby man, Loïc, swiveled around. There were meat stains on his white apron. “Why if it isn't the little tyke Jerome! How’re ya? ‘Been a minute since you ‘an Raphie came by!”

Raphie?

Another mental gag.

Jerome shrank back at his own nickname, muttering a disgusted, ‘Don't call me that!’ under his breath. She noted it down to use against him later.

“Say, how is the lad?” Loic went on.

“He's fine!” He chirped. “We came for meat!”

And at last, the man finally noticed her.

He blinked as if she hadn’t been standing there the entire time. “Oh. Never seen the little mademoiselle in your crew before. Is she your sister?”

Charlie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I can speak for myself, you know. And non, I'm not.”

“Ohh, so then a―?”

“Not that, either.”

“She’s my friend!” Jerome supplied. “Her name is Charlie.”

Loïc’s eyes flashed with understanding. “Oohhh, ohhh. Alright, I'll stop ‘fiddlin with you two then.” He laughed a jovial laugh. “So meat’s what you came for, right? Bacon again, then?”

Jerome shook his head. “Nuh-uh, not this time. We're kind of switching it up this time. Do you have any beef sausage links in there?”

Loïc raised a thick eyebrow at him a beat but said nothing, whipping around instead and murmuring something that sounded vaguely like, “Ya’ll must be ‘cookin ‘somethin new up then,” before disappearing in the back. While Jerome restlessly moved about— from rocking on his heels with an all-too-chipper smile, and playing ‘clik clak’ with his shoes, to twirling around in a colorful array of movement and showing her what he said were, “Raphahowl’s groovy moves!” —Charlie leaned back to watch the hustle and bustle of a hundred feet walking about just in front of them. Loïc returned with a plastic bag of two long links of smoked beef sausage neatly wrapped inside. “Here you go, kiddos! This one’s half off just ‘fer you two and Raph at home.”

Charlie blinked rapidly. “Really? Are you sure?” That’s mighty nice of him…

Loïc nodded. “Yep. So, here ya go—” and he slung the meat over the counter, counting to three before he dropped the bag into Jerome’s waiting arms. The scrap nearly fell back on his feet.

Charlie watched him steady himself. “I can hold it if you want.”

“No way!”

Loïc’s huffy laughter had them both looking up again. “‘Gotta pay a visit to y'all real soon!”

“With free meat?”

The butcher's eyebrows lifted. “In exchange for free cash? Oh, absolutely!”

Jerome sniffed. “Okay, fair enough, I guess. See you later!”

Luckily for them—that is, luckily for the lazy sod draped so dramatically over a chair at the castle, they had more than enough to pay for it. Waving to Loïc, they were off to the next stand for the next ingredient.

Which, both coincidentally and conveniently, was the next stand over.

When she and Jerome arrived, a man, skinny and sunken-faced this time, furrowed his brow at them. “Aren't you two a bit too young to know about stuff like buying food and money? Where're your parents?” He looked around.

Charlie rolled her eyes for the thousandth time that day. “Being young doesn't automatically acquaint with being ignorant.” She shrugged. “And why does that matter to you anyway? You’re being paid aren’t you?”

She didn't bite back the placid smile when the man’s eyes widened in surprise. Little did he know, he was talking to a nineteen-year-old and she knew her stuff.

“O-okay… sure…” The man murmured, doused, and he took the money in exchange for a sack of potatoes. Charlie nodded and then they were off for a second time. Jerome was quiet for a little too long, and when she looked up again, she found that his eyes were fastened on his shoes.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

Immediately she raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, digging deep for whatever it was she did that might've caused the unexpected gratitude.

Then it clicked.

“Whenever master Raphahowl needs me to go out and pick something up—” at how that might've sounded, Jerome backpedaled, “—only because he's usually busy with other things. You know, delivering spells and all that? But anyway, before I go out I usually have to use a disguise spell so the shopkeepers won't run me away for being a tot… they've done it before.”

“So that's it? You don't really like it, then? Doing disguises,” Charlie asked, and it sounded more like a statement than a question.

“Nah, I do,” grinned Jerome goofily. “Disguise spells are actually loads of fun! And good practice, too! I get to be tall or small, or gruff-looking or whatever. Ah, but,” he twisted his lip, “my voice is what never changes, so I always end up having to pitch it this way and that.”

“Well, you did a good impression of Raphahowl earlier.”

“Oh―well yeah, he's the only exception! I've only ever lived at the castle most of my life.”

With everything they needed, she and Jerome skirted through the heavy crowd on the way back to Raphahowl’s moving home, Jerome leading the way. Charlie had to admit, she was a little impressed how someone so short could effortlessly weave around people much taller than him and still know the way back. Though, she guessed it wasn't all that shocking, he had been living with Raphahowl for longer than she had.

Alas, she had to have known that, at some point, the peace would have to end. That in itself wasn't surprising.

So Charlie took a deep breath.

“Stick close,” she blew out. “I think we’re being followed.”

Immediately Jerome’s voice went up two octaves. “W-what?! Who? Wher-”

Charlie shushed him before he could get too loud and glanced over her shoulder. Just as she thought. Some person - a woman dressed in banana yellow garments and wearing an over-exuberant, forced smile - that had been skulking around them all this time was following them now.

She hadn't mentioned it right away, taking the time to make sure her eyes were seeing what they were.

And this woman, who had seemed odd in every fashion (she was also walking funny - clumsily. Charlie doubted it was because of the heels) was just a chunk of people down, staring their way.

That creepily big, fake smile all the while.

Charlie narrowed her eyes just as Jerome spoke up again.

“Who is it?” He said in a more hushed voice. He grew stiffer, looking surreptitiously about for the culprit. “Why would they be following us ..?”

“If I knew I'd say, but we've got all we came out here for, and I think we need to bo-”

Hold on.

Charlie blinked. And then at the next second, she felt her blood run cold.

It couldn't be...

It was.

A second, more lengthier glance at the ‘person’ in question was all it took to confirm it. For a single breath, the span of a second, she saw something else. The façade of human appearance twitch away, the unmistakable show of dark glarb not unlike the creatures she and Raphahowl had encountered from earlier.

Just like in the backstreets.

Did the people around not notice?

Charlie took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Then she looked over to Jerome― only to find that he wasn’t there when she swiveled around.

“Jerome?” She called, and then a little louder, “Jerome!”

The crowd was cluttering in, obscuring her view. Jumping wouldn't work and yelling did nothing. She felt like a pin in a haystack, a foal amongst stallions, one itty bitty voice trying to speak up against the fanfare of trumpets and drums. Darn her short toddler legs and tiny voice!

There was a cough.

Then a, “M-ma’am? A-are you all right?” that had Charlie looking up and over at the stalking woman now being talked to by a worried looking middle-aged man.

The woman didn't bulge, simply stared.

And then her arm burbled.

And then her ankle burbled.

And then―

The concerned man stumbled back with a startled yell as the ‘woman’ he was addressing burst into black liquid and molded into an unreasonably tall figure. He sprawled into a group of passerby in his haste to get away, sparking their attentions and others like dominos. Charlie watched in muted horror as other blurbs sprouted in the firsts’ wake, several entities that were once humans all but enveloping their clothing and transforming into tall, menacingly dark beasts.

All of which turned to her and began to advance.

*****

“Jerome!” Charlie called one last time, searching frantically for the ten-year-old, but she couldn't see anything through the mass of equally frantic people skittering about. She nearly tripped and hit the ground as some scared person came barreling into her and mentally cursed.

Where did he run off to?

Safety? Raphahowl’s castle perhaps?

The air whistled as a monster's sloshy limb came crashing down on the spot where she was, its arm erupting into varying splatters of black goop as it collided with the ground. Every strand of hair on Charlie's head stood on end as she leapt back just in the nick of time. She whirled around, sloppy, but quick on her feet.

Up ahead, another slung at her so hard its arm split into heavy beads of black that she could've sworn dripped a little onto her dress, and another dove in front. By some miracle, she managed to skirt around them both, nearly tripping on her feet again as she moved around the second. One jumped off of a stand just in front of her, spilling into a nasty pile of gunge before reforming and taking shape once again.

She was going to strangle Raphahowl for never showing up when she needed him most. After punching him in the face and breaking his nose in a satisfactory manner.

She was just giving this gleeful thought the mental consideration it deserved when, no more than twenty paces found her in a dead end, and she felt her heart lodge in her throat, whipping back just in time to see one of the beast peering in.

For a moment, raw panic overtook her.

But she reigned it back down. Panicking was what got you drowned, got you killed. It wouldn't help her here.

Pieces of concrete and wooden things were still scattered about, the aftermath of the monsters’ rampage, so it was easy for her to find something to use as a weapon. She spotted a wooden rod, nearly four feet in length.

It was almost the perfect size.

Charlie raised the stick as high as her ten-year-old girl arms could reach and swiped at the beasts’ flesh, the guck sickly splitting. Soundless and staring, it only stumbled back a little before the tear she made in its ‘skin’ healed. A silent curse and Charlie raised the stick again, intending to aim for its legs this time.

She didn’t, however, expect the next thing that came.

In one startling motion, the thing slurped up her weapon just as easily as a fish would have sucked in a smaller one. With a surprised yelp, Charlie ducked under and through the thing’s ‘legs’, heat pooling in her at so close it was to getting her. But it didn't - instead leaning down, twisting its body to watch her as she darted away.

The crowd split, screaming in alarm as the beasts tore down stands and left watermelons and rolling and debris soaring. But the slushy monsters danced around them, too focused on one, single target.

Her.

And now… now they were rising up from the sea.

Without warning, something wrapped around her ankles and yanked tight, and she hit the ground with a whump that knocked all the air out of her. For a split second she lay there, disorientated, wondering what had just happened, but then she felt herself being dragged backwards. She managed to roll over and, when she did, her breath quickened.

The thing had her by her ankle.

And it was strong.

“Ah! Get off!” Charlie bit out, kicking at the sickening sludge with her free foot. Despite the strong grip it seemed to have, the slosh was giving away like jello, plopping onto the ground in puke-worthy squelches. Despite it all, Charlie grinned at the sight. Ha. Take that.

But nothing could've prepared her for how it lifted her to her feet, so fast she was only registering it the second after it happened.

One person could not be this unlucky. The universe could not hate her that much.

But the universe pointed at her and laughed because in the next second, black goo closed around the potatoes in her hand, and then on her forearm, grip crushing and refusing to let up.

There was a horrible sucking noise and, blood freezing, she realized that it was pulling her into it.

Sloshy, cold flesh clinged to her as she scrabbled for a handhold, something to pull her out from that hellhole. But the more she struggled, the stronger the hold got.

To the point where, now, it was crushing her arm.

There was the sound of skidding feet, splashes, someone yelling—...was that? The new bruise on her arm flared, a testament to the monster’s strength. Her own strength beginning to waver,  Charlie squeezed her eyes shut. Held her breath. Then—

“Charlie!”

Her eyes snapped open.

Jerome scrambled back as a fling of goop came crashing his way, then he threw himself at her, tugging with all his might on her free arm while she tried to force her other out of the monster's vice grip. She didn't know how long the struggle lasted— five minutes? More? Less? —when, in a burst of a flash, the goop finally tore off, leaving the thing bending back into the ocean and her and Jerome crashing into the concrete.

She didn't waste any time, seizing Jerome by his wrist and taking off.

*****

Jerome slammed the door shut behind them, locked it, and then raced up the stairs to switch the dial. Fonducifer startled and Raphahowl jumped to his feet while Jerome, still too excited for his own good, nearly tripped over his shoes as he scrambled his way over to them.

“Jerome,” Raphahowl began, knocked-for-six. What’s—?”

“Danger!” The ten-year-old all but shrieked. He was hopping back and forth on his two feet, restless and out of breath. “Down at Cassisese! Huge waves! And the jello monsters— jumping deer tracks, they almost got Charlie!”

Raphahowl blinked rapidly, turning to stare at her. “Charlie?”

Charlie looked away. “Those same things from the backstreets in Colmar,” she said tersely. “We got out of it." But only just barely, her mind added.

For a moment, Raphahowl's entire demeanour changed. He looked stricken for just a heartbeat, covering it up with a frown and turning away the next moment. Kneeling in front of Fonducifer, he muttered something under his breath, something that nearly sounded like, “Close,” but she couldn't make out the rest.

She also couldn't feel her right arm. She knew it was still there, that it was just numb and unfeeling; Jerome would have hollered something about it if it wasn't. Still, it took everything in her not to look at it.

No doubt it was banged up.

She sat on the couch and stare at the hearth with a numb interest. While Jerome had gone to sleep, Raphahowl was restless, making up a voiceless fuss as he raced upstairs and downstairs and back. One minute he was flopped cross-legged onto the floor, scribbling marks and spells, and the next he was doodling on the wall with a piece of chalk.

He was walking down the stairs for about the tenth time this evening when suddenly he stopped. The stick of chalk dropped to the floor but he made no move to pick it up and she knew, she just knew…

She always had hated being pitied. Goodness, she wasn't a darn lost cause.

But slowly, painfully slow he finally reached for that piece of chalk, and though he didn't move from there, she didn't have to look to see that he was about to address her.

“Are you… I mean...” He shifted his weight.

“Am I okay?” she finished for him, not bothering to look away from the hearth.

"You're right," he mumbled, looking away shamefully. "That was a stupid question. Sorry."

The guilt radiating off of him was getting unbearable so she sighed and got up, barely nodding to him as she made her way over to the stairs past him. “Bon nuit.”

“Charlie—wait.” He reached out and almost caught her wrist, but he seemed to think better of it and retracted.

Both didn't move. Charlie held his gaze for several heartbeats before she took a step back, side-eyed the floor and then quietly exhaled. “Well?” She prompted when the silence stretched too long.

Another second, and his words were filled with an apologetic sincerity. “For the record, I'm sorry. If I had known—”

“How could you have known? No, you were too starved to leave the house. Right?”

Honestly, she didn't know how to feel about what happened. But that look on his face—the guilt she knew shouldn't have been there because, really, it wasn’t his fault—made her want to blame him.

The thought made her stomach churn as she whisked around without another word and went upstairs.

*****

Charlie sighed.

That marked the seventh time she'd accidentally pricked her finger. With a second exhale, she reached for another piece of tissue to wrap around her already tied digit - not even waiting for the blood to sop through the first few flimsy napkins.

Only, the tissue box had run dry.

Which was just great.

She muttered a curse under her breath as she leaned back and contemplated just getting up and taking a trip to the bathroom. It would only take a second, she was sure, a little ways down the hall, left-hand side, just past—

No. No, she didn't want to go out there.

Everyone was probably asleep, anyway. And the floorboards could get really creaky. The wrong step and it would probably wake the rabbits outside.

Or maybe a small town afar off.

Stars knew she should be in bed with them, but try as she might, sleep never came. Even when she closed her eyes long enough in hopes it would give her brain a clue, any and all sort of rest slipped right past her - water in-between one's fingers.

Mending helped take her mind off things, though; stitch by stitch watching how it all pulled together beautifully. If she was at it long enough, it usually knocked her out like a lightbulb. In fact, several times, she'd fallen asleep right on the dresser in the millinery.

She could hear her mother now:

“Oh, Charlie. You've gone and done it again...”

She quit doing it for a while, save a few mishaps.

But she figured one last time couldn't hurt, so she got up to fix the tear those nasty creatures from the docks had oh-so-kindly put in her yellow dress; dim, colorful lighting of a stained glass lampshade - one that clearly didn't match the otherwise banality of the rest of the room - being her only means of illumination.

Figures she couldn't focus at all though.

A prick or two, she was used to. But seven whole times in a row?

Stars, was she tired.

“It's no use,” murmured Charlie to herself, and she moved to put the needle and thread away. “I've spent most of this time just jabbing my finger than making any actual progress...”

The dress wasn't finished yet, but she was sure it could still fool a keen eye, maybe. She was just surprised it hadn't been worse, considering the turmoil, but if a split seam and a few grimy marks weren't a good enough indication to the proceeding havoc, the dreadful bruise ringing her arm sure had one heck of an answer.

There was a soft rap at the door and Charlie stared at it for a second, two. She had a feeling she knew who was behind it.

If he was expecting some sort of apology from her, she wasn't sure her pride would give it.

Still, only when she heard the sound of shoes beginning to walk away did she answer, “The door's unlocked.”

It opened slowly, like he was expecting something to be thrown at him. She would've been irritated, maybe even a little bruised by it if the idea didn't pour more guilt into her chest.

Charlie stared at her hands as they settled in her lap. She really had a lot going for her, didn't she?

“Sorry,” came Raphahowl's voice and her eyes snapped back up to find that he was now standing in the doorway. “I didn't know you were up- er, I thought you might've been asleep...”

She shrugged, gestured wordlessly to the things on the drawer. She wasn’t so sure why she was feeling too shy to use her words now.

Another short silence passed before Raphahowl opened his mouth to say something else, but then he shut it to survey the room. His eyes drew over the dress she had been mending on the drawer, then to the needle and spool of thread, before finally falling to settle on her. Something in her jolted when his lips pulled into a smile.

"You really are full of surprises, Charlie."

At that, Charlie quirked an eyebrow. "That's a random thought."

He ran his hand through his hair. “When I heard you describe the package of the dress you were delivering for your sister,” he looked up, eyes earnest. “I didn't think you were the seamstress behind it.”

And just like that, there was the span of a single second when she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Slowly she stood up. “I— wait, so you—?”

“Know who you are?” Raphahowl’s smile broadened. “To be honest, Charlotte, you don't look much different.”

She was honestly too baffled to get on him for saying her full name.

“How long have you known?” she blinked.

“When I first saw you here, I thought you looked uncannily like that alleyway girl.” He paused. “Honestly, I thought you were her daughter.”

Daughter? Fat chance of that.

“But then I saw your curse,” he went on. “Not to mention Jerome called you ‘Charlie’.”

She could've asked how he knew her name in the first place, but she decided against it.

“Before we get too far into that, though… your arm. Can, may-” he cleared his throat, “-I see?”

That wheeled her back down. Defensive, Charlie clutched her bruised arm closer to herself, mentally kicking herself for wincing at the sting that came with the pressure.

Of course, it didn't go unnoticed.

“For what? It's fine.”

Raphahowl gave her a smile she was quite sure he used when he thought she was being particularly stubborn. She glared hard at him.

“...so it hurts a little.”

Whoosh, there went a little of her dignity out the window.

One day she was going to gut him for this.

“It's just a spell. It'll make your arm feel better, get rid of all those nasty bruises, too.”

Charlie stared at her arm, and then back at him.

“If,” he continued, clearing his throat, “that's what you want. I'm not forcing anybody.”

Well. She couldn’t say she wasn’t in a quandary about this. This was Raphahowl and her pride and pertinacity were popping off like firecrackers, screaming at her “no!”. On the other hand, the bruise wasn’t pretty— an ugly, swirling purple thing —nothing a sleeve couldn’t cover up, sure, but it did also hurt with just the gentlest of pressure...

She didn’t bite back the half-hearted glower when she looked at Raphahowl again.

“...Fine, then.”

She seated herself again and set her arm on the drawer, going rigid while she waited for the sting to come. She'd live, but she'd be darned if she was going to let it show that this thing hurt her more than she was letting on. Raphahowl didn’t even touch her though, just hovered his hand over it and she watched in muted surprise as softly glowing shapes began to form on her arm.

His brown eyes flashed in the dim light as he released her arm with a gentle pat. The bruising was gone and with it, the pain.

“Sorry,” he murmured, and when Charlie tore her eyes away from her arm to throw a quizzical look at him, he blinked. “For what happened at the harbor? Jerome told me everything - or most of it, anyway. I don't know your side.” He paused. “I won't ask.”

“I don't know if you know this,” he continued, “but the Witch of the Waste has been after me for a looong, long time.”

Of course she knew. It was all everyone gabbled about in Colmar. Who hasn't? she mentally asked, but she stopped herself from saying the sentiment out loud.

“For your heart,” she said, and the words came out sounding absent-minded.

Raphahowl stared at her with a blank look. Feeling inexplicably self-conscious, Charlie's eyes skittered away and she mumbled on, “That's what everyone says in my town, anyway.”

“...They're right. She won't get off my back about it. She's been trying to track me ever since I turned her down.”

“Turned her down,” she repeated. “So that's it? Earlier down stairs, Jerome said something about you jilting her.”

He blushed and looked away. “Before she looked… was what she is today, she was a very self-deprecating person, always comparing herself to other girls and not realizing she was beautiful herself. I thought being nice and helping her realize that was the right thing to do. But I never thought she would rack up a, um…” he coughed.

“Crush?” she ventured, and he shot her a grateful, if sheepish look.

“Yeah, that. On me. Until the last moment.” Another awkward cough into a fisted hand. “As you probably guessed,” he went on, finally trying a smile, though he clearly wasn't happy, “she didn't take that too well. She's been stalking me ever since.”

Ah.

So that was it. So that was the reason for the Witch of the Wastes’ absurdity. She had been spurned by someone she thought was infatuated with her and… changed into some twisted, haughty harridan when he essentially told her he didn't feel the same way. She supposed she felt a little sorry for the person the Witch of the Wastes was— never a good feeling, being rejected.

Not that she could fully empathise, relationships and the like she had avoided like the plague.

But, hell.

Here she was beginning to feel sorry for this dastard wizard too, who, she was certain felt much worse about the situation. Probably why he had been so dodgy when Jerome had put the witch and ‘jilted’ in the same sentence earlier. Even now, looking at him now, it was dreadfully obvious he didn't want to bring this up.

“I've already tried to break it," he said, regrettably. Charlie blinked, a “huh?” on the tip of her tongue when it hit her. “Multiple times. In fact, the moment I saw you downstairs I attempted to break your curse then.”

“...But what?” she heard herself near whisper, but she could've said squat for the way the Raphahowl seemed to sink at the question.

“It's a simple spell to break, but why I can't is…” He trailed off, and his brow creased. “...something must be blocking me somehow.”

It stung, but somehow it didn't hurt as much - as if in the depths of her heart she already knew he was unable to.

“I did a little reading to try and find something on how to help you, but nothing…” he sighed. “Worked. And then I couldn't put it off anymore. I didn't want you waiting around for something I couldn't do for you here and now.” He blinked. “...This isn't helping you, is it?”

Charlie could have scoffed. Would've at that innocent sound in his voice. If the news was different and lighter, she was sure she would even flick him in his forehead for it.

But sitting across from her now, he looked awfully like a confused puppy. Needless to say, she wasn't a puppy kicker.

“Sorry,” he amended. “I didn't mean for it to sound like an excuse.”

She just thought that he was being kindly, dreadfully honest.

Still… Something inside of her twisted, and she had to gather her courage by looking down before she could meet his gaze again. “I didn't even think of it as an excuse, so you're fine,” she answered. Then she stared at her hands, not saying anything for several moments.

She wasn't sure how long the moment stretched before Raphahowl seemed to find his voice again. "Charlie, lis—" he began, at the exact same time that she started, "I'll get out of your hair then."

Then he blinked.

Before he could protest - at least, that was what it looked like he was going to do - Charlie cut him off, willing her voice not to crack. “I’m not much use here anyway, all three of you get on my nerves, and I'm sure I get on yours, and - believe it or not, I did try to dump water on Fonducifer.”

“Jerome told me about that, but don't–”

Snitch.

“–don't misunderstand me, I don't want you to go."

For whatever dumb reason, the way he said it made her feel sad. She shook it off, tried to at least.

If he was going to sound like that, she didn't think she could bear his apologetic face—or any of his faces, really.

Ha. To think, someone so big and grand feeling sad for her, some troubled modiste?

Now she really shook it off.

Where would she go, was the question.

Charlie bit her lip. She didn't know. She supposed, if worse came to worse, she'd just go home, explain everything to her mother and Marie, and then grow back into nineteen all over again. At least she wasn't any less keen.

Raphahowl’s gaze softened as though he’d read her thoughts. “There's a dear old witch named Madame Paula and she lives in Rennes. She was my tutor - so anything I don't know about spells, she will. She should be able to understand your curse more. I can take you right there.”

“No, thanks,” she answered and it seemed to catch him off guard.

“No? But I thought—”

“I do,” she cut him off, and she did, she really did want her curse off her—stars, there was nothing else she wanted more right now, but she suddenly had an epiphany and she was going to act on it before she did anything else.

“There's something I need…”

*****

She should have known tip toeing around wouldn't work. The cheesehund bopped his head up the second she was half-way down the stairs.

Crap.

Darn this creaky house!

“Woeuf?” Came Fonducifer’s befuddled bark as he sat up and cocked his head at her. Charlie raised an index finger to her mouth to shush the mutt and made her way over to the hearth.

She blew out a breath. “I know I don't really have to say anything. If your dot eyes aren't telling you, your nose probably is, in some weird way.” A pause. “But I'll say it anyway: I'm leaving.”

At once (and as expected), Fonducifer leapt up with a distressed ‘hrnnn..!’ But Charlie shushed him again before he could get too loud.

“Don't give me that! And shush. I already had to deal with your owner’s puppy dog eyes enough today, so quit it.”

“Hrnnn…”

She felt something inside of her deflate. Her eyes softened. “Be good, I guess.” She said, slowly, cautiously reaching up to pat his head. “I hope you get your curse broken. Maybe when I break mine, I'll come back and break yours, too.”

Big emphasis on the ‘maybe’.

But before she was able to take any real step away, the stairs creaked.

“Charlie?” Jerome again. His voice was questioning in a jarring, childish way that reminded her - he was only ten years old. As if saying goodbye to Raphahowl wasn't hard enough… She thought he was asleep!

“Hi, Jerome.” She began lamely. She already had her things packed - nothing from the fridge, though, they definitely needed that for themselves—which was hardly much, and didn't look so great for the long haul she was about to embark on. All the same…  “I.. have to go now, so...”

The boy furrowed his brow, looking as though he was trying to dissect her words. “You have to…” Then his head shot up. “But..!”

Charlie flinched. The ache in her heart came back with a vengeance, pressing down onto her lungs like a weight.

“Did Raphahowl say something? I promise he didn't mean it!”

She wished.

But she shook her head. “Non, he didn't say anything—well, he did —but,” she shook her head a second time, feeling inexplicably overwhelmed. “The point is, I can't stay, Jerome. I only came so that I could get my curse broken, and Raphahowl can't do that. I want—I have to be able to go back home.”

He visibly deflated. “He couldn't break it..? But that's…” he trailed, turning his gaze to the floor. “...that can’t be right.”

“Yeah, well…”

She heard Fonducifer whine a little from the hearth.

Charlie shifted her weight. Then pivoted her foot to leave. “He said something about something blocking him or something. I'll—” she sucked in a breath “—probably be back. So don't start, you know, crying or anything…”

Probably not, though.

Jerome’s eyes were still fixated on the floor. Fondue's dot eyes were still on her, but his tail was down, and so were his ears. She had to get out of here. Any longer, and she'd end up resolving to stay.

And then she’d never get her curse broken.

So without another word, Charlie swiveled around—she could've sworn she heard Jerome softly breathe out a sullen, ‘okay...’ before she finally stepped out of the castle and into the foggy air of outside.

The castle didn't move from where it was perched. It stood there, as if asking her from those frog-like lips of its, ‘Are you sure? Really sure? Absolutely positively super duper sure?’ But the answer was crystal the moment she stepped outside.  And outside was, well... unfortunate. The light ‘pitter patter’ of rain turned into wet thuds as the icy water raced to meet the ground. The castle was completely dripping with rainwater now, and the ground was, again, soaked.

Just like it was when she raced to get on the castle in the first place. Except without the thunder.

Charlie sucked in a deep breath as if preparing for a scream that wouldn't come. But what happened in the next few seconds came too quickly for her to process. The ground beneath her feet erupted and before she could jump back, or run, or even blink she was engulfed in pitch blackness.

Chapter Text

It was a normal day.

The sky was a beautiful forget-me-not blue, beach-goers were milling about on the sand and taking in some sun. People everywhere were probably having a glorious day.

Hers, on the other hand, couldn’t be worse.

(Not that she really expected anything different.)

From being “rescued” by her childhood abhorrence, chased down by diabolical creatures the next blink later, turned ten by a wrinkly old hag who believed the makeup she had all but caked onto her face was winning her gold medals (it wasn't), forced to flee her home in search of her childhood abhorrence, then chased down a second time by those same diabolical creatures earlier, to then being let down when she found out her travelling in the first place was for nothing.

So at the end of the day, when Charlie awoke from unconsciousness to find herself sitting in the belly of, of course, a diabolical creature, she really wasn’t surprised.

From the inside of the varmint, the view wasn’t incredibly muddled over. Sure, it was a little hazy and dark - definitely gloomy from the inside of a gelatinous thing - but it was somewhat opaque. Although not enough to clearly make out where exactly these things were taking her.

They took her by surprise, though. Not literally; granted, them popping up outside the castle was surprising and she had little time to react, darn them - but she'd expected something… different.

Something more along the, oh, she didn't know... death lines?

(Somewhere along the ride, the thought occurred to her that they were probably off to throw her into a ditch and to her doom. Best not to etch that out of the list of opportunities quite yet, was the next thought over.)

Yet here she was, captured in the shockingly spacey guts of a monster that was actually calm despite how viscously unrelenting they had been at trying to ‘nap her earlier.

Liberation, Charlie eventually found after several fruitless attempts to free herself, was futile, shouting at the top of her lungs was, too. Hope, she tried, didn't work. Counting to ten? Sure. She always did that - her mother told her to whenever she was feeling rather testy with her cousins - but it didn't come as a surprise that that didn't better her sorry situation.

Did better her mood, though.

Which immediately soured when her capturer, already wibbly on its toes, tripped over something and sent her crashing face first into its side.

Thankfully, there was nothing to sputter over.

“You could at least walk straight!”

She felt like a chastised schoolgirl sent to her room - except, this wasn’t a room at all.

With a sigh, Charlie shifted into a more comfortable position and stared out through the jacket covering everything but the creature’s front. She took one glance at the second henchman up ahead at the right, also concealed in military duds, and couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Well.

At least she wasn’t drowning.

A few more paces and muffled sound soon picked up in her ears. From what she could see—and again, it wasn't much—it looked to be some sort of town they had taken her. It wasn't her own, she realized, but it was similar to it as far as bustling was concerned. What differed, however, was everything else. From the buildings - more colorful and rich - and inhabitants who looked to be more finely dressed, to the ground, fancier with pale brick and not a single pot hole.

One could even say it shimmered.

Huh… They really kept up the place.

The skies whirred with the buzz of miniature planes shooting through. A woman was giggling wildly above as she cut through the air with her inamorato.

Gag worthy.

All the same, Charlie felt her confusion surge despite the small relief that came with the realization that they weren't throwing her off into a ditch after all. Where in the world had they taken her? What exactly did they come all this way for?

Obviously it was meaningless to ask her speech-incapable capturers (that or their silence was on purpose; she doubted it though), but the disclarity of it all was causing her frustration, always so close to the top these days, to sizzle and pop.

As they neared, it became more and more glaring that there were several soldiers stationed at varying points in the town - two at the wall the goo monsters had sloshed over to and even more leading up to stairs that was joined to an incredibly large building.

A castle, it looked like.

On second thought, a palace.

And…

Wait.

Was that where the monsters were taking her?

...Then could it be that whoever was in the gargantuan place the one who had been sending their goons after her all this time?

The soldiers didn't protest as they neared it - as though they were expecting their visit, deepening her aforementioned suspicion. They simply looked straight, backs rigid and facing forward.

Certainly not surprised to see a bunch of gunk swilling their way by.

Nope.

“Right this way,” A boy who, Charlie noted, had been stationed at the top swept out his hand and gestured kindly for the slosh creatures to follow him. He lead them through extravagant halls, and spacey, equally as extravagant, rooms. After almost endless walking, a wide expanse opened up behind a hall.

She didn't even have the chance to note that the room was gigantic before, at last, she was released.

Charlie let out an indecent squawk as she all but tumbled out and almost kissed the floor.

The world truly could not hate her this much.

That was when something beside her shifted, a whispering of fabric; she heard the soft clunk of heels on carpet and then,

“Well, well, well…”

The world hated her guts.

*****

“If it isn't the little dress shop girl.”

“You!” Her fist balled, Charlie made to lunge at the posh woman, but the tall globs of goop held her in her place. The woman's grin broadened.

Charlie growled. She just had the worst luck.

“How do you like your curse, little girl?” the Witch of the Wastes chortled on. “I'd say it's fitting.”

“Take it off," Charlie seethed.

“And as for you two,” she turned, completely disregarding her. Her eyes were fire as she looked to her henchmen. “You pathetic, worthless, useless good-for-nothings! I specifically demanded that you bring me Raphahowl’s heart, and this,” she pointed to Charlie, “this is what you find?”

She groaned a long, deep, and very unladylike groan. “Go back and find it, now. When you return to me, you had better have it.”

When her henchmen stood there and turned their heads to look at each other, the witch’s lips curved down horribly.

“Why, are you still standing there!”

At this, they animated - immediately straightening their backs and sluggishly sloshing their way out of the room.

“Gone for that long and still don't know how to do their job properly!” she grumbled irately.

A new voice spoke up.

“What do you go by, small one?”

At last Charlie looked up, jaw dropping just slightly as she finally took in the place. Amid other things - the indoor garden for example - the gargantuan room was adorned by a large crystal chandelier hanging from the center of octagonal space. A spiral staircase allowed access to the second level. The floor looked as though it had been recently polished. Clear, almost blue glass windows stood overwhelmingly tall on one side and long, teal velvet curtains trimmed with gold fringes and cords completed the decor of the room. To her right was a clear view of what looked to be a second sort of garden, this time on the outside - tall trees and elephant ears obscuring the view of anything further within. And there, near the enclosure, sat a woman with grey hair and a steely gaze to match.

Realization, it seemed, had Charlie's eyes widening.

“Wait. You're…”

The woman nodded. “I am called Elisabeth, royal sorcerer to the king." She bowed her head a little. "You've heard of me?”

Who hasn't? Charlie stopped herself from saying the sentiment out loud. She nodded instead.

“Hm. And your name?”

“Char-” Immediately, she slapped her hand over her mouth. Maladroit! She inwardly scolded herself. The witch of the wastes was right there!

Right next to her.

She couldn't let her stupid mouth blow her cover. Charlie backpedaled.

“I-I’m…er, my name is Ma-”

“This,” the witch snootily interrupted, “is that ‘Marie’ girl everyone in her pathetic little town blindly gawks about. I wasted my precious time chasing her down.”

“If your ‘precious time’ is so important to you,” Charlie challenged darkly, ”then why are you wasting it even more trying to get Raphahowl to like you? He already finds you obscene.”

“I won't argue with a petty boutique girl like yourself," she said swishly, fanning herself with her unnecessarily adorned fan. “When my beloved’s heart is in my hands, he'll have no other choice but to love me.”

Stephanie, Colette, Josette and Olive couldn't hold a candle to how thirsty this woman was.

“You cougar! Aren't you at least one thousand years old?”

“Mm, I think I'll force him to kill you, too. Yes...that would be lovely.”

“You’ll break your back trying!”

“Enough," Elisabeth's austere voice rang through the room. “If I wanted to hear bickering, I would've requested it. Witch of the Wastes,” she turned, “your presence is no longer needed. You may go.”

“Quoi?! But Elisabeth-”

“You may go, Régine.”

Charlie watched as the Witch of the Wastes huffed, and sauntered her way out through where her henchmen exited. She couldn't deny it, that shocked her. The witch put an entire hex on her, yet there she was skulking away like a chastised child, and she didn't even put up a fight. There was no doubt Madame Elisabeth was a powerful woman...

Even so, she grinned.

Ha. That's what you get. 

“You must have traveled a long way to get here, Marie.”

Charlie strained a smile and turned to face the duchess again. “Oh, um, yes. I guess so. But I had help..”

“Involuntarily so, I see. I apologize for your troubles. In case you are unaware, you are now in Kingsbury and stand in king's royal palace,” she explained. “What will you do now?”

“Uh…”

Well, at this point she wasn't sure anymore. The only real ‘sure’ idea she had was traveling to Raphahowl’s castle in hopes that he could do something to help her case. But when he told her he was unable to…well.

Initially, she had half a mind to chase the Witch of the Waste of space down and get her to lift her curse, one way or another. But the thought had corroded the moment she saw her here. And now the woman was the absolute last person she wanted to see. Not to mention she doubted the rancid witch would so easily change her back to normal.

“I don't know,” Charlie answered honestly.

A painfully understanding nod. Then the woman gestured to the old man standing at her side. He had a stern look etched onto his face, both arms folded neatly behind his back as he looked on. Charlie had been trying to avoid catching his eye up until now. “This is Alfred,” the sorceress went on. “My butler and personal bodyguard.”

The butler - Alfred - dipped into a polite bow, and Charlie had to stifle a thrown gasp next.

She felt so sorely out of place here.

“How do you do, young mademoiselle?” he asked.

...Should she curtsy?

“Fi - well. I could be better, I suppose. Thanks for asking.”

“A sentiment shared with many, I'm afraid.”

“The rain clouds will uncover eventually,” Elisabeth reassured. “They always do - as they must. Alfred, bring another chair for Marie, please.”

“Of course, your grace.”

Charlie opened her mouth to stop him out of courtliness but thought better of it. Now that she thought of it, sitting down didn’t sound so bad. Moments later, Alfred returned as asked with a second chair that was smaller and not as ornamented as the Elisabeth's, but she wasn't complaining.

“Thank you,” Charlie said to him quietly.

“Merci, Alfred,” Elisabeth said, her voice much louder. “You may go. I wish to speak to the girl alone.”

The man bowed. “As you wish, madame.”

He swiveled on his heel and marched across the enormous room. Charlie caught Elisabeth’s steely gaze watching him as he retreated, only to break when the butler finally disappeared behind a door.

Then the woman turned to her with an odd expression - something that looked to be between curiosity and hauteur. “What is your real name?”

"Pardon me?" Charlie stared at her.

“I know that 'Marie' is not your name. No magic necessary - I could tell in the way you hesitated earlier.”

Charlie bit her lip, hesitating again in spite of herself. She mentally kicked herself for it. Get a hold of yourself!

“You needn't worry, chère.” Elisabeth reassured her, smiling only a tiny bit. “No one is around except you and I. I’ve made sure to send everyone away. Even Alfred, as you saw.”

Right.

Charlie had no idea how she might’ve looked to her right now; an idiot maybe. A fish out of water, probably. But she couldn’t help but think back to mere minutes earlier, where the woman who had cursed her stood in the presence of the duchess, where she had probably been conversing with her even before that, she didn’t doubt.

She could answer her with another fake name…

But then, she had a feeling Elisabeth would see through the lie a second time.

It came out debilitated. “It's…Charlie.”

“Charlie," The woman repeated quietly. Then she nodded, as if in approval. “Then, Charlie,” she turned, “I'd like for you to stay.”

Her head snapped up. "Sorry, what?”

“You seem to have no other place to go,” Elisabeth replied simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And I don’t think you want to journey whence you came. The streets aren't the safest at night - even more dangerous for a vulnerable little girl like yourself.”

Well. She had her there.

(She didn't know about that ‘vulnerable’ part, though.)

She didn't give voice to it, and the woman continued. “I want you to stay here for the time being, if that is alright?”

Charlie looked away, as if someone was going to jump out and tell her this was just a prank, or a dream, or anything at all, but Elisabeth's gaze remained adamant, serious.

After a beat, Charlie gave in with a nod.

“Good.” Was all the woman said before she stood up. “Come with me, then." 

*****

“This is…a lot.”

“So it is.”

Gratin Dauphinois.

Quiche Lorraine.

Several cheese soufflés in ramekin bowls among other beautifully crafted dishes in gold-rimmed plates and silver platters, and Petit Gâteau for dessert.

Everything was set on a lengthy, ornate table in a large, ornate dining room. The windows on the right of it gave clear way to the shimmering stars of night, elaborate curtains drawn back to allow for full view of the sky. The wallchiere lights dotted along the walls of the room gave a restful ambiance to the space and the chandelier in the middle completed the decor of it all.

The chefs moved like lighting, streaking by the sides of the dining table, placing everything - from spoons and peculiar silverware holders to dishes and garnishes - in rapid motions. Charlie was surprised to see a handkerchief already covering her lap.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate this - that wasn't it at all. But if she were being honest with herself, she felt entirely overwhelmed. She wished she could gather her mother, Marie and the girls here to help eat all this food, but alas…

What did they do with the excess? No way Madame Elisabeth ate everything all by herself.

As the racing, and the toques, and the placement of food on the table slowed to an end, the sorceress waved the chefs away, satisfied.

“Merci beaucoup. Leave us.”

There was a small chorus of, “Yes, madame,” and, ‘Anything, your madame’ before all of the servants (Alfred, who had been standing at her side, not excluded) shuffled out of the room and left only she and the duchess. Charlie scooted one of the ramekin bowls to her, and took a bite of out of the cheese soufflé, and Elisabeth patted a napkin to her mouth before setting down her spoon and looking up.

“Is everything to your liking?”

Charlie nodded earnestly, making sure to swallow her food before she spoke. “I could use another ten of these soufflés, honestly.”

The woman laughed a little at that.

So Charlie allowed a small smile and looked down. If only her mother and Marie could be here...They'd probably love the food just as much as she did. Olive was a sucker for sweets so she would love the cake, and Josette was a spice-a-holic, so the kabobs were just her thing. The other two, Colette and Stephanie appreciated anything that hit their plates.

And mother, Emma, inhaled everything.

Charlie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at that.

She dearly missed her...

After she was almost finished with the soufflé, she realized that Elisabeth had been observing her without really touching her own plate.

...Was it because she unwittingly placed her knife on the table mat instead of in its respective holder?

Elisabeth shook her head a little, as though she'd read her thoughts. “I noticed instantly that you are cursed. It is the Witch of the Wastes’ doing, non?”

Charlie nearly dropped her fork. "I didn’t think it was so easy to tell…”

Her eyes creased a little in amusement. “I am a sorceress. These things are easy to discern for me.”

There was a brief silence, then Charlie’s expression gave way to one of embarrassment. That made sense. This was the Madame Elisabeth after all. She was a powerful sorceress - everyone knew that.

The woman nodded. “Many claim to be wizards and sorcerers, but those very same many cannot see things like curses tout suite. Only experts," she explained. “The only people who can - and consequently break those curses - are myself and my former apprentice… Raphahowl.”

Charlie blinked.

"Oh. Him. That guy." She pretended that she didn't know him personally. "You were his mentor?"

“Yes.” A single wistful nod. “But that's all in the past now. I am sure that he is off doing better things now, anyway.”

“I guess so…” She couldn't find any other words to fill the void, so she left it at that.

An uneasy silence filtered into the space, only broken by the now and then clinking sound of silverware touching against the bowls. Charlie tried not to let her thoughts travel to places she didn't want them to go—during which, Elisabeth rent the quiet.

“Speaking of which, dear, I summed from earlier that you seemed to be...familiar with Raphahowl. How much do you know about him?"

Charlie put on her best fake smile. She didn’t know if she liked where this was going.

"Not...too much,” she said tentatively. “I know the girls in my town are always gossiping about him...I don't see what the big deal is, really." And she didn't, still didn't. "There's this thing going around that he steals girls' hearts or whatever, and..." She paused, then she grimaced. "Some of the rumors are just plain ridiculous."

"You don't believe them?"

"No...should I?"

The sorceress hummed. "It's been too long since I've last seen him. Truthfully, I don't know what he's been doing as of late. Have you met him?"

She felt, growingly, like she was being interrogated. Was she searching for Raphahowl's heart, too?

"Well, people say he constantly changes his appearance," something dumb about charming his suits, too, "so maybe I have without realizing. I haven't paid much attention..."

“I see.”

Another silence began to seep through, but Charlie didn't allow for it to fester fully. She gripped her fork, something desperate pooling in her. “My curse. Could you break it?”

Elisabeth stared at her a beat before she answered truthfully. "Yes. I can break your spell. But unfortunately I am not meant to, so I won't."

Well.

That was blunt. Incredibly blunt.

Charlie opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

But Madame Elisabeth held up a hand, indicating that she wasn't yet finished. “I can, however, temporarily revert your form during your stay here.”

Wasting no second, she reached her fingers out and waved them in an artful manner, and Charlie felt a warmth slowly seep into her very core. She breathed a sigh of relief as if a heavy blight had been washed away and the world seemed to alter. When she looked down, her breath caught.

It worked.

She was nineteen again. Not feeble-voiced, not three feet tall anymore.

But it was only temporarily…

She peered up. “Who's meant to, then? Break it, I mean…”

Madame Elisabeth didn't answer right away, and a for a beat, Charlie didn't think she was going to answer at all. But then the woman eased into a smile. “Perhaps, it is you, Charlie.”

Her?

Up until now, she could barely walk!

But she bit the notion down and said nothing.

*****

Elisabeth led her through winding corridors and servants' passageways until her head spun and she didn't know which way was which.

"How do you get around in here? It's like a labyrinth," Charlie commented, then she clamped her hand over her mouth, mentally slapping herself for letting the words slip.

But the sorceress only laughed.

“It's a rather large place, so I understand. Walk through it enough, however, and you will soon learn your way.”

“...Right. Okay.” Well, at least she wasn't baffled. Charlie wiped a stray bit of sweat from her forehead.

“There are several maids and manservants, and of course, Alfred, so if ever you are lost, they are available to you always.”

No more than twenty paces lead she and the duchess to a door - one in which Alfred walked ahead to open for them - and Charlie gave a wry smile as she took in the room.

The bed was large - king-sized, she noticed - with beautifully embroidered blankets. The room was richly furnished and the gas lamps on the walls were turned low to give her a peaceful, ambient light.

Charlie took a tentative step inside to observe everything else fanciful about the space, only looking back when the Elisabeth cleared her throat from behind. She was still standing in the threshold of the door, a soft expression of staidness having now overtaken her features.

“There is something that I must tell you about Raphahowl." She wasted no time, no breath. "He is devoid of a heart.”

Charlie froze, giving pause to the breath she'd been about to take. “What?” What sense did that make? Without a heart… “Wouldn't he be dead?”

“In a way, he actually is. He can't feel sorrow, or anger, or truly love and feel deep emotions,” The woman explained, nodding grimly. "And despite that wooing demeanor, he's cowardly, and he acts like a child. More than that, he is a thief."

At this Charlie bit her tongue, remembering all too well the things he had stored in his room. Elisabeth's things.

But the other things. The other emotions...how can that be? Raphahowl seemed fine to her. He was happy dancing with Emilie, and seemed sad when she left.

And nevermind his stupid remarks.

"At any rate,” Elisabeth went on, “he doesn't have to look any further to find it now...though it wouldn't matter anyway. He can't take it back on his own."

“Why?”

“That's solely for him to find out," she answered, and there was a sternness to her voice when she said it, a sternness that seemed to seep into something regretful when she spoke again. “In the meantime, I must apologize to you, Charlotte.”

She didn't leave any room for Charlie to ask her what for a second time, as she immediately turned away and made her exit; the exact same time a servant pushed her way into the room, asking if she would like a bath.

Charlie stood in silence to gather herself. It seemed everything Madame Elisabeth said to her tonight was catching her off guard. Again, she was at a loss for words and at a loss as to how to take that last remark.

“I think I'll take that bath now," she said to the servant still waiting for a response. The servant nodded and went into a side door which led to a smaller, adjoining room with a bath and turned on the hot and cold water pipes.

After soaking in the scented bath water for a short while, Charlie resolved to forget about it for tonight. She flopped onto the bed, letting the monotony of the fan lull her to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Look, girls! He’s back again!”

Thump-thump-thump-thump!

“Raphahowl’s castle?”

“Olive, move over, I can’t see anything with that big head in the way!”

Another day, another squeal-fest.

The sunlight was streaming through Charlie's bedroom window, broken by the blinds, diluted by the curtains. A welcoming breeze was blowing from the outside in, squawking seagulls riding the wind above or scattering in the streets, waiting eagerly for someone to screw up and drop food. Mood soured, Charlie ducked under her curtains to spot the familiar, roach-like, fish-like contraption moving through the faraway hills. The idiot’s castle didn't come by often, but for the dolts pushing each other aside up front, it was a rare, beautiful, endangered bird. It only appeared on occasion, but the majesty of the moment was great enough to carry them through to the next time.

Never failed.

It was a shame she couldn’t shut her door and at least cut some of the girls’ squealing out.

Of course Josette had sumo kicked it down sometime back in one of her insane rages.

Charlie sighed, rolled up her patterns and put the flimsy paper in one of several narrow tubes sitting on her window sill. Even though the dolts were there—that was another thing that never failed, those four visiting her house—she didn't want to stay cooped up in her room all day. She needed to take the patterns to the shop anyway.

Scooting out of the top bunk, Charlie eased out of her doorless entryway (again, thanks to Josette) and into the living room.

Finally away from the windows, the girls were now sitting on the couch, still chiming away. Marie was there as well, smiling as she listened in on their Raphahowl talk. Honestly, Charlie wasn't surprised. Marie was just as head-over-heels for that idiot wizard as the rest of them were.

Well. Maybe ‘head-over-heels’ was putting it too heavily.

Marie had a crush.

The mushier people would say that it was love.

“I’d snap pictures of that guy from every angle!”

That was Colette—the photographer. She never put that camera down for anything - a cake? Click. A stray mouse on the street? Click. A neat goat? Click. A handsome man? Click, click, snap, click, click.

And another click for good measure.

Once, she had gone around snapping embarrassing pictures of Stephanie, Marie, Olive and Josette while they were asleep.

“To show Raphahowl how dorky you all look!” She had cackled wickedly.

Josette threw her expensive camera right into the bathtub.

“Some people speculate that Raphahowl is prideful and full of himself,” Stephanie chirped. “Enchanted by his own beauty above others. You’d probably make his day everyday snapping photos with that camera of yours, Colette.”

“Do you really think so? I mean- of course! Pictures are important! Without them, this world would be a dull, unexciting place.”

“Sure, but too bad you're not that smart. All you ever do is click away with that thing. What else can you bring to the table?”

Now Josette… Josette had a temper. She was like a tiger, fiercely protective over the entire family. And stubborn, too—nobody could tell her anything. Once, she flipped a man over a table for getting into Olive’s face.

She also knocked a guy clean out with a wine bottle.

One snooty girl who had walked in the bakery once insulted Marie, and when Marie eventually told the family, upset, Josette had personally invited herself over to the girl's doorstep the next day.

(Needless to say, the outcome wasn’t pretty.)

No one wanted to cross her. She could take an entire building down without breaking a sweat.

Olive giggled. “Why would that matter to you, though? You would much rather go looking for Michel, wouldn't you, Josette?”

“I'll grind that pretty boy into dust!”

Olive was more mellow - more like Marie than any of the other girls. She and the aforementioned girl played their violins for the bakery shop from time to time and the customers loved them. She often practiced the song she wrote specially for Raphahowl.

“I wonder what he would think about someone like me…”

Stephanie… any word Charlie could use to describe Stephanie would be ‘obsessed’.

For Raphahowl, of course.

Of course.

She was the one who gathered all the intel. She knew everything going on in the town, and Raphahowl facts? There was no other educated person than Stephanie. She traveled a lot - been to several towns and kingdoms - and her greatest desire was to track down Raphahowl’s castle and research it.

She'd probably lick the walls to gather information through her taste buds.

She'd probably lick Raphahowl.

Charlie cringed at the thought.

Josette threw her arms across her chest, grumbling something that had the words “stupid” and “Michel” in them. Olive shook her head at the girl, smiling. “Anyway, you want to know what I think? I think Raphahowl would choose Marie above any of us.”

Marie, whose cheeks were rapidly turning the same shade as a tomato, coughed into her hand. “D-don’t say that, Olive… I’m not really anything to write home about. All of us have an equal chance, I'm sure...”

“Oh, cut that out - you are everything to write home about!” Josette hotly insisted, Michel completely forgotten. She gave the golden-haired girl a pat over the back. “All the guys say so, and they’re completely in love with you. Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position? You’re so lucky!”

Marie blenched at the word ‘kill’. “I wouldn’t really consider something like that lucky, but, um... thanks… I suppose.”

Now was a good time to shut her ears from this ridiculous conversation. She didn’t mean to listen in. She usually tuned them out, particularly when Raphahowl’s name sprouted up, but Colette’s eyes clicked on her as soon as she turned to make her way over to the kitchen.

“Or what about Charlie? You know how some guys get about girls who play hard-to-get!” She cackled. “All that hatred she spews, I think I'd laugh over getting upset if she ends up at the end of the aisle, hand-in-hand, lips on li-”

"Keep dreaming!" Charlie snarled at her, causing all five girls to laugh. But before she could throw in a choice word or two, her mother’s voice intercepted her.

“Charlove, could you hand me that spoon by your hand there?”

She was standing in the kitchen under a powdery mess that Charlie figured was flour. Although her mother's cooking was unflawed, she wasn't the neatest. “Sure,” she answered, moving to hand her mother the wooden thing. “What are you making?”

“Cookies!” Came her excited response. “Raisin, macadamia, chocolate chip- and then raspberry, too! I bought different kinds this time around to try out.”

There was a pause. Eventually Charlie walked over to make a cup of tea. She flicked the kettle on. “Don't forget Colette’s favorite kind is peanut butter.”

Emma laughed. “What I haven't forgotten is that she's allergic to peanuts.”

So much for that plan.

Even so, Charlie grinned. This woman was impossible to fool. So instead of thinking up any other way to get at her photographer cousin, Charlie took a seat on the stool, watching her mother work. Stephanie, Colette, Josette, Olive and Marie were still sitting on the couch, although now they were chatting about the prince who had recently gone missing.

It had been all over the news...

“Pay them no mind, Charlie,” Her mother's voice came through. “Girls will be girls and some girls will gawk and tease. The whole town is enamored by this Raphahowl person... I think you're the only one who isn't? Aside moi, because he's waaay too young!” She launched into a fit of laughter, on cue with the titters coming from the living room. “But personally... I think it’s a little romantic, don’t you?”

Charlie lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Think what is?”

“Well… A mysterious who-knows-who all cooped up in his castle-thing, secretly venturing the lands, casting spells, capturing young hearts. Yet despite how pompous it all seems, I like to think he's the type to grow a vegetable garden and put on fun magical shows for children, and provide the poor with riches.” She tapped the spoon to her chin, casting a scrunched, thoughtful look to the air. In the background, the dolts were back on the topic of the same pesky wizard. “Maybe he was of a poor background himself…” her mother finished.

Charlie made a disgruntled noise as she sipped her tea. “Feh, I don't think so—not about him being poor, but the other thing,” she clarified, staring into her cup. “Frankly, I think he's every bit of pompous. What man wouldn't be if he had thousands of girls starry-eyed over the thought of him? The idiot’s probably sitting pretty in his so-called castle, enjoying the fact that he's got it good - far as romance is concerned.”

And love had never really been high on her list of priorities. She had other, more important matters to attend to, things she liked. She wasn't going to ‘oogle’ and chase down suitors like the other gawking, heads-in-the-clouds kind of girls, but she couldn't unsee the smug look all over Raphahowl’s face, either.

But that was the thing.

Well. One of them anyway.

Nobody knew exactly who the wizard was, what he even looked like. Maybe he wasn't human, but half fish-half man.

Arms and legs human enough, normal. But then a big fish head - red in color, maybe a snapper? - to draw out the sirens and torches and pitchforks.

Maybe he was a bantam, some unremarkable two-feet-tall guy with messed up hair, a unibrow as thick as thick could get, and…

…and nails as long as six feet.

Maybe he was a demon, or a frog, a child behind the curtain of show-stopping beauty and extravagance, or some big bird with huge, dark feathers as black as ink and chicken feet and a human face.

...

She was thinking too far into this. Raphahowl never held her attention for two seconds.

“‘Sitting pretty’, huh?” murmured Emma, shattering her reverie. She opened the oven, bending a little to slide the tray of uncooked cookies in before closing it shut and standing straight once more. When she spoke up again, there was definitely a teasing note in her voice. “Do you think Raphahowl's pretty?”

Charlie pinked. “Of course not!”

“Just teasing!” she chimed, walking over to give Charlie a head hug. “Still though, if it's any child of mine, they have a good eye for good-looking.”

Charlie didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or just more ribbing, so she huffed instead, not answering as her mother unpeeled herself from her noggin in favor of squeezing her daughter's hands.

“Remember not to judge though, Charlie. Get to know a person before you decide you hate their guts… who knows, you know? Maybe you'll end up mar-”

Charlie choked on the tea she had been drinking.

It took a few minutes of violent coughing before the burning in her chest faded away.

"Yuck. I get it!” she said in between the coughs. “No need to finish that statement!”

Emma simply giggled and walked out of the kitchen.

Scooting the rapidly-cooling cup of tea to the side – where it would probably be forgotten until later that day – Charlie swiveled around to glower at the counter. Try as she might, she couldn't fight the blush that crept over her face. Of course she wasn't going around judging anybody prematurely, but that wizard... Goodness. She just didn't see the allure in his story!

Well.

Scratch that.

Maybe she did a little.

Raphahowl. Even his name was enough to cut a girl’s breath short. The apparently handsome, yet strangely never seen in person, wizard had been rumoured to steal women's hearts to replace the emptiness of his own. Charlie had known girls to be terrified by the tittle-tattle, constantly reminding others to steer clear of the wizard. But then, those same girls were absolutely in love with the thought en même temps. Her cousins were already set in position to spring into his arms and be stolen away the moment they’d set eyes.

Eugh.

"That's the thing, nobody knows!” A lady in the shop had exclaimed to another woman after she'd asked about Raphahowl's appearance. “But I heard that he casts spells on himself to change his entire countenance!" The ladies had shared incredulous looks.

"Why would he want to do that?" She had asked, not meaning to invite herself into the conversation.

They’d blinked at her, and then one of the ladies kindly stepped forward.

"They say Raphahowl and the Witch of the waste have some long-established feud. Something about her wanting to take away his heart. He changes his appearance to hide from her, you know-” she leaned in closer, whispering, "-because he's immortal."

Charlie had fought hard not to roll her eyes in mock horror because it was, quite honestly, the dumbest thing she'd ever heard.

How him being immortal tied in with all the other things, she didn't know.

Sure sounded wack, though.

She supposed it wasn't one of the primary reasons she couldn't stand the wizard; above all, her cousins’ ceaseless slobbering about him was what triumphed. Followed by the ‘charm thing’. Further followed by how it was like the whole town was expecting her to fall to her knees and kiss his shoes.

Which was most certainly not happening.

…

A head of lavender returned, her mother peeking in from behind the wall.

“Maybeyou’llendupmarried!”

“Agh! Out with you already, mother!”

Chapter Text

He wasn't able to get a real word out when Madame Paula all but flew at him with speed the likes of which he had never seen before. Her shorter stature had him nearly on his knees as she threw her slinky arms around his neck and yanked him down into a bone-crushing hug.

He pinked. Ever the hugger she was.

“Raphie, dear boy! Have I gone blind and bonkers or is that your red head of hair on my doorstep?”

He resisted the urge to— jokingly! —suggest both.

“It's me, alright. Bonjour, Paula,” He laughed, tried to anyway, but it ended up coming out as a cough. He patted her back. “Er, about three seconds until asphyxiation, by the way...”

To his undying relief, Paula let him go and he heaved in a deep breath. He was happy to see her again—the hugs? Now he didn't miss those so much—but he was happy to see that she was still as pleasant as health. Looking at her now nothing changed about her, really. She looked the exact same way she did the last time he'd seen her. No additional crow's feet or anything. Paula lifted her hands and for a moment he thought he was going to have to dodge out of her, quite literally, pinching his cheeks off. She slapped him instead— a playful pat.

“An entire year!” she hooted. “Good heavens, boy, it sure took you awhile to drop by, didn't it?”

Ah, well. She had him there. Any excuse he could throw at her he knew she would only brush off or never believe.

Whoops.

(Mentally, he jotted down to visit her soon.)

“My bad,” responded Raphahowl with a sheepish laugh. He rubbed the spot. “But you know me! You say it yourself all the time, I'm fleety.” Upon hearing her go, “If that isn't the darned truth!” his smile grew. “It sure is good to see you again though. And can I say, you don't look a day over thirty?”

She swatted at him. “Oh, away with you and your flatteries! Come in, come in!”

Looking around, he couldn't help but snort as he remembered: Paula was one darn ornate woman. With her pagoda lampshades, and curule and bergère chairs; her ornate mirrors and tasseled rugs and perfectly polished elephant antiques stacked to the brim on every shelf. Her place was positively, almost dreadfully crowded. She had him impressed she was able to weave around it all so easily while he'd nearly tipped one of her beloved antique vases over.

This was her house, though.

“Oh and also! You must try some of this tea I've freshly made!” Momentarily, Paula hobbled out of the room. When she returned, she handed him a suspiciously glumpy cup of yellow not-quite-liquid. “It's a new brew. Have a sip, won't you?”

Raphahowl looked into the teacup and nearly had a heart attack. “Um…” he started tentatively. Were those dumplings she put in there? “Can I ask what it is? Er,” he coughed. “What's in it?”

“I never did like spoiling! Drink and find out, dearie. You have my word it won't kill you!” She added with another one of her hooting laughs.

He had never felt so reassured in his life.

Down the hatch, he guessed. It wasn't like Paula was going to take ‘no’ for an answer. So Raphahowl took a swig— slurp? The texture was like soup —and set the cup back down on the table.

And yikes was it bitter. So bitter. Probably the most bitter thing he'd ever put in his mouth—not to mention incredibly spicy. He used a surreptitious little spell to keep his face from turning as red as his hair and tried his darndest to smile.

The lumpy stuff was actually very soggy ginger.

“So? How is it, chèr?”

“Oh. Oh uh, it’s—” he tried to stifle the cough, but he ended up spluttering. “Might want to uhm, actually have sugar in that?”

“Still such a sweet-a-holic you are,” Paula tutted fondly. “Some things never ever change. There's orange blossom honey and agave in the cubbyhole.”

“Don't mind if I do!” He sang and flew up to grab the honey. After stirring in a considerable amount of it—he would buy her another jar a little later, promise—he sat himself down. Paula had already seated herself at her side of the bureau, her own cup of soup in her hands.

“So,” she started after taking a sip. “How's that little Jerome of yours?”

Raphahowl smiled. “He's as cheerful as the day is long. He's been working on a new spell or some other concoction recently, but he won't tell me what it is exactly. It's probably a surprise, I think.”

“How exciting! And Fonducifer?”

“Dandy. Still, erm… burning logs and eating eggshells.”

“Mm. Well, I won't chatter your ears off. You've been gone for so long, I doubt you're here now to drink tea and eat biscotti with this poor old woman. What is it you need?”

Poor.

Right. The mahogany desk could attest to that, he thought hilariously.

Even so, she was too good at guilt-tripping. It wasn't that he minded chatting with his dear old teacher—although she could drone on for years if not stopped; he'd catch up with her a little later, but for now... Raphahowl sat up straight.

“Have you had any visitors? The past-” he thought about it, then looked up again. “-five days?”

“Well, let's see… There was Mr. Rogers and his family, and then Howell; my niece also visited - yesterday, actually. Then Barbara came in for a remedy, and Stewart - sweet boy, if a little quiet - for salts. Then there was Alán and Celine and Bruno, and… oh shucks, I forget her name- Contessa? Jessica?”

Raphahowl blinked rapidly. “Wait, wait,” he stopped her, lifting his hands to parlay. Then, slowly, “So a little girl didn't come by?”

“Mr. Himmons stopped by with his darling little infant? But that was six days ago, not five. But if you mean someone a little older… nine-ish? Ten-ish?”

“About a baker's dozen.”

“Then nay.” She shook her head. “I haven't seen anyone like that.”

Well that was no good. Where on earth could Charlie have gone if not here to get answers for her curse? Raphahowl sat up a little straighter.

“Then could you help me with something?” He asked hopefully. “The girl I'm looking for, she’s got a curse on her. It's the Witch of the Wastes’ magic.”

“Régine...” Paula murmured gravely, and he tried not to wince at the mention of her name. Nobody called her by that anymore—most people couldn't tell she was Régine after all. The very first time he saw her like that, changed, vehemently different from the person (and no, not just looks) she was, he vowed to never see her again.

But it wasn't so much for her physical appearance than it was for something he never really wanted to get into.

He shook his head and tried to put it out of mind. Any longer and he might have to high-tail it out of there and lock himself away in the castle. “She was older when I first saw her—nineteen or eighteen, I think, I didn't ask. But then I saw her again and it looked like the Witch knocked off a good ten years.”

“Age spells are her specialty.” Paula nodded sagely, and even as she did she was smiling. Raphahowl learned not to be surprised by that anymore (particularly after her tome had fallen and bonked him over the head and she had smiled at that). She wasn't a frowner, not even in the worst kind of situations. “She has the most distasteful kind of magic I have ever seen… Have you tried the Ishvalak seal?”

He nodded. “Yep.” He shook his head. “Didn't work.”

“Tani’s incantation?”

“Same thing. Clove buds and all.”

“And I suppose Illbindsum's rune didn't work for you, either?”

“Spot on.” And he sighed. “That and everything else I could think of. Any spell I cast just bounces right off her and I can't make heads or tails of why. I was hoping you would know something I didn't.”

Madame Paula said nothing for a very long time. Then, at length, she put down her empty teacup and laced her fingers together, humming quietly. “Who is this girl, anyway? Where did you find her?”

He didn't know how that was going to help him, but he answered anyway.

“Her name is Charlie. Charlotte-” he corrected. “But I don't think she’s too big a fan of people calling her that, so I just stick with her nickname.”

Mostly, anyway.

He had his slip-ups.

“And I met her in a place called Colmar. She nearly put a knife in some guy's throat,” An amused snort escaped his nose. He didn't blame her. “But then I look around and bam, there she is standing in the castle, brand new ten-years-old again!” He blinked. “I'm just glad the spell didn't go any deeper and knock off ten years of her memories, too…”

“Regine’s magic is strong, but not that strong, dearie. She's hardly clever enough to be pull that off. I'm not so sure even I could perform such a dreadful add-on. How it would truly complicate things if she could.”

“You're telling me,” he said in a near whisper. “I noticed something about it, though…the curse I mean,” he tacked on to clarify. “And that isn't the only thing…”

So Raphahowl explained to her his suspicions, Madame Paula nodding along as he went on. He wasn't sure he'd hit the nail on the head, and honestly? He doubted he was even close, but seeing Charlie change back to her true age when they were dancing earlier… it had to mean something, right? He hadn't expected her curse to go and do that. By the end of his explanation, Paula hummed again.

“All the same, you best bring this girl to me so that I can have a closer look at it.”

“Tout suite. I just have to find out where she ran off to first.”

*****

Jerome was standing with his head poked out of the back doorway, shifty-eyed and everything; clearly something was afoot. Amused (and maybe a little concerned), Raphahowl was about to call out to him when the boy's eyes clicked on him and the door flew open as he launched himself from the castle, pale as a sheet.

“We've gotta get inside now! There's this weird thing out here and Fonducifer didn't like it, and it nearly scared me out of my wits—!”

Raphahowl squinted at him. “What weird—”

“—and it's probably gonna come back, hop back, it can't even walk!—”

“Could you slow it down a couple paces?” Raphahowl asked incredulously.

He didn't.

“And I've never seen anything like it before! Cripes! I thought it was going to get me, and…—and come on, master! We got to get inside before it comes baaack!”

Jerome was leaning now, one hand around the wizard's and the other arm outstretched and pointing to the back doorway of the castle. Before the boy could have an aneurysm, Raphahowl resigned and let him drag him back to the door with a sigh. Clearly he wasn't about to get anything out of his panicking apprentice just standing there.

Nice and inside, Jerome slammed the door shut behind them, startling Fonducifer with a yip, and raced up the stairs—only to stand statuesquely and gather his bearings; slowly registering that he wasn't outside anymore where the ‘thing’ could get him. It must've been one horrible creature with how spooked he looked.

A second, and then Jerome swiveled on his heel. “Did you find her?” he asked anxiously. “She wasn't there?”

Raphahowl shook his head no. “She wasn't there.”

“She wasn't there at all?”

“When I asked, Paula gave me an encyclopedia of everybody who wasn't her.” He explained and took off his glasses to wipe the fog from the lenses. “She didn't have the foggiest, and neither do I.”

For a moment, two, Jerome simply stared. Then his hands flew into his hair. “Cripes! Strawberry ice cream in a cornucopia! That's not good! You don't think she’s somewhere out there actually—?”

“Jerome,” Raphahowl butted in, both a little laughingly and a little exasperated. “Breathe a little before you asphyxiate yourself. You're popping off a mile a minute. Here, take a deep breath," he said and stepped back from him. Raising his arms up gently, he pulled in a long breath of air. "And relax. In and out...”

“In and out… In and out…” Jerome repeated the mantra, Fonducifer following suit behind him—head up at ‘in’, head down at ‘out’. Raphahowl smiled a little wanly. He wasn't sure what this ‘weird thing’ could’ve been, but he felt a tad guilty for leaving him and Fonducifer here to fend off against it themselves. But in the end, he knew he didn't have to worry about a thing. Jerome was nobody's punk. He could hold his own by himself, him and his unshakable will, only ever really falling apart when he's well and far out of harm's way.

He knew a good deal of spells, too; nose always stuck in a spellbook and boots ready by the door in case he needed to cut out and find ingredients.

(If the cuttyfish, crude sap, mellowfat peas and the several jars of wonderwater on the table were anything to go by. How in the world did he get his hands on a buttontop?)

“In and out…” Jerome finished and Raphahowl gave him a praiseful snap.

“Phew,” he blew out. “I think I'm all better now...—Oh!” He suddenly gasped. “I nearly forgot! When I went outside, I found this on the ground. I think Charlie might've dropped it.”

Jerome handed the sealed envelope to him and upon seeing it, Raphahowl frowned. He'd given the envelope to her the night before she left, but she omitted to tell him what—who—it was for. He could've opened it, took a peek of its contents and sealed it back cleanly, but he didn't want to invade on something that could've been personal. He had a feeling he knew who it was addressed to anyway. He gave the letter back to Jerome. “It's hers, alright. Good find. Hold onto that for now, will you?”

“Will do!” Jerome nodded firmly. “About Charlie, though... what're we gonna do now?”

Raphahowl grinned, ecstatic he asked. He brought a chair over—careful not to scratch up the new floorboards—and took a seat at the hearth where Fonducifer pushed his crackling head into his hand. “We,” he started grandly, “are going to use a seek spell hopefully. Did Charlie leave anything of hers?”

Jerome scrunched his nose. “What about this envelope?” he asked, holding the thing up.

Raphahowl shook his head. “No, not that. Maybe as a last resort. Got anything else?”

The young apprentice thought about it. “Uhm... yeah, I think so! Hold on—”

He disappeared up stairs, fiddling with something that caused him to let out a strangled, “Ow!” (Raphahowl and Fonducifer exchanged looks) and then there was the progressively louder thumping of his feet as he came flying back down the stairs again with a pair of ivory trousers tucked between his arm and a spool of mahogany thread in his hand.

“There's these?” He offered hopefully, handing them both over and then absently fixing his this-way-and-that muss of hair.

Raphahowl didn't care to inspect the former item, only noting that Charlie must have left them behind to dry. The spool on the other hand…

“Up high, Jerome!” he beamed, and his apprentice slapped his palm. “This is just the thing we need. Without further ado...”

At once the room went still, Jerome taking several steps back and Fonducifer watching at the hearth with his dotty little eyes. Raphahowl shut both his hand and his eyes, squeezing the spool. Then he tossed the thing into the air where it hovered over them, letting off a pale blue glow. It dithered in place for only a heartbeat before it dropped straight back down. Raphahowl grabbed it before it could hit the floor.

A beat, and then Fonducifer gave an unhappy little whine, ears pulled back. Jerome looked at the fiery pup and then to Raphahowl, and then to Fonducifer and then back again. No one was saying anything—not that Fonducifer could, not in the way humans could at least, but still, he hadn't quite yet learned how to read seek spells.

“What did that mean? What happened?” He gave Raphahowl an bewildered look. “Did it not work?”

“Oh, it worked alright,” he near murmured as he walked his way over to set his glasses on the table's edge. “As it turns out, our friend is… triple fudge on a sundae,” he ‘cursed’, half distracted with pulling his suit sleeves over his arms. “How in the world did she end up there, of all places?”

“Hrnnn…"

“W-wait! I'm all kinds of confused! How did she end up where?”

Holding his chin in his hand, Raphahowl was encased in thought for several moments before he blinked. “Oops, sorry. Truth is… she's with our old friend." He paused, and his eyes flit to the boy staring up wide-eyed, bated breath at him. Raphahowl bit his lip. Hopefully he wouldn't have too big of a fit about this... "The duchess.”

And for a good couple of heartbeats, Jerome stood still. Then he blinked rapidly, paling like a sheet. “She's where?!”

Oh geez… “Hey now, keep your lid screwed on. I'm honestly just as surprised as you are. That woman is a force to be reckoned with, and how Charlie ended up in her neck of the woods…” As he leaned against the table’s edge, he crossed his ankles and smiled sorrily. “It's long overdue anyhow, my visit to good old Elizabeth.”

Jerome stepped forward. “But doesn't the duchess hate your guts? You don't think she'll-”

“Maybe,” Raphahowl cut in, “maybe not. Either way, try not to sweat it so much. I've gone through worse.”

“Yeah but, falling down the stairs doesn't really compare…”

The wizard blatantly ignored him. How dare he downplay such a traumatic experience.

“Fonducifer, you look after the castle. You too, Jerome. I'll be back in a jiff." Hopefully, anyway. Charlie wasn't in any imminent danger, he was sure, but darn was she forcing him into the tigers’ pen.

Elisabeth, his dear old friend... hopefully absence has made the heart grow fonder.

As Raphahowl made his way over to the door, Jerome followed in tow with Charlie's letter clutched protectively to his person. However, before his hand touched the doorknob, before he could even make it down the stairs to touch the doorknob, there was an ugly scratching noise on the other side of the door. He, Fonducifer and Jerome stood still as a flagpole while the hideous scrawling persisted.

Then he felt something horribly strong pushing him backwards. He braced himself against the thin, metal railing vested on the wall and pushed back as hard as he could.

Fonducifer snapped. “Woeuf! Wrrr, woe-euf euf!”

It was a hefty, almost startling amount of magic. His face twitching into a frown, Raphahowl finally twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

And, well.

Not his favorite vegetable, he'll admit.

Jerome squeezed past his legs, only to leap back. “That's it! Th-that’s the thing! What the hay is it!?”

Raphahowl blinked. “Beats me.”

Chapter Text

Well, this was fancy. Considerably fancier than what she was used to.

And certainly nothing she’d ever come close to sewing.

Charlie stood statuesquely, fidgeting anxiously as the handmaids adjusted and ironed out the fabric of her dress. After another elegantly smelling bath, they brought in a gorgeous gown of midnight blue. The top half wasn't too fascinating - solid, off the shoulder, long-sleeved. But the bottom half, beginning high on her waist and separating the top with a thin veil peplum and a long velvet tie, was vastly different. It was nearly a skirt. The layers were of a thin, tulle-esque fabric, ending in ruffles that cascaded downwards but askew. On the fabric was studding and embroideries of small, varying-sized white beads that looked just like stars. The layers were just thick enough that one could almost see the silhouette of her beige stockings beneath them.

As far as her hair was concerned...well. To her surprise, it was actually long enough that the handmaids had managed to compile it all up into a single top-knot bun on the top of her head. Together with silver and gold hair pins studded with teeny sparkling crystals, they tied her hair with a similar clasp—a golden band fastened with a silver pin shaped like a crescent moon with a sapphire star in the center—that was fastened around her neck. One of her ankles was adorned with a silver anklet, her feet placed in dancing slippers of a soft leather. And at last her earrings, which were a contrasting gold; studs so as not to make her look older than what she really, truly was. It was by far the most extravagant outfit she had ever worn in her life. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she wondered whose reflection it was looking back.

All this for a ball...one would think she was getting married.

What was the Duchess doing with these dresses anyway?

Her thoughts were quietly interrupted by the sound of a knock, a pause, and then the door handle turning. She looked up to see Elisabeth still finely dressed, staring at her inquisitively with her gentle slate eyes.

“It fits well, then?”

“Uh — yes.”

Elisabeth nodded, smiling a little. “It suits you.”

Maybe it was a tinge more opulent than she was used to, but… Charlie smiled, grateful anyway. “Thank you.”

Elisabeth turned and gestured for her to follow her. “Come now. The ball will be beginning shortly.”

Without another word, Charlie picked up her skirts and obeyed. Into the hallway they went, and she couldn't help but note how dark it was. She didn't notice it before, probably because her mind was swimming with the overwhelming mix of events and nothing else registered. The lights hanging at the sides of the corridors were dim, the walls bronze with the occasional picture frame or decorative mirror… though she supposed it was rather gorgeous in a dark, regal sort of way.

“I was hoping the dress would fit you. Originally, it was for my daughter. But I believe the brighter colors suits her better than those of dark.”

“You have a daughter?”

A pause. The sorcerer hesitated.

“Yes.”

Charlie turned her gaze, deciding not to press on.

There were two heavily ornamented chairs situated on the balcony. As Charlie slowly walked behind, Elisabeth took her seat in one of them, and Alfred stood a short distance from her side. He greeted her with a polite nod and a, “Good evening, mademoiselle Charlotte,” before straightening again. Charlie nodded rather lamely to the old man in response.

Her mouth dropped when she reached the platform and looked out.

So many faces in the audience…

“What are you thinking?” Elisabeth asked with an amused look. Though she was not directly looking at her.

A lot of things, really. She couldn't count them all.

“There are a lot of people down there...” Charlie breathed. They were all dressed in fancy - er, regal - dresses (excluding of course the men, who were wearing tuxes), all walking about with frivolous airs, red lipsticks and florid laughter. There was a string orchestra playing softly from a curtained corner of the room, and several glittering crystal chandeliers hanging about from the ceiling. In the middle was a larger one, studded also with crystals and ornamented more heavier than its counterparts. The ceiling, broken by architecture of gold trim, was of kaleidoscope-esque glass, allowing the dark of night and the glow of the moon and stars to shimmer through; a combination of night sky and the warmth of lights in the practically golden expanse.

An, “Is this your first time attending a ball, then?” rent her reverie, and Charlie blinked.

“Like this? Of course.” Although she, her mother and Marie were content staying where they were—and for the most part, she herself stayed inside—they had gone to a few, albeit less fancy, outings. It was mostly due to Stephanie, Josette, Colette, and Olive, and Marie too, for that matter, since she was rather fascinated with things like that as well.

Marie wanted to get out. Herself, well…

She guessed she was missing out.

“Good," Elisabeth went on, and Charlie blinked a second time, not expecting that response. Then again, it seemed like everything was catching her off guard recently. “It's a good thing to try new things. And you happened to arrive at my palace at just the nick of time. Perhaps, this was fate?”

“Maybe…”

"All the same, dear, I believe your partner is waiting for you."

Charlie blinked for what had to be the fifteenth time that day. Sometimes, time felt like it moved too fast and she was left behind, blinking in the dust and trying to make sense of what was happening.

She allowed herself a second, two, before she reacted.

"Hold on. P-partner-" Charlie sputtered when her eyes went wide. "You mean I..?" The expression of shock overcame her ability to speak further as she looked up into the Duchess ‘s gaze.

“Yes.”

The urge to make her escape hit her instantly - all she would have to do is slink right back into her bedroom and drown everything out with her pillow until the night passed. And would’ve, if she hadn't automatically leaned over the rail, and briefly exchanged glances with a man who was formally dressed and seemingly waiting down by the stairs.

For her.

He smiled at her, but she was pulling back the very second his hand raised to wave her way.

She was flat out doomed.

From her side, she heard the Madame Elisabeth chuckle a little - perhaps she’d read her thoughts. “You needn't fear, ma cherie. You will find that the man is an excellent dancer and would never let you demean yourself, regardless of your experience.” Her light expression dropped, looking mildly stern again, and her attention returned to the sea of people beneath them. “And it would be rude to keep him waiting any longer.”

It probably would be. She could only imagine the look on her... “partner's” face if she ended up no-showing. Him having to wait down there, wondering where she was, and not yet realizing that she never planned to make an appearance in the first place. Charlie groaned to herself.

“Okay…”

Sois courageux!

She'd gone through worse things, and would surely make herself a laughing stock if she professed to anyone else that dancing held any candle to all the other trouble she'd been in (though it certainly still held a couple hundred in her opinion). She could do this.

...She would only be on the floor with hundreds, possibly thousands of people watching her…

What if she messed up? She couldn't dance - didn't dance! For once, would someone put her in her area of expertise?

“Always stand up straight, Charlotte,” Elisabeth called from behind, and she immediately corrected herself.

This was going to blow.

Charlie smoothed her hands down the front of her dress and made her way back down the hall to the ball floor, and with each step she took, her nerves rose. When she reached the stairs that would lead down to the ballroom, the man was still waiting there.

His face lit up with a smile as soon as he saw her.

I can't do this...

He stepped closer to her but she reluctantly stepped back in the opposite direction. “Uh, listen—”

She didn’t have time to finish, though, as the man took another step forward, and gently took her hand and kissed it.

“You are breathtaking.”

Charlie swallowed and strained a smile.

He stood tall again, and again his caramel eyes - that were somehow both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time - were looking in hers.

“Charlotte, was it?”

“...Who are you?”

He raised an amused eyebrow at her.

“Forgive me. My name is Samandriel. It is truly a pleasure to dance with someone as stunning as you.”

Just then, Madame Elisabeth stood up and a sudden quietness filtered in throughout the enormous room.

“We will now begin. The lovely Charlotte, and her partner shall lead the first dance.”

Charlie's stomach dropped. “What?”

Then, the momentary silence was broken by a trill and a fanfare of trumpets to open the celebration with a dance. At once, the people in the room sought out their partners and formed a large, wide ring around her and Samandriel.

“Of course she'd give us the spotlight.” She heard him quietly say. He didn't look perturbed in the slightest bit, though - in fact, he almost looked happy about all this!

He was smiling.

"Come on,” he half-whispered to her.

His caramel eyes twinkled as he slipped her hand into his open palm and with his other arm, pushed her closer to him. With the back of his gloved hand formally touching the small of her back, he was already in position to begin.

"But-but, I can't dance!" Charlie hissed desperately and tried to pull away, but the firmness of his arms surprised her.

"Just relax, and let me do the leading."

She could tell, if for nothing else, by the amusement in his voice that he wasn't being condescending.

Still...

Easier said than done… she moodily thought to herself.

Charlie sighed yieldingly and took a long, calming breath. As she exhaled she felt the tension ease a little and she lifted her gaze into Samandriel’s, her face blank but her mind focused on looking straight at him.

Her partner chuckled a bit at the intensity of her gaze. "Surely, if looks could kill..."

"If only they could," she muttered, only half in jest.

He grinned, clearly enjoying her equally obvious delight. "This shouldn't be too hard for you. Think of it like sewing, a pattern to follow ."

Real clever, she thought inwardly, scoffing on the outside. "Thanks, but this is vastly different from sewing…if it were any similar, I'd probably be leaping for joy right about now.”

She was probably being a downer—sure—but the amused look on Samandriel’s face didn't shift not even a bit. “Not to startle you or anything, but—” he nodded his head in the direction of the orchestra “they're getting ready to start in three…”

Two…

After a few seconds of agonising silence and bumbling nerves, the music began.

Charlie couldn't be certain how, but she moved as he moved, both in tune with one another, and it was as though her body was no longer her own. Her arms, her legs, her feet all moved as he wanted, as if they—of all things—belonged to him. All she heard was the music, and all she felt was their connection where he held her hand and where he pressed gently against her back. He would whisper her queues as to which direction to step, when to dip and they would lead her into the next twirl painlessly. On and on, these motions repeated and not once did she look away from him.

Which was shocking, to say the least.

She hardly noticed the music was waning as he led her into her last twirl. The spell was finally lifted when he let her go and she blinked out of her stupor. She curtseyed as low and gracefully as she possibly could as she saw Samandriel striking a low, formal bow. When it was over she took a deep breath and breathed in her relief.

Samandriel looked at her - an adoring beam. "Beautiful, bien-amiee."

For some reason, she began to get a chill.

The hall filled with praise and the light applause of gloved hands as the other people present stared at the two of them in the center of the room.

“You did good, Charlie," Samandriel praised. “I'll find you later.”

I hope not! Charlie bit her lip to stop herself from saying the sentiment out loud before hurrying up the stairs and back to the Madame Elisabeth.

“Contrary to your belief, you do possess more than one talent, mademoiselle,” smiled the older woman kindly. “You danced well.”

It was more him than her, but...

“I never want to do that again.”

A couple of hours later and the ball slowed to an end. Charlie hadn't talked to, or even seen Samandriel again - thankfully - nor did she hop into another dance. No way was she doing that a second time, and thankfully the Duchess was gracious enough not to force her. She stood by the older woman's side for the remainder of the night, and by Alfred’s side when the Elisabeth headed off to converse with the crowd.

Another hour later, and the palace was empty again.

*****

The morning was bright and blue and sunny. Tweeting birds swung across the skies, paired with the idiosyncratic drone of those small planes she had seen from earlier. The clouds, though not enough to drown out the azure, were large and poofy and floundered lazily overhead.

There was a splash as one of Elisabeth’s servants dumped a bucket of water over the floor, another coming up to dip a mop in the pleasant-smelling puddle and—well. Mop the floor.

She was honestly surprised they weren't using a spell to do the work for them.

But she guessed some magicians were more modest with their magic than others.

Charlie found herself void of an appetite. She tapped her fork against the bowl, eyes fixed on its contents as if staring at it enough would somehow reveal all the unanswered questions she had pooled in her mind in a porridge-y message.

Which, of course, wouldn't happen.

But who knew, right? With her considerable fair share of magical encounters, she wouldn't be surprised if the silverware suddenly clinked to life and started braiding her hair.

...Maybe that was a stretch.

“Is something wrong?”

Charlie looked up to find Madame Elisabeth staring back.

“No.” Automatic. A painfully understanding nod before Elisabeth turned back to her breakfast—

"...Yes."

At that, the woman raised her glance, setting her spoon aside to focus solely on the nineteen-year-old sitting across from her. “Whatever is the matter, then?”

Charlie looked down, cast a scrunched look to her hands balled in her lap.

“If...I'm being honest, a lot of things,” she answered slowly. “But first…Why all this? I mean—” a pause, as she gathered her words. “—why did you take me in? Really.”

A flash of confusion crossed the sorcerer's features, but they were quickly reigned back and composed.

“You remind me a little of my daughter,” she responded, and there was something fond in her voice. “Her name was Marie. I felt it a coincidence when you called yourself by that name earlier.”

Oh. Well now she felt bad. Charlie bit her lip.

As if she'd read her thoughts, Elisabeth momentarily closed her eyes and shook her head. “She is lost. I have no idea where she is, or if she's even…” her expression betrayed hurt for just a second, before her entire face turned into stone. She then took a sip of tea, as if to fortify herself. “It doesn't matter now. The past is in the past and there are more important matters at hand. I no longer have any intentions of dwelling on her or her whereabouts.”

The blatancy of her words had Charlie's eyes widening. How could she say that? Be so dismissing?

Clearly Madame Elisabeth had enough of the conversation however. Gone was the stony look in her eyes, replaced by a glint of something Charlie couldn't quite place.

It was unsettling.

“Tell me,” she began, and her mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile. “What exactly is your relationship with my former apprentice?”

This must have been the twentieth time today that Charlie blinked, thrown off.

“With—what?”

“Raphahowl,” the woman confirmed unnecessarily, leaning forward. “Your relationship with him. What is it?”

“It's nothing,” Charlie affirmed, drowning out the shrill that threatened to escape in her voice. She subconsciously pinched her arm. “He's...like an acquaintance - an unexpected one - than anything else…than anything more,” she supplied after a pause.

She hated herself for blushing.

Sometime back, and she would have had a lot to say about the wizard. She was consistently countering Stephanie, Josette, Colette and Olive on the subject, so right now shouldn't have been this tough. But then…

But then, this was the duchess sitting across from her and not her cousins.

But then, she wasn't sure if she really...

Charlie shook the thought.

After another uncomfortable moment of silence, Elisabeth at last leaned back in her seat. The glint in her eyes had disappeared, her usual expression returning; the stone one.

But this time, it seemed a little lighter.

“You hate him, do you not?”

Charlie didn't answer straight away. “...Where is all this coming from?”

Elisabeth’s brow creased ever so slightly. “Years ago, on a day I will never forget, Raphahowl stole something important from me.” She turned her head away and her hand flew out to her servant standing off to her side. “Bring me my mace, please.”

“Yes, your grace.”

Before Charlie could release the question on her tongue, Elisabeth clicked the scepter to the carpet and the world spun under her feet.

*****

It was like a wave had crashed over her mind, washing over the table, the platters, her chair—everything that was previously there and drowning her in the depths of a thwarted reality.

When she came to she realized wasn't sitting at the table anymore.

Instead, she was standing—surprisingly, it felt like everything had gone topsy-turvy, herself included—back in the gargantuan room the Witch of the Wastes’ henchmen had all but spat her out in.

But something was different.

Felt different.

She knew she was in a entirely different timeline when she opened her eyes and looked up. She held her clasped fingers to her chest.

And she gasped.

There was a little red-haired boy—he had to be around thirteen or something—bowing politely to the duchess where she sat in an ornate, yellow armchair. The sorceress said something she couldn't make out, but it seemed to take the boy by momentary surprise before he wriggled his fingers and out popped a waterlily from his little palm.

“Raphahowl was a promising young apprentice, as you can see. He held the most potential I've ever seen in a just a small child.”

Charlie looked up and around. She heard her voice, but the stony-eyed woman was nowhere she could see her.

“Always eager to learn new “tricks”, that one, and show me new spells that would normally take years to learn, but he'd learned in only a day.”

The scape warped. Now she was in a hall of sorts, red carpet with golden trimmings stretched out before her. The boy, Raphahowl, was standing devotedly aside an identical quintet.

She watched as he dutifully signed a piece of vellum - an oath of sorts. It poofed into blue, powdery smoke after he'd finished. He looked proud of it, like it was the biggest accomplishment he'd ever make in his entire life.

“He was a prodigy who I knew, someday, would even come to surpass me.”

Again the world distorted.

Charlie was somewhere outside of the palais, and this time, the place was laden in petals and climbing wisteria. She couldn't see Raphahowl right away, but when she did, she found a head of red hair skulking around a corner before the wizard apprentice came tip-toeing forward to sneak food to a familiar-looking white puppy with a brown spot over his eye.

“That dog...” her voice was warbly, echoing. “He sort of looks like Fondue…”

As if he'd heard her, Raphahowl's head snapped up and he turned to her and Charlie's breath hitched.

His expression dawned.

For a second she thought he was looking straight at her. But, no, this was just a memory, logic told her. He was probably looking at something past her…

She swallowed her impractical hopes, maybe her disappointment too, and it went down like a stack of sewing needles. The memory shifted before her and this time, this time, she wasn't dizzy when it did.

Now, Raphahowl was in the middle of casting spells that made the guards and other, albeit older, apprentices startle while the duchess looked on both unperturbed and proud. And little Raphahowl was nothing but humble, if a little dorky. “Sorry, didn't mean to spook you.”

“...I only realized that that day had long come to past when he stole away my magic. I was too late.”

As if on cue, the sight of him scratching apologetically at his temple was thundered away.

The howling wind outside rattled the tall windows and the entire room glowed blue as lighting tore through the sky. She was still inside the palais, in a hallway blackened by night. But more than that...

It all felt real.

“Where is this?” Charlie asked. Her words felt tiny compared to the constant hammer of the raindrops against the windows. But the duchess didn't answer her.

A breath of silence, one, two.

Then—

“Raphahowl, cease this at once..!”

Her mouth went dry. It was the duchess's voice; no, not the real one - not the one who had been speaking inside her head. She took a hesitant step forward, another. She turned the corner and peered out from behind the wall.

And she watched an older Raphahowl, whose hair and skin were shaded by the darkness of night, all but rip what had to be Elisabeth’s magic from her - a powerful, twisting current of green, blue and purple. He whispered a regretful, “Sorry,” to the lamenting woman, darting off into the night with a white dog at his heels and leaving her on her hands and knees, drained of her power.

Her pained, “G-guards…! Stop...him...” was all Charlie heard before the image disappeared.

Reality returned.

Charlie released a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.

“I was too late and too weak to stop him,” came Elisabeth’s voice, full of regret. But when Charlie looked back at her, her eyes were clear and hard. “And even now I am unable to track him and his ridiculous castle down. But you…you've seen him, spoke to him. You know the way to his castle. You've been in it, haven't you?”

Charlie hesitated. She suddenly felt as if someone had shone a very bright light on her, illuminating every dark corner.

The sorcerer leaned forward. “Raphahowl is a wizard you should not trust, girl. He was contemptible before, and he is even worse now because of his missing heart. He needs to be found and erased for his actions, by my hand. I need to know where he is.

...And if you comply, it won't be without reward. I'll break your curse completely.”

Charlie's eyes snapped up.

Did she…had she heard right?

In all three seconds that Charlie knew her, she knew the duchess wasn't someone who made jokes. She was serious and stern, always did whatever she had to with an eloquent grace and nothing, absolutely nothing less than that. Still, one look at the woman confirmed that no, no way she didn't hear that right.

Charlie swallowed. So if she did this - double-dealt Raphahowl, that is - then that would be it? It would be the end? Then she could return back to her perfectly ordinary life, to her mother, to Marie's daydreaming, to her cousins’ incessant squealing, too?

...Even if their muse was no longer alive to squeal over?

Shame rose up in her throat like bile. She heard - felt, really - every part of her scream at her not to comply. ‘It's a trap!’ the loudest voice in her head was saying. ‘You're a horrible person if you do this’, ‘Don't comply don't comply don't comp-'

But it would be so easy.

She could go home. All of this would be over - all of it.

It was all she wanted.

Wasn't it?

Madame Elisabeth had her tacked. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't deny what Elisabeth accused her of. She had seen him, had talked to him, had been in his castle. So many other things too, all of them with the person she’d detested all her life.

She had every reason to believe that what the duchess had shown her was true - Raphahowl had never spoken a word to her about stealing her magic, nevermind that there were things in his room with her insignia. And he was mysterious through and through, he probably kept all kinds of secrets from her. But she wasn't in this mess to crack his safes, she was only there to get her curse broken.

Funny, how something she had thought was so simple turned out to be the complete opposite. And now, here she was, probably about to be obliterated by a grand sorceress seeking revenge if the first word that came out of her mouth didn't begin with the letter “y”.

And yet...

Would she kill her if she told her no?

She was perfectly able, she could probably snuff out her life with just a snap of her finger, throttle her handless until her face turned blue, until darkness crept into the edges of her vision, no oxygen left to breathe.

Charlie clenched her fingers. It was just—and it both surprised and devastated her to admit it, and her cousins would definitely have a cow if they knew and maybe her entire town too, and Marie would probably be just as knocked-for-six, but if she were being honest...

And really, this was only because of the kind things she had seen him do.

And, begrudgingly, she knew she owed him for saving her behind back in the alleyways. Handy and sharp as it was, she didn't know how far she was going to get with her paring knife in that situation.

(One of those soldiers were going down, that much was for sure.)

So she’ll swallow her pride and smack herself in the face for it later and admit it, mentally, because there was no way in a month of Sundays she was ever going to say it out loud:

Raphahowl wasn't all that bad.

A big part of her gaped.

Another portion, the bigger one, screamed at her to take that back.

All her life she couldn't stand the prized wizard. And a month ago - two? - she would've thrown him under the bus no questions asked, wouldn't she?

But this wasn't a month ago.

And she wasn't a horrible person.

Not a coward, either.

"I don't know if any of that's true,” Charlie began, at last finding her voice again. “I wouldn't know," and she looked down, just a moment. "...because I don't know him well enough. It's not like he's told me about any of this."

She could feel Elisabeth’s stern eyes boring into her, watching her carefully. The 'Go on…' in the intensity of her stare was stifling.

But mountains didn't shrink away from storms. They didn't bow in the face of uncertainty.

So Charlie looked up. The sorcerer could magic her to smithereens right now, but at least she wouldn't go down like a punk.

"But give him away? No,” she shook her head. “You'll have to find somebody else. I won't do it.”

“Whatever wrong he's done in the past,” she went on, “he isn't like that anymore. He's—” and she pinched her arm to will herself to keep on going “—better now. Go on and destroy his life, but you're going to hurt innocent others, too. And I'm not just talking about the women out there who honey him up.”

“It's just, I never really had anyone else but master Raphahowl and Fonducifer.”

There wasn't a single drop of sorrow in his expression or voice when Jerome had said that.

She hadn't forgotten about him. Fonducifer, either.

Elisabeth regarded her soundly for a long time. The entire room was so quiet she could hear the distant sweeping of a servant somewhere in another room, or maybe a hall, far back.

Still, Charlie willed her expression to stay adamant, fists balled in her dress.

If she killed her now, at least she went down standing up for that stupid idiot.

"Perhaps,” the older woman finally began, and Charlie braced herself, “I was wrong, then. Maybe you don't hate him after all. Maybe something has changed..." she looked up,smiled. “Maybe you love him.”

It threw her.

But not for long. She felt instinctive words of denial pressing at the back of her throat, eager to escape; she could taste them.

But as it was, before any of those words could fight their way off her tongue, there was a swoosh of air, and—

And someone was behind her.

“Pardon my intrusion, your grace.”

An “eek!” Charlie would forever deny escaped her when someone brushed up against her chair.

“Alfred,” Elisabeth acknowledged.

“I've come to confirm that all guests have left the palais. However, there is one stubborn young lad downstairs who insists on meeting you before he leaves. What is your recommendation?”

Something in the Elisabeth's expression rose for a split second, before she closed her eyes and eased into a smile.

“How nice it is to see you again…Raphahowl.”

Charlie blinked.

What?

Her eyes darted up in surprise, and suddenly, the man at her side, Alfred, was also smiling - though he was not looking at her. However, his voice gave whatever cover he was trying to put on away.

“And you, Madame Elisabeth.”

“It is you...” Charlie whispered, aghast.

Madame Elisabeth rested her elbow on the arm of her chair, wrist folding gracefully under her chin. She sighed with a small smile, almost wistfully.

“What brings you here, then? Another one of your heists?”

“Of sorts, yes," Raphahowl replied coolly. Then, putting a gloved hand at the back of Charlie's chair, he added, “I can't help myself. When I see something good, I must have it."

Immediately, Charlie eyed the floor, willing her face to stop giving away how flustered she was. He made her almost want to turn tail and run out of sheer embarrassment. He was such a charmer, a ladies’ man, an all around knock-out and she hated him.

Then, another identical old man that she guessed was Elisabeth’s true butler, entered into the room from the large door at the side of the table. He was at the woman's side after a few ridiculously long strides.

“Good afternoon, Alfred," Elisabeth greeted.

“Good afternoon to you, your grace. I’ve come to infor-” His breath caught when he did a double-take on Raphahowl, disguised as him. The true Alfred looked spooked for a flash of a second, before his composure returned. “Greetings, sir, I don't believe we've met.”

“Maybe in another universe,” Raphahowl threw out, smile never wavering.

“Hm.”

Madame Elisabeth spoke, voice smiling. “Then you must also remember that you're not welcome here, oui?”

“Vaguely," he shrugged.

Oh, for Pete's—

Charlie hissed, “You're an idiot!” under her breath.

“And yet, here you stand. You haven't changed in least, have you."

A horrible thought was beginning to form in the back of her mind as the staring contest between wizard and sorcerer stretched on. Kingsbury's royal sorceress was smiling, but she was not happy. Her form exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning, slicing, potent.

Then, all at once, her expression darkened and the atmosphere fell, deepening as the woman rose her hand in their direction.

All locks in the room clicked.

“You won't get away.”

Charlie barely blinked and it happened. In a burst of a flash, dark tendrils shot out from the woman's gloved hand, sending bowls and silverware and everything else shattering in its wake. Raphahowl, disguise long gone, was quick—pulling Charlie out of her seat and right into his arms. Her head reeled back, face growing incredibly hot because that—  this —wasn't what was supposed to happen! She would have protested, absolutely would have protested, if it didn't feel like gravity packed on a ton in weight, forcing her head down as she and Raphahowl both took off into the air. He twirled to avoid the dark spell that hurled at them before landing again, featherlight.

“I see nothing has changed with you either, Madame Elisabeth," Raphahowl said. He hadn't effectively dodged the woman's’ last attack, evident by the new char on his sleeve, but his easy smile made it just as evident that he wasn't bothered by it. “You don't do things by halves, do you?”

Elisabeth did not move from her seat, only sweeping her arm to their new direction. “You are still a clown.”

All of a sudden there was an arm over her shoulders and Charlie looked up, startled. He leaned in and whispered loudly, “You must've done something very wrong if this kind sorcerer here was willing to shoot through you to get to me.”

She would have thrown up at that moment there.

Because that was certainly not true.

But while Raphahowl was looking down at her with a look she figured was suppose to be disapproval, she could clearly see the teasing beneath.

Idiot.

She opened her mouth to speak—

—at the same time Elisabeth shot a third blast of dark magic.

Raphahowl dodged out of the way of the oncoming blast, a quick, one-step movement that almost seemed like the beginning of a dance. He flung open the windows with the flick of his wrist, Charlie losing all her breath as he took her up and shot outdoors. All pride was thrown to the wind, and she squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her arms around his neck and making a mental note to slap herself for it later.

At this point, if she suffocated him to death, it wouldn't be on purpose.

“Apologies for the short visit," Raphahowl called back, letting the sorceress inside know she missed by waving at her cheekily. “But thanks for taking care of my friend!”

But amid it all, Charlie let out an exasperated huff.

She would dearly miss those beautiful, scented baths...

Chapter Text

Had she been in any other place, in any other better situation, she was sure things would've turn out differently. She probably would've breathed a sigh of relief, probably would've actually thanked him for swooping in and saving her neck because, if anything, that expression on madame Elisabeth's face when she essentially told her ‘no’ was probably just the calm before the storm.

But she wasn't in a better situation.

“Wow, for somebody who's never done this before, you sure make a great pilot!”

No, she was going to die. And she wished Raphahowl would stop looking at her with that happy expression on his face, like she and he weren’t.

“You're a lunatic! You're out of your mind! Clearly you haven't got one brain cell in that head of yours!” shouted Charlie over the beat of wind in her ears. “What breed of idiot throws someone the wheel of something they don't know how to drive!?”

Raphahowl burst into a healthy fit of laughter. “Well you say that, but look at what good a job you're doing! Hunky-dory, I'll say!”

She wondered, only briefly, if she could somehow manage to angle this thing and send him flying off from a low lying branch or a board sign or anything at all. It was a great idea—if she wanted to crash this thing and go exploding into bits of shrapnel and ashes, herself included.

And maybe other people and several woodland creatures, too.

Whatever. She wasn't skilled enough anyway.

“Raphahowl! Won't you listen for once? I-I can't do this..!” Charlie choked and had she been in a normal state of mind, she would have blushed at how high-pitched her voice sounded. “I'm going to crash this thing and kill us both!”

The plane dove just a little and she let out an undignified squawk.

“Charlie,” She couldn't bring herself to respond, not when she was seconds away from annihilation. Raphahowl leaned in and placed his free hand reassuringly over hers. She didn't miss how he corrected the wheel, just slightly to the left. "Don't worry so much — if you give this old thing out, which you won't, you'll be the first I'll catch, alright? Swear on my heart. I didn't come all this way just to let you meet a fiery end.”

She was tempted to snatch her hand away, but she refrained. She couldn't anyway, not when panic was coiling in her gut like twisters, keeping her from all other actions apart from keeping her hands on that wheel.

"Try and keep her as steady as you can."

Somehow, she managed to nod.

What was chasing them, she didn't know. It wasn't like this thing was equipped with a rear-view mirror and she definitely wasn't going to look back to see.

But she just knew there were at least several dozens of them tailing the two of them; she could hear the familiar whir of their engines. They were having an cinch flying those planes.

But her?

She was darn well going to try her best.

After Raphahowl had all but ‘napped her from Elisabeth's, she was immediately put on the driver's seat of this flittering vehicle. She didn't know where he got it from, she didn't even have time to ask, when the next thing she knew, she was gripping the wheel like a lifeline while Raphahowl stood biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

If it didn't mean she was going to spiral to her untimely doom, she would've kicked him for it.

“This—this is steady enough, right?” she asked, shakily.

“As steady as a grandfather clock. See? I knew you had it in you!”

The wheel was rattling from left to right even as she gripped it still. She wondered if it was from her own shaking, or from the pressure of the wind beating up against the plane itself.

Still though, it wasn't swaying so horribly anymore. No dive bombs yet. She didn't plunge into a window or rip someone's underwear off a clothesline, either.

(She was too high up anyway.)

“Persistent as a mosquito, that Elisabeth…” Raphahowl murmured, not unfondly. “But I think she's had about enough fun.”

He stood straight and drew an arch in the air with his finger.

“What are you doing?” Charlie cried.

She couldn't see his face, but she could practically feel his smile broaden. “Creating our escape route. Hang on tight!”

He tapped the middle of the arch with two fingers and the area within the line transformed into a gleaming iridescent light in front of them; it was almost too brilliant to look at.

Raphahowl put a hand on her back. "Alright now Charlie, fly straight on through!"

Here goes nothing...

*****

She was honestly just surprised she didn't come out backside-over-elbows, rolling through thin air like a professional tumbleweed, or upside down or even backwards.

At least it didn't feel that way. Or seem. She didn't know, she had her eyes squeezed shut.

But in the same moment she slowly peeked one opened and realized she wasn't in a heap of limbs with her dress pulled over her head, Charlie's feet landed on cobblestone with a gentle, almost buoyant step.

Her hands, which had been practically glued on a steering wheel only one second ago weren't, obviously, glued on that wheel anymore but crushing Raphahowl's.

Hard.

If she was cutting off his circulation, he wasn't saying a thing about it.

But it didn't matter, it didn't last after all. By some miracle, she managed to unpeel her hands from his, and had she been in the right state of mind and not this numb, stiff mess, she knew she would've dropped his paws like his touch had burned her. But the sudden shift of beating winds and droning vehicles to utter silence had her, her limbs and her thoughts encased in molasses.

Her eyes flicked to the wizard standing aside her and for the first time in… a while, actually, she really didn't know what to say to him.

Apparently he was in the same boat, because he just stared back, lips fixed apprehensively in a hard line like he was waiting for her to bust him upside the head with the piece of brick down by her foot. Or with her fist. Or maybe just fuss at him.

She wasn't so sure she could even blink.

“And…” he announced, breaking eye contact with her to throw a look at his side. “Incoming.”

Charlie didn't even have the chance to follow his gaze. He moved within a single step back, forcing her to do the same with his arm stretched in front of her.

Rending of metal shrieked through the air, and then out came a plane—the plane—from nowhere, tearing up the ground and shredding a left out bag of trash in its whizzing rampage. Before it could do any further damage, Raphahowl shot his arm out and with a murmured, “Oh no you don't…” the contraption stilled, wings flittering to a stop.

A moment of silence, two. Then—

Rewarding her with the beamiest of beams, the wizard dusted off his hands and returned them to his hips. “Welp, that was a doozy!”

Charlie stared at him in total disbelief. She wasn't sure whether she should count to—not ten, but one-hundred this time, give him a dressing down he'd never forget, or forget everything that just happened and take a long trip to her happy place.

The lattermost sounded nice.

Unfortunately, she couldn't even bring herself to speak, let alone do that.

She shouldn't have been surprised - and honestly? She wasn't. Compared to every other absurd, completely abnormal circumstance she had been in up until this point, flying a plane was—should have felt like—money for old rope. Still, her heart was taking its time making its way up from her boots.

Maybe in another life she would've enjoyed the thrill of being a couple thousand feet in the air.

You know, with bogies hot on her heels probably trying to shoot her out of the sky.

She wasn't going to kiss the ground like she'd actually seen some buffoon do before. But she was going to seat herself before she threw up her breakfast.

And heaven forbid her legs give out.

Amusement twinkled behind caramel eyes when Raphahowl watched her shakily seat herself on the bottom step of a stone staircase. She barely heard the, “Whoopsie daisy...” he murmured before he walked over to bend low in front of her and then his fingers were around hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. She surprised herself not yanking away.

“Hey now…” he began warily. “You're not about to give out on me yet, are you? Are you alright?”

“Not really,” she said.

“Are you injured? Dizzy? Feeling lightheaded?”

She thought about it—tried to at least, but Raphahowl leaned in a bit closer, and she felt herself blushing, a warm thing that was more inside her than out.

“Maybe something for a headache would do,” she finally grumbled out, pushing away a smidge. If he kept leaning in like that, she’d have to… ‘accidentally’, clock him in the face. “You’re kinda giving me one.”

But her response did nothing but broaden his smile. She didn’t let on that she was affected by it.

“And get your gross hands off me,” she added, shyer than the austerity she intended for it to sound. “I don't need to be coddled...”

"Yes ma'am," he chuckled, and released her.

Charlie shot him a withering glare. Testing her legs, she braced herself to stand and, when she was sure she wasn't going to tumble right back down—and points to Raphahowl for being witty enough not to try and get all heroic and help her stand—she stood up straight again.

Looking cautiously at the sky, she was relieved to find that the only flying thing overhead was a seagull. Droneless. Not ready to do any divebombs at them, thank the stars. She dusted off her dress.

“So what now?” she sighed. “Where even are we?” She gave her sleeve a pat and kicked at her boot.

But she could've asked if dogs barked for the way Raphahowl looked at her, blinking and surprised.

“Wow,” he said slowly. And then he made a full recovery, wide smile and all. “Two things I've just gotta say."

She stopped what she was doing and shot him a look.

“The first…Maybe you're a professional pilot in another life? I wasn't messing around when I told you you could fly that thing, just to let you know." And he jerked a thumb in the direction of said thing, still as a log. “The second thing though...you don't really do much looking around, do you?”

“Wha—? Oi!" She didn't know about being a professional pilot, but that second quote-unquote realization had her up on her two feet. She stamped her foot, crossed her arms and glared up at the know-it-all wizard—forget that he was way taller than her. “Well, I’ll have you know there's a lot I’ve realized about—”

And that's when it hit her.

These cobbled streets. Narrow—too narrow, she’d always thought—walkway, the chalk box coloured half timbered houses, the vines that crawled up the window sills and the crumbling plaster that enveloped the old stone bricks. The opening from a left turn ahead would lead you to a quaint townsquare with an astounding charm.

She did recognized this place. How could she not?

(Briefly she wondered how the family on Quai des Lavandières street were doing.)

So Charlie stared, falling dumbly on her heels again. “This is…Colmar.”

She risked a sidelong look at Raphahowl. Sure enough, his hands were still thrown in front of his face to shield himself from the batter he was expecting her to give him, but she knew that behind those arms…

Which were shaking by the way.

With laughter.

He was stupidly infuriating. With that stupid bit back smile on his face and the thinly veiled look in his eyes like he'd won this battle. She wanted to kick him directly in the shin and watch the prized wizard fall to his knees.

Laugh at that, she would huff as he clutched his throbbing leg.

But what she said instead was, “You're incorrigible,” and it was without the usual feistiness she usually injected into such remarks. Still, she gave him a good push when he was quite finished. “Just rub it in, won't you!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He ducked a half-sigh, half-snort behind his wrist - disguising another moment of laughter - and then faced her again with laughing eyes. “If it's any consolation to you though, you dropped this outside the castle.”

The withering glare on her face fell away and something in her both crumpled and lifted when she saw him pull out the familiar envelope from his suit. That was hers! She remembered she didn't have it on her in Kingsbury. She was sure she'd accidentally dropped it in the mud somewhere, wet and muddy and ruined...

But again, just like Marie's package that she had dropped in these very backstreets, it was unscathed. If she didn't know any better she'd think she just forgot it on the drawer in her room. Silly her, right?

But she did know better. She knew she didn't leave it there.

She started to ask if he'd fixed it, but what came out instead was a confession. “I was going to give this to my mother somehow, but before I even got the chance…” She looked at the thing sadly. "I thought I lost this thing for good,” she hesitated. “...Thanks."

“Oh no, not me,” he informed her with a slight blush on his face. “Thank Jerome. He was the one who found it, see. Ever the scavenger he is.”

“Thanks anyway,” she said stubbornly. No way was he going to make her feel bad about thanking him. “But wait…is this why we're here? Or did your spell just dump us off wherever?”

He looked around as if noticing they were here for the first time. “It did kind of dump us off here, didn't it?”

He wasn't slick, but she would keep her thanks to herself this time. She thought she saw a good chunk of her pride take a one-two to the gut the first time.

Getting to her house wasn’t tricky. It was only a matter of time before she couldn't duck through the backstreets though, so the rest of the way they had to be out in the open, as surreptitiously as they possibly could; seeing her sister and her mother through the window pane, however, hurt in a way she couldn't possibly explain.

They were in the living room, up and awake. But judging by their disheveled appearances, it was almost as if they haven't slept at all. Marie was sitting on the couch, eyes dimmed and trained on her palms.

“They still haven't found her yet…”

“Don't lose hope,” murmured her mother. She walked over to place a cup of tea into Marie's empty hands. “Somewhere she's okay. I know she is.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Emma didn't respond to that.

Charlie's heart ached for them. She couldn't, she really couldn't put into words how much she wanted to throw open the door and tell them that she was alright; how much she wanted to fill everything in. How long had it been since she had up and gone? Not even a lick of goodbye, too. She had been so callous about that...powering off her frustration like adrenaline to get her cursed removed. Granted, the biggest part of her had thought traveling to Raphahowl's castle would be an in-and-out thing; she'd be gone for a day at most and then be right back. No one would even notice she had left.

Well. She always did have a knack for getting rash when she got desperate enough.

Guilt hit her like a bat, like a cactus in all his spiky glory to the face. Some daughter she was—

All of a sudden there was a hiss, and just like that, her thoughts split into halves.

Charlie leaned away from the window and found Raphahowl squeezing at his chest, and hard, she noticed. The smile on his face was awry like he was trying to keep chipper despite some sort of sting. Laughing off a stubbed toe, or maybe a fallen book to the face.

Idiot, she couldn't help but think.

Still, she reached out to help him, beating back her surprise when her pride allowed for it. “Are you..." she trailed off.

"In the pink, for the most part."

For the most part, he says. The way he had been clutching at his chest…stars, he wasn't trying to have a heart attack, was he?

Wait.

That was right.

He didn't have a heart to begin with, did he?

So something else was afoot...She studied him a moment, searching for the right words, but she didn't know what to say to him.

She certainly wasn't going to get down on her knees and beg for him to stay alive, though. So...

“Hey, don't…go dying on me or anything.”

“Sound advice," he teased, and if he didn't look like he was going to flat out drop right there, she would've smacked him in the eye. “Charlie,” he went on, adjusting his cufflinks like nothing happened. “I know you don't want to involve your family in your predicament, and that you don't want to be seen. If you want me to, I can hand them your letter.”

Now it was her turn to stare. “...Could you?”

To answer, he swiped his hand down himself, and his appearance changed. Gone was the tomato red hair, and the set of brown eyes—even his height was totted up a couple inches. Whatever color his hair was, she couldn't see it under his hat. He was dressed like a military man.

Well. She guessed that was one way of saying yes…

“Foolproof,” he murmured, bending down to look into a stray puddle to see his reflection. He didn't look up when he spoke again, louder. “I can probably do without, but just in case, what are your mother's and sister's names?”

Oh.

Of course.

“My mother is Emma. And…” she paused, frowned. “You haven't heard of my sister? Just about everyone knows her, I'm sure.”

Raphahowl shook his head. "Not everyone," he said.

“Oh. Her name’s Marie.”

Turning arouns, he gave her a hearty salute before disappearing around the corner. When he knocked on the front door, Marie and her mother jolted. They stared at each other for only a heartbeat before Emma stood to go to the door, Marie following suit.

“Bonjour, mademoiselles,” she heard Raphahowl clear his throat once the door opened. “Sorry to disturb you so early. Emma, correct?”

“That's…me, yes.”

Raphahowl turned his head, nodding to Marie. “And Marie.”

The golden-haired girl nodded warily.

“Right. This letter is for you," he nodded and when Emma took it, Charlie stepped away from the window. Released a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.

Raphahowl exchanged a few more words with her family before he bowed respectfully and made his exit. By the time he returned outside, however, Charlie was gone.

*****

She wasn't going to cry.

She didn’t cry every time she was pestered nearly to death by her cousins and their ick fantasies. She didn't cry when Josette had kicked down her bedroom door. She didn't cry when the Witch of the Wastes had visited the shop and turned her into a ten-year-old—and for all the problems that came with it. She didn't cry when that same witch’s henchmen came after her, not once, but twice. She didn’t cry when they did finally catch up to her.

She didn’t even cry when Raphahowl told her that he couldn't undo her stupid curse.

She certainly wasn’t going to do so now.

But at least they’d be convinced, her mother and Marie. They would recognize her handwriting, she was sure, and she had put her heart and soul into writing it. So at least there wouldn't be that slinking their daughter and sister went missing and was likely dead somewhere thought, probably, in the back of their minds anymore. She didn't need them stressing out, wondering where in the world she went, disheveled and unwell.

Still…she couldn't help but think that maybe she could have just—gone in there, said hello.

She couldn't stick around though, that she'd make clear. She'd get nowhere with removing her curse if she did, but at the same time she knew would have an incredibly hard time fighting the near-irresistible pull to stay.

Then she would doubtlessly be, for lack of a kinder word, screwed.

Charlie groaned and borrowed deeper into her arms as if to shield herself from oncoming blows.

“Pardon, miss? I'm looking for a girl with blonde hair and a set of teal eyes. One second she was with me, the next? Poof!”

She smiled underneath her arms.

If there was anything she admired about the wizard, it was his tenacity. Truly one of the best to master the act, if she said so herself.

Still didn't stop the groan.

“What are you, some kind of bloodhound?”

“I've been called a lot of things, but that's a first,” Raphahowl remarked. After only a brief pause, he stooped down in one fluid motion to the cobbled ground beside her. He eyed her cheerlessly. She could feel it on her skin. But she said nothing more.

“Charlie, listen…I really am sorry about all this. If your curse wasn't so tricky, I would’ve had it off you the second I saw you.”

“But you can't, you told me already.” And she really didn't want a re-run of that conversation.

His expression turned sombre and he didn't respond right away. “That's right…” he trailed, and honestly she thought she could do without him confirming that again he couldn't—

“But the good part is, I think it's already steadily fixing itself.”

Her head snapped up, and she gave him an incredulous look. “If you're just trying to make me feel better—”

“Never in my wildest dreams. Take a look." With the snap of his fingers, he manifested a mirror for her to see herself with. He handed it to her and Charlie gaped at her reflection.

Sure enough, she wasn't that ten-year-old little girl anymore. But she wasn't nineteen either.

If anything, she looked thirteen or around.

She sighed. "The duchess did say it would only last for as long as I was there, so I'm probably just dwindling down.”

“Not true,” Raphahowl shook his head. “Most spells are like hourglasses and have a time-limit. Yours has been lifting little by little, right under your nose.”

She lowered the mirror to stare at him. “And you knew?”

At this he combed his fingers through his hair and smoothed the mess it had become. “I wasn't sure. Your curse is unstable, and it isn't the most graceful of casts, see. I didn't want to say anything prematurely. But yes," he said resolutely. "I knew."

He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but thought better of it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage.

For several moments the two of them were quiet, nothing but sound of squawking seagulls overhead and the occasional tick as a stray leaf went on tapping the cobblestone by. She wasn't sure whether it was her wanting to nip the silence or plain, unadulterated impulse that made her open her mouth again.

“My cousins here,” she began slowly, “Olive, Stephanie, Josette and Colette—are your biggest fans. Girly twits. All they ever do is slobber about you. You'd probably make their day if you visited.”

Aside her, Raphahowl pursed his lips and. “Flattered. But I think I'll pass.”

She didn't blame him.

“And then there's my sister, Marie," she went on. “Well. You saw her. I don't have to describe her, so I won't. She's got everything you're looking for. She's beautiful and I know for a fact that she loves you, so, in the end, it works out.”

“Charlie. Never took you for a matchmaker,” he said, throwing her a bemused look. Immediately, Charlie faced the opposite way so he wouldn't see her pout.

“I'm not trying to match make, buffoon! I'm just saying it like it is.”

"Your sister works at a bakery down the road, your cousins are, well," he did an awkward little cough into his hand that made her lips quirk up, just slightly, "heads-over-heels for me, and so is Colmar if what you were shouting in my ears earlier was anything to go by." He paused. "But aside the sewing thing - that I had to discover on my own, by the way - I don't know a whole lot about you.”

She went silent for a moment, two. Then she picked at a weed. “You don't need to. I'm sure you already know how much I hate you. Unless, you want me to go into depth and detail?”

He made a point of looking thoughtful, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You're insufferable,” Charlie scoffed and ripped out a handful of won't-be-missed weeds to throw at him. But as she made to fling them, the wizard caught her wrist.

“If all else fails, I'll break your curse," he said, and his smile was so genuinely sweet that she was beginning to feel at war with herself. “I'll stop at nothing.”

A stunned silence followed his words.

She felt the hard knot in her chest loosen. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“I believe you.”

Chapter Text

"Do you remember the dial back at the castle?”

Charlie blinked. She must've been following behind with her eyes closed or something because she wasn't expecting to be tucked into a particularly empty alleyway. 

The shadows cast by the wood-lined buildings cut off into a bright flare of sunlight, reaching out onto the streets that met up with clacks of oxfords, mary-janes, hooves and wheels. The deep shrill of the train sounded further in the distance—she remembered how its exhaust would bathe her room in black when it passed.

Ruby red hair fell in a gracious fringe on Cifonelli shoulders up front, dancing a little as the day's errant breeze wafted by and showing off the wink of his green jewel earrings. She couldn't see it from behind him, but she could practically feel the easy smile on Raphahowl's face. Nobly straight, dignified; paired with the showy outfit and the purposeful strides—and never mind how he and the sun clearly had a loving relationship going, what with how he practically glimmered under it—just the way he carried himself would have about half of Colmar scandalised. 

He was stopped a little before the gulley's threshold, leaned against the wall, looking thoughtfully out into the cobbled streets…

Waiting for a response, her brain kicked her.

Blushing in spite of herself, Charlie answered, "Yeah, the...thing with all the color swatches?"

She thought back to the drab door, to its rhomboid knob that would switch the color on the dial. She wasn't gone long enough to actually forget about it.

"That dial," began Raphahowl, turning to watch her with rich brown eyes that looked almost amber in the light of the sun, "is magicked, as you already know. I'll spare you the details for now, but a while back I enchanted several doors high and low, far and wide. Every last one of them are connected to it.”

“Every last one of them?” Charlie parroted, and he nodded. "You make it sound like there's a lot more than just four colors on that thing..."

Raphahowl's lips curved upwards with a hint of a smile, but he winced then and it brittled. "That's because there are—metaphorically speaking of course," he added oilily. “It’s different for all the other places not marked on the dial. To access those doors, one would have to hold wherever they want to go in their mind's eye and it'll open to them. It's easier if I show you."

Well, that was new. She’d already known about how turning the doorknob and getting the dial to switch would take her to different places—she figured that out on her own—but she never would've guessed the “mind’s eye” thing...

Still. 

Charlie squinted her eyes up at him. “So going through one of these doors will take us back to the castle, right…"

"There just so happens to be a door nearby.”

"Okay," Charlie breathed, looking down at her boots momentarily, relieved when she thought back to the broken wasp-flyer a little ways back. If it was still up and running and not missing an entire steering wheel, maybe they would've taken it instead...

Good thing it broke.

Raphahowl's arm was suddenly over her shoulders and Charlie blinked up at him, before biting back a noise of surprise as he ushered her straight out onto the very crowded road.

The streets were a cacophony of honking trolleys and carriages and shouting as everyone unhurriedly strode them. A carnival of colors zipped to and fro by, coupled by the pleasant titters of dolled-up dames, petticoats, jerkins and the occasional gripe from some incensed joe. Charlie chanced a quick look over her shoulder. 

No creepy lady lurking around, staring them down with unblinking eyes and bulging arms.

“It's a little ways through town though, and you and I need to cut through it to get there.” Raphahowl turned back to her and his hair moved perfectly with him, falling into his face just a little and inching her blood pressure up. “I hope you're up for it.”

His proximity was distracting, but Charlie had enough of her wits to reply, “I just got done flying a plane of all things, not to mention all the junk I had to deal with before. Fairly sure I'm up for anything by now.” 

“Good,” he laughed. “Now," he turned. "Excuse me miss, would you mind getting my friend here a drink? Non-alcoholic, and put it on my tab, please, she won't be paying."

Charlie blamed it on being swarmed by the hustle and bustle of Alsactians that she hadn't realised Raphahowl had led her straight to the brasserie. He turned his intense brown gaze on the waitress, and his mouth held that perpetual little half-smile that made her—could make half the world's population, for that matter—stand ramrod straight.

He was the epitome of charisma. "And thank you," he bowed his head politely.

Needless to say, the lady couldn't say no, dazzled as she was by the young man’s smile and the sparkle in his deep brown eyes. She scurried away without a moment's hesitation. 

How Charlie whirled her head should've given her whiplash.

"Wha-wait a minute," she stared as Raphahowl so gallantly pulled out a seat for her. "I thought you said—"

"That we'd cross the market to get to the door; I meant that, Charlie." She felt like kicking him when he turned his polite arrangement of a smile towards her. Like hell was she about to burst into love sonnets. He took his hand back. "But there's something I want to check up on first. I won't be gone long, I'll find you afterwards."

"But - wait!" As if jolted by a live wire, she moved forward to grab a hold of his sleeve—right as he was about to step back out into the thoroughfare. She paused a second. For someone who liked to wear his suit on his shoulders, the thing barely budged. 

Huh. Maybe it was heavier than she thought.

Charlie looked at it a moment, looked at Raphahowl and then she explained herself.

“Aren't you afraid to go out like this?” she gave the pristine cream and gold thing an indicative tug. “I mean, what with the Wi-” right. Taboo word. She rephrased. “-you-know-who chasing your tail and all… and the city guard to boot!” 

As if summoned, blue and red materialised out of the corner of her eye. Two sergeants were chattering with giggling janes at a small veranda across the street, both leaning against a wall in a way she supposed was to make them look charming.

In her opinion, they looked absolutely ridiculous.

“Actually, you probably won't have to worry about them…” Charlie muttered as one snagged the other's mustache and released it like a rubber tie. Uproarious laughter and a bruised ego ensued. She sighed, turning back. "Okay, nevermind them then, what about—"

"Don't worry about the duchess's henchmen. After that spell I cast, they've been out on a wild goose chase. I'm sure they've even retreated back to her grace's dungeon." The smile he smiled at that was spired. He took his sleeve from her hand, replaced it with both of his - just as she was about to bring up another problematic factor. "There's a surprise waiting for you at the castle, by the way."

It was the perfect thing to knock her off guard, because her staring had turned into a flurry of blinks and he chose that grand moment of her grand stupefaction to make like a thief and slip away.

Charlie felt the wind pass by as he disappeared, and for a moment she stood, blinking, not believing he jettisoned her like that. She looked out and just barely managed to catch him mock-salute playfully before he fell into the crowd. She nearly choked on her own incredulity.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

*****

So she'll admit, she needed the break more than she thought she did.

If she didn't know any better, she might have blamed magic, the way her legs seemed to anvil to the chair when she took a seat. But then she'd looked down at the hot cup in her hands and she could see her own reflection in the liquid’s surface. Her hair was scrambled and her eyes looked bleary and on the dull side.

She looked tired.

She wondered if Raphahowl noticed, and that was why he insisted she stay put. 

Well, Charlie had reasoned, she couldn't find injury in a bouquet of roses, so stay put she did. She just forgot about the waitress lady, who was surprised—and maybe a little despondent, too—when she came back to a Raphahowl-less table. 

Charlie had answered her breathless, "W-where...?" with an apologetic smile.

She didn't know where he went either. In fact, she didn't know the guy at all.

Little good did it do, though, the lady had decided to take it as a 'blink and you miss it' situation and resorted to not-so-subtly poking her head in and outside the brasserie to check for her John Doe. Charlie didn't know whether to laugh or groan at it. Always the cruddy situations, when she was involved.

Bird lady (as she had eventually dubbed her from the way her head seemed to 'tick' to her direction) was on her forty-first peep when Charlie finally finished her cup of tea and pushed in her chair.

She met the lady's clear as day, "You're not going to wait?" expression with another one of her apologetic smiles. But then she swiveled back to the lively street behind her and realized Raphahowl wasn't planning on showing up for either of them. 

Which lead her to consider her options now. 

Her boot kicked a stray pebble and sent it pippling forward until it rolled into a crevice in the cobblestone.

“...Now what?”

The bakery was a no-go, and her house… definitely off limits. As she started at a pensive walk among busy bodies hobbling on their way, she realized, quite despondently, that her cousins may have been right about her not going out much.

“What are you, a conch?” she could hear Colette say.

And Josette could've chosen something better to defend her with than: “Let her be a recluse if she wants to!”

Not that it was any of their business.

Besides, if she really needed some semblance of outside, there was always just popping open the window.

But only a smidgen because of that one dreadful visit from an uninvited seagull, once.

(The amount of feathers she'd had to pick out of her hair was astounding.)

Charlie had just narrowly missed being bulldozed by a scuttling paperboy when she silently acknowledged that she was at a loss for what to do with herself now.

“There, there! By the counter! Oh, you can't miss him, girls! He'll be swallowed up quicker than a hare if you blink!”

Fortune, arguably, decided to answer that for her.

When she looked up and realized her feet had led her straight to Cesari's, her senses didn't kick in in time to stop her from colliding into and bouncing right off a petticoated body. It was like walking into a brick wall. She stumbled.

“Oh! Careful, you little thing!” The offending woman whirled on her, graciously pulling her upright before her behind hit the stones. “I suppose that man has even got the littler girls distracted, don't you think?” she asked to another woman hovering by.

“With a nice face like that and hair as red as tomatoes, it's enough to turn anyone's head!” her bezzie responded, before her voice lowered to add conspiratorially, “even men.”

"Oh, poppycock! Only you-know-who could pull that off!"

“He doesn't look like a cradle-robber...” a third, dressed in silky, chartreuse green, mused a beat. Then her smile touched her ears. “Luckily for us!”

They all laughed delightedly.

“...What man?” Charlie finally, slowly asked, pushing up on her tippy-toes to peer over the cluttered entrance of the bakery. ‘Head as red as tomatoes’ had her eyes narrowing in suspicion. There was only one person she—and not just her—had long known to fit that description... any man else who dared tried to dye their hair the same color were shot down by their heartthrobs like a drop of rain on a fly.

She only got squeals in response.

But by some miracle there was a break in the crowd, a split-second one, missed if you blinked at the right time, but she didn't need any longer to spot the pick of the litter.

Charlie's eye twitched and she felt the suspicion on her face wither and die.

There, way up at the register, ogled by a good ten or twelve dolled-up women, was Raphahowl. Gone was his bedazzlements and his ridiculous suit with its long sleeves. He now had on a pair of glasses and a billowy, plain white blouse and slacks, his shirt sleeves rolled up and exposing his arms.

He looked less than a wizard and more like someone who researched them.

Charlie smacked her forehead, falling back on her heels again. “What is that clown doing in there?”

But maybe she should've used her inside voice because one of the women standing beside her gave a gasp! before she leant down, a hand cupping one side of her mouth, and whispered, “You know him! Pray tell, just who is that young man?”

Charlie suppressed a scoff. Salt-of-the-earth here was just reeling them in, wasn't he? She had to hand it to him; he turned heads wherever he went—dressed in his fancy drapes or not.

She knew it would be useless to turn around and say she actually didn't know the wizard. The woman would probably just laugh herself to tears and tell her to stop pulling her leg.

She could easily see it heading downhill from there.

So instead of testing her luck against the probability of an all out, hair-yanking, seagull-screeching, razor-nail-scratching brawl (herself excluded; no way in a month of Sundays was she going to get pulled into a street fight over Raphahowl), she said, “He's just a friend of mine. Visiting. No resistance to the smell of sweets, so I've found out.”

“Right, right… and... Is he courting?”

Charlie felt like screaming.

But she smiled and choked down the urge to throw up or maybe tell the woman to ask him herself. She said “yes” and escaped into the bakery before the lady could drill her with any more questions about her handsome—

Yuck.

—companion. She could see that the others had moved to peek into the windows, giggling to themselves and shushing each other as they pushed to the front to gawk.

“Girls, if I faint, you simply must catch me!"

About as bad as her cousins, these people...

Inside Cesari's, the crowd had a life of its own, patrons moving around like shoals of fish. There was chatter between sellers and buyers, old friends catching up, new friends made. It was an unholy conglomeration of perfumes, body odour and over-applied cologne.

All of which punched her clean in the face.

“Seriously sir,” Charlie muttered, trying to breathe through her mouth as she squeezed past a man utterly dripping in patchouli and copaiba. “Less is more. There’s a reason that’s a cliché.”

Her pardons and 'excuse me's were strained as she weaseled her way through the customers. She didn't have the slightest clue how far along she had gotten or how mussed up her hair was from everyone's pushing—somewhere, she just knew the Witch of the Wastes was hooting at her short person problems—when a particularly rough shove from behind sent her pitching forward like water from a busted dam.

Her face smushed right into Raphahowl's back.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten.

When that didn’t work, she counted to twenty.

Through the counting, it occurred to her that if she was still at the height she was when the Witch of the Wastes had left her back at the shop, her head probably would've hit the back of his legs instead.

“Charlie!” Raphahowl rounded on her, propping an elbow on the counter. His eyes twinkled behind his shiny, round spectacles while his brows shot up at the stakes. He studied her over his glasses for a moment, then he pushed them up with a knuckle. “Darn, red looks good on you—what a vision!”

Yeah, well. Everyone's head was above her own as she waded through all but a hundred of them. It was probably why she was left flushed in the cheeks by the time she—unceremoniously—got to her destination. There wasn't a lick of red on her elsewhere.

Except maybe the tick marks slowly forming on her temple.

“I—you—of all the places in the world you could have gone!” Charlie hissed halfheartedly. “What are you doing in here? And what in the world happened to ‘I'll come find you’?”

His raised look and casual jab towards the cream pie being rung up didn't cheer her up any. He could tell. He wanted to laugh—she could tell.

“I suppose ‘sorry’ isn’t going to cut it? Ow!” Raphahowl cried when she reached up to pinch him. He laughed and rubbed the spot. “I stopped here for Jerome, Charlie. He's got bats in the belfry about this thing, if you catch my meaning. I was going to come looking for you right after I finished up here, swear on me heart,” he winked.

“I—” The disapproving look on her face melted into stupor and she squinted. “...what?”

She wasn't sure whether to be more tripped up by that first part, or by the accent he put in his voice, but after seeing the cashier behind the desk—Charlie knew her, and she knew her by her accent most—giggle, the latter tipped the scale. It was a wrench in her cogs and the pretty word she was going to shoot him died in her throat.

Huffing, Charlie elbowed him in the side instead. “Don't give me that ‘swear on your heart’ business… just hurry it up and get what you came in for. There are people here pushing each other aside trying to get a load of your pretty face, and the men are about ready to slug you. So unless you're real good in a fist fight…”

She trailed off when Raphahowl gave her another raised look. She suddenly wished that she hadn’t said anything about his pretty face.

But instead of calling her out, he acknowledged jealous faces with a brazen, salutary nod and said, “Well, the gentlemen can rest assured. I'm only shopping for cakes today.”

“Which,” he continued, “was supposed to be an in-and-out thing, mind, but this place—well," he gave a snort of laughter, "you've got eyes, everybody and their uncle showed up.” He reached into his pocket for a bag of coins and took out a few silver. "What an admirable cause for a fist fight.”

“Well, if I’d just seen my wife tuck her ring in her pocket, I think I'd get a little defensive, too,” she told him. “Come on, there's a back way in. The girls are too busy to notice—not that they wouldn't roll out a red carpet for your feet if they did.”

They didn't, blinded as they were by hearts as they eyeballed Raphahowl slinking through the employee-only entryway with one of their pies high above his head. The handful of indignant customers to keep them from hopping over the countertops probably had a hand to play in it, too.

Somewhere behind them was a high-pitched squeal, but Charlie kept forward; she had paid more than enough attention to Raphahowl's admirers for today and she wasn’t looking back to get questioned to death by them now. She stepped down the stairs and over to the bridge, preparing to make a break for it if she had to—

“Oh now, flattery won't get you anywhere with me, young man!”

Or not.

Charlie took one glance at the wizard behind her and couldn’t help but sigh.

So much for the dodge and weave.

She couldn't say she was surprised though, considering. All he did was shrug off the jacket and put on some glasses. The seagulls would probably gravitate towards him, though more for the fact that his head looked so much like a large tomato than for his looks. 

She counted three, all giggling and looking at him through impossibly long lashes.

Good grief… Charlie managed a small half-smile, tempted for a moment to laugh at the ridiculous scene. She almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“I know that chapeaus are remarkably in style nowadays, and you must keep up with the latest fashion tips and statements, a woman like yourself. But I personally think you look better with it off. Why hide away all that ginger?” he was saying, imploringly. 

One of the ladies' hair was piled up on her head in an elaborate manner. Silky curls twisted in one another, her missing hat, cradled in Raphahowl’s hand, revealing the glossy shine that shone in the afternoon sun. 

"But I'm afraid," Raphahowl's execution was perfectly smooth, if not tinged with just the right amount of angst, "time is stealing me away from your most desirable presence."

"So soon?"

"Oh - time will have its chance, surely!"

Charlie tried to hide her amusement when one of the women, chuffed and unable to contain it all, threw her freshly restored hat to her friends to link an arm in Raphahowl's pie-free one, sending his little act crumbling away. When he tossed an apologetic kind of look over his shoulder, Charlie sighed.

She did sort of owe him. An eye for an eye, she supposed.

“He's not interested, ladies. He's got someone already.”

Hearts broke in the air, a rain cloud appeared, and the flowers wilted under the heavy blanket of broken-heartedness as the three women reached for their pie holes to gasp and mortify.

“Oh no way…”

“Bother! There goes my chance...”

“You're taken?”

Raphahowl still had those hands up in the air. He smiled helplessly. “Well…”

Charlie suppressed a scoff. Where was his backbone? “Yes, a fiancée. Waiting for him at home. She has a cold and he was just on his way to fetch some medicine for her.”

She thought they were too crestfallen to ask—or even before that, wonder—who she was. Secretly she was thankful for it, because the prospect of calling herself his sister, or worse, his daughter, was making her nauseous already.

But the formerly dazzled look on their faces skimpered and with it, themselves as they picked up their skirts and huddled away. One of them bid Raphahowl one last—albeit dejected—'thank you' and then they all gradually became colorful dots in the distance.

The way he turned swishly to her, like he was going to reach for her hand again or maybe even hug her for getting him out of that rut, had Charlie taking a step backwards.

"You're a star, Charlie!”

"And you're a menace," she told him, sarcastically bright. “With a darn knack for getting yourself into bad situations.” 

Ah, but then she could relate; she had been all over the place lately, leaving her wondering where her fine luck was going to chew her up and spit her out next—

The slums?

The slammer?

Her death, at last?

But the magician only laughed. "I always did rather fancy myself a bit of a social chameleon when need be. Besides," he straightened, looking back over to where the posse had vanished. "I caught her hat."

Charlie repeated it. “You caught her hat.”

“All I heard was someone scream, and then I looked down and there it was, in my hand,” he made a show of holding his hands out, pretending there was a hat in them. “Next thing I knew, they had me surrounded.” He gave her the world's most brightest smile. “I owe you big time for saving my behind.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Charlie turned away so he wouldn't blind her, though she was also biting back a smile. 

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them, interrupted only by the soft 'thunk' of boats thudding into each other in the canal, the marketplace beyond muted to a dull, faraway clamoring and the muffled sound of workers hustling in Cesari's next to them. Charlie felt herself starting to relax even through the small something screaming in her that she shouldn’t. 

“Wait a minute," she said, after a thought about it, "save yours or save theirs? Didn't you see they got away with—"

She caught herself. 

An echo of staid words.

“There is something that I must tell you about Raphahowl: he is without a heart. It's gone.”

Charlie palled, something like a blackpowder gonne rendered useless by the rain. Everyone and their mother knew about the rumors surrounding him. Stealing hearts to fill the emptiness of his own being the most popular of trillions. It was talked about with the same giggling bashfulness as a young woman with a secret crush. 

'Horrible Raphahowl'. Once or twice, the shepherds would come down to claim that his rumbling, moving castle had nearly trampled their sheep.

It went without saying, Colmar was renown for its gossip. Thrived off of it. The sun to plants, the gardener to soil, the bees to flowers; water to the human body. It's how Charlie found out about Mary-anne’s heart being stolen a while back, and the king’s prince who had gone missing. She herself had unwittingly left without a word. 

She really didn't want to think about what they came up with for her.

But if what Elizabeth had said was true, then he really didn't have a heart, and without something as important as that - and 'important' didn't even begin to cover it, a heart was vital, you weren't alive if you didn't have one, you—

“In a way, he actually is. He can't feel sorrow, or anger, or truly love and feel deep emotions.”

Something in Charlie's gut clenched at the thought. 

He seemed normal though…she made that observation earlier, even before the duchess baldly enlightened her. They say he charms people, but it wasn't like she saw him lead the hat lady and her friends out into some odd alleyway to rip their hearts from their chests. Maybe he was more tactful about something like that, she didn't know. Maybe...

She shook the fabrication of this next, new thought away. Little good did it do for her, this line of thinking.

"That they got away with what?" Raphahowl asked, and Charlie jumped. He had a vaguely amused glint in his eye (she didn’t want to admit that it was a good look on him) but for the most part, he looked genuinely lost. "What is it, Charlie?" 

"I—...erm, forgot…"

"Did you?"

The excuse made her feel like a complete fool. It didn't help that she could practically feel Raphahowl's expression turn doubtful as he stood a little straighter. His eyes seemed to bore into her for a heartbeat, see if she would change her mind. 

"Lost my train of thought," she said, trying to downplay it as much as possible. "Happens." She dropped her gaze to the cobblestone and shrugged her shoulders.

She always was good at playing things off. 

There was a brief moment of silence. Then—

"Well," he declared. His inscrutable expression eased on a smile that she missed eyeballing the ground. "Shall we? It's still a walk from here, but we'll make it there sharpish provided there aren't anymore spanners in the works."

As she followed the dressed-down man back into the side streets, Charlie observed Raphahowl under her eyelashes. For the first time since she met him, she wondered just how little she knew about the Magician.

Chapter Text

Something in her ached when she saw a boy standing there at the top of the stairs. 

“Jerome.” 

There was a real, genuine smile that was being shot at her by the sweetest, brightest little boy she’d ever met. Set on his tippy-toes, shoulders rising in a way that made her think he was about to rocket into the air. His eyes welled up with fat tears and he gave one great big hiccup. 

"T-thank goodness!"

Charlie had hardly taken a step inside when he shot forward, his little hands wrapping around her waist, and his face burying into the yellow fabric of her dress. "I missed you, Charlie. So much! I didn't think you were ever coming back!”

The words were muffled and poor, almost entirely lost to Jerome's face stuffed into her skirts. But they were too near her ear to miss, and she’d known this boy for a while now, so. She wasn't sure how long she stared down at his big dome before she cracked a smile.

Perhaps a bit wobblier than she’d have liked.

"There you go being ridiculous again." She straightened herself, as best she could in this position anyway, and let her hand drop from the rail. She hadn't realized she'd grabbed for it. “You don't have to cry on me, sobfest. I wasn't even gone long."

Jerome puffed up like an offended pigeon. “I-I’m not crying!” he protested, backing up to scrub at his eyes. When he let his hand fall, the blinding smile on his face could brighten the sun.

“Your dress is pretty," he chirped. "And you look well," he added after looking her over. "...Taller, too, you're about a good head and a half over mine now! How'd you manage that?"

"I dunno," she grinned, and she really didn't, but she was going to compartmentalize today. "Could be that you just shrunk."

"Wow, don't say that!" But even as he protested, he didn't look an ounce offended. If possible, his smile just grew larger as he stared at her. And larger still until she thought he was about to burst out into a cheerful fit of laughter. He seemed to forget himself though and what started out as the beginnings of a merry bout redirected into something like a veiled sense of awe.

"It's a right relief you made it out in one piece, Charlie...I've never met her before, I think I've only ever seen her once, but the duchess is a really powerful sorceress. And not all that nice, either."

So she heard, and...so she saw. She couldn't pigeonhole the word she'd use for Elisabeth, thinking on that was an aneurysm just begging to happen, but she was happy to agree that 'nice' could be ruled out fairly quickly. 

"But I-" and here the boy shifted. Slowly, his eyes seemed to focus on something invisible just in front of her and Charlie felt a warning bell go off in the back of her mind.

"What?" she pressed. 

"I was…I thought you weren't—...well, that you wouldn't want…"

To come back? 

Charlie felt her heart stutter a bit, and she almost looked down, unwilling to meet his eyes. She remembered how upset he had looked in the castle that dawn and how she had to restrain herself from changing her mind.

If anybody could kill with guilt, it would be Jerome.

"I know," she murmured, and there goes that pesky string of shame again, curling around her insides, making her life tougher. She pulled her waning smile a little higher. "Sorry about that. It really wasn't worth it."

Jerome stared her down for a moment. And then she watched as he just rolled his eyes and grinned. "I could have told you that," he quipped, and Charlie felt a genuine smile creep up her lips, even through her half a mind to flick him over the head for the bon mot. 

She didn't know about saying it aloud, but she really did miss this sod.

"Well, get excited, wise-guy; I've got one crazy story for you to rub in and tell me 'I told you so'. Just don't be surprised if I slug you around a little for it."

All for him to throw her off when he cringed instead. That shoulders scrunched, one-eye-closed, I-just-licked-a-lemon sort of deal. 

Well, she certainly wasn't expecting that.

"I'm not so sure I even want to know..." Jerome confessed. 

"You don't?" Charlie asked.

He let it marinate some more before he gave in with a disappointed little sigh. "This always happens, my curiosity always gets the better of my doubts...you're right. You have to promise you'll tell me about everything, all of it, but only later!"

Later?

"That was...kinda the plan," Charlie began tentatively. "But now I feel like I should ask why."

"Well, because right now...” He trailed off, blinking past her. Charlie frowned, about to follow his gaze, when- "Oh hey, what'd you—" his eyes bulged. "No way! I had a dream about one of those last night!"

"Oh, I don't doubt that."

Charlie blinked in surprise; she had almost forgotten Raphahowl was behind her. He waded past with a murmured "excuse me", though not before depositing the cream pie into Jerome's hands. "You were talking about it in your sleep."

The boy's blush soared up to his ears.

It wasn't lost on her, the pleading look he sent his master's way. She could almost hear his whine of ‘come on.’ But it was a short-lived moment and he swiveled back to her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself short again. He pushed the pie under the railing—to retrieve when he went back upstairs.

"If you're tired, feel free to rest at the steps. Promise it's not dirty…I can get you a glass of water if you want?"

Charlie tore her gaze from the...curiously dustless rail on the wall and shook her head at the do-gooder. "No I'm good, thanks. Surprisingly enough I've had about enough of sitting around for one day."

What a blatant lie, shame on her, her family and her non-existent cow.

"Great then!" With a whoop, Jerome all but bounced from his place and dragged her up the stairs, a big silly grin on his face. “Come up here, Charlie, you have to see what master did!” 

Through her alarm, she barely noticed how tight he was holding onto her hand, as though she might disappear if he didn't. He wasn’t too wrong, she guessed. She couldn’t say how wretched she felt for leaving them all, but...

She knew she couldn't promise him she'd stay. She couldn't either way. Eventually she would have to go back home to her mother, and sister—her whole family.

But she wouldn't think about that now.

Charlie felt her eyes go wide with astonishment as she took everything in.

Jerome had left her side to set the pie on the table, hopping onto the couch afterwards to watch her with that same goofy-looking smile on his face.

She, though, couldn't believe her eyes. 

“While you were away,” Raphahowl began, a slow smile spreading across his face—at the look on her own, probably. “I thought I might make a few changes. It's a bonus, too, considering that her grace is hot on our trails."

"But she won't be able to track us now that Master and Fonducifer's transported the castle," Jerome pitched in.

"Transported?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah! We moved, so it'll be harder for the duchess to find us since we're not in the Wastes anymore. Not to mention we're going to be stationary for the time being, right Master Raphahowl?"

Raphahowl shared a quick smile with Jerome, looking like a proud parent. "I know you haven't seen everything yet - I'm sure Jerome won't mind showing you around-”

“Sure!” Jerome chirped.

“-but how do you like the main floor?” Raphahowl asked, chuckling at her as she looked up. No cobwebs in the rafters… “Pretty impressive, isn't it? Fondue’s over there cleaned up.” 

“Woeuf!”

Charlie found herself nodding absentmindedly.

Not that she ever considered herself a huge stickler for keeping everything tidy (her very messy drawer back at home could attest to that), but this was a pleasant surprise. The space of the entire room was expanded, the floorboards were more golden than the dingy brown they were before; not scratched up, not warping either. Where the blue of the sky was clearly visible and the sun shone through was the sink, tiled up to boot. Even the cobblestone hearth looked polished, soot pile swept and no longer spilling out onto the floor. Fonducifer laid snugly on a few wood logs, clearly a fan.

It all did look quite nice.

“I like it.”

Raphahowl smiled a smile that would've made more sense if she had told him the place looked magnificent. “Look there.” 

Charlie did and sure enough, the “slices” on the pie-chart dial mechanism seemed to have had a small color revampment. There was a pink one and a yellow one there, but the green and black ones stayed the same.

“I've added on new locations, so of course some of the old colors had to go," he explained. "The yellow one was inspired by you, Charlie. You can change it to whatever other color you want, need naught more but ask. But Fonducifer, Jerome and I all agreed on that one. Probably because of your dress. ...Or maybe your sunny personality,” he teased.

“Hilarious."

“But I'll show them to you a little later.”

He gave her a minute to take things in, so take things in she did. There was the gold, Victorian picture frames fixed to the freshly wallpapered walls, the little floor-bound cabinet housing books, an unlit candelabrum and donning one or two vases. With the small table arrangement in front of the shiny six-paned window, was a new redwood chair (and it really was red) sitting in the corner, smooth and well-loved. It was like everything had been polished with Brillo and then oiled down with sweet almond. She was amazed the most by the table, now unburdened with various trinkets, cloths, and containers and mouldy cheese.

It felt both like and unlike the same place.

"So what gives?" Charlie asked honestly, her eyes following after Raphahowl, who had just finished placing a vase on the quaint table by the window. Where the calla lily suddenly poofed from she couldn't say. "What inspired you to go and, just..." She let an empty gesture finish her question.

Another log for Fonducifer (his dotty little eyes peeped up from over the wood he was already lazily burning) and Raphahowl turned around to face her. His smile was buttery smooth and bright as a lighthouse.

"A couple of odds and ends: the king's place. Kingsbury's kaleidoscopic walls. The elephant I saw on the way there once. Maybe a little bit of boredom, too." 

Somehow she wasn't very surprised. Though—

"An elephant?" she said.

"Believe it or not," said Raphahowl simply. "Kingsbury has this habit of throwing parades and dressing up their animals every now and then. Something about a beacon. I haven't really investigated." 

He stalked over to one of the windows and undid the latch before pausing to seemingly admire his work. Then (but not before shooting Jerome a knowing look Charlie didn't miss) he made his way over to a door that certainly wasn't there before, stopping before the doorway after he turned the knob, swung it inward, and gestured to what lie inside. 

Something soft stole over his voice. "There's something I have for you, Charlie. Come see."

She felt a spike of wariness, unsure of what to make of his tone or the unreadable look on his face. She switched her gaze over from the warm brown ones in front of her to Jerome's. The smile he sent her way was particularly innocent. 

Well, the sooner the better, as mom liked to say. Charlie had the quote on repeat as she stalked over to the waiting magician, peered inside, and that's when the record gave a discordant screech, the same moment she felt her heart stop.

Her room. 

No. Not her room. Not fully. 

But it was almost identical to the way, she was sure, it still looked now.

There was the oak dresser, the matching stool seat, and even the coat hanger—albeit missing all it's scratches and dullness—stood off at its usual spot. The window, with its iron latches and its wide breadth, opened to a clear blue sky with billowing clouds and fields carrying on from the castle toward the distant hills.

Her room certainly wasn't divine in decoration by any means, but it did have that…homey easiness about it.

And Raphahowl had managed to replicate it.

(...Or did he just chop off a piece of her house?)

“How in the world…” Charlie whispered in disbelief. She stepped inside, and the overwhelming feeling of coming home flooded her. She looked out through the window, opened a particular drawer that, back at home, she'd normally bust her back trying to pull open. She'd given up on it after around the fifteenth time—whatever was inside would never be known to the world. If it weren't for the slight shift by the doorway, she'd probably still be on the floor. She got up to face Raphahowl and it didn't surprise her to find him wearing that same smiley expression like a comfortable old sweater.

Her awe kept her from shrinking under it. 

"Why...—all this?" she asked.

The look on Raphahowl's face became a gentler, fonder thing as he shrugged. "Why not?"

And she had to stare, because something about the simple response was so…it was such a Raphahowl thing to say. With all his ornate draperies and showy behavior, sometimes she forget how plain sailing this guy could be. 

It's been a…weird day, she thought idly. 

But she smiled back, she couldn't help it if she tried, there was just no denying that she was more than a little touched by the sentiment. "That's not an answer," she said. "That's like the opposite of an answer. It's a non-answer. But then I'm not really surprised. You are…" She thought on this. She shrugged. "You."

The tone of her voice made an expression akin to wonder bloom on his face for a second, before his smile lengthened. "Care to elaborate?"

“Not really," Charlie said quickly, and changed gears just as. "So how did you manage to make it look exactly like my room? ...You don't even know what it looks like."

“I didn't need to. There's a lot you can get away with with a little magic." Raphahowl stepped in beside her, a polite smile lighting his features. “I wanted to give you a room that suited you. See look,” he pointed to the sewing machine. It was all black, adorned in weaving gold patterns. “It was a gift from a long time ago from someone who thought I could use it. It never was my niche, but it's perfect for you considering your life's work. Now it won't drown in dust.”

The dresser against the back wall was clear of any and everything save several decorative hat boxes—ranging in all sorts of colors—stacked neatly upon one another towards the back. 

“And right there," he drove on, gesturing to these boxes. “...is the surprise I mentioned back at your place.”

Charlie stared at them, and then back to the wizard again. “...Should I be afraid something might jump out of them?"

Raphahowl's mild façade broke with a snort, and he visibly bit back his laugh. “Of course not. Believe me, you'd be the last person I'd victimize if I were in a do in mood. I've got nothing but good intentions today." Today, huh. “Everything is from a place called Lutèce. They charge a pretty penny for the most mundane things, but I couldn't stoop for anything less. Not for you." 

Leaning against the doorframe, he waited for her response.

"So…are you going to glare the answer out of them, or are you going to open them and see for yourself what's inside?" he teased.

Charlie flushed slightly and levelled an unimpressed look at the wizard before turning back to the task at hand. 

Grabbing a few boxes—one placed upon the other—she seated herself on the plush bed and moved to unlid his offerings. She muttered, "These things had better not be gerrymandered in any way or you're getting a fist full…" before she finally took the lid off.

She stared at its contents.

“Is this..?” She unlidded another box, then another. Then the next. “These are all—” she stopped short, and Raphahowl leaned forward.

“...They're all what?” 

“Dresses!”

Immediately, the wizard's cheeks betrayed the smallest hint of pink. He ran his fingers through his red hair again, self-consciously. "If I've overstepped—”

Charlie looked up at him, incredulous. “No! No, I- I mean…” after an agonizing second she huffed, plunking the garment in her hands to her lap. She had to gather herself. “...Never in this world did I ever think I'd be...” 

Oh, for crying out loud.

She was grateful, she'll admit, aside the small embarrassment. It wasn't like many came to dump gift boxes on her front step—not that she’d ever complained about it. As long as she had material to work with, she could make her own stuff no problem.

But seriously, was Raphahowl trying to butter her up or what?

She swallowed her pride and finally turned to the wizard who was looking back at her in utter confoundment.

“Sorry,” she paused. "I guess, about all the mean things I've said to you,” she said, nearly choking on the words. “And thank you for…all this.”

His stare didn’t drop. “So you like them?” 

She gawked at him for a second. Maybe more. She couldn't believe him.

He sounded like a child running up to his mother, a mini bouquet of wildflowers and dandelions and random leaves in hand, hopeful for her approval for his ever thoughtful gift. 

But really. No response to her apology? 

...Not even a quip? 

“...Yes,” she finally conceded. 

He seemed to consider her answer for a second. Then he nodded once and she could almost visibly see the tension seemed to seep out of him as he almost guiltily sank back into the jamb. A moment, before he opened his mouth again.

"That's a scary talent you have there, nearly giving a man a heart attack.” 

Charlie beat down the urge to roll her eyes. “So I guess you're real dramatic.” 

“Enough to win awards, critics have told me,” Raphahowl chuckled, sinking a little further against the door frame. “Don't fault me too much for it though, can hardly blame a man for fearing fault in his largesses—not to brag,” he coughed, “But you I'm afraid, have to be the hardest I've ever tried to win over. Still I think I’ve got a long way to go.”

This time she did roll her eyes. Couldn't help it. 

Nor the scoff.

“If I were you, I'd kick the can down the road. It won't be a cakewalk—"

“Is that right?” Raphahowl met her eyes with a challenge.

"—and, just so you know, I didn't ask for any of this so don't go around thinking I owe you or anything."

It might have sounded a little ungrateful. Or, at least, that was what she was going for (and maybe “ungrateful” wasn't the right word anyway. Stubborn fit the bill better), but the words came out softer than she’d intended and judging by the unmoved smile as he watched her in silence, it was clear Raphahowl either wasn't affected by it, or he just didn't believe her. 

But for all it’s worth, she did thank him.

Tough as that was.

(A while ago - and how long had it really been? - she probably would've drenched the decorative boxes in gasoline and roasted a smore after chucking a match at them.

…

Or at least she might've considered it.) 

"Well - not that I don't think you look good in it," Raphahowl cut in and when Charlie looked back up at him, she noticed through that artfully molded smile that he looked a little sheepish. "I'd appreciate it if you would change out of the outfit," and here he explained before she could ask why, "When you're around people like the Witch of the Wastes and Elisabeth—you're signing yourself away to one or two more unsolicited surprises."

"Oh." Small wonder. "Should I chuck it out the window?"

Raphahowl shook his head lightly. "No, you probably shouldn't. I'll take it." The way he waved his hand suggested that it wasn't as big of a deal than she thought. "It's a pretty dress, to its credit. Doesn't belong in some mud puddle even if it did come from that terrifying old woman."

She nearly laughed at the thought that he was only taking it to wear for himself. But she knew better.

Still, Charlie couldn't help herself, "Is that why you went out of your way?" She lifted one of the boxes, as well as one of her eyebrows. 

"Of course not," Raphahowl echoed, all aghast and amazed when his mirth was committing indecent exposure beneath. What a putter-onner. He put his hand over the doorknob, the other one he fisted onto his hip and a smile he fitted onto his lips. "Listen, when you're finished with everything, there's something else I want to show you."

"Oh. Sure..." she said, skirting her eyes over the boxes. She felt a little spoiled, she'll admit. 

But at any rate. 

"Hey," Charlie spoke up, just before he closed the door. “How did you even get my dress size?” 

She decided she didn't like the grimace his face pulled into. 

Chapter Text

Something hard clunked to the floor. It might've been a book.

Or a body.

Jerome sighed, cutting open the letter that was just delivered and secretly hoping that it wasn't one of his tomes that went toppling. There were delicate pages in that thing. The postman flinched at the pandemonium proceeding past him and sent a disbelieving glance at the boy, and then past the boy, and then at the boy again, wondering if he had heard right and also, did this gramps happen to catch that, too?

“...A-ah, er," the squirrelly man began. Jerome's bored eyes flicked upwards. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, just what was that just now?” 

The disguised youth waved a careless hand. “Two wild animals got in.” He could've sworn Charlie just called Raphahowl a ridiculous popinjay.

The postman winced. “Oh, cripes...do you need an exterminator? I know a real good one down the way—a wizard, I think—does a good job and doesn't charge much, either?”

Ick! What wizard uses his powers to become a cleaner! “That's very considerate of you sir—hey, thanks? But no thanks. I have a handle on it."

What a joke.

"If you're sure…" The man looked doubtful.

"I am.”

Not.

”Sorry for the background noise. Have a good day."

Jerome was quick to shut the door. Normally he'd be more polite about it, less curt, but the postman was trying too hard to peep over his head and failing equally as hard to be surreptitious about it. Something about nosiness just rubbed him the wrong way.

Anyway, now he had the two, promised, bickering animals to deal with.

"Will you stop stalking me!"

There Charlie was at the top of the stairs, fuming. Arms crossed, brow furrowed, glare of death, full-on fuming. Jerome didn't know what master Raphahowl (standing at the foot) did, but boy what he wouldn’t give to cast some kind of breach time spell and go back in the past to prevent whatever travesty caused this storm to brew. He'd be saving lives.

And eardrums.

But breaching time was a forbidden spell, ancient sorcery that cost one's soul to cast, and he was nowhere near the level it took so as it was, Jerome just released a breath, crossed the (thankfully tome-less) floor and tossed today's delivery into Fonducifer's flames. It was one of those letters, so it had to go, but he made sure to carve off the wax seal beforehand. He’d need the beeswax and rosin in it for a spell later on. In the hearth, Fonducifer let out a low whine, his form shrunken and his color blue. He always got like that whenever he was lachrymose.

Maybe if Jerome blueberried, too, these two might actually stop their squabbling.

"Gladly," Raphahowl said. "I will gladly stop, when you tell me what's the matter with you."

"Get it through your thick skull, there's nothing wrong!”

Taking a deep breath, Raphahowl let a great, dazzling, totally unconvincing smile take over his face as he clasped his arms behind his back.

"See you say that, but you're also stomping around the castle with steam pouring out of your ears, your face is ketchup, and if I'm being honest, I fear for all our lives."

"Oh, so following me around is supposed to make me feel so much better, huh? Is that the concept!”

He ducked as Charlie flung a damp towel mislaid by the bathroom door at him. He hadn't, however, anticipated the second cloth and it hit him square in the face.

His face was fantastically pitiful when he pulled it off and fixed his hair.

"No, I just don't like quarreling and would much rather know the reason I caused someone distress than play guessing games. You're trying to shoo me away," he stated matter-of-factly, "But you don't help—" he continued in a bright but strained way, "with the swell job you've been doing at making me feel physically attacked by your expression. So if you would please only tell me why you're so upset, I'll be out of your hair. Or maybe even mend the problem!"

"Oh, for crying out loud—"

Jerome was about ready to suck in all his breath and tell those two to can it, when Charlie furiously stamped her foot down. 

"You have a lot of nerve rummaging through a girl's things!” She was the color of a beet. “You've been holed up in this stuffy castle, I know, but outside they call that perving!"

Raphahowl's face turned a pretty shade of red. His eyes went wide, his shoulders stiffened. His mouth dropped open slightly and failed spectacularly at producing anything. Any situation-smoothing phrases crumbled into the throbs of dread. "That's...—Charlie, listen. I would never—”

“Nope!”

She slammed the door shut. 

Raphahowl stared at her door pleadingly for a few moments, before giving in. He sighed, and hung his head, slowly ascending the stairs as if there was heartbreak in his every step.

Jerome sighed. 

Fonducifer switched to orange again. 

*****

Oh drattit, this isn't going well at all, Jerome thought miserably.

In front of him was a bowl of gol powder, a bundle of booster shoots and a bottle of wonderwater. While the ingredients requisite proved easy enough to scavenge for, whipping all three together gave him more green than the shimmering blue it was supposed to be. After sifting and counting and turning everything on its bottoms, Jerome's ideas had raisined and his frustration had spiked and his hair had mussied up after ferreting through it. He'd ask Fonducifer for clarification—even if he really didn't want to (wizards weren't supposed to need help!) but he knew next to nothing, and Raphahowl? Raphahowl had up and left. 

His least favorite jacket stripped from the hook, Raphahowl had turned, pulled his cloak over his shoulders and announced, "My feet itch. I'm going for a walk on the hills."

He didn't look angry...maybe he seemed a little despondent, but not angry. He had a smile on his face as Jerome and Fonducifer wordlessly watched him leave. Despondent, yes, that was it. Not enough to slime the castle (thank the stars), but Raphahowl never did like quarreling. It was surprising he didn't abscond straight away like he always did, though. Jerome remembered the series of angry aunties that came pelting the door once (they moved that day), and the one clingy girl with the worryguts that came crying and draping herself over the steps (he promised to meet her at the fountain and never made good on it). Someone was cross or terrifying or naggy, and he was out faster than greased lightning. But after Charlie had locked herself away, Raphahowl had just become...pacey. He would duck his head over the banister, warm his feet at the hearth for a few, busy himself with several glasses of water at the kitchen sink and talk aimlessly to Jerome about spells. He did it all in an inconspicuous way, but Jerome wasn't dumb; he knew Raphahowl for a while now: he just wanted Charlie to get out. He didn't want to wait anymore. He wanted to explain himself, wanted to confirm or deny any misapprehensions. And then make it better if he could. And Master Raphahowl never did have the virtue of patience…

"How is it coming along?" Jerome nearly jumped out of his skin. There Raphahowl stood behind him—when had the door opened?—peering over his shoulder. His expression a subtle hue of amused, if passive, he laid his palm flat on the table as he looked over Jerome's work.

"Master R-Raphahowl!" the boy exclaimed. "It's...coming, I suppose. It's just this one thing that's got me all in a rut. I mean, what do I make out from this?" He gestured to the green slosh. "I foraged some gol powder earlier, but when I mixed it in, it turned my fingers all green. Why's that?"

Raphahowl let out a big-bellied laugh. "Are you sure that's gol powder?" he sobered.

Jerome stared. And stared and stared, until he blanched. He shot up from the table and hit his knee under it in the process. "I couldn't've mixed the two! I gotta—I've gotta—Ow."

"Not today, Jerome. It's storming out."

Oh. Jerome turned to the window and could see that the sky had, indeed, turned dark and nasty. "Oh, right. I thought I heard some rumbling outside..." he mumbled to himself. A particularly discordant crash and he started to ask if he had any idea when it would let up, but seeing Raphahowl head straight for the stairs after racking his jacket veered the question on to another thing that had been on his mind. "Um," the boy began. This gave Raphahowl pause and Jerome some trepidation because he knew his master wasn't all that fond of answering questions. "Aren't you going to say something to Charlie, Master Raphahowl?" 

Raphahowl was silent, one hand on the banister, one foot on a step. He seemed to be thinking.

Jerome went on, "I mean, because- well. She can hear you just as well through the door, can't she?"

Raphahowl turned around and looked at him. 

*****

Charlie could hear shuffling outside her door, and then it went silent, pensive; a child wanting to ask for a cookie but unsure of how to tread on his feet after being properly reprimanded. 

"I know it's you out there. Get away from my door. I'm not opening it."

"Please, listen for just a moment? A minute," Raphahowl adjusted wearily. "Not being able to explain myself is killing me faster than any sorceress could."

"Good."  

“I can't sleep, anyhow.”

“Poor you. Use a spell.”

Raphahowl sighed. So much for that. Clearly she was immune to guilt-tripping.

So he slumped forward to press his forehead against the door with a quiet 'thump'. "I'll admit, it wasn't the best way of going about it. I contemplated asking, but you were gone and last I checked people don't like questions like that which I will not mention. I hadn't meant anything immodest by it. Honest,” he told the wood. "I didn't even think about it," and this shocked even himself. "All I wanted was to surprise you with something I knew you'd appreciate."

“That’s—” Charlie stopped. That was actually kind of sweet, really. 

"It was the least I could do, I figured."

It was fantastically, painfully murmured, that last statement. Charlie barely heard it and she sort of wished she didn't. She sat up. Stared at the door.

On the inside, she screamed. 

He was really...messing her up. She was tempted to kick him for it whenever the thought rammed into her like a trolley, but she also knew she would have the hardest time explaining why she did it.

She could already imagine how the conversation would go.

Raphahowl clutching his leg, confused, and if his mouth wasn't painfully asking 'why?', the pained look on his face certainly was.

"You're becoming likable!"  

Charlie sighed grudgingly. So, she supposed she was being unfair. He got what he wanted, she did appreciate his kindness. He did it all in a very Raphahowl-ish sort of way, sure, but he'd been helpful.

There was never a time she didn't want to throw up after swallowing her pride. There weren't many of those, granted, but it always felt like rocks going down. Today, though—today? It didn't sting as much.

Progress, she guessed.

"I didn't mean to throw a hissy fit," Charlie confessed. She was probably going to regret this, but the truth was out. "I was embarrassed but also grateful, and it was hard to balance the two. I didn't want to seem ungrateful so I kept my mouth shut. Think happy thoughts, you know?" … "I know it sounds ridiculous! That was why I wanted to leave it alone, but then you kept following me around…"

"...That makes sense," she heard Raphahowl murmur on the other side of the door.

A moment of silence. Charlie sighed. She got up. She opened the door and, sure enough Raphahowl, with his big, babyish eyes was staring back at her on the other side.

With a jolt, he straightened himself, accidentally kicked over the chair, quickly swirled around to set it straight again before looking at her sorrily. "I…—” The chap cleared his throat. “How can I make it up to you?"

"Please don't-"

"I know you’ve got a craft for spools and pincushions and that sort of jawn. I don't know as much about fabric as you do, but I do know a place-"

"Raphahowl."

"-that's stacked with sewing things."

"Do me a favor."

Raphahowl stared at her.

Her smile grew a genuine inch. "Shut up."

*****

The last rays of the late afternoon sun fell slanting through the window, spilling over the walls like sweet honey. They dappled the wood, flickered like the leaves outside like candlelight. Already, the atmosphere was making Charlie sleepy, but she couldn't doze off now, not if she wanted to wake up with a stiff neck in the morning. Raphahowl was leaned over her, one hand over the top of her seat and the knuckles of his other hand propped on his hip. He smelled of dulcet hyacinths. It wasn't overbearing, and it certainly wasn't soft—just the right amount to make anyone's nostrils who stood within a two foot radius happy. 

Distracting as it was, nothing was more baffling than the plain, white spool of thread in front of her. 

"So you're telling me I can...can think magic into this?"

"That's precisely what I'm saying. Though 'think'..." Raphahowl tapped his cheek thoughtfully. "I think 'will' is a better term for it." He leaned forward to reach for the string. "It's simple, a little like what I told you earlier about the doors, if you recall. But with this, not only do you have to use your imagination, you have to hold it in, too. Let me show you good luck." He ran his index and his thumb across the thread and as it went, the string behind it glowed yellow! Charlie could feel her mouth sliding open. 'Deer in headlights-face' people called it. "You can do the same with charm and belief. Jubilance. Courage. Enthusiasm…give it a shot."

That's where the spell broke. “I—you want me to what? Do—no," she settled. At some point she had to stop looking like an idiot. "I-I don't think I can."

"Not with that attitude," Raphahowl teased. He said, slow and insightfully, "Think about the emotion you want to put in it...Like love!" he pitched, like in a sudden burst of inspiration. "What comes to mind when you hear the word 'love'? Maybe not paper cut-outs or misconceptions…"

Well that was easy. A head of lavender dancing around the kitchen with a broom bloomed in front of Charlie’s eyes immediately. "Like a princess!" mom had joked, surprisingly missing the cups and the plates and the everything else. No one was sillier than Emma Vergier—she had a plaque and everything for it. It was aching, the bright face she kept on after dad had passed away—granted, she had always been no less than a beautiful, lively person; Colmar's military crumpled at her feet and lay their jackets over the puddles in her way—but Charlie never missed the way she sobered when she thought she was alone, the gentle way she'd run her fingers around the frame of her favorite photo of him (he had just come in from the rain that day, a Saturday in May, and hadn't been expecting his wife and daughter, two beaming, happier things, to be waiting with a camera; it had been his birthday, that was why…) 

Charlie's eyes shot open as a warm sensation crept over her fingers. She looked down and couldn't believe what she saw. "It's red this time!" She held the string up to her eyes.

Behind her, Raphahowl had grown silent. Charlie looked back and almost wished she hadn't.

His hand was still on the back of her chair, she noted, but he had leaned away and was standing straighter now. His face was perfectly neutral and he remained incredibly still and quiet and Charlie could feel the blush rising from her neck to her ears under his probing gaze. But then his lips curved upwards with a hint of a smile (a stark contrast to the beaming ones of afore) and he said, "You're full of surprises, Charlie. No ordinary person can do that."

"Meaning...?" she blinked. 

"Meaning you can use magic."

A drawn-out length of silence. Had she been on foot, she'd have probably stopped dead in her tracks.

“What?"

Her? Nineteen-year-old, regular her?

Charlie let out a wry sort of laugh. He had to be pulling her leg or something because she didn't have a magical bone in her body. If she had a knack for anything it was getting herself into bad situations.

She didn't know how she survived all those times. How she was still alive had her pinching her arm sometimes to see if she was really dreaming. But she wasn’t struck by lightning in the Wastes, the witch's henchmen hadn't drowned her, and though she had really cut it close with the duchess, she still came out breathing and unscathed. 

Huh. Maybe she was special…

"But I shouldn't be able to, should I?" Charlie said. The tentative smile her face cracked into probably didn’t fit her well, even she could tell. "It would make sense. All my life I've done nothing but work in a dress shop, I haven't used magic a day in my life. Hard to say if I'm not just some-" 

"Charlie," Raphahowl chided. "But you would be right - you'd have to have some level of magical ability to pull this off, no regular person can without at least a little. And even with just a small amount, they won't be cut out for it, I guarantee it. But don't discount yourself otherwise."

"Okay." She wasn’t sure how to phrase her next question. "So what...makes it so someone can use magic?"

"Luck. Chance. Circumstance. Anything else is practically unheard of, nonhuman, or unnatural." She didn't like the sound of that last one, less so the way he said it. Nor the way he looked when he said it. He sank almost guiltily into the drawer with a sigh. "I can't be certain what echelon of magical ability you are, but what I do know is that this way," and here he gestured to the spool, "you'll at least be in your element."

"That…" That's irrelevant, Charlie almost said, and it was—he knew it, she knew it. Compared to everything else that he said before, her being in her element was…insignificant, to say the least. 

Still, he'd done it again. The seamstress was oddly touched by his words. "And finally," she murmured, the teensiest smile on her face. "I feel like I've done everything else besides what I'm actually good at. I'm never dancing again."

"That's a shame," Raphahowl educated, peering out of the window. "I'd say you did a good job at it back in Kingsbury."

By all means she should've - would've - been embarrassed, but suspicion sent it on its way with a stick and a blanket. 

"You were there?"

Raphahowl looked at her like she had just spat out the weirdest, funniest thing he'd ever heard. His voice was back to that smooth, easy tenor. "That wasn't any old guy you were dancing with."

Wait - a - darned - second.

"That was you? Oh, I knew there was something fishy about that man—of course it would be you! I guess I was too distracted by everything else to connect the dots…"

She didn't lift her head when she pitched a half-hearted glunch at him. "You're a dumb flirt, you know."

Raphahowl's eyes were gleaming, but the way he was smiling… for once it wasn’t his dumb, smirk-y smug face, or the dazzling modelesque smile that inspired his devotees to clump up the streets just so they could holler their adoration about him.

“Well I work hard at it," he said simply.

Charlie blinked. And then she blushed. And then she rubbed at her face like there was something on it, because she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see her stupid reaction. He really shouldn’t be able to make her heart jump with such simple sentences, and yet it stumbled in her chest like a hiker on foreign terrain.

"You can do the same to objects, too. Small ones, in your case since you're only a beginner." Charlie was thrown for a moment, but then her brain kicked her and she remembered he was talking about the sewing thing. "And I mean no offense by that," he added kindly. 

"None taken," she went easily. "It's already…something that I can even do what I can."

"I wouldn't put being able to do much more past a tenacious person like you. We can only hope you don't become a terror, Jerome, Fonducifer and I. No more than today, at least."

"Don't hold your breath," Charlie grinned. I think I’ll make Jerome a boutonniere...

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them, interrupted only by the sounds of the birds nesting and Jerome shuffling things around at the workbench. If you listened hard enough, you could even hear the 'pop’ and ‘crackle’ Fonducifer gave off at the hearth. I missed this, Charlie decided then. This lull in her life. She wasn’t home where her everyday was filled to the brim with it (save of course the days where the occasional, incensed customer bursted the shop doors, or when her cousins dropped by, or when a crazed witch visited in the middle of the night) but that was okay. The way things were now, with Jerome, and Fonducifer...Raphahowl. To think, at first, she hated this topsy-turvy take on things that the witch of the Wastes had shaped her life into... 

Charlie was hit with an epiphany before she could stew on it any further.

"Raphahowl, what about bad things?" 'Bad things'. Grief, was she five? "I mean to will into the spool. Like cur-" Her tongue stopped her. 

"Curses?" Raphahowl looked thoughtful for a second. "Of course you can. You can nix just about anything this world has to offer, trinkets, rings, a person's hair. Almost everything is susceptible; a goldmine to the magicians who bend the rules of nature and abuse the power they were given." 

The way he said it…though his voice was soft, there was a note in it that made her feel uneasy. His face was grim—determined, she could even venture—and he seemed to contemplate for a while. Charlie felt tempted to apologize for asking when he rubbed his arm again and stood tall, albeit tiredly.

"Raphahowl...?"

"I have some business to attend to." The look he tossed her was so swift it was almost like he hadn't looked her way at all. "So if you have any questions, you can ask Jerome. Tomorrow, we'll be traveling to a place called Rennes. It's for your curse."

He didn't spare her another glance as he went to the door. She heard Jerome's "Leaving, Master Raphahowl?" and the wizard replied something about the youth being in charge while he was away. But before long, he had turned the color on the wheel and was out the back door with a quiet swish.

Charlie frowned.

Just what are you hiding, Raphahowl?

Chapter Text

The crystal had swirled underneath her touch, restless as it flickered between images, before settling, as always it did. Elisabeth allowed herself one small sigh. "I see you still haven't removed your leeches from Kingsbury, Régine. I believe your target has long moved elsewhere or did no one tell you?"

She had come in from the glass door—not the first time she'd done so—as expected. Her midnight gown slid across polished tiles as she moved, in that languid, unhurried way of hers, to the center of the Royal Palace's indoor garden. Her earrings reflected the dim light evening brought and the smoke from her cigar was her tendrils. For a woman who fought so hard to keep herself youthful, she certainly picked up a bad habit.

"One of your plucky little brats attempted to eviscerate me, you know. Just mere moments ago.”

"Did he now?"

Wendel, one of her well-mannered apprentices, bowed his head immediately. His blonde hair curtained the sides of his face. "My apologies, madame." 

For not finishing the job, he exuded, even though his head was ducked respectfully and his arms were at his sides. Elisabeth felt the smallest hint of a smile lift the corners of her lips as she dismissed the boy's 'regrets'.

“So sorry for the trouble you’ve experienced,” she, too, dipped her head. “Though I would advise you not to snake your way into the palace for the future. You might not get what you bartered for.” That said, Elisabeth’s expression took on a more business-like aspect. "What is it you want, Régine?" 

The witch muttered something unintelligible under her breath (something about an ‘irritable old fool’ and ‘misdirected apologies’. Elisabeth didn’t care to trouble her ears) before answering, "My henchmen aren't as worthless as I thought." 

"Aren't they?" Elisabeth's smile was bland, yet perfectly refined and carefully polite in a way that spoke of years of training. "Hum and haw. You didn't come all this way just to tell me such meaningless information, did you?" Régine didn't respond straight away, in favour of taking a long, drawn-out swig from her cigar. The toxic, wrinkled stick, much like those belching planes, had a slow, creeping stench. "I always did peg you for a curmudgeon, Elisabeth. It hasn't done your skin any favors." 

"Much less the filth between your teeth."

Another sup from said filth lengthened the "touché" the witch responded with. "My henchmen's done some scouting around, you slivered old woman. Turns out that tacky little dress shop girl isn't the same girl I sought after. I'll admit, she's slicker than I gave her credit for."

"That's certainly shocking, Régine. She knows Raphahowl, does she not? A pitiless creature like you, I thought you dispatched anyone who dared look his way. Régine, I do hope you didn't come all this way just to allow me a share on your progress and waste both our times?" 

"The real Marie," Régine announced, and with a quick twinkling of her lacquered fingers, an image bloomed before Elisabeth's eyes and what she saw in it stopped her heart. Her blonde hair was unruly; thrown back into a messy ponytail at the base of her head. This young girl's eyes were that of a familiar blue, and her smile was a warm, if a little worn, thing as she waved goodbye to her associates. This girl... Surely Elisabeth's eyes were deceiving her, surely she could not reasonably be seeing… 

But no. The royal sorcerer quickly recomposed her expression. Never hand over your emotions. Don't show your thoughts. Just as she had taught Howl to do—and so many others, so many years ago. She closed her eyes in thought. If it were some years ago, she could’ve lifted her rod and stripped this witch of all the magic she owned, but as it stood now, she didn’t have that kind of strength.

"Is this girl,” Régine gluttoned on. “Now she-" and it was with a crazed grin that she continued, a victor's leer, like she'd just tinked the world's most precious, coveted gem, "fits the description hideously better. After I deconstruct the paltry little life she lives, I'll go after the deceitful brat that lead me astray in the first place. She'll be miserable to learn that her little distraction only delayed the inevitable. Ha! I'm thinking I'll let her writhe first before I kill her."

“You haven't figured it out yet, I see.”

Up Régine looked, and her leering face sobered only a little. She looked unhappy to be interrupted from her ogling, but too proud of her success to truly let her prize, her pride wane. The witch of the Wastes never was a smart woman.

“The child you cursed at the boutique isn't who she says she is, this is true. She is not Marie.”

“And?” the witch spat.

“However, she has exactly what you have been yearning for. Marie's beauty, no, Marie herself, is nothing compared to the threat this girl poses to you.”

Elisabeth distantly wondered, as Régine’s face became even blotchier and her complexion stormier with each word that she bestowed upon the witch, how long it had been, how many years since she had last felt what she felt presently. As Régine’s mouth felled to an ugly, downwards curve, as her pupils pinpricked and her eyebrows pushed unsightly wrinkles into the roof of her nose (she looked as though she was going to burst into flames that instant), she was reminded of that awful, human feeling she had so meticulously confined into the deepest depths of herself. After the Witch of the Wastes wrathfully stormed out of the royal palace’s doors, the elder woman smiled with no happiness behind it, only shame. Guilt. Her apprentices came to her afterwards, one routinely relieving her of her rod and the other wheeling her to her chambers. Alfred stood by the doors to open them, but he said nothing as she entered through. He knew. What she had done, she could not undo. 

Forgive me, Charlie.