Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Itward was sneaking about the Dagenhardt residence. Not to stalk them or anything, just a check-up. He climbed quietly atop the marble counters and slipped behind doors and corners, managing to not be seen. He dashed into the kitchen when Lucia and her husband came into the living room.

The living room was dark at the moment, as the two were watching the T.V. The kitchen was lit up though. The white tiled floors reflected the light, which was a bit of an assault on the eyes in comparison to how hardly illuminated the rest of the house was.

“That was close,” Itward sighs to himself. He hears movement behind him. Was Grace here too? Surely he hadn't missed her if she was.

He spins around, he was ready to dash, and his spiral portal was already forming underneath him.

Seated against the far wall is a little girl. It was Fran. She was sitting in her high chair, playing with her food. She was no more than a year old, her brown hair was just starting to grow out. Her eyes were blue, but that could change as she got older. She was wearing a blue onesie and a little bib over it, both of which were covered in food. Itward had thought she was in her room.

He relaxes a bit. She's so young, she shouldn’t be able to see him. Not for a while. Yet he couldn’t help but feel she had her eyes on him. Not that she happened to just be staring at the space behind him, but actually at him.

He began to step back, mostly to give himself more clearance from the kitchen door, and also he kept his eyes on her. And to his amazement, Fran's eyes followed him.

When he stopped, she stopped following him, and she'd stare. When he moved left, her eyes followed left. The same for right. She saw him! How did she imagine him so early? The youngest up until this point imagined him at 2 ½, Fran was a year-and-a-half younger.

He knew there was no way Fran had been told of him, or that if she had it wouldn't matter anyway, since telling someone about him doesn't really give them the same capabilities to imagine him, although it does slightly speed up the process. If it did, the Oswald's Asylum's nurses could see him when he was in the 5th reality with how often they hear of him in some kid’s casual conversation to their mad ravings.

Fran knocked over her cup, which was luckily empty. A look of slight sorrow passed over her face as she reached for it, yet couldn't reach it. Itward quietly came over and picked it up, him not really needing to bend down as much because of his long arms. He handed the cup to her, which she took with one hand, but with the other she reached out and gently grabbed onto his ring finger. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

It didn't last too long, as he heard one of the parents approaching. He gently pulled his finger away, “I'll be back, I promise,” he whispers to her, before he jumps through the kitchen window.

**Back at Ithersta**

“What has put you in such a cheery mood?” Palontras asks Itward, who was more bubbly than usual.

“I saw Fran. More notably, she saw me! You remember Fran, Lucia's daughter?” Itward adds the last part. Palontras didn't frequent other realities like Itward did. He did keep an eye on each of them, more so now. Palontras also knew who Lucia, amongst other twins, because of Dr.Oswald's experiments on them. Those experiments that are edging participant and conductor ever so closer to entering other realities.

“Isn't she only a year old?” Palontras asks.

“Exactly! She is going to be a very special girl. It seems she may be one already,” Itward muses, “do you think she may play a greater role than, say, her mother?”

“Possibly. But we can't ever be sure. She may forget, or her senses may dull as she ages,” Palontras reasons.

“I'll keep an eye on her.”

***Back at Fran’s***

Itward had managed to secure some time to see Fran, which was becoming more difficult. It had been hectic, and it was getting more so. It had been six years since the first time the two met. Fran was seven.

“Itward, look at this!” Fran gently pulled Itward over to her dollhouse. Itward played with her when he could be around and her parents were elsewhere. Now that Fran could be left alone for longer periods of time, he had more potential time to be with her. And he wished so much to be able to take it. “I made the doll a bed!” She holds up the bed in the palm of her hands. Like everything Fran made, it was a creative collection of other objects. Itward loved how creative she was.

The actual house, or at least its frame, wasn’t made by Fran. And Itward never exactly knew if it was something passed down from the family.

Itward chuckled, “I think it is a fine bed for the doll. Will you give her other furniture?” Itward was seated next to Fran, his long legs were taller than her.

“I want to!” Fran turns back to the dollhouse to put the bed back. She got very quiet for a second before she asked, “You've been gone a lot, will you ever leave me?”

“No!” Itward pulled Fran into a hug, he was going to have to be honest though, “I won't ever leave you. May be gone for long periods of time, but it doesn't matter if I have to be gone a day, a week, a month, a year, or twenty years, I will come back to see you the second I can.”

A smile came across Fran's face, “thank you, Itward!” She gave him a tight hug, “I love you, Itward.”

“I love you too, Fran,” he held her.

Unfortunately, the “years” timescale became a reality. When he told her that, he had at most ever been gone for about a month, and he had hoped it would stay that way. But it didn’t.

In a horrifying twist of events, he didn't see her for about four years. And in that time, she had come to forget him.

***Oswald Asylum***

What had happened?! I dash through the halls of the asylum. I am careful to keep out of occupied corridors, it is just a precaution. The nurses can’t see me.

I hadn't seen Clara and Mia for a week, and I come back to this? They weren't in their room. So I checked elsewhere. Eventually I came to the operating rooms, which very clearly had just been used. Coming to the back I saw them. But not as they used to be.

Clara and Mia had been sown together. Mia was on the left and Clara on the right. If it wasn't for my upbringing in the fifth reality, I don't know if I could stomach it.

They were asleep, so rather than awaking them, I took off through the halls. Which is how I am where I am now.

That is, trying to find the main office. I know the report is written already. I find it, and I quickly rifle through the massive filing cabinets for their names. I pull the full folder out and tuck it into my suit. They may notice its missing, but I will eventually give it back. I dash out of the asylum and get into my flying machine, setting it to Ithersta.

Once flying, I take a look at the folder, as much as I didn't want to. The files read:

Clara and Mia Buhalmut

Age: 12

Date of birth: [unknown] 1929

Surgery performed: 04/22/1941

Clara and Mia, under order of Dr.Oswald were sown together. To achieve this, the girls each lost an arm. Clara lost her left, and Mia her right. Likewise, they lost their legs on the same side. The torsos were cut, but not is such a way as to interrupt the lungs, heart, and stomachs. But, in a still uncertain procedure, the two's digestive system, from the small intestine to large intestine was combined into one system. For ease, both girls’ uteruses were removed. Their urinary systems remain independent of one another, but not the end of the digestive system.

No known complications arose during the surgery. And it is new territory, so it is unknown how long the two will last, if at all.

I sit there, barely able to read the last few sentences from how much my hands are shaking. I am so close to crying. How could they do this to them? I flip through the report, and all it is at this point are papers waiting to be filled out. I throw the papers down onto the table, standing up, and stopping out. I sit by the control panel and watch the blurs of things passing by, before I cover my eyes with my hands, and stifle a sob.

The next time I see Clara and Mia it is a week later. The two are in their room, seated in a large wheelchair, and they're fighting.

“Now I'm stuck next to you!” Mia hits Clara with a slap.

“You think I'm happy about it?” Clara pulls Mia's hair.

“I hate-”

“Absolutely not, you two!” I grab onto their wrists before they do anything else. They look up at me.

They only have two hands now…

“Now, Clara, tell me what is going on between you two,” I squat down to be at a closer level to them.

“I'm sewn to Mia! And she's mean, and I hate her!” Clara begins tearing up. And Mia looks very indignant.

“Now, Mia, you tell me what is going on,” I try to keep it even for the two. I have noticed the doctors making the mistake of using only one of the girls as a spokesperson for the other. It'd be fine if the two were more compatible, but they are just so different.

“Well, Clara already said most of it! She doesn't like me, and I don't like her!” Mia pouts.

I suppress a sigh, “Ok, listen,” I lower their arms and gently hold their hands. Both are paying attention to me. “Mia, apologize to Clara for slapping her. And, Clara, apologize to Mia for pulling her hair.”

The two look at me, but they reluctantly apologize to each other, with the sincerity that they know I expect. Even then, I do think, despite how much they seem to legitimately dislike each other, that they feel sorry for hurting each other. Even if it is only occasionally. “Ok, with that over, I am going to say this: You two have been through a horrible event, one that I wish had never befallen you. Unfortunately, I, nor anyone I know, can separate you two now.”

“Know this above all: Mia, this is not Clara's fault. And, Clara, this is not Mia's fault either. You two are not responsible for this. And you must not ever allow yourselves to think that.”

“You two are going to have to learn to work together, on almost everything. I will help you the best I can,” I promise to them. They looked as though they believed me.

“I want to walk again,” Mia says softly.

“Me too,” Clara adds.

“Hold my hands, and both of you try to stand up, go,” I instruct. They tentatively stand, wobbling greatly at first, they are able to balance themselves to be able to stand up straight. “Now, Mia, you take the first step, then stand still until you're stable.”

They tentatively step forward. They wobble a bit before they stand steady. “Now Clara,” I signal, and she then takes a step even with Mia's. The two take a little longer to stabilize than when they had first stood up, but they got there.

We stop the exercise when they had successfully walked around the room and back to their wheelchair, where they happily take a seat. They're young so the little walk hadn’t been too much of a toll, but they were tired afterwards for sure.

“Can you come back to teach us more?” Mia looks up at me.

“Yes, please do,” Clara adds, a hopeful look in her eye.

“Of course. As I promised you two, I will help you however I can,” I give the two girls a hug and leave for the day, they need sleep, and they were going to be put to bed soon.

***Ithersta***

“I got wind of what happened with the twins,” Polantras says. He had just came up in the castle. I was working on my fireberry fuel machine. I had needed a part from Cogswind, and like always, he delivered better than I could have hoped. I glance up at him, but soon get back to work. “I know it's rough,” Polantras councils, “they are alive, and it seems they have a strong will.”

I sigh, “yes, but why was then done to them?” I spin around in my chair to face him.

“Did the file say anything as to why the experiment was conducted?”

“Why would I have the-” I halt my speaking once I see the way in which Palontras was looking at me. He knows. “Well,” I pull out the folder, I hadn't been able to force myself to read more, “the second sheet says: The two, under the request of Dr.Oswald, were sewn together to test any potential effects of the procedure on D.N.A.” I read.

“There's my answer,” he says solemnly. “I take it the two aren't reacting to it well?”

“Not at all.”

“What do you have planned to help them?”

“I want to teach them how to walk, together. Hopefully to the point of not needing any sort of crutch. I hope to then get them to have better teamwork, and to both like themselves and each other more,” I explain.

“I hope it will work out. The two need to get along better, they are really all each other have, aside from you. Have fun completing your project there, and I wish you luck,” with a nod he flies out. I watch him disappear into the night's sky, and I turn back to my work, completing it after a few hours.

****

Itward had believed Clara and Mia were really listening to him, that they believed him. He had hoped they knew what he was trying to do for them.

But he was wrong. He was too hopeful.

And they were too good at lying.

When Fran came to re-remember Itward he was not naïve, but did he used to kind of be.

Sure he knew of the horrors of the world, he knew of the atrocities people could and would commit. People lied, that was common knowledge.

It was mostly the shock of the way in which Clara and Mia manipulated everything to appear as though it was fine, when it was far from.

He realized this when a knife just barely missed his ribs. Even if they hadn't missed, it may had not hurt him. But emotionally it hurt worse than a stab. It hurt worse than being dismembered.

Itward didn't stay around long, the girls and their frantic movements slowly grew to tower over him as he sunk into the portal, only to disappear when he fully went through it.

He didn't dare come back after a few days. He was scared. Not from what may happen to him, but what he knew had happened to them.

There is usually a sort of emptiness one feels after the loss of someone important. It is typically described as being like a hole.

For Itward it was a fissure. It wasn't bottomless, nor was it really like something was missing, it was almost to him like the two had become distant from him.

It was just how he grieved. Especially concerning the ultrareality, he could always see them, but never interact. They stood on the other side of that fissure. And he couldn't teleport across.

Clara and Mia were sixteen when they died. The nurses heard the shouting and screaming, but by the time they had gotten there the girls were dead. They had knife wounds everywhere. Small, long cuts reduced their faces to a contained area of bloody slashes. Their torsos had deep stabs, from which blood had pooled onto the floor around them. It looked like a red rug under them.

Their bodies, still attached, were drug out into the woods surrounding the asylum and dumped in an old well. A splash was heard after a few minutes from when they were dropped in.

Itward knew the two wouldn't accept his help happily, but begrudgingly worked just as well. He slipped into the well, having to remove some of the boarding over the top. It was a long drop, before Itward finally dropped onto the roof. Itward took the time to observe his surroundings.

All it did was make his chest hurt.

He was standing atop a nice, two story pink house. It was the house Clara and Mia had wanted to live in if they had ever gotten out of the asylum. The house was the centrepiece of the island, another wish of the two's.

Itward jumped onto the most unoccupied ground of the island. It had a nice little pier, beautiful tree, and a nice view of the sky. Itward wrote down his promise, to give them a chance to be happy, on a little piece of paper and signed it.

Regardless of how much they hated him, they knew he was not lying and that he had more than enough power to deliver. It was a less personal letter, but he wished them luck.

He set it down on the kitchen counter, set the baking soda on top of it, then he began to climb up the walls of the well.

It was up to them to make things right.

***

Frantic is not normally how one would describe Itward.
Eccentric? Definitely.
Frantic? Only applicable at this moment.
He had heard of what happened to Lucia, her husband, and, most of all, Fran.
He had seen the newspapers, then to going to the house. Sprawled out were the corpses, blood splattered out in pools. They were both dismembered, no wonder Fran ran. Itward knew this would damage Fran, she should have never seen this. Kamalas has been lapping up the blood, but fled when he came. He spent little time in the house, rather turning on his heel to find Fran. He wasn't able to, not before the asylum did. When Oswald asylum had her, he checked their records. They revealed little, and were very clearly covering something, Itward just didn't know what. Not yet anyway.
Itward knew this: her parents had been murdered, which left her as the sole survivor. She had Mr.Midnight, a black cat, which was presumably dead.
More than one event had been set in motion.
Itward will be ready to assist Fran when she is ready to break out of the asylum and to face the other realities.

Chapter Text

It had been set into motion. Fran was ready to leave the asylum. Sure, she should not have been there. She should have been at home, with her family and with Mr.Midnight. Fran should have been comfortable and happy. But no one could change what happened, especially not Itward. He was running through the halls of the asylum, in and out of reality. He knew Remor was very close to Fran, too close. He had to catch his bearings. He stops at the end of an empty hallway, he knew these halls, he knew the building's layout, but he didn't know where Fran was, or where Remor was. He wasn't sure which took precedence.
He heard quiet, rhythmic steps. He waited, they were coming closer, and he hoped it was Fran. She was tiny, and such quiet footsteps could be hers. Even if they weren't, he would do well to identify who they belonged to.
Rounding the corner was Fran! She was wearing a yellow dress, with white and black striped leggings, her hair in a brown bob. She looked so much older, with a pang in his chest, he was reminded how long it really had been since they last saw each other. With her location accounted for, he opened a portal beneath himself, sinking into it. As he sunk into it, he could see a look of shock pass over Fran's face when she looked not in his direction, but at him. Had she remembered him? She was nothing but a surprise.

He found Remor, who was a lot more stealthy than many would imagine. Remor had Fran by the foot, his dark claws and fingers wrapped around her ankle, threatening to break the skin. Itward became almost furious, leaping through the portal, grabbing onto Remor's shoulders and with a burst a strength, pulled him back, sending one of his inventions out the other side to guide Fran at the same time. Remor's hand let go as he was pulled into the portal and he swatted at Itward, exclaiming in anger. The portal closed, leaving them in a specific area of the 5th reality. Itward stood on a floating, jagged platform, covered in blue and white cracked tiles. Similarly sized and shaped tiles were hovering at different altitudes. They were of the same material as each other, some were splattered with blood. The sky and area around was a swirl of red and black. Remor hovered though, he was fuming. His black eyes were fixed on Itward before he lunged with a snarl. Itward had to jump from platform to platform as Remor crossed the distance with ease, swiping. At first he missed, but he began to hit afterward. Itward had only to stall for ten minutes, he had just a minute left.
In a daring move, he jumped over Remor, landing on a platform and crumpling, his back touching the platform as Remor's giant claws cut through where he was standing. With a roll Itward fell onto the platform below, giving him just a second before Remor reached him. And ten minutes had passed, right as Remor made contact, not just a small scratch, but one that cut through his suit and broke his ribs. But that didn't matter, Itward had waited long enough, and a portal formed below him, his slipped through before another claw could sink itself into his hip. His side stung, it was enough damage to really pain him. It was not often he was ever physically hurt, but of course when he did, he took very serious damage.

"That was a very bad idea on your behalf," Polantras scolds. They were in Polantras' home, plenty of herbal medicines filled the shelves. Itward had gone to Ithersta to tend to his wounds, though there was really little he could do to assist his body. He took some calcium, sodium, and a couple of other minerals to give his body what was needed to reform his ribs, the rest his body would have to do. He also needed some cloth to patch his suit.
"I was able to stall enough for Fran to get away," he defends, sewing the patch with black thread.
"Yes, but you should not have done that still. You are powerful, but not that powerful. Don't pull another stunt like that," Polantras doesn't order, it was more a suggestion, there was little he could do to hold back Itward.
Itward makes some acknowledgement before asking, "do we know where she's headed?"
"Only into the woods."
"Mr.Midnight" peddled through the grounds, past the asylum, and into the dangerous woods outside. It could hear Fran calling after him, not certain it was Mr.Midnight, but hopeful.
Itward had constructed it to guide Fran past the asylum and through the maze. It had to stop once it reached the woods, it couldn't go through the well. It can't construct anything.
It followed its path, only hoping Fran will keep up.

Chapter Text

Mr.Midnight woke up in a cage, a golden cage with a plush bottom, a blanket draped over him. Though it felt comfortable, he did not feel comfortable himself, rather he felt dread, fear. He shakes off the blanket, only able to see in the pitch darkness due to being a feline. He glances around, only able to distinguish that it was cluttered and no door was visible.
Where was he?
He caught a sniff of something, it was perfume. It wasn't a scent he was familiar with, but it wasn't unpleasant, other than that he wasn't certain if the scent was on a friend or foe.
He hears the floor creak, a short rasp as the room becomes faintly lit when a hatch in the floor opened, a ladder could be heard tumbling down, hitting the floor with a clack.
Oddly paced footsteps head up the ladder, where he sees a silhouette. A hand reaches for a string, pulling it and with a click the room illuminates for real. The owner of the hand brings it by her side, still standing sideways. She had brown, shoulder length hair, with pale skin and wearing a blue dress with matching stockings.
Maybe she didn't have a way to keep him otherwise? Mr.Midnight contemplates. Oh….
She turned, seeing she had two heads, a second, virtually identical one.
"We're lucky to have you here," the left head says sinisterly, glancing over at the other.
"Where am I?" Mr.Midnight attempts speaking, not certain if these girls would hear more than a simple "meow".
"Oh, you'll see," the right says. They understood him! Never had anyone but Fran been able to understand what he said, he wasn't sure why. These girls, though older than Fran, were still pretty young, so maybe that had something to do with it?
"Who are you?"
"I'm Clara," the head on the right introduces herself.
"I'm Mia," the other introduces, "you are?"
I shake my head and hiss, "I ask that you let me out!"
They both break out into a laughing fit, "no, no, no, we won't," Clara speaks first.
"You're far too much of our golden opportunity to let you out," Mia adds.
"Golden opportunity for what?"
"You'll see," they say in unison.
"No! I don't 'want to see', I want out! I have to get out. I have to get back to my owner, she must be looking for me!" He protests, inspecting the lock. It was large, golden, with the loop through the outer door wire and the rest of the cage, a keyhole on the other side. He couldn't break it, never in a million years, nor could he pry through the bars. His eyes came back to the girls, a keyring with a few keys becoming much more noticeable.
"We know," Clara muses. Mr.Midnight's wide eyes narrow in suspicion as they met hers, "that is what we are hoping for."
They chuckle and he could almost see the insanity. They turn on their shared heels sharply, grabbing the light switch and giving it a sharp tug, plunging him back into near darkness. He saw their underlit form slowly descend down the ladder. Once out of sight, he heard a click, everything really went dark, and he curled into a ball, ridden with guilt that he had now become a trap for Fran.
He had been trying to find her after the event. Fran had ran out into the woods, crying, covered in blood. He couldn't do much to communicate with her in this state, she had shut off to listening to him completely, but he knew she was aware of him. They ran in the dead of night, the moonlight barely enough to provide much light. Sure he could see, but Fran couldn't so easily. Wet mud stuck to her shoes and caught in his fur, tall grass bent under their feet. The ground was not clear, many twigs, pine cones, litter blocked their way, however a large branch tripped Fran. She fell into the mud, her weak frame having difficulty pulling herself up.
"Did you hear that? Over there!" Some men shout, their flashlights illuminated Fran's body and blinded him at the same time. He could see scrapes he knew weren't there before on her pale, otherwise unblemished skin.
His sensitive hearing heard the squelching of their boots in the wet mud, pounding the ground, sending foreboding anxiety up his spine. When they reached her, it was four men, all giants to Mr.Midnight, but he would not go down fighting. He lashed out at them if they tried to grab her, his claws were fully extended, far enough past his fur to reflect the light, a warning glint.
Pain shot through his ribs as he sprawled onto the ground a distance away. One of the men kicked him! As soon as he recovered he rolled over, only to catch the last light of their flashlights. Following the giant footprints as quick as he could, he came skittering to a halt when he saw them take her into that institution, Oswald asylum.
He knew he couldn't get in, but maybe Fran could get out? Grace and Lucia both spoke of that place. Grace always gave it a sort of admiring praise in her rambles, but Lucia would scorn the area, barely able to articulate what events happened to her whilst there to her husband before breaking down crying or in a panic attack. He couldn't trust the asylum, so he waited in the forest for Fran to leave, or something. He was a cat, the descendant of wild hunters, so he scavenged food.
He had prowled farther into the woods following a rat, only to feel the ground beneath him seemingly disappear, then he woke up in the cage.

Clara and Mia made it to the kitchen, starting to prepare the ritual as best they could. They also wanted to eat.
"Do you really think this will work this time?" Mia glances over at Clara.
"We can only hope." She replies curtly, pulling flour off of the shelf.
Mia grabs the sugar and baking powder, not yet sure what Clara was preparing for, but it was clearly some sort of pastry.
"Will we have the ingredients?" Mia asks again.
"Yes! Will you calm down?" Clara snaps.
"Calm down? I am calm, you're the one that's angry," Mia tries to not raise her voice, but it really won't be long before this turns into a shouting match.
"You're bugging me about all of this, you really don't think I can do it?"
"I'm just making sure we know what to get! In case you forgot, I have to be there, I'd like to know what I'll be getting into!"
"Right," Clara says mockingly.
"You think I'm lying?"
"Have you ever told the truth?"
"I-I, really?" Mia stutters.
"You never could hold up in an argument could you? No wonder everyone chose me as our spokesperson, you would have never given them a straight answer." Mia flinched at the insult, Clara glaring at her as best she could. Mia remembers the days all too well, of the nurses coming in and out, asking only one to speak for both. What tea would you two like? A nurse would question, as they sat at the dinner table, a single light barely sufficient to illuminate the cold, grey room. It was pouring outside, rain hit the windows violently and the wind snapped weak branches.
Earl gray, Clara would answer, and before Mia could even say she'd like peach tea, the nurse left, coming back shortly after with two cups of Earl gray tea.
Mia relished the days and loved the nurses who gave Clara a similar treatment. Do you all feel any pain? A particularly young nurse would ask Mia. No, she replied sternly, knowing full well Clara's leg had been unusually painful lately, and knowing full well the look of pain her sister had as the nurse left, taking only her word for it.
It became a contest between the two, who could make the other one suffer the most at the hands of the other, which nurse took which one to account for both. When they were sown together, that is when the real fun began.
The only one to not treat them like that, Mia suddenly recalled, was Itward. Someone who stressed they were independent, someone who let them both enjoy their own, often wildly different interests. He tried to get the two to like one another, but he did know their jealousy stemmed from having to act like the other. Mia quickly pushed that down, never letting herself really believe the truth.
"Then I'm glad to say, if we're acting for one another, we'll be having cake," Mia spat, her arm having made a lot of the cake batter already. She had measured, poured, and mixed in the flour, sugar, baking powder, and cocoa powder. She could do more than Clara could with one hand, and she lorded it over her without mercy.
"We'll have bread with it too," Clara demands. The two really had pretty much the same taste in foods, save for drinks. They both liked baking and both could eat a lot. They got some fresh ingredients from what grew on the island. Occasionally there grew strawberries, blackberries, once there were blueberries, and herbs grew sporadically. Flour and other dry, processed foods that they had no means of acquiring were often dropped off once a month. They both knew who was doing that.
Both turned to each other, a new spark of anger blazing in their chests, mouths ready to spew some new vitriol, when they both heard a thud from outside. It was heavy, but not that heavy. Heavy for an animal, light for a human. They turn to look out the window. On the ground was a person, but at a distance what they could really make out was some sort of yellow garment they were wearing.
Their anger dropped and they spun around, moving to, through, and out the door as quickly as they could, crossing their slightly unkempt yard to the body.
"Do you see it, Clara?"
"Our way out? Yes, yes I do," she answers. They both peer down at the body, a young, very skinny girl. She's wearing a sleeveless yellow dress with a blue clasp in the middle, black and white horizontally striped tights and black shoes. Both her and her clothing were somewhat muddied. All of that aside, what was important to them was that she was no older than 13.
One arm grabs one of her's and the other grabs her ankle. With only a little tug, they were able to hoist her off of the ground and pull her into their house.
"We should clean her," Mia suggests. Clara only nods and they carefully take her to their bathroom, bath her and then set her in the pet bed.
They saw her stir, "who are you?" Clara demands.
"F...Fran Bow…," she rolls over a little.
"Fran Bow, do you have a cat?"
"Mr.Midnight?" Her brow furrows, her expression was of distress.
"Where are her parents?" Mia whispers to Clara, who merely shrugs her shoulder.
"Dead… they were murdered…," Fran goes quiet, sleeping in a near coma like state.
"Dead parents? Well, no one will miss her then," Clara smiles sinisterly.

Chapter Text

Itward was seated in a posh chair at the darkwood table in his flying machine. /the room was illuminated by a few bulbs, which hummed in the relative silence. Only the flapping of the wings could really be heard. To his right, Fran and Mr.Midnight were riding Polantras outside. He took the time to set the flying machine to autopilot so he could write. Now that they were headed to Ithersta, Itward had to think about Fran’s new upbringing. He’s protected children, he’s never exactly raised one.
He taps his fingers against the table, staring down at the yellowed sheet of paper. An ink well full of black ink was sitting by the top of the paper, a large feather quill sticking out of it. Itward tried to explain ultrareality and the alternate realities to Fran. For how young, and with how, at the time, unfamiliar with the whole situation she was, Itward had to… simplify. He finally picks up the quill and taps off the excess ink. He places the tip on the paper, the ink spot growing before he finally decides to write:

“My dear Fran,
I write this now in anticipation for when you really begin to understand everything.
I gave you a basic explanation of everything, but I will give you this when you’re older.
Allow me to elaborate. Ultrareality is a way to look into other realities, yes, but it’s more akin to the dimension of a reality. When you enter ultrareality in the 3rd reality, you are seeing a parallel dimension of the 3rd reality. Some people have the skill to really see the other realities from one, but they are few and far between. Remor can, for example, to some degree I can. If you develop the ability, I would be admittedly less than surprised.
Afterall, in those flashes you told me about, in Ithersta, that was ultrareality. We’ll see what you can do by the time you read this letter.
When you were in the in between, the forest and the girls’ house, ultrareality gave you more insight into the “normal” world. Their house would be ultrareality were you still in the “real world”, which is why the well was only visible through the effects of duotine. The inside of the well was visible only through duotine.
Not everyone can see ultrareality, though more can than one may think, especially in the third reality. The only thing that stops most humans from seeing more is mentality. The “insane” have a good disposition to see more, but the clinically ill do exist. Just because someone has limited inhibition, doesn’t mean it’ll let them see what is really there.
Next, a bit on origins. All of the realities are as extensive as the third. Think of your home, the third reality. Think of the massive amounts of life, there are entire towns, cities, countries, ecosystems, planets, universes, all of it. Ithersta has its own countries. King Ziar is only the king of that specific area of Ithersta. There are other kings in other parts of the reality. Ziar is more connected to the events of all of the realities, since his kingdom is the closest to the path between the second and third reality.
Only the second and fifth realities have higher deities, that is, the Great Voloka for Ithersta, and Mabuka for the fifth. For that reason, those realities generally reflect the ideals of that deity. Usually.
Ithersta is typically inhabited by natural things, what you’d understand as insects, roots, fruits, and vegetables. These are the third generations and onwards. The Great Voloka’s energy begets further creations. At first, this is other volokas, then there come luciferns, and then some other things. As these creations live, and later populate, their forms shift. As time passes, though not as close to the intent of the deity, they still embody the ideals.
This was the same process with Mabuka and the fifth reality. First there were kamalas, who are the closest to the evil, sorrow, and misery that Mabuka emanates. As time went on, the chaotic world of the fifth reality was populated with less evil, but still twisted creations.
Remor was specifically made. Mabuka can of course guide what she creates. For something so powerful, so specific, she had to exercise some caution. The fallout of her power is infinite, and so are her creations, but the energy that is required to make up her, that is finite. So, she consumed her strongest kamalas, her largest goat-like mutants, whose tough bodies and horns made them good fighters. With that excess energy she could spare some of her power to make Remor. Her son. With her new fighter, the volokas retaliated, making a being from a much purer process. That was Polantras.
Now that you’ll be living with us, you’ll soon understand it all. I hope we can make your life comfortable, my dear.”
He set the pen down. Whilst he waited for the ink to dry, he dug throughout his flying machine, finally finding is stationary in his cabinet of curiosities. He grabs a candle, his wax, and wax seal, and sets them all down on the table. He lights the candle and heats up the wax as he folds the letter, carefully slotting it into the envelope. He places down the wax and stamp, imprinting a stylized little skull with a tophat, his ensignia, in the dark green wax. On the back of the envelope he writes “when you’re ready”, and stashes it away. Somewhere Fran will eventually have to look.
He comes back to the pilot’s seat, getting ready to land as King Ziar’s palace was quickly coming into view.