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“Take on the task of Lantern-Bearer, or watch your brother perish.”
“Okay.”
The choice that changed everything.
The world shifted, roots moved, puzzles rearranged.
No one would be the same.
The last thing Wirt sees after making the deal with the Devil was Greg’s (most likely dead) body, limp around the branches snugly tucked around him.
His eyes blurred around the edges as darkness caressed his body.
“You’re mine, Wirt. Mine to mold as I wish.”
Waking up alone, without Greg, without Beatrice, without the body of the Woodsman, was terrifying. He was completely isolated in the dark woods.
Darkness shifted around the edges of the clearing, slithering behind bushes and around the bases of trees. Invisible eyes stared at the teenager.
Light shone into the clearing by the lantern (—Lantern-Bearer—), it’s light brighter than before as if it had been given fuel.
That was curious.
Wirt grabbed the lantern.
And unknowingly accepted all the consequences that came with it.
The Tavern Keeper—if that was her real name—had quite the need for extra help in her shop. Many people had fought in the tavern, and she couldn’t stop all of them.
So Wirt was paid to stop any fights from brewing. Though tensions were always high, it was nice.
The brunet eventually saved up enough money to pay one of the patrons to make him an ax.
He didn’t care what it looked like.
He had no idea why he needed the ax so desperately, just that something horrible would happen if he didn’t.
So he got an ax.
Firewood was always needed, no matter who you asked.
Wirt supplied the firewood to everyone.
He enjoyed the calmness of the woods, how he could only hear the sounds of the chopping wood.
(Singing filled the woods, dragging Wirt into a trance-like state.)
It was beautiful.
Until it wasn’t.
“Hey, Pilgrim!”
“... I’m not a Pilgrim, not anymore.” He had no idea why they thought that of him. He was not free.
(The woods caged him, He caged him.)
“Hey! You, you’re eyes are weird!” And as suddenly as he was there, he had run for cover.
What was wrong with his eyes?
He would have to check later.
(“Metamorphosis, my butterfly. That is the miracle you experienced.”
“Well, it was pretty unpleasant, I’d rather not experience that again. Ever.”)
His eyes… his eyes were four colors.
They were faint, but there nonetheless.
Red on the inside, then green, yellow, and blue on the outside.
He looked just like the Beast.
(“I am no “beast”, Wirt. I am better than you, I am better than all of your betters. I am your God.”
“That’s a lot of narcissism in one being, isn’t it?”)
He continued to bring the firewood, even if no one looked him in the eyes anymore.
He didn’t care.
He never cared anymore.
“Get out of here, you freak of nature!”
He was done with his job, he may as well leave. No reason to linger.
A bluebird was sitting in front of him. She looked cute but angry. He didn’t know why.
He didn’t know a lot of things anymore.
“Wirt! Are you okay?” She chirped, shuffling towards him. “You haven't been the same since Greg died.”
Greg?
“Who?”
Wirt was alone.
He had left his lantern far away, so he could have peace.
Shadows crawled over his skin, ripping in and out of him. It was soothing.
He laid beside a tree like a puppet with its strings cut off. He was completely limp.
Vulnerable.
He broke.
Thick tears flowed down his face. But as he tried to wipe them away, they only stayed more fiercely attached to his skin.
“My darling boy,” a haunting voice whispered. “What are you doing to yourself?”
Rough hands grasped his cheeks as two white lights shone on his reddened face.
“... Oil…” It whispered, “Fascinating.”
He had foolishly believed life couldn’t get worse.
He was wrong.
Piercing pain in his head plagued him for days on end, causing him to investigate.
He found horns beginning to grow on his skull.
Wirt was too tired to cry.
Approaching an Edelwood tree, Wirt thought it over. He had no reason to chop it down.
No one had a use for it (no one had a use for him).
But he had too many emotions.
Raising his ax, he struck the first blow.
The teacup by the roots shone in the lantern’s light.