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The dancing had finally (finally) come to a pause, long enough for Odile to politely take a few steps away from the prince and draw a breath. She’s not one for habits such as biting her nails, but she feels like doing so now -- though when she glances down, and sees hands that aren’t hers, that don’t belong on her body, long, and graceful, and brown, with rounded nails so much more polished than the real ones, she feels ill and tears her gaze away, burying them in the folds of her dress. (White. Odile doesn’t think she has ever owned a white dress before. “Too easily soiled”, her father had explained, and that had been that. Not unreasonable, given their banishment. Her father had magic, but it wouldn’t be practical to waste it on garments time and time again. She didn’t mind -- she liked black. It was just odd to be in anything else). She tries not to think of the very real hands that hers were merely mimicking, nails ragged from lack of proper resources to keep them neat, though less so over the past few months, and always meticulously clean. Those hands holding hers the last time she had seen Odette, before her father had dragged her away. Dwelling on that for too long makes the food from the feast settle like a lump of lead in the pit of her stomach, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a second.
The prince -- Siegfried, she thinks. She can’t remember if Odette ever actually mentioned his name -- is saying something to her, and she opens her eyes. “What?” She says, hoping it comes across as coy rather than dull, especially with her father across the room, behind a duke and a baron, looking at her and the prince standing stationary in the middle of the dance floor. Luckily, it seems as though it does, because the prince merely smiles at her and says, “I was just saying that tonight has been wonderful.”
“Oh,” Odile says, returning the smile tightly. “Um. I’m glad to hear that.” Inwardly she winces.
“You know,” he says earnestly, clutching both of Odile’s hands in his. “I was thinking that this would be a good place to do it. You know. Tell everyone. Break the spell.”
Odile freezes, smile stuttering like ripples on a lake. That had originally been the plan. When they had discussed how they were going to get Odette out. When they still both thought it would be Odette at the ball. But now, with Odile in a white dress, wearing Odette’s face (“You can’t disappoint the prince, now can you, Odile? Odette is in trouble. She broke the rules. But we don’t want to let down the prince, not when he’s waiting for her. You’ll go in her place, won’t you, Odile?”), she can’t help the sinking feeling in her stomach when she looks at the prince, silly grin still affixed. She glances down again, then back up, and opens her mouth to say something, but the prince merely gives her a wink and turns away, still holding one of her (Odette’s) hands, shouting across the crowded ballroom, “Everyone! If you could turn your attention this way, I have an announcement!”
Oh, no.
“I -- wait, I’m --” Odile stutters, but heads have turned, and hundreds of eyes are on the both of them, and the prince is shouting again.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, Esteemed guests, you have all gathered here tonight to see me pick someone to be my wife. Well, I would like to present to you all my choice!”
Oh god. Oh, this was bad. “Listen, I’m not --” she tries saying, but Prince What’s-his face raises the hand still clasped in his own, causing the nobles present to burst into applause, cutting her off.
“It is my great pleasure to present to you your future queen, the Princess Odette of Luxembourg --”
“Please, don’t --” Odile gasps.
“--For whom I pledge Eternal Love!” the prince finishes, turning towards Odile with a triumphant grin.
Odile’s stomach drops, but then the guests gasp, and a few scream, and they’re pointing behind where she and the prince are standing, over their shoulders.
She turns, and makes a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan. This cannot possibly be good. There’s an enormous white swan winging away from the window, in the direction of the forest -- Odette.
Odile can feel herself going ashen, stumbling backward, eyes fixed on where Odette was very quickly being swallowed by the night sky outside. The prince makes a startled sound, and her gaze snaps towards him, then down to her hands, and she goes even paler (and paler, and paler, and). She blurts an apology (poor guy, this wasn’t his fault, it was hers, and Odile can guess what it all means, especially when she sees her father, still across the ballroom, a still point in a sea of chaos as no one is quite sure what just happened, or its significance, with victory written in every etch of his cruel features, and oh, GOD) and runs towards the door, skin still going lighter with every second, freckles starting to darken themselves over her knuckles, and hair, which has been brushing just past her ears all night, tangling over her shoulders as it grows again, and Odile knows that if she had a mirror the color would be steadily returning to red, the brown leaching away.
She bursts out into the hallway, court members and foreign guests scattering in her wake, then down the grand staircase, and out into the courtyard. She looks around wildly, eyes landing on the stable, where she selects a horse at random and hopes to any higher power that will take her that the royal family doesn’t have her executed for thievery if she even survives whatever is to come.
Tearing down the road, gown (one of her existing ones from her wardrobe, magicked white, now fully black again) irreparably torn and covered in the dust her mount’s hooves were kicking up, Odile had time to fully panic.
It was planned. Her father had set that up, of course he had, she should have seen it coming, should have just said no. Why couldn’t she ever say no? Maybe he would have killed her, but it would have been better than whatever had just actually happened, because if her father had been planning on the prince pledging his love to her all along then it was important, it meant something bad for Odette, it was another piece of her father’s revenge. Odile shuddered, wound her hands further into the horse’s coarse mane, and prayed, trying not to think about the worst possible scenario.
Her worst fears were confirmed, though, when the stallion clattered into the clearing, and she saw her. Odette, human again, sprawled across the grass at the base of her tower, right where she would always emerge from the lake, picking up her dress, complaining about the wetness at the hem, half-smiling at Odile, shaking water from her bare feet as she stepped onto dry land again, except this time, as Odile slid from the horse and stumbled towards her, there was no movement, no life.
Odile falls to her knees, gasping, “Odette, I’m here, I’m sorry, please,” hands reaching for hers, but when she picks one up, it’s cold, and grey, and limp, and all the breath leaves her at once.
She carefully lifts Odette’s still form, supporting her torso, Odette’s head lolling forwards onto her shoulder, shorn dark brown waves brushing the side of her neck. “Please, come on,” she whispers, though she knows it’s futile, “Odette, please wake up.”
There’s no response, because of course there isn’t, and Odile can feel tears welling, hot and prickly, in the corners of her eyes, blurring the image of Odette’s lifeless body slumped against hers. She finds one of Odette’s hands and clutches it against her chest, shaking.
Odette is dead. Odette is dead, and it is her fault. A ragged breath tears itself from her throat, almost a sob, and then a real sob, a pained noise of grief, through gritted teeth. She holds Odette’s hand tighter, Odette’s fingers loose and icy, as more tears squeeze their way out.
“I’m sorry,” she says, words coming out all at once, uneven, pitching in another sob. “I’m so sorry, this is my fault, and --” she stutters, mouth catching on the words even though they don’t even matter anymore. “And I should have told you, I -- I didn’t want to -- the prince, you were going to -- but.” The salt water running down her face is puddling in her dress, in a dip on her lap, and she brings the hand holding Odette’s up to her mouth, silently shaking. “I love you,” she croaks, voice wrecked. The words stumbled out, “I knew I did almost since I first met you, and I didn’t say it because we were barely friends, and then you had the prince, and I couldn’t say it then, because you were going to escape, and I couldn’t tell you, but now look what I’ve done, it’s --” her voice cracks, cutting her babbling off, and she breaks into another hiccuping gasp. She doesn’t try to stop it anymore, sobbing brokenly with Odette’s chilly hand in hers, other hand balling into a fist in Odette’s dress.
A lock of Odette’s hair shifts against her collarbone. Then, the hand still held tightly against her chest twitches. Odile’s breath stutters, and she takes a gulp of air, leaning back, her own fingers spasming tighter. There’s a squeeze back, and the action is warm. Odile quickly lets go, scrambling back a few paces as Odette stirs, hand going to her head, brushing her hair back. She coughs, steadying herself with her free hand against the ground, fingers curling into the grass. She huffs a small breath, a low sound that sounds something like “huh”, and then she looks up, dark brown waves falling away from her face. Odile can feel her eyes widen as their gazes connect, and Odette smiles, and it rolls off of her like a wave, warm and radiant.
“Uh. I --” Odile says, voice creaky. Odette laughs, so brightly that it makes Odile lightheaded (and she’s never heard Odette laugh, not once in her time at Von Rothbart Castle) and swoops forwards. Odile can feel one of her hands land on her jaw, and the other in her hair, and she doesn’t understand until Odette’s mouth is against hers, and she gasps, “oh”, and then shuts up.
She hesitates for a moment, before sliding a hand into Odette’s hair, the strands glossy and short, slipping against her fingers, the edge of Odette’s nose against her cheek, palms warm on her face.
Odette pulls away, broad smile like a star going supernova, and whispers, “You saved me.” Her tone is so reverent that it sends a shudder down Odile’s spine, and it’s almost too much, too intense, and she doesn’t deserve the awe and the rich affection in her voice, doesn’t deserve the way that Odette is looking at her, but fortunately, a second later, Odette flings herself into her arms, hugging her, face burying itself in her neck, and it’s easy to throw her arms around her in response, to squeeze, to pretend that she isn’t breathing almost-sobs against Odette’s shoulder.
Odette is warm, and she turns her head, mouth against Odile’s pulse point, air stirring against the skin. “I’ve been stupid, haven’t I?”
Odile grips Odette’s sleeves like a lifeline. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It worked out. I do wish you had said something sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t have been as stupid for as long. And…..well,” her hand brushes over the drying tear tracks on Odile’s face, and she finds it in herself to laugh a little.
“I wasn’t going to tell you, I don’t think. Ever, probably. Your prince was supposed to save you.”
Odette sucks in a breath. “I don’t think it would have worked. Even if I had gotten to the ball.”
“Oh.” Then the meaning hits her. “Oh.”
Odette is smiling against her skin. “Thank you.”
“Oh. So you --”
“Yes. I didn’t know. Or I didn’t think I knew. Looking back there were times I probably should have figured it out.” Her voice is quiet.
“Oh.”
Odette sits up, laces their fingers together. She’s flushing, which Odile has never seen her do (even after she warmed up to the idea of a conversation, then of being friends, and then of allowing Odile to help her to break the curse, her emotional range seemed stuck at “absentminded smile” at best). “So what do we do now?”
Odile pauses, then freezes in cold realization. “My father. He -- he has to know that his curse was broken. He’s coming. I’m sure he’s coming.” There’s an icy, panicky feeling starting to creep through her chest, but Odette squeezes her hand, stronger than when she was coming back to life, more solid, and it’s grounding. Odile meets her eyes, and her expression has gone flinty and determined. It’s more like the Odette she’s used to, but there’s a flicker of warmth that belies the emotion, the understanding, behind the focus.
“So. We’ll leave. Together.”
Odile sighs, a rush of breath, letting her shoulders relax, then straighten. “Alright. Are you sure about this?”
Odette smiles, the brilliance of before softer, warmer, less blindingly blazing. “Yes. I trust you. Onwards, then.”
“Onwards.”