Chapter Text
Cassandra kept her gaze lowered as she trekked along the normally bustling corridor. The otherwise bright and colorful interior of the castle only served as a grotesque facsimile to the unease that had washed over the kingdom.
Once lively, the other handmaidens had resorted to speak through hushed whispers and behind closed doors.
Usually Cassandra loves the quiet. She should be happy of the peace that had enveloped the kingdom…right?
And yet, she cannot help but worry.
The tranquility that had set over the kingdom was but a mere respite. It was a warning of something more to come. She could just tell from the hushed whispers, Rapunzel’s unease…she’d do anything for the princess, but—
‘Anything’ would not be ‘good’ enough.
Cassandra had not been the one to save Rapunzel during that blizzard. Rapunzel, no, she had saved herself.
What good could she be as Rapunzel’s best friend if she couldn’t protect her?
Sighing, Cassandra turns a corner. The clack of shoes on marble breaks the litany of anxious voices.
Ever since that accursed blizzard had hit Corona and nearly cost them their king and queen, there were…rumors.
Cassandra hears her before she sees the familiar figure donning the exact same sky blue handmaiden’s dress.
The brunette is not one for frivolous rumors and small talk. She knows this, but she cannot help but take note of the words that spill forth from Friedborg. The queen’s handmaiden was always quite the chatterbox, and loathe as Cassandra is to admit it, Friedborg can be an invaluable source of information.
As she very well knows, word travels fast in such a well-knit community such as the castle’s workers. Between tasks there is not much to do in the way of entertainment, so it is with great reluctance that Cassandra quickly darts away before Friedborg or anyone else can see her. Swiftly, Cassandra hides behind a pillar adorned with the princess’s creative [infuriating] paintings.
These paintings…they cannot stay on the pillar for long, but Cassandra knows this is a problem for another day.
Laying a hand upon the pillar, Cassandra slightly leans towards the direction of Friedborg’s voice.
Due to sheer distance, she cannot discern exactly what Friedborg is saying, but she does make out the words of various passersby as they walk past her hiding place from behind the pillar.
“Have you heard about what happened to Old Corona?”, a diminutive voice conspiratorially asks.
Cassandra’s eyes widen. She has never visited Old Corona, but she does know of how much of the castle’s staff have family that reside there.
“Oh yes, what a terrible tragedy it was,” another voice states, seemingly not terribly concerned or frightened at all.
“Right, they said that town was completely wiped out overnight.”
Overnight…could they be talking about the blizzard? Old Corona had not even crossed her mind during that harrowing experience, but yes—they would have been affected.
“If the princess hadn’t saved us, who knows what could have happened…”
“Nothing good, I’d imagine,” another voice interjects.
“It’s always the princess, isn’t it?” Cassandra mutters to herself.
“But, there’s more to the story.”
“No one remains in the wreckage of that desecrated town, except for—”
“The last ghost of Old Corona .”
“According to rumor, in life, he was a terrifying wizard.”
“They say his name was Varian.”
“Varian…why does that name sound familiar?” Cassandra wonders.
“Even though he had died in Old Corona , it has been said that he can be seen wandering the streets of Corona ’s Capital at night.”
“No one knows the reason for this, but…”
“To find him, you must follow the trail of chrysanthemums.”
---
“Why did you leave him?” Tired, unseeing blue eyes stare up towards the shadowy visage of what could be considered a humanoid figure.
Within the dim light of Corona’s empty streets, they almost appeared to be glowing.
“No, why did you leave us?” the figure(s) mockingly question. Their voices are warped and faint, as if they were speaking through water.
“We were destroyed because of you, and now…Old Corona is no more.”
“Silly alchemist…did you think you could save us?”
Varian’s breath hitches, but he remains utterly silent. His gaze is directed somewhere far away, past the wispy silhouette.
A bright crimson petal gently falls to the cold cobblestone ground.
“He couldn’t even save his dad,” they say. Cheerfully.
“If you did, then he wouldn’t be encased in amber while you get to roam about freely.”
Varian’s gaze sharply turns towards the spectre.
“If it wasn’t for you, your dad would still be alive.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Varian says as his vision grows darker. “Dad is…he’ll be fine.”
“He has to be……”
Varian falters as he hears a sigh and the crunch of leaves. He turns his head slightly to see a person slowly descend from the shadows. There is a slight blue halo surrounding her, but the sight is far from soothing.
He can almost hear high-pitched, childish laughter, but no, he must be imagining things. Varian blinks and the halo is gone.
The newcomer narrows her eyes upon taking in the sight of vivid blood-red flowers.
The stranger, Varian realizes with a start, has one hand hovering over a sword holster.
“Kid, hey, you okay?” the dark-haired woman asks, her tone laced with concern and suspicion. She has directed her sharp gaze towards Varian, her hand still un-wavering from its position atop the holster.
Varian knows this woman does not trust him. It’s never really bothered him, what with his village never giving him the time of day. He found a friend in Ruddiger—while his beloved raccoon was a great listener, he obviously could not hold a long conversation.
Afterall, raccoons could not talk…yet.
And…he did have his dad—
No…Varian reminds himself. His dad did not leave; he can’t leave. He’s still in Old Corona, right where he left him.
Though, as the swordswoman continues to glare at him wearingly, he cannot help but feel a sharp pang jolt through his chest. Perhaps it is loneliness that he feels. Varian was used to conspiratorial whispers every time an invention went wrong, disapproving glances from his father, but—
It had been so long since a living, breathing person had noticed him.
Despite her apparent distrust of him, he would be happy. Even if she somehow wound up hating him, Varian would be content.
He’d rather be acknowledged.
Hatred was better than merely being fading away into the background, as forgotten and weathered as the letters his father had kept from him. At one point in time, Varian had not cared for acknowledgement, but to be seen is to validate his very existence.
If she could see him, that would mean—he wasn’t dead.
As long as he had a living, beating heart, he could save his dad. Even if it felt like he was dying every second, he could not afford to falter from the path he had set for himself.
He would make his dad proud, even if it was the last thing he’d ever do.
“Hey, I said, are you okay?” the woman repeats, disdain and irritation painted across her face. She merely throws him a quick glance before lowering her gloved hand from the holster.
Though, Varian knows that she could quickly have that sword pointed at his throat in a heart beat.
He attempts to answer the swordswoman, but his voice hitches in his throat. It’s been so long since he had last needed to speak that his voice had grown weak from disuse.
Varian tries to speak again, but his voice is as faint as the gust of wind that billows throughout the plethora of crimson red flowers that adorn the street.
“I, what—” Varian stutters. He averts his gaze from her dark green eyes.
The swordswoman brings her hand back to her face and bites back a dry remark. “You know what, never mind. This is clearly not going anywhere.”
She pauses, waiting for Varian to speak.
Another pause.
Silence.
This is going to be a long night, Cassandra thinks to herself with a grimace. “Are you going to say anything before day break? Or are we just going to stand here all night?”
“Varian.” His voice is muffled and cracked from disuse, but it is the most he has spoken since the blizzard.
“What? I didn’t catch that,” the swordswoman says. “You need to speak up, kid.”
“You do have a name, right?”, she flippantly remarks.
It takes a moment for Varian to gather himself before finding his voice. “My name’s Varian.”
Eyes widening in surprise, Cassandra’s hand reaches for her sword as she points it directly at the alchemist. Varian is un-phased as the sword lightly grazes at his throat.
He knows he should feel scared. He wishes he could, but he feels…nothing.
“Varian…so you’re the wizard of Old Corona. I find it hard to believe someone like you could be a threat to the kingdom, but I’ve heard the rumors…” Cassandra says carefully, stern gaze never wavering.
Varian merely shoots her a disapproving look as he blandly mutters, “That’s why they’re called rumors.”
Cassandra shifts the sword slightly forward as her glare darkens at the dry remark.
His gaze falters. “I do not work with magic,” Varian says. “I am an alchemist, not a wizard.”
“But you are right about one thing,” he relents. “I’m from Old Corona.”
Just as quickly as he had found his voice, Varian falters. He adjusts his antique goggles as he attempts to look somewhere. Anywhere, except for the disapproving glare of the swordswoman.
He knows what she wants to ask. It is a question he had asked himself all too often, and one that he is reluctant to answer.
---
Cassandra wants to leave. All she wants is to head back to the castle and forget she has ever met this self-proclaimed wizard, but…she cannot.
It’s troubling. She hates it, but she can see the haunted, vacant look in his eyes…which is a look no one, much less a mere child, should have. And as discrete as he thinks himself to be, she notices how his gaze directs itself everywhere and nowhere—as if he were used to solitude. Though, Cassandra very much knows this to be the case.
Try as he might to hide it, she can see how uneasy the alchemist is as he fiddles with the old, bronze goggles on his head. But what’s more worrying is how his worn shirt is hanging off of his frame or how he winces every time he moves his hands ever so slightly.
He’s so weak and pitiful that even a gust of wind could knock him down.
Cassandra really, truly, wants to leave…but—she cannot leave him to fend for himself.
She had left the castle on the coattails of a rumor. While she hadn’t truly believed in a ghost haunting the populated capital of Corona, she had found him.
This boy was not a ghost, but with how he carried himself—
He might as well have been dead.
She knows she’ll regret this, but Cassandra knows her conscience will hate her for leaving.
For what may be the hundredth time that very evening, Cassandra places her sword back in its sheathe. She softens her voice in what she hopes to be a placating tone as she relays her next question.
“Why are you here? In Corona?”
The silence is as endless as the fields of bright red flowers that adorn the kingdom.
“Alright then….” Cassandra slowly speaks as she attempts to dissuade the awkward silence that had descended upon them. “Shouldn’t you go home? Your parents are probably going to kill you for staying out this late.”
A deep inhale of breath. The alchemist’s shoulders are stiff as he raises his head towards Cassandra. “They won’t be.”
He quickly diverts his gaze, and it is this that Cassandra becomes conscious of exactly what had caught the boy’s attention. She realizes that he was not avoiding her gaze—rather, he was staring past her…at what, Cassandra did not know.
Chills ran down her spine as she recounted the hushed, conspiratorial voices she had heard throughout the day. But, she resisted the urge to turn around. It may have been silly and childish and juvenile—all of which are words that would describe Fitzherbert perfectly, but she knew that if she let the ‘alchemist’ stray from her sight for but a mere moment, he would disappear into the night.
The alchemist may not be Corona’s number one criminal, but if the rumors were to be believed, he is more than capable. She is loathe to admit this, even to herself, but this problem…it is more than she can handle on her own.
Cassandra is not one for ‘talking about feelings’, but she’s not completely heartless. Rapunzel, on the other hand, could help him with whatever it is that he needs.
Maybe then, he’ll look a little less broken and more…human.
Her train of thoughts are broken as the alchemist steps closer. His eyes…are still dead, hollow, glassy, but there is an indescribable emotion in his voice.
“How are you not tired?”
Cassandra is startled to see that yes, he looks more ‘present’. Still broken, but ‘alive’. She is not used to this…to going out of her way to speak with someone else. Usually, it is the other way around.
Though, with a lovely, kind, smart, surprisingly self-centered but well meaning friend such as Rapunzel, she was never wont for loneliness.
And so, Cassandra will do what she does best when confronted with those beyond her control or understanding. She cannot fathom what the alchemist could possibly mean, so she…ignores him.
“I’m not even going to answer that,” Cassandra curtly says. Turning sharply on her heels, she beckons for the [not] ghost to follow her. “Whatever it is you’re doing here, don’t. Follow me or not, I don’t care, but I’m heading back to the castle.”
Her steps falter slightly as she waits for the alchemist’s answer. Anything could work—a confirmation, words…
A moment passes.
Another second, and then—
Timid, light footsteps.
Cassandra had left on a whim…in search of what? Ghosts? Wizards? Adventure?
She does not know. There is much she is uncertain of.
---
Varian is lost. For the first time in forever, he…does not know what it is that he sees. The swordswoman, who introduced herself as Cassandra, is…strange, to phrase it mildly.
She is perfectly alright, albeit a bit cold, if Varian were to be honest. But no, she seemed normal, which is what brought him to his current state of confusion. There is nothing outright ‘otherworldly’ about Cassandra—
But, this is why he is so uncertain about the dark-haired woman.
He is uneasy, but she seems to chalk up his discomfort towards something else. Ever since he had seen her surrounded by an eerie blue glow, Varian just knew there was something off about her.
The reason was beyond him.
He is an alchemist. He does not like magic, but he cannot ignore its signs.
Still, he tried his best to think of an alternative reason for the glow. It was not until Cassandra offered to take him to the princess that he heard a high-pitched childish laugh.
With a jolt, Varian sees that Cassandra was not alone.
A tiny, hazy blue girl was hovering by the swordswoman. If not for her state of transparency, she would have simply looked like a nobleman’s daughter. Though, with the wide, toothy grin she was shooting at him, Varian knew that whatever it was that had attached itself to Cassandra…was far from good.
Satisfied at catching his attention, the regally dressed specter floated gracefully towards Varian.
“What are you?” Varian asks, paying no heed to how off-kilter he may sound to Cassandra.
“Don’t you mean ‘who’ am I?” the blue girl lightly chides.
Her face-splitting grin grows wider at the alchemist’s inquiries. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Varian.”
“How…do you know my name?” Varian asks in a hushed voice.
“Let’s just say I’m a friend, or at least, I’d like to be.”
Taking Varian’s silence as a confirmation to go on, the enchanted girl lightly chuckles. “Don’t worry; I won’t lie to you.”
“You’d better catch up with Cassandra,” she airily advises. “Until we meet again, little moondrop.”
Varian watches as the apparition slowly fades from view. He cannot see her, but he knows she is somewhere nearby. He wishes he could bring himself to care, but why should the ghost of another matter to him?
Perhaps in a different time or place, he would have cared. But now, even more than alchemy or answers, he wants his father back.
And so, with a heavy heart, Varian follows Cassandra. He does not know where this path will lead him, but he promises to make his father proud.
No matter what becomes of him, he knows that this is a promise he cannot afford to break.