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Everyday, Horace woke up early. At some point, he had wished to sleep more so his days would go faster, but he had soon realised that he hated the lethargy even more than the boredom, so he stopped doing it. Since then, Horace woke up early, the grey and gloomy sky he could barely see from his window his only companion.
Then, he got ready to face a new day. He took a long and unneeded time to style his hair and check the state of his skin, before making sure that his clothes were presentable - just in case someone decided to visit for the first time since his birth. Unlikely, but not out of the realm of possibilities, so Horace always made sure to look his best.
Once he got out of the bathroom, he checked each and every room of the castle, making sure that it was tidy and spiderweb-less - which, considering the numerous nook and crannies of the place, was a two-hours occupation at least. By that point, it was 9:30am, so Horace made his way to the main hall, and went to talk to his father.
Well, the portrait of his father.
Horace had always found this portrait somewhat terrifying. Edmund held a sword in his right hand, and a bear head in the other, as if he just killed it and was showcasing his power. Horace didn't like this idea, though, didn't like to think that his father would kill an innocent animal for nothing other than symbolism, so he would rather think that it was, in fact, a costume that he liked to put on when he protected the kingdom. The worst thing about this portrait was the eyes - they were dark and tortured, piercing through Horace's very soul if he ever dared tell a lie. So he never did. Each morning, at 9:35, Horace stood in front of his father's painting, looking up to it as he made what he thought to be a pretty good report about the state of things. It didn't change much from one day to another, so some informations could be repeated, but Horace hoped the man appreciated it.
After that, it was time for his favourite part of the day: going to see his mom. Well, her portrait too, but it was different, because she was different. Her smile was warm and honest, her eyes loving, with crinkles on their corners as if she had spent her whole life laughing. Horace had never lied down under the sun, because the sun never made its way to the Dark Kingdom, but he always thought that the feeling he had talking to her was probably close to that. He didn't know her name - she wasn't mentioned in the history books the way Edmund was, because these books didn't go further than his father's teenage years - but that didn't matter, because to him, she was "mom".
He could share everything with her. His fears, his hopes, the cool new thing that happened, the sadness, the loneliness, the- the- the dreams, sometimes. She could see when he hid something even to himself, and she would smile knowingly at him until he fessed up to it so, when he was sure they were alone, he once admitted that he'd like to leave, one day. Not that he didn't like this, didn't like his duty and his heritage but… One day, maybe. The kingdom came first, the duty given by his blood came first, but Horace could come second, at some point.
Then it was time to eat. His food tasted like ashes but it was better than nothing.
The afternoon was devoted to the library - his favourite room after the one that held his mother's portrait. Despite the numbers of books in it, Horace had already read and reread it all. Even the ones that made him sad - which he didn't like much, because he was already sad enough, but boredom was worse than sadness, so he read them too. Horace especially loved the Tales of Flynnigan Rider. For as long as he remembered being able to read, he remembered loving this story and trying to reenact it all on his own, which was difficult when you were alone.
Thankfully, Lance was here. He appeared one day, when Horace was eight, and helped him relieve Flynnigan's adventures to the fullest. Lance didn't need to eat, or sleep, only appearing when Horace needed him, but he was the best friend one could ask for. He was funny, and he liked Horace so they always had a lot of fun together. They grew up together, Lance always getting them in trouble with Horace's father, but it was always in good fun. Sometimes, Horace daydreamed about leaving together to be go on real adventures, but he couldn't do this to his parents or the kingdom. He had a duty to protect what was left of his ancestors' legacy, and Horace wouldn't be the weak link.
Lance wasn't there today when Horace got to the library.
Rapunzel was.
"Sunshine!" Horace grinned brightly.
"Flynn, I was waiting for you!" She laughed and threw herself at him in a tight hug.
Horace had met Rapunzel as Flynn in one of his solo imaginary adventure. He had found the tower she was kept in by luck, when he was trying to hide the crown he stole, and, since she always dreamt of leaving to see the floating lanterns, he helped her. He often re-imagined the circumstances of their pact, but Rapunzel quite liked the one when she hit him with a frying pan and blackmailed him into helping, so that's the version he went with. He had told her his real name, but Rapunzel never called him that - she always prefered Flynn, and he couldn't fault her for that. Flynn was free and brave, Horace… Horace was stuck in a castle, enacting a destiny he didn't want like a pathetic actor in an empty theater.
Rapunzel was a lot less here than Lance, because she loved to be outside. After all, she had spent eighteen years stuck in a tower, so she wasn't going to get stuck again in a castle, even to keep Horace company. However, she visited often, with always a new adventure to tell Horace. She had tried to convince him to leave, but he couldn't do it - couldn't imagine disappointing his family.
Her arms were light around his shoulders and, when his hands went around her waist, it was like there was nothing at all, but Horace felt warm all the same. He wasn't hugged often. Her short brown hair tickled his nose.
"How have you been?" He asked when she let him go, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.
"Oh, you'll never guess what happened to me!"
Rapunzel threw herself in a tantalising tale about her outdoors adventures, perching herself on the window's flange as Horace settled on a nearby chair. She was swinging her legs happily, her green eyes full of excitement and glee, and Horace had never been so in love. She was so beautiful, so wonderful, so Rapunzel in every way, and he loved her. He loved her laugh, her hands, her unbrushed hair and sneeze, because it all made her her, and she was perfect.
And Horace was a hopeless sap. She had told him once, because, like everyone in his life, it seemed like she could read his thoughts.
"You can't love me," was her honest and sad reaction, "you can't love what's not here."
Horace hadn't understood what she meant by that, but he hadn't pushed - he was already embarrassed enough.
"... and then, the turtle opened its shell to show that the butterfly was safe in it!"
"That's so cool," Horace breathed, since he had always dreamt of seeing a turtle's house open. They were never any pictures in the book, or much descriptions really, so his imagination ran wild with the scenarios. He was glad Rapunzel got to see them.
Speaking of the devil, she had stopped talking and was looking at him pensively, a hand going to her chin.
"When are you leaving, Flynn?" she asked suddenly, startling him.
"Uh- well, one day, I guess."
"When is one day? Tomorrow? In a year? In a decade?" As she got more worked up, she jumped from her sit and got closer to his face, her arms going wild with the gestures.
"When- when I'm sure the kingdom is safe," Horace settled on, uncomfortable.
"Safe from what? Nobody ever come here."
"Well, one day someone might, and I'd need to be here." Horace nodded firmly at his own words, the script rehearsed since he was able to talk.
"And what needs you to be kept safe? What is so precious here?" Behind the genuine curiosity, Horace could see some deal of frustration inside Rapunzel's grimaces.
He froze up at the question, before shifting uneasily. He had never told her about his purpose here, and he knew she already knew what it was. But she wanted him to say it and, surely, she would want to see it too. He didn't like going to see the moonstone. It was the only thing in this castle that wasn't dead and grey, but it was death all the same. It was cold and draining, a danger for humanity, and it was Horace's duty to keep it safe from the world, and the world safe from it.
Instead of saying that, though, he played Rapunzel's game. He took her arm, even if it felt like a gust of wind in his hand, and led her down the corridors.
" This," he announced, "this is what I'm here."
In front of them was the immense statues of his ancestors, looking down on him with their empty eyes of stone. They were guarding the door to the moonstone, but Horace didn't even need to show Rapunzel that - what mattered to him was the kingdom, and what his family sacrificed for it. Horace had a duty that was bigger than his dreams of another life, where he was free to go on adventures with Lance and Rapunzel and every friends he ever made in his head (because, surely, they were waiting out there for him).
"And why is that a good reason to be here?" Rapunzel pressed anyway, as if she didn't know exactly what he meant.
"I'm carrying my family's legacy."
"Family? How are they your family?"
At that, Horace sputtered, looking affronted at Rapunzel's smiling face. He wasn't mad at her, because he knew what she was trying to do, but that was still the first time she had crossed this kind of line. Usually, when he talked about his family, she changed the subject.
"I- Well, I can show you the family tree," he laughed uneasily, a hand going to his neck.
Rapunzel didn't relent. "Is that enough to make a family?"
Horace bit his lips, his mind flashing back to the years he spent alone inside these walls, knowing he was trapped here as effectively as if there was no door. He was in a prison of his own making, its walls made of duty and cold-eyed pictures of ancestors, and he knew exactly what he was doing to himself. He remembered the years waking up alone, eating alone, sleeping alone, crying alone, until he started talking to the paintings and the characters in his books. Until, one day, he managed to make Lance appear beside him, because if he hadn't, he's not sure he'd have wanted to wake up that day. Was blood enough to make a family, when it was the only thing he had of them?
"It's enough to make a legacy," he whispered in the end.
Rapunzel's face was illuminated by the blue light of the moonstone but Horace didn't know when they got here. The ghosts of his lineage felt heavier here than they did when he could see their tall figures, the energy the moonstone constantly emitted the best reminder of his duty there was. Maybe that was why he didn't like this room.
"When will you see, Eugene?" Rapunzel smiled, her hand going to his cheek.
Eugene. The name meant nothing, and everything at the same time, but Horace couldn't put his finger on it. His body reacted when his mind came up blank, a warm feeling bumbling up in his chest.
"I…"
"Eugene," she repeated firmly, and he shivered, "your family isn't here."
But it was, he wanted to scream, because why else would he be here? Who else could be his family? Horace was the son of Edmund and his unnamed mother the paintings; he was the descendant of Lanrar the one-eyed statue and nephew of Gadmila the noseless; he was the heir of Belund the half-erased illustration from the old book in the dusty corner in the library. Horace was a being created from stones and absence, bound to the ground by an ageless duty, made alive by a sunless moon that kept him cold to his very heart. There was no family for Horace.
"But there is for Eugene," Rapunzel whispered, her thumb warming the grave that was his skin even as he knew that it was not here.
Horace was friend with ghosts of his own imagination. Eugene… The walls shivered, or maybe that was just Horace. He felt like the world was crumbling on itself, his infinite loneliness cracking under pressure, revealing a treasure he wasn't sure he could be brave enough to take. What was wrong with being alone forever in an empty kingdom?
Eugene…
He tried to take Rapunzel's hands in his but his fingers went through. She was still smiling, but he could see right through her, the moonstone shining exactly where her heart should be.
"Come on Eugene, your family is waiting for you," she said, and she was shining too, a golden hue seeping through her fingers and going to his chest, soothing the pain away as she made his memories come back.
He remembered now - Eugene had a family of his own making.
With a full-body jolt, Eugene came back to himself and let go of the heavy orb he was holding in his palms. His body was tense and trembling as he watched the dull grey ball rolling away from him, his mind flashing back to the events that led him here - the weird wedding gift addressed to Rapunzel, the orb that he was too curious not to touch and then… He remembered this other life as if he'd lived through it, remembered the loneliness and the imagined voices to fill it, remembered going crazy and refusing to leave but- that was not him. That was Horace and he wasn't…
"Eugene?" Rapunzel called worriedly, but it sounded from a million miles away. "Are you alright?" Her hand, warm and heavy and real went to his shoulder.
Though, what really shook him awake was seeing Angry and Catalina going to pick up the orb.
"Don't," he yelled sharply, surprising everyone with his outburst - and, thankfully, stopping the girls mid-movement. "Don't touch that," he added tiredly once every faces was turned toward him.
And there were a lot of faces - the girls and Lance, for one, but also Varian who was looking curiously at the orb, Stan and Pete who were looking curiously at their Captain, Pascal who was chirping on Rapunzel's head while said Rapunzel was frowning at him, worried.
"You okay buddy?" Lance asked, and, going by their bemused expressions, whatever happened may have seemed to be years but must only have took a handful of seconds.
"I-" Eugene stuttered, remembering a world where there were all figments of his imagination - a world where his only family was made of memories and obligations, where everything was dark but not only because of the sky, where Eugene never knew how much he needed them. He surveyed the room and watched all the familiar faces he loved being worried about him, about his well being, and he realised that some were missing too, that there were more people who loved him that just weren't here at the moment. Eugene knew he was lucky, but it hadn't felt as sharp in quite some time.
"Yeah, I'm okay," he breathed out finally, because, even if he wasn't exactly fine, even if there still was a weird magical orb trapping people in their worst nightmare rolling on the floor right now that had been sent to his wife, even if he'd need to hug his dad and ask for his mom's name the next time he saw him, well… Even with all that, he was okay.
He had his family with him, after all.