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It’s so easy to run towards the moonstone that Cassandra feels as if she is on the edge of falling asleep. There isn’t any of that anxiety she felt up until then; from the moment she takes a step forward and starts running all else is automatic as if it were from the beginning written on the lines of the tapestry of fate. She pushes Rapunzel out of her way and takes the moonstone. It's so easy.
The moonstone emanates more than just a mesmerizing blue glow; it also emanates a pressure around itself and Cassandra has to force her fingers around the opal as one does when trying to sink a floating object underwater. When Cassandra’s hand touches on the icy surface of the stone, the first thing she feels is the acceleration of her heart; so fast, like it will bounce out of her chest. The second thing she feels is the stone in her hand, vibrating aggressively, pulsating as if it were alive. There is a certain life in death, isn’t there? Cassandra would come to learn that.
She has to close her fist around the stone with effort, or it could slip from her hands and fall into the infinite abyss beneath her feet. Her ears ring, filled with cotton, and she doesn't even register Rapunzel behind her, barely registers what the princess screams under the ringing, under the power of the blue waves around her. Cassandra thinks she answered her, that she screamed something back over that heavy vacuum, but isn't sure — all she is sure of is the moonstone, beating on the same rhythm as her heart.
Did she take the stone with her right hand? Yes, she confirms vaguely. It seems appropriate. The decomposed flesh of her arms tingles with silvery light; it's the first time she's felt anything in that hand in a long time. A kind of electricity runs all over her body, from the tip of her fingers to the plant of her feet, and her heart aches, cries, begs for the moonstone, and the stone does the same for it; a voice in the depths of her guts calling for the opal, a hunger, a yearning, and Cassandra clenches her teeth, grabs the opal as hard as she can, and buries it in her chest.
It's easy.
It's the easiest thing she's done on this journey. It's simpler to take after all the time she spent giving. The chamber glows blue, not for Rapunzel this time, but for her; Cassandra feels the energy of the opal all around, knows it belongs to her.
The hard part comes later; when the moonstone sinks into her chest indifferent of the metal of her armor, the flesh and other tissues in its path, and Cassandra's ribs seem to open to receive it. The stone might even be growing roots and sticking them into the tender meat of her heart — that is how it feels like, and Cassandra can't control the agonizing scream coming out of her throat. Her whole skin tingles in response.
There was, however, nothing that could have prepared her for the pain that followed; around the spot in which the moonstone lays in her chest, something is growing beneath her flesh and begins to tear her skin open, like dozens of blades sewing her body from the inside out. The pain is excruciating— Cassandra rushes to remove the pieces of armor she wears and throws them on the floor, leaving only her undergarments, but it's not enough to ease the pain. Her internal organs seem to twist around themselves, her head feels dizzy. Cassandra's vision, already blurred by tears, now begins to darken, and she struggles to focus on herself so she can identify what is growing in her body. Rocks, she sees: layers of rocks, black like soil, wrapping around the meat of her — through her whole body; they rise from her flesh, tear her clothes, and lay. Cassandra tries to stick her nails under the rocks before they can swallow her skin, but it's no use— she barely even notices that she's still screaming, barely knows where she is anymore— her whole life, Cassandra had to struggle to get what she wanted; why couldn't she just have it this time? Why the pain? What else does destiny wants of her? What else, what else? The rocks cover her right hand, as if it belongs to them. Maybe it does; two things half-dead. Her mind now illogical and vague, she thinks of anything; Where's Rapunzel? Is she looking at me? Is she seeing me? Sun above, how her throat hurts.
When the rocks reach her spine, it’s then that she thinks; I'm going to die. Everything in her mind, in her darkened vision, in her ears, is reduced to that one thought: I’m going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Nothing but pain, and that simple observation, the truest fact in the world. She's sure of it. She's going to die.
She could swear to all that is most sacred in the universe that there is— another person inside herself, grabbing her spine from the inside and opening it like a door to get out— oh, Sun— Cassandra kneels on the floor, whaling, moaning, sweating and bleeding in between the black rocks, and her body writhes and spasms and folds around itself until her forehead is pressed against the ground and— she's so incoherent, that maybe she's screaming with all the force of her vocal cords, maybe she’s screaming something, maybe she's screaming nothing at all— how long has she been there? Three seconds? One minute? An hour?— I'm going to die, I'm going to die—
Then, it stops.
Cassandra remains on her knees for a long time, her forehead on the ground, panting. Her whole body seems to be somewhere else, so numb that it is, and her lungs so sore. Where is she, again? Things take a while to come back: the buzzing of her ear lessen a little (but not completely), revealing the sound of her own panting, heavy and dragged; there is blood sticking between her face and the floor; the chamber is shining slowly at the rhythm of her breath. The moonstone pulsates inside her chest and it seems like it takes Cassandra forever to begin to regain her senses, but in fact, it's only a few seconds. That's it, that's all it takes. It’s easy.
"Cass!", the trembling shout breaks the silence, but Cassandra does not rush: she hears, soon after, the energy radiating of the moon stone bring down Rapunzel and prevent any attempt to approach her.
Still kneeled, Cassandra's first movement is to turn her face and touch her cheek on the cold ground, eyes clenched with effort. So then she slowly takes her hand to her back— her fingers all covered by stones do not allow her any sensibility to her touch, but she identifies, even so, pointed rocks sticking out between the bones of her spine, like the exoskeleton of a reptile.
A guttural sound escapes her throat as she struggles to stand up. First, she puts herself on all fours, and then she rises — it should be so painful, moving like that, but Cassandra feels like she's doped with the moonstone’s shine, it’s pulsating power growing stronger and stronger again, until the energy waves around it return to spread between them and fill the chamber with light and sounds.
She raises her gaze and sees Rapunzel: incredulous and paralyzed in Eugene's arms. Her golden hair, moments ago glowing with power, now fall down her face, to the ground. Cassandra, on the other hand, certainly shines a blinding blue glow. The blood running through her veins fills with adrenaline. If the strength she suddenly finds within herself after all that is hers or the stone's, Cassandra does not care. She does not care at all.
That's it, the moonstone. It's mine. It's my destiny.
Cassandra raises herself as straight as she can, proudly, and feels intoxicated by the numbness and energy emanating from her body, a delicious, alien sensation. That pain is hers, that power is hers; for the first time in her life, Cassandra feels as if, with her body, she is capable of anything.
That strange new armor she now possesses seems to say; your body is human and weak, but together, we are invincible.
Her voice is breathy, hoarse, and foreign in her ears, but she speaks as loudly as she can; "You have to be careful who you trust, Rapunzel."
She is capable of anything. Anything; it's so good, it's all she ever wanted. Cassandra runs, and does not look back.
...Wake up, she hears.
Then again. Wake up, Cassandra.
She wakes up. The first thing she notices is her body, so dormant that it feels like she ran a hundred marathons before falling asleep.
Cassandra moans and tries to move. Then, she remembers.
Oh. Sun above.
She took the moonstone. She took the moonstone, and betrayed Rapunzel, and ran and ran until the power of the moonstone could no longer sustain her fragile and rotten body.
It can’t be helped — she starts crying. There is no more voice left in her throat, so she cries silently, for a long, long time, until she tires herself.
She took the moonstone.
What is left for her? What is left for her? Her heart aches, aches, aches with a love killed and made into something ugly and bitter.
She cries a little more. Oh, Cassandra, my dear, it's going to be okay, she hears a voice, somewhere, say.
Turning her head carefully, Cassandra sees that she fainted under the carcass of a beautiful willow, on the edge of a pond, on some large plain filled of swamps. It is practically night, as the last remnants of sunlight set on the horizon and a crescent moon rises high in the sky. She did not leave the territory of the Dark Kingdom, apparently, since there still are black rocks present in the landscape; but Cassandra must probably have covered a lot of ground for her to have reached that far.
Her body is really feeling the tool of that journey. But that’s all it seems to be feeling— she’s just tired. She doesn’t feel hungry, she doesn't feel excessive pain. How did Cassandra recover so quickly from the—
She leads her hand to her chest. The moonstone.
She lowers her hand to her belly and does not feel her skin, just a rocky surface against the same surface in her hand.
She raises her hand to the sky, against the leaves of the willow, and looks at it. The right hand. Completely enveloped by the black rocks that had been filling Rapunzel's journey until then. At the very least, Cassandra thinks, the hand is indistinguishable from the other — it seems normal, despite it’s new black shell; as if nothing had happened. She knows that the decomposed skin of her arm is still down there somewhere, but finds in that state she’s in a certain comfort she couldn't find before, when she was just hiding her hand in a glove and pretending it didn't hurt her, the way Rapunzel looked away when Cassandra exposed it.
Then she turns her head to the other side, and finds—
The spirit.
The blue spirit of The House Of Yesterday’s Tomorrow.
The child — the spirit, which is in the shape of a child, of a small girl — is sitting on a rock, about two meters away, with one hand resting on it’s chin, seemingly waiting for Cassandra patiently. Cassandra blinks twice, in confusion.
The spirit blinks back. "Cassandra. I am so glad you're awake."
Cassandra mumbles. She cannot formulate a much more complex answer.
"You were making me worried," says the spirit in her sweet, childish voice, swinging it’s little legs. "I mean, don't get me wrong— I knew you would be okay. You are strong, after all. But, you know, taking care of yourself is important."
"Where— are we," Cassandra tries to say, but what comes out of her mouth does not sound much like words. Her throat is raw and weak.
"Do not worry about it. We are in a safe place— for now. They will probably reach us soon—" the spirit rises from the stone, floating a centimeter above ground, and crouches beside Cassandra. It doesn't touch her; can it even touch anything? But it’s close presence is a bit of a comfort. "Look, how are you feeling, darling?"
"Like shit," Cassandra sums it up.
The spirit then smiles; almost conspiratorially. "So? Was it good? Cassandra raises an eyebrow, confused. The child clarifies; "Stealing the opal, I mean."
Good is too simplistic. But— oh, that moment when Cassandra turned her back to Rapunzel— she never felt freer.
She doesn't want to think about it, though. So she just grumbles; the spirit seems to understand nonetheless.
"Why don't you wash yourself there, in that lovely pond?" The child points to the pond with its chin. "I don't want to rush you— but it would be good for us to get going soon— we have a long way to go...!"
Right. The others would probably catch up to them, wouldn’t they?
It definitely seems like the spirit was rushing her, but Cassandra tries to get up anyway. It's difficult; her limbs don't seem to be responding very well, and it's uncomfortable to move with all those things between the folds of her arms and legs. Certain movements made a noise because of the solid surfaces of the rocks. Heavier, too, although not as heavy as her old armor. She has the strange feeling that it is someone else who’s moving, like she’s controlling a puppet, making her walk to the pond and carefully sink her feet into the water.
When she looks back behind her, the spirit is gone. Although Cassandra has dozens of questions to ask the child burning on the tip of her tongue, she appreciates the privacy given to her.
Then, Cassandra looks down and observes her reflection in the water.
Was it her, looking back? She raises an arm — the reflection responds, and raises hers, too.
Her body, from the sole of the foot to the neck, is covered by a strange black and iridescent exoskeleton. Cassandra carefully lifts an opening of a rock on her shoulder; she can see some of her flesh underneath, raw and rosy, as if she were changing skin. She sees dried blood, too. But no open wounds: the openings through which the rocks came out seem to have healed around them. Cassandra wonders, distantly, how long it would have been since she passed out. Maybe weeks, by the healing of her wounds, or maybe the moonstone could just make her recover that way in a day or two. Her face certainly didn't heal — it's all rough and marked, with an ugly cut through her nose and cheek, which would positively leave a scar; a cut still half-open on her eyebrow; and a purple bruise on her forehead. Her hair— a mess, though her dark curls seem to now have a single blue streak, the color of the moonstone’s glow, which is strangely the change that surprises Cassandra the most.
Turning her body a little to the side, it is possible to see the bizarre outer spine that the rocks created in her, sharp and animalistic, descending from her nape to the base of her lower back; Cassandra passes her fingers through them again, eternally disturbed by their shape.
That is her body, the fact hits Cassandra like a sword to the chest.
It's strange — a little bit like being held. But not exactly so.
She opens her hand, closes her hand. Turns her arm to the side. Spins her torso. Her appearance unforgiving, all edge and hardness. That body is hers; it’s her power. That is what destiny has reserved for her.
It feels a bit like she’s dreaming.
Finally, Cassandra takes a few more steps and sinks into the water, up to her shoulders. It feels good, at first; Cassandra soon realizes, however, that there is not much relief in her skin, with it being almost completely wrapped. The little water that enters through the cracks of the rocks is not enough to clean up the dirt and blood under it. If Cassandra can, somehow, control the rocks and maybe remove them so she can bathe, she does not have the disposition to find out now. Instead, she sinks her head bellow the water.
It's so nice to feel the water on her face. Cassandra is tired of crying, but does so anyway; she remains submerged for a long time, her quiet and tired tears mixing with the dark water of the pond, until she is out of breath and has to rise to the surface.
Sun. What would she do now?
And the moonstone— beating alongside her heart. That unfamiliar, comforting weight; Cassandra aches with melancholy.
After leaving the pond, having done everything possible to cleanse herself, the spirit reappears. Instead of asking, who are you, really, like Cassandra had been planning to do, what escapes from her mouth is:
"Is this mine?"
This body, she means. The opal, she means. This destiny, she means.
The spirit smiles, kindly, and replies, "Of course."