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Each stair creaked as Marcy stepped down them. Schools of dust, with no sunlight to illuminate them, made the air seem thick and stuffy. The stone-brick walls were cracked, grime and mold infiltrating the space where mortar used to be. The area was absolutely absent of any heat. Marcy thought she knew cold- this was entirely different. The cold was an ache that seeped into her bones, and while she didn’t shiver it felt like she was freezing from the inside out. Maybe she should’ve brought a hot meal, instead of the pickled beetle-leg and wheat slop carried in the tray before her.
She didn’t know why she was shocked about the forgotten, unkempt basement being forgotten and unkempt. It wasn’t a secret. Sure, no guards patrolled down here and any use of its prison had been logged at least a century ago, but it was still on any Newtopia Royal Palace maps. At least the ones King Andrias showed her.
The slow rise of her echoing footsteps told her that the cell was approaching. She felt sick in the only way you can without a physical illness. The space under her ribs and just above her stomach was claustrophobically tight. She breathed in, deep, the smell of must heavy in the air. The guards are upstairs, in yelling distance. He’s in chains. You’ve been kind to him. The words repeated itself in her head, a self-knitted blanket of comfort.
The click of Marcy’s work shoes greeted the beast sitting behind iron bars. He was merely shadows of blue and gray and brown, muddled together, his face hidden behind a thick lock of white hair. Marcy stepped closer, taking a moment to admire the architecture of the prison: very wide, very tall, iron-clasped bars as thick as her wrist rounding the perimeters. The floor was cheap, gray concrete, covered in a blanket of filth only spared from the previous steps she took. A small hole, cracking the concrete floor, was dug in the corner. Mildew stemmed from it. Marcy took note to have someone tidy it up later.
“Hey, Andrias,” She greeted casually. She set down the tray of food on a little oak chair. “You liking your new place?”
She meant it sarcastically, but he replied with a grim huff. The claustrophobic air in her lungs burned. The lack of response was where light-hearted jokes between friends used to be. “Well, uhm, sorry. I’ll have someone look into, you know, lights, plumbing, maybe a general cleaner, the works.”
He didn’t respond. He just shifted to lean further into the shadows, the dense air rustled by his massiveness. Marcy picked up the tray. “I brought you some food. I didn’t realize how cold it was down here, or I would’ve brought like, a beetle burger. I’ll do that next time! But this’ll suffice for now,” She placed it on the floor and slowly nudged it through a slot in the bars.
Again, nothing. Marcy sighed and plopped down in the now free chair. It’d been three days since she found him. The sight before her was poor, but it was a blessing compared to when she first saw him. Caked in mud and dry blood, stunk of high hell, all curled up under a mass of leaf bundles. His armor didn’t fit him anymore, and hung over his starved ribs and shoulders. He didn’t speak then, either. He howled and snarled and growled, thrashing as she called another relief team. They had to tranquilize him. Marcy didn’t get too close of a sight once the professionals showed up, but beforehand she got one good look at his eyes. Sickly yellow, like the edges of a bruise, underlined in red. The eyes staring back didn’t recognize her. He was a total animal, through and through.
Marcy couldn’t blame him. She’d probably go rabid after being abandoned in the woods, too. It’s why she thought bringing him here, chaining him inside this mold-infested cell, was a sort of a gift in disguise. He may be stripped of any free will but at least he was inside Newtopia again.
Not like Newtopia knew that, Frog forbid. But still.
Andrias shifted. A pale blue hand reached out, slowly, and grabbed the tray. Once sure he had his claws on it, he pulled it back to the shadows. Gross chewing noises followed.
Marcy smiled and laughed. “Enjoying it, KA?”
There was some sort of positively-emotioned grunt that Marcy took as a yes.
Given that she cleared a meeting for this little arrangement, she decided to put this hour to good use. By using Andrias as her personal royal diary.
“Well, news, news, let’s see…” Marcy absentmindedly drummed her fingers on the edge of her chair. “I’m still trying to organize staff. Yunnan can be a real… Frog, I don’t know. She’s a fantastic war criminal, I’ll tell you that. No, no, I’m being cruel. She’s really good at her job, and planning, and financials and whatnot… She’s just so feisty! I swear, she’s gotten like, at least 20% of our military counsels on her hitlist.”
“So, she’s not really helping with the whole… human ruling Amphibia thing. I’m glad she’s my advocate, but I’m not glad she’s pissing off townsfolk, know what I’m saying?” Marcy grinned at the shadow of Andrias’ face. Air blew from his nose. She imagined Yunnan was similar when she was under his rule.
“Lady Olivia keeps pending for more vacation days. And I get it, that lady works hard. But come on girl! I’m trying to run a whole nation and I need you and your royal wisdom to come help! She keeps talking on and on about this place… What was it? Frohamas? It’s just a whole mess. Yunnan’s pissing off the military branch, Sasha’s begging me to give Grime a job- oh, don’t even get me started on SASHA.”
“Newtopians hate her. And I get it, she did, sort of, lead an army straight into their hometown but! It’s been, like, what, five or six years? Give a girl a break. Last week someone dumped trash on her.” Marcy kicked out her leg and pouted. The image of Sasha entering her room, soaked in a green sludge, was fresh in her mind. She hated it.
Marcy was going to continue, but Andrias made a noise suspiciously similar to clearing a throat. She patiently intertwined her fingers together. A large muzzle poked out from the dark.
“I, uhg,” His voice was gravelly, deep, and rough. Marcy imagined this was how it felt to hear someone speak after a coma. “When was your… coronation,..” His words were slow, carefully produced.
Marcy pointedly decided not to comment on his sudden contribution to the conversation. “I was fourteen, fifteen, so about three years ago.” The memory was bittersweet. “I wore that dress you gave me. The teal one with the shoulder cut offs.”
His laugh was breathy, rough, and ended in coughs. “I remember.” He sounded old. Way older than he was. Marcy never got an exact age, but here, he sounded so… wise and sad. Like if she left he’d crumble to ash.
Marcy swallowed her discomfort. “Yea, ruling can be tough. Well, obviously, you know that. I don’t know. Some people are still like, ‘ew, a human!’ which… just… augh! For what, you know?”
The silhouette nodded. Marcy sighed and leaned back in her chair, watching where Andrias sat. The only parts illuminated to color were the tip of his tail and parts of his leg and feet. Part of his chain rested in front of him, too, but Marcy liked to consider that not a part of him.
Something flickered in the shadow. Marcy’s eyes popped open. Repeated flickering. The little shade of darker black within the shadow was moving forcefully, repeatedly, in the same motion.
The claustrophobic fear in her chest gripped with a force. She swallowed thickly. It was hard to tell the shadow from the brick wall and the shadow of Andrias but last time she checked inanimate objects were inanimate.
Something in the tension changed, maybe Andrias noticed or maybe he just decided to stop. Chains rattled. Whatever tips of blue skin aggressively retreated back into the cover of shadow.
Now the sudden change in social temperature was noticeable. The chair squeaked underneath Marcy as she turned to stand.
“Well, uh, meetings, yea, I should be going before Lady Olivia checks on me or something-”
“Marcy.” The name felt so unfamiliar coming from his mouth in that tone. It was a strong rasp, a beg, and a command.
Marcy stopped, but only turned her head.
“I have… something to tell you. I need you to come… I need you to come closer,” Some part in the back of Marcy’s mind was amazed how quickly speech was coming back to him. It was completely overridden by the beating of her heart.
Her body cold with sweat, she took a small step forward. Enough so that her shadow cascaded over the cell floor. Andrias shifted, his left unchained arm now completely visible in the limited light. A desaturated pale hand placed on the ground heavily.
“Marcy…” He rasped. His hand scraped against the ground loosely. Marcy instinctively lifted her foot backward.
“You took everything from me.”
The voice was the same, but so drastically new. It was the same figure speaking. The same mouth clicking the words, the same hand clenched against a concrete floor. But the thing speaking was completely forgein.
“Wh-what?”
Marcy stepped back, clearing enough distance between them. The claustrophobia was quickly turning into fear-based nausea.
“You,..” Marcy began to turn. “YOU TOOK EVERYTHING!”
The ringing of a hand clawing at the bars rang against the room. Marcy flicked her head to see. Droplets of blood littered the floor. A left claw was furiously raging against the cell, while just a slight of the right, red hand lay halfway limp in the light.
The chained hand.
If Marcy looked hard enough, maybe she could see the red flakes of skin under his left claws.
Or the drops of molding blood mixed into the ground.
It was the same animal, thrashing kicking against the wall. He cried out, over and over, “YOU TOOK EVERYTHING!” The walls shook with each writhing tantrum. She could see little flecks of blood splash the floor, the chains wrecking against the wall, more of his discheved, skinny body visible than ever.
Marcy couldn’t uproot herself from the spot. She turned, shouting, “guards! GUARDS!”
The hurried sound of Newtopian armor clang. She kept shouting at herself to move. Through whatever light that somehow managed to spill onto the right hand, Marcy was able to see the bits of muscle glisten through the budding blood. Right below the chain, which was now dripping too.
Cold hands ripped her from the spot. She saw the blur of a purple tail, while another hoisted her up the stairs. She didn’t remember reaching the top. Pictures of quartz hallways and a sea-encrusted crown were fuzzy in her mind. She was sitting on a cot, the smell of antiseptic hovering in her mouth.
It was all drowned out by the metallic taste in her mouth. Funny, in a weird way, how all she could think of was pennies.
Blood splattered against concrete. She could imagine it on her shoes. She didn’t know if it was.
The look in his eyes. The look of an animal. Muscle glistening, edged up against a chain. A chain she put.
A Newtopian nurse barely managed to catch the bile revolted from her. She relished the hollowness. At least it blended the taste of blood.
---
Against the wishes of her jam-packed schedule, Marcy stayed in bed for two days. Three times a day, a nurse would bring her some sort of soup-based meal. They would then check her temperature, give her a full body once-over, and promise to return later. Sasha and Anne would visit often- Anne more than Sasha, since she was working overtime to fulfill her own absence. She duly noted to thank her later.
Whenever Anne came, she was always in bed. She was sitting, leaning against the creatively decorated bed frame, covered up to her knees in blankets. She would face the window and think subpar thoughts about the citizens below her, or how the sun crested over the Newtopian walls.
Sometimes she would stand up, walk around. Every step felt empty. Not to say it was harrowing, but more devoid of purpose. One time she accidently met her face in the mirror. She went to bed after that.
She didn’t sleep much, which was routine for her. After the sun finally descended over those walls, Anne would burst in through the door. She would shed her armor and replace it for sweatpants and a t-shirt. She’d talk about her day, the people she met, the things she discovered. Then, only after a sweet goodnight kiss, tuck herself in and fall asleep with ease.
Sasha would come in when the red moon overtook the sky. The door would slowly unlock, turn, then close. She would tiptoe in, folding her uniform neatly on top of the dresser. She’d set the accumulated pile of files and folders next to it. Then, dress into something more casual but still regal, and head to bed. Marcy would kiss her goodnight but didn’t bother her with conversation. Sasha needed her rest, and, frankly, she didn’t have much to say.
Marcy would stay up, watching the moon fall and the sun rise. She preferred to sleep when she knew someone was coming to check on her.
It was the second night. Tomorrow, she’d go back to work. She had an overdue speech to prepare for the citizens concerned of her absence. She didn’t care to finish it.
“Why don’t you just ask for an extended leave?” Anne asked. Sasha had gotten let off work early and was using the opportunity to catch up on her missed sleep. Marcy and Anne had taken to the balcony, grateful to see her rest.
“Anne, I’m kind of the queen,” Marcy put it bluntly. “I can’t just take a break because I feel like it!”
“Up, bup bup,” Anne straightened, gesturing to her face. “You’re sick. You’re taking a break because you’re sick, right?”
Marcy blinked. She looked toward the walls. “Oh, yeah. But still.”
She only saw herself in the mirror for a moment. What she saw wasn’t pretty. The notable bit was how her eyes had sunken in, which didn’t fit her baby face. She imagined she didn’t look too good now.
Anne nudged her arm. “What’s up?” Her voice was upbeat, friendly.
Marcy shrugged. “What do you mean?”
“Well..,” Anne fidgeted with her hands that laid on the balcony ridge. “The nurse didn’t really sound too sure when she described what happened. Plus, I don’t think you get this depressed from a flu,” She looked up, smiling softly.
Marcy breathed out, acknowledging the humor in that. She wanted to say something. She opened her mouth, then closed it, playing with her own hands. She shrugged heavily, faltering in on herself.
Anne cooed a noise of sympathy and wrapped an arm around her, one hand still hung to the balcony edge. Marcy didn’t fight it, but didn’t have the heart to lean into it. She stared down at her hands, fingernails bitten down on and worn. Anne’s hand rubbed circles in her back, and she exhaled a shuddering breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“Do,” Marcy began. She sounded small. “Do you remember when… uhm, Sasha, was like, in jail?”
The question was inherently awkward, given they could both hear the blonde snore from out here. Anne smiled, shoulders bouncing in a contained laugh. “Yeah, of course.”
“Well, uh.” Marcy gripped her hands together. She didn’t know why it was taking so much strength to ask this. “You know when she was, like, scr- scratching?”
Anne’s hold on her loosened. She stiffened her back. Her voice was oddly sure. “Yeah, I do.”
Marcy rubbed the tension from the back of her neck, leaving the other hand to toy with its own fingers. “Do you ever think about that?”
Anne blinked, thinking. She looked like she was staring at something she couldn’t really make out. “I try not to. But, yeah.”
Marcy leaned a little closer to Anne. “I was so mad at her. She… She did all that, the betraying stuff, and she was so uncooperative and mean and… you know. But, I didn’t want her to…”
Anne finished her sentence. “I know.”
They stared at the Newtopian wall. The red moon was just beginning to break over. Maybe if she looked hard enough, she could see the blob of a guard patrolling the tops.
“Do you ever blame yourself? Like… I don’t know.” Marcy didn’t know how to finish. Blood on concrete. Prison bars. The memories felt so similar.
Anne completely let go of Marcy, taking to stand by her side. She grabbed her free hand with both of hers. Her fingers were warm, gentle, the pads toughened and calloused. She turned to look at Marcy, warm, kind eyes commanding her to look back.
“Marcy. It was never, ever, your fault. Or mine. Or anyone’s. What happened…” Anne’s strength broke for just a moment, and her eyes wandered to the side. “What happened cannot be attributed to blame. It just doesn’t work like that.”
Marcy breathed out a sigh. Something overtook the emptiness in her chest, a heavy, bittersweet feeling. She fell forward, wrapping her arms around Anne, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Anne’s hands met the small of her back.
“Yeah, I know…” She mumbled into Anne’s neck, nuzzling her nose against it. The smell of the city and sweat was comforting.
Anne echoed back. “I know.”
They stood like that for a moment, waiting for a feeling of clarity. None came, but Anne was sure enough to pull back enough to look at Marcy.
Anne smiled a very classic Anne smile, with the eyebrows curved and eyes impossibly tender. “Did anything bring this on? With Sasha, I mean? She has kind of been overworking lately-”
“No! No,” Marcy cut that thought off from the root. “I don’t think so, at least. Sasha’s just… kind of built like that.”
They both chuckled.
“No, I just was thinking about it.” Marcy finished her explanation. “Don’t worry.”
Anne lightheartedly rolled her eyes, “I try!”
They stood on the balcony, still somewhat intertwined in a hug, sharing little quips about their day. While Anne was halfway through an anecdote about a mantis infestation, Marcy realized this was the most she’d felt in days.
The red moon climbed over the Newtopian walls, bathing the buildings below in a devilish glow. That was Anne’s cue for bedtime.
“You should come to sleep, too,” Anne called as she put a hand on the doorframe.
“I will soon,” Marcy replied, turning her head to look at her. She was leaned against the balcony. “Thank you though.”
Anne beamed, nodded, and turned to go inside. Marcy watched how the moon moved. She thought about how she never really noticed how the moon moves. Of course she notices the moon when it’s rising, or halfway in the sky, but stopping to stare… it moves every second, just a little. The thought was comforting.
She made a note to check on Andrias tomorrow. With guards and a nurse this time.