Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    There’s a certain kind of magic in the air around Christmas.

    Trish had known this her entire life, of course. As a child she could feel it when her mother would bundle her up in her warmest sweaters and hold her close to her chest, singing softly of reindeer and talking snowmen and fat, jolly old men in red suits delivering presents. She could smell the magic in the kitchen as her mother produced a batch of cinnamon cookies from the oven, and she could hear it in the joyous cries of the other children as they ran out of the school yard on the final day before winter break.

    Even as Trish grew older, and learned the truths behind the holiday, the magic was still there. It wasn’t actual magic, of course. She was 15 now, and far too old to believe in fairytales. It was more a warm feeling, something sweet and calming and happy that the season would bring. Having two weeks off school where Trish could curl up with her mother in front of the fire and gorge herself on hot cocoa may have contributed to this idea of magic.

    Christmases were simple, with just the two of them, but perfect all the same.

    They had a routine, their own personal traditions. Big family gatherings were overrated. Trish and her mother didn’t need anyone besides each other.

    So why did this year have to be different?

    Trish tried to hold in her groan as she heard heavy footsteps thump down the hall. Her mother, she knew, was in the kitchen beginning prep for their Christmas eve dinner, which meant that this had to be…

    “Doppio. Are you seriously still in your pajamas?”

    The boy was standing in the living room entrance way, face still groggy from sleep. Trish didn’t bother to hide her self-satisfied grin at the way his hair was tangled into the biggest rat’s nest she had ever seen. She had dyed her hair pink first and was certain he had only done so afterwards to be a little shit and copy her. With luck it would be so knotted he would have to shave it all off.

    He rolled his eyes. “It’s Christmas eve, I don’t have to get dressed today.”

    “It’s past noon,” Trish pointed out, “you’re lazy.” She turned back to the Christmas tree she had been working on before his arrival. “How are you supposed to take over your dad’s company if you can’t even bother to get dressed in the morning?”

    Trish scoffed as he threw himself down onto the sofa. If he falls asleep again…

    “He’s your dad too, you know,” Doppio said, “and I’m getting that company no matter what because my only competition is you and Dad doesn’t give a shit about you and your mom.”

    “I genuinely wish that were true, because then I wouldn’t be spending Christmas with you assholes.” Trish shot back. Doppio just grinned at her from his spot on the couch, and Trish rolled her eyes. Tomorrow was Christmas, and she only had to put up with him until then. Still…

    “Clearly, he doesn’t give a shit about you either, or he wouldn’t have abandoned you here for so long…” She muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. She turned her back to him, fully facing the tree as she hung another shiny bauble from one of the branches and pretended to not hear his indignant spluttering.

    “He’s an important guy! He’s busy at work, that’s why he hasn’t come yet! He’ll be here tonight, he called me yesterday to promise!”

    Trish only hummed in response, too busy scanning the tree for an empty spot to hang another ornament. She heard him huff and fall back down onto the sofa behind her, and thankfully he was silent for the next while, tapping away on his phone while Trish continued her decorating. The tree was nearly done, but she still had to set up the stockings and window stickers and nativity… normally she would have finished all of this by now, but for whatever reason her stupid Dad decided they should be a family for Christmas this year and dropped his stupid son on their doorstep with the promise that he would be back for dinner after he picked up a few things from his office.

    That had been nearly a week ago.

    Every night since, Doppio’s cell would ring with their dad on the other end, telling him that he’s caught up again, but he promises he’ll make it back tomorrow. Doppio would quietly sulk, and Trish would be forced to deal with his complaining for another day.

    She should feel bad for him, but frankly she wanted nothing to do with him in the first place. Still, he was here, so he may as well be useful.

    “Stop being a bum and go set up the nativity.” Trish called out. She didn’t turn around, but she could hear his groan and a heavy thump to the floor where he presumably rolled off the couch.

    “You people are fucking slave drivers” he grumbled, but Trish could hear the shuffle of him unpacking the nativity box, so she chose to ignore him. 

    There was only one ornament left in her Christmas tree box- a glass ballerina. It had been a gift from Trish’s grandmother, her last Christmas alive, nearly a decade ago. Trish had long since dropped out of ballet classes, but the little glass girl was still special. She always got a spot of honour on the tree, right up front where everyone could see her. She was such a beautiful, delicate thing, hand painted and perfectly poised mid-pirouette.

    Trish stood back to admire her work- the tree looked perfect, as per usual. She had something of a knack for decorating, so her mother always let her have the reins. Trish couldn’t help but smile as she gazed at the tree.

    Maybe this year wasn’t average, but she could still revel in the Christmas spirit and enjoy the season for what it was.

    Her reverie was shattered with Doppio’s dumb giggles behind her.

    Trish turned, not bothering to hide her scowl as she stomped towards the boy. He had a ceramic figure in each hand, presumably setting up the nativity as she had asked, but there was no way Trish was going to trust him that easily. Doppio immediately groaned as Trish sidled up beside him.

    “Butt out, I’m making room for the wise men,” he said, knocking her shoulder with his own to push her out of the way. Trish held her ground.

    “I’m just checking your work.”

    “I’m not a child, I know what a nativity looks like.”

    “Well, you act like one, so I just have to be sure.”

    Most of it seemed in place. Painted ceramic figures positioned together in a little wooden stable. Angels and shepherds and barn animals and Mary and Joseph and-

    “Where’s the baby?”

    Doppio hummed. “Right there,” he said, and pointed to the small ceramic donkey balancing precariously on the wooden manger.

    “That’s a donkey you ass,” Trish said, digging through the box that all the figures had been stored in. Baby Jesus was nowhere to be found. “Seriously, where is it?”

    Doppio shrugged. “Dunno, but do we really need him? The donkey’s pretty cute.”

    “Well, it’s a scene about the birth of Jesus, so yeah, we kinda need the main character of the nativity.”

    Doppio turned back to the nativity, delicately scratching the little donkey on the top of its head. “Aww, don’t pay attention to her,” he cooed, “you’re just as important as that dumb baby.”

    Trish stopped her search to throw the empty box at him. It bounced harmlessly off his chest, but he still scoffed in fake insult. “You’re impossible!” She said.

    He opened his mouth with a rebuttal but was quickly interrupted by Trish’s mother shouting for the kids to come get their lunch. And, well. The pull of homemade soup was just the teensiest bit stronger than the pull of fighting with Doppio for the billionth time that week.

***

    They never did end up finding baby Jesus. After lunch, Trish’s mother helped in the search, and Doppio insisted that he hadn’t hidden it and it simply hadn’t been in the box with the other figures. And so, the donkey got to stay.

    Trish felt like it was mocking her from its place up on the mantle, like it’s stupid painted-on donkey eyes were turned up in a shit eating grin and saying, “everything is different this year and you can’t do anything about it.”

    Christmas Eve night was usually her favourite, and sure, the elements of it were all still there. She was huddled up beside the fireplace, her favourite fluffy blanket draped around her shoulders, a comfort book from her childhood in her hands and a hot mug of mama’s famous cocoa perched on the brick beside her. Her mother was in the rocking chair across from her, with a book and blanket and mug of cocoa of her own, as they always did on Christmas Eve. But this time, there was Doppio, breaking the atmosphere of turning pages and the crackling fire with the tap tap tap of his fingers on his phone. 

    This time, there was a donkey in the manger.

    And Trish tried to ignore him, she really did, because her mother was in the room and boy did she look tired. But then his phone started ringing, and Trish knew what was coming, because the same thing had happened the past five nights. Still, she stuck her nose in her book and pretended not to listen as he picked up.

    (“Hi Dad” ... “Yeah everything’s fine here” ... “You missed dinner” ... “But it’s Christmas eve, you can’t-” ... “Yeah, I understand that, but-” ... “You would have to be early, cause the morning is what’s important” ... “Okay” ... “Okay, yeah, I’ll let her know” ... “Love you too” ... “Bye, Dad”)

    Trish’s mom looked up when he set his phone down, and Trish could see the barely concealed pity in her eyes when she addressed him. “Was that your father, dear?”

    “Yeah,” he said. He didn’t look up from his phone. “He’s caught up again, he can’t make it tonight. He’ll be here in the morning.”

    Don’t feel bad for him, don’t feel bad for him…

    It was hard not to, though, when he wouldn’t look up from his phone (which he hadn’t even turned back on, just staring down into the black screen) and a heavy silence permeated the room. Trish was used to her dad bailing on her, and honestly at this point in her life she didn’t care much if she ever saw him again or not. Doppio was different though, and she knew that. She tried to imagine how it would feel if her mom dropped her off at a different family's house and then abandoned her there over Christmas. She found she didn’t much like this hypothetical.

    Her mother broke the heavy silence, pulling herself up out of the rocker and setting her mug down on the coffee table. “Stay here, kids, I’ll be right back,” she assured as she left the room.

    Trish still wasn’t sure what to say in this situation, and Doppio still hadn’t looked up from his empty phone, but luckily her mother wasn’t gone for long. She re-entered the room carrying two wrapped gift boxes, and Trish felt her heart rate pick up just looking at them. Of course! Her Christmas Eve present.

    “Doppio,” Trish’s mother said, placing the two boxes down on the coffee table. The boy finally looked up. Trish tried to ignore how his eyes were looking a little red. “Trish and I have our own little tradition, where I always pick out one present for her to open on Christmas Eve. I figured that since you’re here with us this year, it would only be fair for you to open one as well.” She pushed the larger of the two boxes towards him.

    Trish was too transfixed by her own gift-wrapped box to pay much attention to Doppio opening his own, though. It was only as wide as her hand was long, but at least a foot if not more in length, wrapped in gorgeous pink and silver gift paper with a massive bow on the top. Doppio’s excited gasp finally broke her out of her trance.

    “The bodyguard squad! I’ve been looking for these, but they’re so hard to find!” Trish looked up to check out the box he was holding up. A clear plastic thing, containing five toy soldiers, all painted up in bright colours, with Passione painted on the top. On the cardboard backing, it looked like each of the little toys had a cheesy name and pre-written back story. Trish could make out “The Captain” before Doppio dropped the box down onto his lap. “Thank you, Ms. Una! This almost completes my set!”

    Trish’s mom smiled, seemingly relieved she had managed to raise the boy’s spirits. “Well, I had your fathers help, but you’re welcome.”

    Trish pulled herself up, leaning on the coffee table as she inspected the box further. “Aren’t you, like, 20?” She asked. “You’re too old to be getting this excited over dolls.”

    “They’re collectables,” Doppio shot back, “not dolls. There’s a bunch of them, and they all come in these personalized squads with backstories and-” he stopped suddenly, looking down at Trish’s unamused expression. “Actually, you don’t care, so I’m not gonna bother telling you.”

    “The Pilot doesn’t have a plane,” she commented, pointing to one of the soldiers with “The Pilot” emblazoned on the cardboard by his head. 

    “You can get different models of planes for him!” Doppio said. He looked like he wanted to argue some more but stopped himself. “But I already said I wasn’t gonna talk to you about it!”

    Trish just grinned and turned her attention back to her own gift. The wrapping was beautiful, and she could feel the excitement flowing through her body as she ripped the paper off. Inside was a long wooden box, painted simply with a golden trim along the edges. And lifting the lid and peering inside she saw…

    A nutcracker. Trish couldn’t help the breathy oh that escaped her as she looked at him. He was, frankly, beautiful. As beautiful as a nutcracker could be. Trish pulled him out of the box to inspect him further. He was small- he probably wasn’t functional as a nutcracker, even if his wooden jaw opened and closed when she pulled his arm. At its widest, Trish could probably fit no more than an almond in his mouth, but it wasn’t as if she was planning on using him as an actual nutcracker anyways. He was far too pretty for that.

    The painting could only be described as delicate, perfect, tiny brush strokes showing the twist of his golden blonde hair into a braided bun at the nape of his neck. Dapples of different shades of pink were overlaid on top of each other to give his soldier’s suit the impression of real fabric, with little blue ladybugs painted so precisely it looked like actual embroidery through the wood. And his eyes. A dazzling green crafted so beautifully they almost looked real. His cheeks and nose were dusted pink, as if he had just been out in the cold.

    “He’s amazing,” Trish said. Her mother smiled.

    “He’s hand painted by that artist you always stop to admire at the downtown craft fair,” she said. “One-of-a-kind, there’s no others like him.”

    Trish couldn’t take her eyes off him. Of course, he was hand-painted, with the number of tiny details. A lot of love went into this little wooden nutcracker, and Trish swore she could feel it, a warmth flowing through him and into her hands. That Christmas magic.

    “Your nutcracker is pink.” Doppio said.

    Trish scoffed. “Congratulations, dipshit, you know your colours.” She pointedly ignored her mother’s narrowed eyes at the comment. Doppio just shrugged.

    “Kind of fruity for a nutcracker to be pink,” he said. Trish glared at him.

    “Says you!” 

    “Can we not?” Her mother interjected before Doppio could get in a response. “It’s Christmas Eve, and we’re family. Please try to get along, just for the next 24 hours?”

    Trish felt her face heat up as well as she grumbled out a halfhearted apology, and Doppio at least had the decency to look somewhat ashamed as he left the room, saying something about putting his soldiers away in his suitcase to keep them safe. Trish looked back down to her nutcracker. The firelight glinted off his painted eyes, bathing him in a soft orange glow.

    “Don’t worry about Doppio,” she whispered to him, “he’s a shit head, but I know you’ll protect me.”

    Trish felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “Where are you going to put him, dear?”

    She thought a moment, before placing him down in the center of the coffee table, poised with his sword arm extended. “Right here,” she said, “so he can protect us from intruders.”

    Her mother hummed. “I feel safer already,” she said. She glanced at the clock on the wall, before wrapping her arms around Trish’s shoulders in a hug. “You should get to your room too, sweetheart,” she said, “It’s getting late.” 

    Trish hugged her mom back and took one last glance back at her little nutcracker standing guard on the coffee table. It felt, even if just for a moment, that maybe this Christmas would be okay after all.

Chapter Text

    A heavy crash from downstairs was what woke her.

    Trish bolted upright in her bed, heart beating a mile a minute. She checked her phone for the time as she tried to calm her suddenly rapid breaths. 1:18 am. She did her best to focus, to close her eyes and strain her ears as much as she could. There were no more crashes but… there!

    Faint noises drifting up the stairs. There was someone moving around down there.

    For a moment her excitement caught up with her. Christmas morning, at 1am when everyone was asleep, somebody knocking around in the living room… but she quickly dismissed any notions of Santa Claus from her mind. She wasn’t a child anymore. A far more likely suspect was a shitty half-brother, trying to get an early peek at presents.

    Trish threw herself out of bed and pulled on her slippers in a rush. She couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of self-satisfaction upon seeing the door to the guest bedroom cracked open. Oh, Doppio was going to get the scolding of a lifetime when she caught him. She rushed down the stair way, already preparing her speech for when she turned the corner to find-

    Toys.

    Trish’s feet stopped and she felt her jaw drop involuntarily. She had run down expecting to find her insufferable half-brother crouched under the Christmas tree, surrounded by prematurely opened gifts. Instead, there were toys. And they were trashing the place.

    She rubbed at her eyes, still finding her feet unable to move. This was impossible. 

    Nearly a dozen toy soldiers were clamouring about the place, and in the middle of the fray… her nutcracker! His sword was drawn, fighting back against one of the soldiers who had him pinned against the brick of the fireplace.

    I’m dreaming, it must be a dream!

    But the sharp crash of a glass bauble falling from the tree and shattering against the hardwood floor sounded far too real.

    “Hey!” Trish yelled out to the toy soldier who had broken it. He looked at her, and Trish caught his little painted eyes widening in fear before another shout caught both of their attention, pulling her eyes back to her nutcracker. He now had three of the toy soldiers cornering him. And it looked like he was losing.

    Well. Even if this was just a dream, Trish couldn’t have that. Finally unfreezing, she ran across the room, watching little toys scatter beneath her. She reached down, grabbing one of the soldiers facing her nutcracker and throwing it aside. It landed somewhere amongst the others, but Trish wasn’t paying it paying it any mind, too busy reaching down to grab a second soldier when-

    “Did you just stab me, you little prick?”

    Trish pulled her hand back up, cradling it with the other as she watched a small bead of blood bloom on the tip of her index finger. The toy soldier was looking awfully proud of himself until Trish reached back down, this time with a vengeance. He struggled in her closed fist, pounding away at her clenched fingers with his little plastic hands, and Trish pulled her arm back in her best imitation of a pitcher’s throw, aiming right for the still-burning fireplace.

    She never got the chance to throw. Another small voice yelled out from somewhere at her feet, and suddenly Trish felt herself enveloped in pins and needles, like her whole body had fallen asleep all at once. Her knees buckled, and as she fell to the ground Trish noticed the glow. A golden light had surrounded her, and the toy soldier in her hand… he was growing!

    With each passing moment the little toy grew, until Trish wasn’t so much holding him as she was gripping the hard plastic of his painted-on coat. A quick glance around confirmed that this soldier wasn’t the only one- all the toys in her living room had suddenly grown.

    Or, wait… no. That wasn’t correct. The toys hadn’t grown.

    Trish felt her stomach drop.

    She had shrunk.

    “Oh… fuck.”

    A handful of toy soldiers turned to her, weapons drawn, and Trish felt all the fight leave her body in an instant. The soldier she had been about to throw into the fireplace was among them. She wasn’t sure if toys could ever be described as looking “vicious”, but this one was certainly close.

    She raised her hands, palms outwards, in the best “I surrender” gesture she could manage, but before she could even open her mouth to say the words something solid grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. She gave out a yelp, stumbling over her feet as she was yanked around and away from the approaching toys.

    “Please keep up!” The voice behind her shouted, and finally Trish took in just what was grabbing her. The hand was wooden. Turning towards her nutcracker she finally fell into step behind him, as he continued pulling her along and away from the toy army advancing on them.

    “Where are we running to?” Trish asked between panting breaths, before the Nutcracker stopped with a start and she plowed right into his back.  She barely had time to rub at her now-sore nose before he was grabbing her shoulders, pushing her forward and closer to the trunk of the gigantic Christmas tree towering above them.

    “Climb!” he urged, and with one last shove of Trish’s shoulders, drew his sword and ran back into the fray, calling out a quick “I’ll hold them off!” as he went.

    Shit. Shit, fuck, okay. Okay, I can do this.

    Trish gazed at the trunk jutting up in front of her and tried to calm down the vomit stirring in her stomach. It’s fine. I used to climb trees all the time as a kid. The only difference now is that I’m less than a foot tall and being chased by sentient toy soldiers. No biggie.

    She swallowed down the rising bile, thanked her lucky stars that her mother always insisted on getting a real tree, and went to work. The bark was rough enough that Trish could feel it scraping up her palms as she went, and her tiny hands posed a challenge when it came to grabbing at the protruding branches, but bit by bit she was making it up the trunk.

    Another shout came up from somewhere behind her, and Trish chanced a look down. The world swayed for a moment, but she held firm, pressing her body as close to the trunk as she could as if trying to fuse into it. Her nutcracker was nowhere to be seen below, and the thick branches were obscuring most of her view of the living room. She could hear the clang! of swords, and soldiers calling out to each other.

    She had been told to climb, but for how long? Just to get out of the way of the soldiers, and wait for her nutcracker to fight them all back? There were way too many for him to hold off, and even though she couldn’t see the action, from the sound of things he wasn’t doing too stellar of a job at that.

    There had to be something she could do- sitting here useless was not how this was going to end.

    She glanced around desperately, looking for something- anything- that could help, and-

    There!

    Just through the fir needles, a little up and to her right, was a glint of light off glass. Her ballerina! Which meant that Trish was nearly at the same height as the mantle… if she could shimmy along the branch, she could probably jump the remaining distance.

    With narrowed eyes and a steeled resolve, Trish pulled herself up onto the branch, using the trunk at her back to steady herself as she rose onto her feet. It wasn’t too dissimilar from the balance beams she used to practice on during her ballet days, and she made a mental note to thank her mother for forcing her into those classes.

    The branch bent under her weight, but she held her arms out to either side for balance and steadied her breath. One foot. Then the other. Keep going.

    She tried to tune the sounds of battle around her, focusing on only this one task. As she passed her ballerina, the branch dipped enough to lose her balance. Trish windmilled her arms as she shuffled backwards, barely righting herself as the branch wobbled beneath her feet.

    So.

    That’s as far out as she could go.

    There was still quite a solid distance between her current position and the mantle. If she could get a running start she could clear the space no problem, but with the Christmas tree’s branches limited stability, that wasn’t exactly an option.

    Should I just turn back?

    Another pained shout echoed out around the room, and Trish braved a glance down to see her nutcracker once more cornered by the army of toy soldiers. There was one in front of the others, and while Trish couldn’t make out much detail from her position, she could see painted bubblegum pink hair. This toy seemed to be their leader, pointing a glowing red scepter at her nutcracker where he was pressed prone against the brick of the fireplace.

    Trish hadn’t been able to see when it had happened, but just looking at this new soldier, she could feel it in her gut- this was the motherfucker who shrunk her.

    And she couldn’t be having that.

    She didn’t think, just braced her body and jumped. 

    And maybe misjudged the distance.

    Her torso slammed against the edge of the mantle with a solid thump, and Trish felt all the air leave her body at once before she was sliding backward. Her instincts kicked in and she scrambled forward, her legs kicking desperately where they were hanging off the edge and into thin air, and eventually she pulled herself up. The muscles in her arms were screaming and her ribs stung every time she tried to move, but she wasn’t finished yet.

    Her nutcracker was still down there.

    Trish beelined for the nativity. She hadn’t put much thought into her plan, but she knew exactly what she was going to do.

    Her sore body protested as she pulled the ceramic donkey from its place in the manger, but she didn’t care, just dragged it to the edge where, far below, that pink haired soldier had her nutcracker’s back to the wall. With a final shove, the little clay animal soared off the edge and down to the ground below as Trish finally laid down, clutching her ribs in any attempt to soothe the dull ache that had begun to throb there.

    She couldn’t see what had happened, but she heard the loud crash! and the shocked gasp of the toy soldiers. They all began shouting at each other, and Trish pulled herself to the edge of the mantle once more to see what damage she had caused.

    Her nutcracker still had his back pressed to the brick, but the toy soldiers weren’t occupied with him anymore, seemingly too busy digging up their fallen leader from the pile of ceramic donkey shards that surrounded his limp little body. Most of them retreated into a mouse hole in the wall, while a few carried their broken leader away. It was hard to tell from so high up, but as Trish squinted her eyes at the little toy, between the pink hair and over exaggerated freckles painting his face, he almost looked like-

    “Trish!”

    The sound of her Nutcracker calling out her name broke her train of thought, and Trish glanced back down toward him. She couldn’t help but break out into a smile seeing that he was okay and waved down.

    “Did you just throw that from up there?” He called up. Trish couldn’t help but preen a little at the impressed tone of his voice.

    “You looked like you needed help!” She yelled back.

    “Why don’t you come back down so we don’t have to keep shouting at each other?”

    Trish sat up, clutching her torso again as her ribs complained about the change in position. “You seriously want me to climb back down? I just got up here!”

    “Unless you have some other way to get off the mantle…”

    Trish didn’t bother to hide her groan. He was, unfortunately, right. But she had made it up the tree, and she could (probably) make it back down.

    She had to suck in a grunt of pain as she jumped back onto the Christmas tree, this time pulling herself along the branch by her arms like the worst monkey bars ever, too difficult to find balance on her feet at the wobbly, weak end of the branch.  She was about halfway along when her Nutcracker called out again.

    “Can you grab the necklace off of your ballerina when you go past her?”

    Trish scoffed, shaking her head to try and get one particular needle out of the way of her face. “My ballerina doesn’t have a necklace!” She called back. Honestly, what kind of question is that…

    “Yes, she does! You need to bring it down here!”

    Trish shuffled closer to the ballerina in question, clenching her teeth against the pain across her ribs. “No, she doesn’t! Look at her neck, it’s-”

    -decorated with a delicate golden chain, with a heart locket. That’s new.

    But Trish didn’t have time to complain. The day was weird enough already, so without further complaint she dropped her left hand, using it to unclasp the necklace and place it between her teeth before gripping the branch again and continuing her shuffling towards the trunk, where she could finally grab some decent foot holds and make her way back down to the living room floor.

    When she jumped the remaining distance and her feet hit the carpet, Trish couldn’t help but clutch at her ribs again as her nutcracker came running forward to meet her.

    “Are you okay?” he asked, “Did you hurt yourself?”

    “Misjudged jumping onto the mantle,” she explained, dropping the necklace out of her mouth and into her hand. He reached out toward the hurt area but stopped before touching her. “I landed on the edge pretty hard.”

    “Would you mind if I looked at it?” He asked. Trish found herself shaking her head. She barely knew him, but something in her gut told her that this nutcracker was someone she could trust.

    “Go ahead,” she said, uncrossing her arms and pulling her pajama shirt up just enough to reveal her bottom ribs. His wooden hands pressed against her torso weren’t nearly as cold as she was expecting, but she still gasped from the sudden pressure against her injury.

    “Sorry,” he murmured, taking a few more seconds to inspect her before pulling back. “It looks like your ribs are just bruised, not broken. It’ll hurt a lot, but you’re not in any danger.” He sighed, glancing down for a moment. “I’m sorry I can’t really help you. I used to be able to heal any living thing, but I lost my powers when I was turned into a nutcracker.”

    “You weren’t always a nutcracker?” Trish asked. He shook his head.

    “No,” he said, “I wasn’t. I’m actually on a hunt for the Sugar Plum Princess. I’ve heard that she’s powerful enough to change me back. Unfortunately, my enemies don’t want me finding her.” He paused for a moment, tilting his head and shooting Trish a look of apology. “You weren’t supposed to get caught up in it.”

    She just shrugged. “Well, I’m here now.” It wasn’t meant to be a joke, but her nutcracker let out a small chuckle anyways.

    “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he said. “In fact, now that you are here, I think we can help each other!”

    Trish raised an eyebrow. “Can we?”

    “Yes!” he said. Trish wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or what, but his painted eyes seemed to come alive as he spoke. “If the Sugar Plum Princess can turn me back, then certainly she can transform you back to your original size!”

    Trish paused for a moment. She still couldn’t tell if this was all a dream of not, but then, on the off chance that it wasn’t… “I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

    The nutcracker smiled and turned around, giving Trish a “follow me” gesture as he walked across the living room and toward the mouse hole that the toy soldiers had retreated into. He stopped just outside of it, giving her a comforting smile as she gazed in.

    It was dark- the kind of dark that simply can’t be natural, as if all the light were being swallowed up into a void. Trish felt herself involuntarily halt just at the opening of it, her heart speeding up. It wasn’t that she feared the dark, but… on the very slim chance that all of this actually wasn’t a dream… what was waiting for her on the other end? Would she really find some magical fairy princess who could turn her back and send her home? Or was it some kind of trap?

    She felt herself back up, her feet moving on their own accord, before bumping into something solid behind her. A wooden hand came to rest on her shoulder, and her nutcracker shot her another encouraging smile.

    Right.

    She couldn’t help but trust him. And even if she didn’t- what other choice did she have? Stay, and live out the rest of her life the size of a doll? Unlikely. Still…

    “How will I get back?” She asked. The nutcracker gave a quizzical look, and she elaborated. “After we find the Sugar Plum Princess, and she turns me back to my normal size, how will I get back home?”

    “Did you grab the necklace like I asked?” He said. Trish held her hand out, the golden chain resting in her palm. The nutcracker gestured to it. “Put that on, and when we’ve found the Princess, open it. I promise, it’ll take you back home.”

    “Just like that?” Trish asked. Granted, everything so far was utterly unbelievable, but even so, it seemed a little far-fetched.

    “Just like that,” he assured.

    She took a deep breath, counted to three, and pushed herself forward into the darkness.

    All at once, everything felt cold, a thick chill that wrapped around her, and all the air was punched out of her lungs. Trish whipped her head around, reaching out for her nutcracker, but came back empty handed. She tried to inhale- her lungs were burning- but it was as if the air around her had become solid. 

    Her head was beginning to feel faint. Fuck, is this seriously how it’s gonna end?

    Through the fog, Trish thought she could hear her nutcracker’s voice. She reached out to the sound, but it was already too late.

    Her knees buckled, and she fell.

Chapter Text

     Peppermint.

    Trish could smell peppermint. And feel a hand on her shoulder.

    When she opened her eyes, she found herself crumpled on her knees, in a patch of snow-dusted grass. And yet… she reached down to confirm and, yes. Her pajamas weren’t wet. In fact, the snow itself was barely cold at all.

    The hand on her shoulder lifted, and Trish saw her Nutcracker by her side, arm raised to help her stand. She gladly took it, hoisting herself up and taking in her surroundings.

    They were on a cliffside, overlooking the most gorgeous and vibrant valley Trish had ever seen. The sky stretching out above was bluer than she could have ever possibly imagined, and the clouds looked like perfect little cotton balls suspended in the atmosphere. The Nutcracker noticed her awe and smiled.

    “This is Parthenia. My home,” he said.

    “It’s beautiful,” Trish replied, and she genuinely meant it. Birdsong was filtering in from the nearby trees, and she couldn’t help but feel calmed as she gazed over the valley.

    “It’ll just be a memory soon, if the Crimson King gets his way.”

    Trish finally pulled her gaze away from her surroundings, turning to face him. “The Crimson King. Is that who was in my living room, the guy who shrunk me?”

    The Nutcracker shook his head. “No,” he explained, “that was his General. The King himself has never actually shown his face in public- all his dirty work is left to the General. The scepter was the King’s though, he uses it to lend his power to him whenever he has a job to do.”

    Trish shot him the most unamused look she could muster. “If this Sugar Plum Princess is as powerful as you’re leading me to believe, how come she hasn’t been able to stop a so-called king who won’t leave his house and sends a doll to do his work for him?”

    The Nutcracker looked down, examining his shoes as if they had just become the most interesting things in the world. “Well…” he began, almost quiet enough that Trish had to strain to hear him. “She’s actually… been missing. For the past few years now.”

    Trish felt her heart plummet to the ground. “Are you serious?”

    The Nutcracker grimaced. “Unfortunately. Things never would have gotten this bad otherwise.”

    Trish scoffed, a mixture of anger and disappointment and maybe a little bit of hurt bubbling up inside her. “Well, it’s a lost cause then!” She said, throwing her arms up and ignoring the way her ribs screamed with the movement. “How are just the two of us going to find a woman who’s been missing for years!?”

    “Not just the two of us!” The Nutcracker said. “I have an ally, and he has a team. We’ve been waiting for the right time, but now that you’re here, it seems we can’t wait any longer.”

    “Are we sure his team will follow him?” Trish asked. “If they don’t, I’m not exactly enthusiastic about our chances here.”

    The Nutcracker shrugged. “We won’t know until we ask them, won’t we?” He shot her another smile and turned, walking towards a nearby dirt road that seemingly led off the cliff and down into the forest. “Come on,” he said, “their camp isn’t very far.”

***

    The camp was far.

    Granted, the walk was scenic- every time the wind blew, Trish caught that peppermint smell wafting off the trees, and the light snowfall glittered like diamonds in the sunlight- but even the cushion of pine needles lining the dirt road weren’t enough to help how sore her feet felt by the time the Nutcracker finally held up a hand in gesture for her to stop.

    His voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke. “Their camp should be just up ahead. Be quiet though, in case they aren’t alone.” She didn’t have time to question him before he was crouched in the underbrush.

    She heard the voices first. The sounds of a couple of young men seemingly in an argument, and Trish strained to make out the words.

    “Are they arguing about… math?”

    The Nutcracker just shrugged. “Probably. I don’t hear any other voices though. It should be safe to approach, come on.”

    He stood, ready to march toward the camp, and Trish finally got a chance to peer through the bush and see who was on the other side. In an instant, she had grabbed the Nutcracker’s arm and yanked, pulling him unceremoniously back to the ground where he landed with a solid thump.

    “What are you-”

    “Shh!” Trish cut him off. She had only seen one’s uniform briefly, but she was certain. “Those are toy soldiers, just like the ones from the living room! They have to belong to the Crimson King!”

    The Nutcracker’s face immediately melted from confusion to a look of relief. “They do belong to him, but not for long. They’re friends, don’t worry.” And he stood, heading toward the small campsite once more. The Nutcracker had said to trust him, and Trish did… but she still followed directly behind, using his body as shelter. Just in case.

    Almost immediately, one of the soldiers perked up. “Somebody’s here!” he called, and without hesitation, the others in the camp leapt to action.

    There were four of them, all together, two brandishing swords and two with pistols aimed at Trish and the Nutcracker. Their uniforms were all of similar style, although painted in wildly different, vibrant colours, and Trish couldn’t help but feel as if she had seen them before.

    The four quickly had Trish and the Nutcracker surrounded, both with their hands raised in the air.

    “Who are you?” One of the soldiers demanded. His pistol was aimed directly at Trish’s forehead, and she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart at this sudden turn of events.

    “We’re not enemies,” the Nutcracker said, slowly. “We’re here to see your Captain.”

    “And what the hell do you want with the Captain?” Another soldier said. This one was taller, his uniform painted completely black. He held his sword aloft, placed just under the Nutcracker’s chin.

    “I’m his friend,” the Nutcracker said. Trish mentally applauded him for how level his voice was. She was certain if she had tried to speak, it would have only come out as a broken sob. “Trust me.”

    “Trust you?” The tall soldier said. He dug his sword in just the tiniest bit deeper, and Trish felt her heart jump into her throat. She had to do something, anything- but then a new voice rang out.

    “Everyone, stop! Boys, stand down!”

    Trish didn’t recognize this voice, but when the man stepped through the wall the other four had formed, hands raised in a peaceful gesture, she knew him in an instant. She had seen these soldiers before.

    “You’re the Captain!” She blurted out before she could think better of it. She thought the others had looked familiar, but the appearance of this soldier proved it. She hadn’t seen him for long when Doppio had unwrapped his gift, but this soldier’s white suit and painted black bob were unmistakable. This was the Bodyguard Squad.

    “Yes, I am,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, unless the Nutcracker told you about me?”

    Trish paused a moment before replying. Should she tell him? How would that even go? Hi, yes, we’ve never met but I know you because you and your squad were gifted as toys to my horrendous and awful half-brother just earlier tonight. It didn’t sound great. Luckily, she didn’t have to worry about what to say, as one of the soldiers started talking before she even had a chance to open her mouth.

    “Do you know these people, Captain?” He asked. This was the blonde one, with the green uniform and the wicked glare. His sword was still pointed at Trish.

    The Captain turned back to his crew. “Yes, I know them, lower your weapons.” He gestured back to the Nutcracker, “He’s a friend.”

    His soldiers sheathed their weapons, but Trish couldn’t help but notice most of them kept their hands nearby, ready to draw again at a moment's notice. The tall one kept his eyes narrowed and locked on the Nutcracker, and Trish couldn’t help the surge of protectiveness that washed over her. She stepped forward, resting her hand gently on the crook of the Nutcracker’s arm and shooting the soldier a look right back. She couldn’t help the smug grin that plastered her face when he caught her eye and almost immediately averted his gaze.

    The Captain turned back to the Nutcracker, his voice lowered. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he said.

    The Nutcracker grimaced slightly. “I wasn’t either, but,” he looked to where Trish was standing next to him, lifting the arm she was currently attached to ever so slightly, “the situation’s changed.”

    The Captain’s eyes seemed to darken for a moment. “So, we’re doing this now?” He asked. The Nutcracker nodded.

    “We have to,” he said.

    The Captain sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly with closed eyes before turning back to his team.

    “It’s time that I told you all,” he began. “The Nutcracker and I have been in collaboration for some time now. I wasn’t sure when it would happen, but…” he paused a moment, looking each of his soldiers in the eyes one by one before continuing, “we’re going to find the Sugar Plum Princess. And we’re going to take down the Crimson King.”

    They were all silent for a moment, staring at him in shock. Trish swore even the birds in the trees had stopped singing.

    “You’re defecting?” The silence was finally broken by the tall soldier who Trish had been staring down just moments before. “Captain, you know what happens to anyone who does. We’ve seen it, the King won’t let you just get away.”

    “I know,” the Captain replied. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin high. “Which is why we’ll need help. This isn’t an order, but if any of you wanted to join us… the choice is your own, and I won’t hold your decision against you either way. I believe in this cause, and I believe that we can find the Sugar Plum Princess, defeat the Crimson King, and save our home.”

    “This is a mistake,” The blonde soldier said. He was looking down, refusing to meet the Captain’s eye. “You let your emotions cloud your thought and… you’re making a mistake. You’re just going to get yourself killed, and I can’t support that. I don’t think anyone here can.”

    The Captain looked like he wanted to reply, but before he could, the tall soldier spoke up again. “The Scholar’s right, Captain. This is a suicide mission.” The soldier walked forward, and Trish saw a look of confusion flash across the Captains face before the soldier clapped a hand on his shoulder. If Trish weren’t mistaken, he almost seemed to be smiling. “Of course I’m coming with you.”

    The blonde soldier finally looked up. “You can’t be serious!”

    But another soldier was already stepping forward, the one in red and blue who had been pointing his pistol at Trish earlier. “The Captain’s never led us wrong before,” he said, flashing a confident grin. For the first time since she had arrived in Parthenia, Trish’s heart felt a little lighter. Maybe they could do this.

    There was still one who hadn’t said anything, and Trish recognized him as the Pilot, the one who had initially alerted the group to their presence, with his orange uniform and bomber hat. “What about you, Pilot?” She asked. He swung his head to look at her, and Trish swore it looked like he had tears in his eyes.

    “I don’t… I don’t know,” he said. He sniffled. “Tell me what to do.” The Captain shook his head.

    “If you don’t know, then stay.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’ll be okay.”

    The Pilot wiped his eyes and shifted his attention back to the ground, while the Captain turned to address the four of them gathered behind him. “As of now, we’re criminals,” he said, “So we’d best get a move on.”

    “Everyone, follow me,” the Nutcracker said, detaching Trish from his arm and walking ahead of the group, “We’ll explain our plan on the way.”

    The snow crunched underfoot as they followed the Nutcracker back onto the road, but something in Trish’s gut told her to stop, to turn back. It was just a quick glance, but immediately she saw it- the Pilot was already staring at her. Trish did her best to smile, and raised her hand in a wave goodbye, before turning back around to catch up with the group.

    Almost immediately came the sound of running footsteps behind her, and a desperate call of “Wait!” as the Pilot ran to catch up. Trish wasn’t sure what compelled her- an unspoken kinship, or some kind of unknown connection between her and this toy soldier. But she immediately broke out into a grin and turned around, arms outstretched to catch him. He fell right into her embrace, speaking up to the Captain with the widest smile he could manage.

    “I made my decision,” he said, “and if you guys are gonna defeat the Crimson King, you’ll need the World’s Greatest Pilot!”

    Trish hugged him tighter. “You don’t even have a plane,” she said.

***

    From what the Nutcracker had explained, the plan seemed to be to first get to the Princesses last known location, which was apparently an island in the middle of something called the “Sea of Storms” which, frankly, didn’t sound promising. The soldier with the gun, who Trish learned was called the Marksman, said the same, but the Captain assured him that he and the Nutcracker had been preparing for this and had secured a ship that should be able to survive the journey.

    For now, the crew were making their way along the dirt road, striking up casual conversations where they could, and never taking their eyes off the area surrounding them. It was the strangest feeling, too. Trish knew, logically, she had just met these people, but there was something about them. These five boys, all making this journey together… she trusted them, and she couldn’t explain why.

    At one point, the Captain and the tall soldier, who’d been referred to as the Guard, fell back, and, well. Trish knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but it was hard not to. So, she continued walking along, caught in between some benign conversation between the Marksman and the Pilot about the potential edibility of different insects, and strained her ears to listen.

    “Thank you, for coming with me,” the Captain had said. He had fallen in step beside the Guard, several feet behind the rest of the group. “But you shouldn’t have to feel obligated.”

    The Guard snorted something like a laugh. “It’d be pretty hard to find your Princess without me.”

    “Which is exactly why I’m saying you shouldn’t feel forced to-”

    “Captain,” he cut him off, “I’m choosing to follow you. I always will. Don’t worry about it.”

    They had rejoined the group after that, and Trish had tried to make herself matching pace with the Guard as casual as possible before striking up a conversation of her own. She wasn’t quite sure how to make her question sound innocuous, so she decided to just bite the bullet and go for bluntness instead.

    “Why was it so important for you to join us?” She asked. He looked down at her with a side-eye.

    “Were you eavesdropping?” He asked.

    Trish shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, “but answer the question.”

    He let out a breathy scoff. “It’s important because I’m going to find your Sugar Plum Princess for you, obviously.” Trish rolled her eyes. Was he always this frustrating?

    “How are you going to find her?”

    The Captain answered the question for him. “Most people in Parthenia are gifted with some form of magic,” he said, “and it manifests differently in each person.”

    “Oh, right!” Trish said. She pointed to the Nutcracker. “Back in the living room, you said you used to be able to heal people before you were transformed. Would that have been your magic?”

    The Nutcracker nodded, and the Captain continued, “Exactly. And with the Guard…”

    He trailed off, and the Guard sighed. “If you get me to the last known location of someone, I can pick up a trail that no one else can see that’ll lead me right to them,” he said.

    Trish whistled. “Pretty useful talent, since we’re currently in the business of finding someone.” But then, if what the Captain said was true and most people in Parthenia had magic…

    “Hey, guys!” She called out ahead. The Marksman and the Pilot had run ahead of the group, and currently seemed to be in the middle of a competition to see who could kick a rock the furthest. They both looked up and jogged back to the group at the sound of her voice. “Do you two have magic powers too?” She asked.

    The Marksman broke out into a grin, pulling his pistol out of its holster and spinning the thing around on his finger. “I’m only the best gunman in all of Parthenia,” he said, “it’s impossible for me to miss a shot.”

    The Pilot blew a raspberry at him. “I’ve watched you shoot yourself at least a dozen times!”

    The Marksman spluttered for a moment before finally gathering himself. “Those were intentional self-shootings!” He cried. “All part of strategies and shit!” He narrowed his eyes when the Pilot simply laughed at him. “Well, what kind of power is being “The World’s Greatest Pilot” when you don’t even have a plane?”

    The Pilot immediately stopped his laughter. “Hey, I have tons of planes!” He argued, “They’re just not here right now, they’re at the palace’s port!” The Marksman shot Trish his best can you believe this guy? look and she tried to stifle her giggles. “And,” The Pilot continued, “I can sense when other people are nearby!”

    “We’ve all got eyes, dumbass,” the Marksman replied.

    “It’s different and you know it!” The Pilot said.

    Trish couldn’t help but smile watching them. Behind her, the Nutcracker leaned into the Captain. His voice was lowered, but it was still enough to kill the friendly argument.

    “Captain, do you think the Scholar has told the Crimson King about us?”

    The Pilot whipped around. “What? No, he wouldn’t do that!” 

    The Captain held out his hand in a placating gesture. “What the Scholar chooses to do with his knowledge of our treason is his decision,” he said, “but I also have faith he wouldn’t sell us out so quickly.” The jovial energy of just moments before had immediately died out, leaving only a chill in its wake.

    “However,” the Captain continued, “the Crimson King will find out about us soon enough, if he doesn’t know already. We must keep alert, stay on our toes, and keep moving.” He looked at Trish, and she felt that chill send a shiver up her spine. “We’re almost at the Sea of Storms.”

Chapter Text

    The Sea of Storms was, as it turned out, aptly named.

    Trish saw the clouds first, heavy swathes of dark greys circling overhead. Every occasional clap of loud thunder made her jump. By the time they had reached the sea itself, she felt herself beginning to lose faith again. The waves were massive, white capped and peaking higher than Trish thought possible.

    “Are we seriously supposed to sail across that?” 

    “As I mentioned before,” the Captain said, “the Nutcracker and I have been preparing for this. We have a ship docked that should survive the journey.”

    “And if it can’t?” Trish asked.

    The Captain turned back to her. “We can’t afford to question it. Our only chance is to get the Guard close enough to that island for his magic to kick in. Understand?”

    Trish nodded but couldn’t help her frown. Something nudged her shoulder, and she turned to see the Nutcracker beside her. He pointed to something off to her left. “There it is,” he said, and she followed his finger to what appeared to be a small yet, admittedly, sturdily built sailboat docked at the edge of the thrashing sea. The beach was long, and the rocky sand was uncomfortable under the thin soles of her slippers.

    When they finally reached the dock, Trish had to admit that the boat seemed impressive, although she didn’t really know much about sailing to begin with. The Captain was right at home though, hopping onto the thing with ease, checking knots and adjusting ropes as if it were second nature. It made her feel a little useless, standing on the dock just watching, but none of the others had rushed forward to help him out either.

    Another heavy crash of thunder, and one of the waves crested higher, slamming down and spraying Trish with salt water. The loud ugh! she gave off only served to draw attention to her before her stomach let out the loudest, most mortifying grumble ever recorded in human history.

    Even the Captain looked up from where he was crouched on the deck of the boat, the sound loud enough to catch his attention.

    Maybe I should just jump into the sea. Or stand perfectly still, and she’d simply turn invisible to the five pairs of eyes suddenly turned on her. Or pretend it wasn’t her, but she could already feel how blisteringly hot her cheeks had grown and there was no way the boys hadn’t noticed, fuck. We’re being hunted by the Crimson King for treason and here I am, about to die from embarrassment over a tummy rumble on the dock.

    “Trish…” The Pilot said, his words slow and quiet, as if he were afraid of frightening her off like a wild cat, “are you hungry?”

    Trish said nothing, still standing as still as possible and praying that a flash of lightning would strike her down. Anything to get her out of this situation.

    “She’s human!” The Marksman suddenly yelled out, clutching the brim of his hat like some kind of cartoon. “She has to eat!” He poked a finger at Trish’s chest. “When’s the last time you ate?”

    “Please stop!” Trish finally said. Her hands were balled up so tightly she swore her fingernails must’ve been breaking skin. “It was just a grumble; I promise I’m fine!”

    “It’s important to keep your energy up, Trish,” the Nutcracker said, “especially when you’re healing from injuries.”

    “Trish is injured?” The Pilot said. His voice was steadily increasing in pitch. “We need to get her food right now!!”

    “It’s just some bruising!” Trish said, “Please you really don’t need to-”

    The Captain cut her off, finally standing from where he had been crouched on the deck of the sailboat. “Actually, now is the ideal time,” he said, “we don’t know what’s on the island.” He pointed off into the distance, where some short, rolling hills surrounded the beach. “There’s orchards in those hills.” He nodded to the Nutcracker and the Marksman. “You two take Trish and see if you can gather some supplies for our journey. The Pilot and the Guard will stay here and help me.”

    Trish was still mortifyingly embarrassed, but… she was also hungry. So, with the Marksman’s quick “Yes, Captain!” the three of them headed away from the sea and toward the hills that had been pointed out.

    It luckily wasn’t far, and the hills weren’t steep. But…

    “Are we sure this is it?” Trish asked. The land laid out before them looked like it could have been an orchard- albeit at least 20 years ago. The rows of trees stretching out beyond were crooked and barren, ugly twisted things of greyish brown sprouting up from rocky, packed down dirt that couldn’t even seem to grow grass, let alone bear fruit.

    “This orchard used to be flourishing…” The Nutcracker said. The wooden fence surrounding the orchard was broken down, and the three of them jumped it easily. He pressed a wooden palm to one of the gnarled trunks, and Trish noticed the flash of intense sadness run through his painted eyes. “I wish I could help you…” he muttered, seemingly to himself.

    “It was the Crimson King,” the Marksman said, “it had to be.” He placed a hand on the Nutcracker’s shoulder, pulling him away from the barren tree and giving him a comforting smile before turning back to Trish.

    “This place used to be beautiful,” he said, “with the sweetest fruit and the greenest grass. It was so pretty, I’d bring girls here on dates, and we’d just lay on the ground and watch the stars.”

    Trish forced a laugh. She’d never seen the Nutcracker this down before. She had to lighten the mood. “I seriously doubt that,” she said to the Marksman.

    “It’s true!” He said, “The leaves were lush, and it used to be so beautifu-”

    “The beauty of the orchard wasn’t the part of that story I was doubting,” Trish cut him off.

    The Marksman spluttered, and the Nutcracker cracked a smile. Mission accomplished.

    “Come on,” the Nutcracker said, “let’s see if there’s anything we can scrounge together.”

    The three of them continued further into the orchard, but it didn’t take long to realize that they wouldn’t have any luck in their search for food here. Trish insisted that it was okay, that she would be fine, and they should head back to the dock and help the others, but the Nutcracker and Marksman stood firm in their belief that they should keep looking.

    Eventually they split up to cover more ground, but Trish wasn’t really looking for fruit. They’d already established that there wasn’t any, and continuing the search just seemed like a waste of time when they knew the Crimson King’s soldiers must be after them by now. But the other two wanted to keep up the search, so Trish had split off from them and spent the last 10 minutes mostly just kicking rocks across the desolate dirt.

    She was about to call out to them that she hadn’t found anything, and they should head back when she heard a hollow thunk underfoot. She looked down and, brushing away the dirt from where she had just stepped, discovered a circular, wooden cover inserted into the ground.

    “Hey guys!” She called out, “Come here!”

    It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps nearing as the Nutcracker and Marksman made their way over to her. When they were close enough, Trish stomped her foot on the wood twice. “I found something,” she said.

    “A well?” The Nutcracker asked.

    “What do you think’s in it?” Trish replied.

    The Marksman bent down to examine it closer. “Probably water,” he said. “Humans need water too, right?”

    The Nutcracker shook his head. “They do, but if this water’s been contaminated like the field has, then it’ll only harm her.” The Marksman groaned.

    “So, this has been a total bust, then?” he said. 

    The Nutcracker sighed. “I guess so,” he said. “Sorry Trish, you were right. We should just head back to the others.”

    Trish wasn’t really listening though, too focused on the wood underfoot. She wanted to open the well.

    No.

    She needed to open the well.

    The other two were already standing, ready to wander back to the dock when Trish fell to her knees. She tried to pry it open, but the wood was too heavy, and she couldn’t get a solid grip.

    “Trish, what are you doing?” The Nutcracker asked as she tried again, this time attempting to wedge her fingernails underneath and pull up that way. She felt two of them break under the pressure before pulling her hands back up.

    “We need to open this,” she said, already reaching over to try and see if pulling it towards herself would get her anywhere.

    “Why?” The Marksman asked. “We can’t risk the water not being drinkable. We can just melt down some snow for you if you really need it.”

    Trish let out a sharp grunt as her current attempt failed and she dropped her grip on the wooden lid once more. “I can’t explain why,” she said, “but we have to open this. I can feel it, I- I can’t leave until we’ve opened it. Please.”

    She must have looked desperate enough, because they both shared a glance for a moment before heading back over to her.

    “We’ll need leverage,” the Nutcracker said, shoving the end of his sword into the crack beneath the lid. “Trish, help me push down on this.”

    She scrambled to her feet, some kind of unconscious desperation to her actions that she couldn’t quite explain, but after a few heavy pushes from the three of them onto the handle of the nutcracker’s sword, finally the thing pushed free, and Trish fell to the ground once more. She felt as if her body weren’t even hers as she pushed the lid to the side with all her might, and it was as if a geyser had shot up as hundreds of tiny lights sprang forth from the well.

    Trish fell back onto her butt as they flew upwards before shooting off in every direction like some kind of fantastic lightshow.

    “Fairies!” the Marksman shouted. His eyes lit up with wonder at the little creatures zipping through the air. “Look at them!” he pointed to the surrounding trees, where wherever the fairies huddled, leaves sprouted forth and flowers began to blossom, rapidly growing into fully ripened fruits hanging plump from the now rejuvenated branches. Everywhere the fairies flew, life flowed back into the barren orchard, and Trish felt emotion well up and pressure build behind her eyes as she watched them work.

    “How did you know they were trapped in there?” The Marksman asked, still watching the fairies scattered throughout the orchard. 

    “I didn’t,” Trish replied, “it was just a feeling.”

    “The Crimson King must have trapped them in there,” the Nutcracker said. “Without their magic, the orchards would grow barren and the people would be starved into submission.”

    “He would do something like that?” Trish asked. 

    The nutcracker nodded solemnly. “He has to keep his hold over Parthenia somehow.”

    Trish felt something in herself harden. “Come on,” she said, “let’s gather some fruit and then go crush that asshole.”

    The Nutcracker and Marksman grinned, and Trish couldn’t help but smile back at them.

    That was when the ground started shaking. It was subtle at first, but with each passing moment the tremors grew heavier and more distinct. There was a short pause in between each one, and with the rhythm of it, it almost felt like… footsteps.

    “What the hell is that?” Trish asked. The Marksman’s grin immediately dropped as he pointed at something behind her. 

    “Rock giant!” He shouted, and Trish barely had time to turn before the Nutcracker had grabbed her wrist and was pulling her off back in the direction of the ship.

    “Run!” he yelled, and Trish didn’t need to be told twice. She had only caught a glimpse, but what she had seen was horrifying. A massive creature made of stone lumbering towards them, on its shoulder the General, with his unmistakable bubblegum pink hair, and at its feet at least half a dozen horse-drawn carriages carrying the Crimson King’s toy soldiers.

    Her feet pounded the ground and her ribs screamed with the exertion, but Trish couldn’t stop running, the three of them bolting through the orchard as quickly as they could manage and back to the beach, yelling out to their three compatriots on the dock the whole way.

    When they hit the beach, she saw them sitting on the dock, seemingly having finished up the boat preparations and waiting for the others to return.

    “Get on the boat!” The Marksman yelled out to the three of them. “We have to go!”

    But the Captain looked up and pointed, and without a word all three of them sprinted from the dock.

    “Not away from the boat! Get in it!” The Marksman called out, but just then a massive shadow covered them, and they looked up to see a giant boulder sailing overhead and crash down directly onto the dock where the three had previously been sitting, smashing the thing into splinters.

    “Shit!” He shouted. Farther along the beach, the Captain was desperately waving them over to where he and the others had crouched for shelter behind a rocky outcrop, and Trish’s legs burned as they ran but she didn’t slow down until she reached them, the Marksman and Nutcracker hot on her tail. As soon as they ducked behind the outcrop the yelling started.

    “What do we do?” Asked the Pilot.

    “Get the fuck out of here!” Trish said. Her voice sounded high pitched and frazzled even to her own ears.

    “No, we have to get to that island and find the Sugar Plum Princess!” the Nutcracker said. The Guard shoved him back.

    “How the hell do we do that without a boat, huh?” He said.

    “We need to keep moving!”

    “We have to run away; we can try to cross the sea again later!”

    “We need the Sugar Plum Princess!”

    “We can’t get to her!”

    “There’s a giant rock creature chasing us, we have to go!”

    “Everyone, stop!” With the Captain’s words, everyone fell silent. He turned to the Guard. “You can’t pick up a trail from here, can you?” He asked.

    The Guard shook his head. “We’re too far. If we got a little closer, maybe, but not from here.”

    “Then we turn back,” the Captain said, “We can cross again another time but for now, we need to get out of here.”

    “Captain, please,” the Nutcracker said. “We need to cross; we need the Sugar Plum Princess!”

    “Then how do you propose we do that? Our boat was crushed,” the Captain said.

    The Nutcracker paused for a moment, and quickly stuck his head out of their hiding place before turning back to the rest of the group. “One of the carriages has strayed from the others. The Marksman and I can take care of the soldiers driving it and steal it for ourselves.”

    “How will a carriage get us across the sea?” The Guard asked.

    “We’ll figure it out!” The Nutcracker replied. The Guard looked like he was about to snap something back, but the Captain raised a hand between them before any retort could be made.

    “Whether we can cross with it or not, a carriage will be better to escape with, if need be,” he said. He nodded to the Nutcracker. “Do it and be quick.”

    With that, the Nutcracker and the Marksman shot out from their cover and ran off. 

    “Will they be okay?” The Pilot asked. 

    The Captain nodded. “I trust them.”

    It wasn’t long before Trish could hear their voices, both the Nutcracker and the Marksman shouting for them to get up and get into the carriage. Everything felt like a blur, the two of them stopping right outside the outcrop and everyone piling into the carriage, all the while more boulders rained down around them and the shouts of toy soldiers gaining ground permeated the air. As soon as Trish stumbled into the carriage, the Pilot pulling on her arms to drag her up, they were off, the Nutcracker snapping on the reins and the two horses spurring into action, yanking everyone forward as they began to move.

    “Where are we going!?” She heard the Pilot yell, and Trish pulled herself upright to see the Nutcracker leading the carriage directly down the beach and toward the crashing waves of the sea.

    “We’re finding the Sugar Plum Princess!” The Nutcracker called back. Trish winced as another boulder shattered only a foot from them, and the Nutcracker snapped the reins again, spurring the horses on faster as they approached the water’s edge.

    “You’re going to kill us!” The Guard shouted.

    “Trust me!” The Nutcracker said. They had almost hit the water, and Trish couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes and screamed, something bloodcurdling and from deep within her, just as the horses’ hooves hit the sea.

    But there wasn’t a splash. Instead, a thick chill emanated outwards, and as if by magic, the water began to freeze. It spread from the carriage, zipping forward as they continued speeding along, ice spreading out in all directions and completely covering the choppy waters.

    Trish opened her eyes when the carriage began to slow, finally coming to a halt and she could hear the Pilot cheering.

    “How did you know that was gonna happen?” He asked, his grin almost threatening to split his face in half.

    The Nutcracker just looked shocked. “I… didn’t,” he said. “I was just going to drive us into the water.”

    “You were what?” the Marksman said. “What was your plan for after that?”

    The Nutcracker shrugged. “I didn’t actually have one.”

    “You didn’t have a plan after steering us directly into the sea?” 

    “Regardless, it worked,” the Captain said. “We can continue on to the island like this, and their rock giant will be far too heavy to follow”

    The carriage suddenly shifted, and without a word, the Guard got up, jumping out and onto the ice.

    “Hey, you can’t talk shit about him now!” The Marksman said, gesturing to where the Nutcracker was still looking stunned in the front seat, “He got us out of there and we’re all still alive!”

    But he wasn’t looking at the Nutcracker. The Guard leaned against the side of the carriage where Trish was sitting, squinting his eyes as he bent over her. “How the hell are you-”

    “Shit! Guys!” He was cut off by the Pilot, pointing back toward the shore. Everyone looked back, and Trish felt her heart drop.

    Shit indeed.

    It seemed whatever magic had created the ice for them had worked too well, as the rock giant had made its way onto the edge of the sea. With each massive step, the ice underfoot refused to crack.

    The Captain immediately stood, drawing his sword as the giant broke off a piece of himself, hurling it toward their carriage. It landed only a few feet away, breaking apart but still not putting a dent in the solid ice.

    The Guard looked up to the Captain, a desperate sense of urgency painting his features. “You need to get Trish to that island,” he said. The Captain caught his gaze, and whatever silent conversation they seemed to have must have been important, because the Captain’s face hardened, and he jumped from the carriage.

    “Pilot, Guard, with me! We’ll hold them back!” He turned back to the Nutcracker and the Marksman, still sitting in the front bench of the carriage. “You two, get her out of range of that thing. We’ll catch up with you, and if we don’t… get her to the island without us.”

    ‘Wait, wait, you're facing them alone?” Trish asked, but it was too late. The Pilot had already jumped out and joined the Captain and the Guard, drawing their swords and running back towards the giant and toy soldiers, while the Nutcracker had yanked the reins and sent the horses back into action, pulling the carriage further away from the fray of battle.

    Trish turned back, watching them fight as they grew further and further from sight. Swords struck, and people yelled, and the giant seemed to lose sight of the carriage as it focused its energy on the three soldiers down below.

    The carriage slowed to a half again when the Nutcracker deemed they were a reasonable enough distance away, and Trish felt bile rise into her throat.

    “We have to go back and help them!” She said, but the Nutcracker and Marksman just looked straight ahead.

    “We were given orders,” the Marksman said. “They’ll be back, don’t worry.”

    Trish whipped back around to where the three of them were fighting. They were sorely outnumbered, and Trish couldn’t very well see what was happening, so far away. Eventually, the nausea was too much, and she turned away from the battle, pulling her legs up to her chest and hiding her face in her knees. She could still hear it, though. Swords glancing off of each other. Yells of men getting wounded. The heavy crash of rocks smashing to the ground.

    She wanted to cover her ears, wanted to block it all out and cry, but then-

    A loud crack, louder than any that the shattering rocks had made. The kind of crack that echoed deep below and all around them, and Trish recognized it as the sound of ice splitting apart.

    And then a scream, something loud and filled with so much emotion, Trish's heart broke just listening to it, followed by a sharp whistle and the familiar voice of the Captain yelling from behind, telling the boys that “We’re coming! Get ready to move!”. That heart wrenching screaming followed the Captain’s voice, and suddenly she was opening her eyes to the Captain jumping into the carriage, dragging a kicking and screaming Pilot along with him as he pulled him in after. 

    Their feet were barely off the ice when the Nutcracker snapped the reins, sending the horses sprinting across the ice once more.

    The Pilot had landed nearly half on top of her, and Trish wasn’t sure what was happening, but he kept trying to get up as the Captain held him down.

    “We have to go back! Stop the carriage!” The Pilot screamed. His words were choked off by sobs and hiccups. “We have to go back for him!”

    The Nutcracker glanced back, and the Captain immediately straightened up. ‘Do not stop!” He commanded. His voice sounded harder than Trish had ever heard it. “Keep moving!”

    “PLEASE! Please we can’t leave him!” The Pilot struggled once more, desperately trying to pull himself out of the Captain’s hold as he screamed. “We can’t leave him!”

    The Marksman looked back, and Trish could see fear beginning to shape his features. “Captain…” he began, “Where’s the G-”

    “-JUST KEEP MOVING!” The Captain shouted. The Marksman immediately shut his mouth and turned back to facing forward, his expression suddenly hopelessly blank.

    Trish didn’t know why she looked back. She knew what happened, it was clear what had happened, and looking back wouldn’t change it.

    But she did.

    As the Pilot continued sobbing beside her, she looked back.

    There was a sword stuck in the ice, and emanating from it, a crack. A crack that had turned into a gaping hole in the ice, where the rock giant was being pulled under the water. And in its fist, it clutched a soldier dressed in black, limp and lifeless. Like a doll.

    Back on the beach, the General shouted and threw his sword to the ground in a huff.

    Trish turned back around and found herself clutching the Pilot’s shaking hand as he continued his sobbing into her shoulder.

Chapter Text

    The rest of the carriage ride was quiet. 

    It took a while, but eventually the Pilot’s sobbing died down into just the occasional sniffle. He still refused to look at the Captain and spent most of the journey with his face buried into Trish’s pajamas. In fact, the Pilot’s occasional sniffles seemed to be the only noise that anyone was willing to make the entire ride.

    There were a few times where the Marksman would look back from his seat in the front, mouth open as if to say something and finally break the silence, but then he would catch sight of the Captain staunchly staring out at the horizon, a faraway look on his face, and snap his mouth shut, thinking better of it. That left only Trish and the Nutcracker, but what could they even say? They hadn’t exactly known the Guard- not like the other three had. Anything they say would just sound insincere, especially so soon, only minutes after the whole ordeal.

    So, no one said anything, as the wheels of the carriage wobbled over the ice and the horses trotted along. Lucky animals, remaining completely oblivious as to what had just happened…

    She wasn’t sure how long their silent carriage ride was. The minutes seemed to drag by, and the scenery wasn’t much to look at either, an endless sea of ice under a grey, cloudy sky. Eventually though, the Marksman finally broke the silence.

    He squinted from his position in the front of the carriage, leaning forward slightly before pointing ahead of them. “I think I see land,” he said. Even the Pilot shifted to look, wiping his cheeks dry before leaning over the front seat. Trish squinted ahead, and there, far in the distance, she could see it. A little dark splotch on the horizon, a decent way away, but manageable, and getting closer by the second. The Captain smiled, clapping the Marksman on the shoulder.

    “Good job, boys,” he said, “let’s pick up the pace if we can.”

    With a quick flick of the reins, the horses sped up, and it wasn’t long before they were finally touching down on land. 

    The island itself was almost unbelievably lush; massive leafy trees created a thick canopy overhead, and the grass was so plentiful that Trish felt like she was stepping onto a pillow as she hopped out of the carriage. The air felt almost heavy with pollen and nectar, the scent of countless flowers littering the ground near overwhelming. She was so taken with it all, she almost didn’t notice the weight of a hand on her shoulder.

    “Trish,” the Captain said, his voice lowered. The other boys still seemed too caught up in examining the island to notice that he had stopped her. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

    Trish paused for a moment. How was she feeling? That sure was a loaded question…

    “Honestly,” she began, “not great. I know you guys only rushed into this because I was stupid enough to get involved, and I can’t help but feel responsible for-”

    “That’s not what I’m asking,” The Captain cut her off. Trish snapped her mouth shut, and rapidly tried to blink away the tears she could feel forming. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I’m asking if you’ve felt any different since landing here,” he gestured to the land around them, “on this island.”

    Trish felt her heart plummet and tried not to let her disappointment show. The other boys had finally noticed the conversation happening behind them, and based on their looks of pity, she wasn’t doing a great job of hiding it. “Um, no,” she said. Her voice was wavering, and she stared very firmly at the grass around her feet. “I don’t feel any different.”

    The Captain’s hand dropped from her shoulder, and even though Trish was still locked in a staring contest with the ground, she could almost feel the disappointment radiating off him. “Oh,” he said, “I see.”

    The silence was once again stifling, no one making any movement as they all let the moment stew over them. Finally, Trish opened her mouth, ready to… apologize? Maybe? But the Captain beat her to it.

    “When the Guard told us to get you here, I thought he was saying that it was you. That you were the Sugar Plum Princess,” he explained. He crossed his arms against his chest, and Trish couldn’t help but notice just how tightly he gripped his own sleeve. 

    “I thought,” he continued, “that out on the ice, he caught the trail, and it led to you.” He closed his eyes and sighed, “But, no. It was just a last-ditch guess. And he was wrong.”

    Trish finally looked up, but everyone was conveniently looking elsewhere, and no one met her eyes. The Captain suddenly moved, shoulders straightened and head locked forward.

     “We’ll move inland,” he said. His voice had hardened, perfectly balanced as if their conversation from just seconds before hadn’t happened. “The palace is said to be at the center of the island.”

    And just like that he was off, marching forward, the other boys quickly falling in line. Trish stood behind a moment, closing her eyes and taking the slow, deep breaths that her mother said would help dry her tears and calm her down. By the time she opened them again, the others were just starting to disappear into the woods, and she hurried after them, tamping her hurt feelings down.

    The trek through the woods was rough, especially for Trish wearing only her slippers. The foliage was thick, and there wasn’t any sort of path, the five of them simply stumbling through wherever they could manage. The island hadn’t seemed that large from out on the ice, but now that they were here, the walk seemed endless.

    At one point, the Pilot fell back, keeping pace with Trish still lagging behind the group.

    “Are you upset?” He asked. “You’ve been really quiet since your talk with him.” He gestured with his head to the front of the line, where the Captain was pushing his way through some low-hanging branches.

    Trish shrugged, trying her best to make it look casual. “He asked if I was the Sugar Plum Princess. Which clearly, I’m not, because if I was, then none of this would have happened.” She sighed, running her fingers through her messy hair. “And he was so disappointed when I said I wasn’t feeling any different after reaching the island.”

    The Pilot said nothing, just kept looking at her with a raised eyebrow as they walked. As if he were waiting for something more. Trish sighed again. Fine, if he really wanted to know…

    “And…” she began, “I’m a little bummed because I thought he was just… checking in on me. Making sure I was okay.”

    The Pilot hummed in acknowledgement, finally taking his eyes off her and onto the forest in front of them. “He doesn’t really do that kinda thing,” he said. Trish grimaced.

    “I just thought he’d be… nicer?” She said.

    The Pilot looked at her eyes wide and jaw open. “He is nice!” He said. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, speaking slowly as if thinking over each word before it left his mouth. “He’s just… our boss. So, he has to keep it together.” He slowed slightly, lowering his voice as the others continued marching on ahead. “And” he added, “I think if he went around asking all of us how we’re doing, he’d be forced to realize that he’s not doing okay himself.”

    Trish was silent for a moment, thinking it over. It… made sense. It sucked, but it made sense. She forced a smile and nudged the Pilot with her shoulder. “You’re pretty smart,” she said. He just rolled his eyes and snorted.

    “I know someone who’d disagree,” he replied. They walked side by side for a few minutes, picking up their pace to catch up to the others ahead of them.

    “We’re usually a lot more fun than this,” he said when they had finally rejoined the rest of the group. “When we’ve found the Princess and beat the Crimson King and everything’s back to normal, you should hang out! There’s this cafe we always go to, and they have the best strawberry cake, you’ll love it!”

    Trish felt herself smiling again. “You think we’re gonna win this?” She asked. The Pilot’s jovial attitude suddenly dropped, and his melancholy air from earlier returned.

    “We have to, now,” he said. “When we find the Sugar Plum Princess, and she defeats the Crimson King… she’ll make everything okay again.”

    Aw, shit. And he was finally smiling again, too… Trish wanted to say something to bring the mood back up, but before she could, the Marksman’s voice cut through the air.

    “Holy shit! Is that it?”

    He was pointing ahead, where the Captain had just pushed aside a low-hanging branch, giving way to a massive, fielded clearing, and in the middle of it, a magnificent palace. All polished marble, glimmering pink where the light hit. The Pilot gave a whoop! and ran ahead with the Marksman, both gesturing wildly and exchanging excited whispers to each other.

    The Nutcracker stayed behind, offering Trish a hand and an encouraging smile to help her over the last of the bushes and into the clearing.

    “You think she’s in there, boss?” The Marksman asked. He and the Pilot had crowded around on either side of the Captain, the three of them slowly walking toward the palace’s grand double doors.

    “We’ll just have to go in and see,” the Captain replied. He suddenly paused for a moment and turned back. “Nutcracker, Trish! Are you two coming?” He called out.

    “Yes, we’ll be right there!” The Nutcracker called back and gave Trish’s hand a gentle tug. “We ought to catch up,” he said.

    But Trish couldn’t move. Looking up at the palace, it was so grand and… imposing. It wasn’t right for her to be there.

    “I can’t,” she whispered as the Nutcracker pulled her forward again. She dug her feet into the ground. “I can’t go in there.”

    He stopped his tugging, instead lacing his fingers through hers and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Why not?” He asked.

    Trish shook her head. “A man just died thinking that I was the Sugar Plum Princess. I can’t go in there, knowing that I’m not. It’s just a feeling, I-” she paused, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I shouldn’t be in there.”

    The Nutcracker said nothing for a while, simply examining her face, but he must have noted some sort of desperation in her eyes because eventually he gave her a nod. “Okay,” he said, finally letting go of her hand, “We’ll go ahead. You just wait here. We’ll be back for you, I promise.”

    Trish let out a sigh. She hadn’t realized just how much the prospect of going into that palace had wound her up, but with his confirmation that she didn’t have to go, it felt like several pounds of stress had melted off her body in an instant. She crossed her arms over her chest and picked at her pajama sleeves as she watched the Nutcracker run ahead to the other three, all of them leaning in a moment as he told them that Trish wouldn’t be coming. There was some back and forth that Trish couldn’t hear- the boys’ voices carried away in the breeze before they could reach her- but eventually they all must have agreed, because the Pilot turned around to give her a big wave goodbye. Trish smiled and gave him a wave back, and then they were off, heading toward that giant staircase leading to the doors of the palace.

    Trish was glad she wasn’t going. It would be beautiful to see up close, she was certain, but that feeling in her gut screaming at her not to go was far stronger than any architectural appreciation she may have had for the building.

    The boys had just reached the bottom of the staircase when the wind picked up. Trish’s messy hair flew everywhere, several strands finding their way into her mouth, leaving her spitting and pulling them out. Nasty. The leaves overhead rustled, and Trish couldn’t help but look at them.

    It was so strange, here in Parthenia. She couldn’t tell what season it was. It was winter, back on that snow covered mountain that Trish had first opened her eyes on. And when the fairies had been released from the well, it felt like summer, with all those fruits hanging heavy in the trees and green leaves everywhere. On the outskirts of this island, it had been spring, with the pollen and the flowers as far as the eye could see.

    But now, at the center of the island, it was fall. The leaves rustling overhead were just on the verge of turning yellow, and as another heavy gust of wind blew, whistling through the trees, Trish watched a handful of them break off their branches, whipping through the air.

    She blinked, and smiled at them, down on the ground. The bright yellow against the green of the grass was pretty, and it was so quiet that Trish couldn’t help but feel peaceful.

    It was quiet. Why was it quiet? The rustle of the leaves in the wind had been the only thing she could hear, before. 

    There was no wind.

    Trish blinked again. She had been looking down at the leaves. She had watched them fall.

    Had she watched them fall?

    She had watched them break off from the tree. The wind was blowing. She was looking at them on the ground. The wind had stopped.

    When had the leaves fallen?

    She bent down to pick one up, twirling it around in her fingers. It was just a leaf. A yellow one, with what looked to be a small bite made by some kind of insect taken out of it. There was nothing extraordinary about the leaf.

    Why did Trish feel so off about it?

    “Hey guys!” She called out, “Did you notice anything weird just happen?” She held the leaf closer to her face, squinting her eyes to examine it further. It was completely normal.

    No one had called back to her.

    “Guys?” She asked again, this time turning around. The Sugar Plum Princess’ palace stood behind her, just as before. There was no one on the steps, and Trish groaned. They must have made it inside already, and now she’d have to go chasing after them.

    Great.

    She took the leaf with her.

    With every step she took up those stairs, Trish’s heartbeat quickened. It’s fine, she tried to tell herself, the boys are just inside. They’re fine. She still wasn’t going to stop until she found them alive and well, though.

    Swinging open the doors with a bellowing “HELLO!!” did nothing to lift her spirits, as the creak of the hinges were the only sound to greet her. 

    It was too early to give up, logically she knew that. But her gut wasn’t listening to that logic. It had known before she had even stepped foot in this palace that the boys weren’t here. That feeling was back- the one that had told her to free those fairies from the well, and to stay away from the palace in the first place- and this time it was telling her that they were gone.

    In the time that it took for some leaves to fall, they had disappeared.

    She didn’t know how, but she knew. They were gone, and she was alone.

    ***

    The water lapping at her toes was cold. Trish had stopped being able to feel it some time ago, too lost in her own mind to really notice or care about the tingling numbness in her feet.

    She had made it back to the shore only to find that the ice covering the sea had apparently melted while they’d been looking for the palace. Which left her stranded. Because her situation couldn’t have possibly gotten any worse.  The horses were nowhere to be seen either, having wandered off after the Nutcracker had taken them off their harnesses to graze.

    Which left her sitting, alone, dipping her feet into the freezing water and letting the static in her brain take over until the blood flow had cut off and the skin of her feet had turned wrinkled and white.

    Where could she even go from here? The chill of the metal locket against her collar told Trish that yes, she could go home. They hadn’t found the Sugar Plum Princess to make her big again, but… her mom loved her. And she had doll clothes. They could certainly work something out; she had no doubt about that. But if she left now, what would happen to this place? The remains of the Bodyguard Squad would certainly be executed for treason, and the Nutcracker…

    No, she couldn't go home. Not yet. Not when she was their only hope of survival.

    But she was still stuck on this island. She finally pulled her feet out of the water, tucking her knees in close to her chest. The wind had started up again, and she pulled her body tighter into a little ball with a shiver. She couldn’t swim back, that would be a death sentence, and she certainly didn’t have enough faith in any potential boat-building skills she may have had to cross the Sea of Storms.

    An insect darted past her cheek, and Trish swatted it away with a groan. Didn’t these stupid bugs know that she was in a crisis and had to think? She had to get back…

    The insect darted past again, this time catching a few strands of her hair and pulling them along with it. Trish gasped, reaching out to swat at it again when another one flew full speed into her hand, bouncing off it before righting itself and zipping past her nose. A third showed itself, speeding directly for her face, and on instinct Trish closed her eyes and braced herself but… there was no impact.

    Slowly, she opened one eye, and then the other. The insect was… hovering? Buzzing in place, right at the tip of her nose. She crossed her eyes, trying to get a better view of the thing positioned so close to her face. 

    It was glowing.

    She glanced around, and sure enough, the other two insects still flitting about nearby were glowing too, lit up in various soft colours.

    “Hello,” Trish said, and extended a hand slowly with her index finger raised, like a perch for a bird. The fairy chittered a bit and sat, and Trish held it up to her eye level. “Are you here to magic my way off this island?”

    The other two suddenly began looping around, and the one on her finger rose and zipped right past her ear.

    Trish scrambled to her feet and turned just in time to see them scatter into the woods, thousands of those little twinkling lights visible amongst the thick branches.

    She wasn’t sure where these fairies were leading her, but if it was to her boys, then she didn’t have much of a choice.

    She shoved her slippers back onto her freezing cold feet and ran after them.