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His feet sway over the cliff, playfully moving along with the wind. The boulder hugging his side feels scratchy and rough even through his blue sweater. The sun filters through the leaves, causing strands of gold to shine through his usually dark hair. The scent of pine tenderly dances around him. With each inhale, his blood flows slower; it feels like home. The boy has a soft appearance, more akin to a kitten curled up against a rock than a human. He gazes out to see the mountains climbing towards the heavens, begging to be allowed to gaze upon the celestial bodies.
The wind causes the trees to whisper to the boy, telling untold secrets of the wild, promises of a unique path untouched by anyone. He leans into the wind a bit more, trying to capture the end of half-finished sentences. His dog, Medi, lifts her head up with a quiet huff. She shoves her head into his hand, her soft brown fur forcing him to focus on her. With a silent laugh, the boy gently scratches Medi’s ears. With an exhale, he leans back onto the boulder. Closing his eyes, he feels his skin warm under the sun. The peace finds itself disturbed by a small pebble lightly hitting his head. With an annoyed facial expression, he whips his head around to see a young man in a white button-up grinning at him.
“Baptiste.” The name sign is done quickly, with the hands making the motions drag, like the signer is too tired or annoyed to be precise. With the gait of someone slightly overconfident in themselves, the one called Baptiste settles next to the young man and his dog. The collie side-eyes the newly nominated villain of her life, sensing the attention will shift from her.
“You know, Oli, if you ever needed it, I’d give you my heart in a” the man giggles slightly to himself and winks, “heartbeat.” Oli rolls his eyes as he looks to the sky, the whites and blues painting a watercolor song of promises of the two being forever companions, just as the clouds and the sky forever dance together. Baptiste lazily throws one leg over the edge, the other knee bent.
As he sits down, the smell of pine intermingles with the smell of oranges. The permanent smile softens on his face as he eyes the boy without moving his head. His eyes crinkle in a way only seen when it’s just the two of them. A sense of safety blankets the area. He readies a hair tie from his wrist, tying his red hair back swiftly, with very little regard to how hard he yanks on his roots. “Baptiste. You’ll rip your hair out if you keep doing that.” The boy in the light blue sweater signs, leaning his head back once more to rest. Trying to avoid whatever Baptiste had wandered over to bother him with.
“Oli.” The voice is soft. It’s obvious the owner doesn’t want to break the domesticity of the scene. Oliver shows no sign of listening, instead, letting the earthy smells of the forest wash over him. The dog finally has his full attention again.
“Oli.” The man tries again. Oli fully turns his head, and he absentmindedly digs in the dirt with his fingers. Oliver continues to force the warmth of the sun to lull him to sleep. Feeling his body relax, he begins to drift off.
“Oliver!” The sudden raised voice jolts the boy out of his daze. With some effort, the boy pries his eyes open to see the man standing in front of him, concern written all over his face. Glancing around, he realizes with a sinking heart he’s still in the tiny room. Sunlight streams through the broken bricks, with vines slowly creeping in to reclaim what once was theirs. The smell of damp earth and stale water almost completely covers the scent of the outside slipping through the openings in the walls and ceilings. The Earth beneath him is cold and damp, and the moisture slowly seeps through his jeans. He shivers slightly, cursed to always be slightly cold.
With a glance, he realizes he hasn’t acknowledged Baptiste. Lifting his hands to try to soothe the worry in the man, he realizes they’re bound; it appears he can’t answer. Seeing Oli attempt to sign, Baptiste shakes his head to signal Oli to stop trying.
“I tried to tell them there was no need, but they wouldn’t listen to me. They seem to think you’re super dangerous, although for being super dangerous, they sure haven’t bothered to put much effort into restraining you.” He shakes his head with slight exasperation, his bun coming slightly undone with the motion. A flower from one of the children falls out onto the floor; he quickly bends down to put it back. “They haven’t told you why you’re here, have they? They probably just yanked you out of bed and threw you in here, I imagine.”
Oli shakes his head. He woke up before the crack of dawn to the sound of a group of people whisper-yelling at his door. Before he had even had the chance to swing his legs out of the bed, they slammed the door open. Medi, who had been sleeping peacefully next to him, had awoken with a snarl and lunged for the nearest man. The man had barely any time to react to the brown blur rushing towards him, but another had been faster, and quickly subdued and muzzled her. Around the same time, Oliver had been grabbed by the shoulders and half carried, half dragged to the room he was in now. As he was dragged, they drew ruins and attached talismans to his small form. Most of the paper had fallen off, but the runes remained.
“Yeah, so, um,” he lets out an extremely nervous laugh and twists his hand around his wrist in a self-soothing gesture. “They kinda sorta found out about the whole you don’t have a heart thing.” He says the last part extremely quickly, it’s clear he doesn’t want to voice it, as if speaking it to the world would make it more true. Oli’s nonexistent heart sinks even more. He definitely wasn’t surviving the rest of the week. Baptiste continues his hurried explanation.
“I’ve been trying to convince them that it’s not what they think, but they’re bringing up the whole,” he gestures vaguely towards his mouth and throat, “thing as well. They think you’re a ghost. I mean, I know you’re not a ghost, but my opinion doesn’t really matter in this, so we have to rely on the Elders getting their heads out of their asses and realizing it too.” He continues to anxiously fiddle with his hands and shift his weight. Baptiste never shows any signs of nervousness; it causes both to become more anxious.
“But!” Baptiste seems to spring forward slightly, there’s a bit of hardened determination in his eyes as well. “I have a plan. You absolutely positively will not like it or approve of it, which is exactly why I’m not going to tell you it, but I promise you’ll get out of this relatively safe.” The sound of feet crunching in gravel approaches then, growing louder by the second. A slight knock travels through the tiny space, and a young woman’s face appears through the slightly ajar door.
“Hey Baptiste, I gave you as much time as I could, but the Elders want you back. They’re trying to limit contact with Oli.” The woman looks eerily similar to Baptiste, it’s impossible to deny the two are twins. The two are similar in personality as well, both being known for their kindness and gentle disposition. Baptiste quickly hides the look of worry that crosses his face.
“Thank you, Jean. I’ll head over.” Baptiste turns to Oliver, a natural comforting smile immediately lighting up his face. “We’ll get you out of this, I promise.” With a nod, he quickly leaves the room. Jean turns towards Oli, hesitating slightly. Her short hair was decorated with similar flowers as Baptiste, except the children had considered her deserving of a flower crown instead. She had always been their queen, dignified and graceful.
“You should focus on resting, tomorrow is going to be overwhelming for you. I know people tire you out.” She looks as if she wants to say more, but doesn’t, instead, she watches Oliver until he nods his acknowledgment, then quietly leaves the room. She walks with defeat in her posture. He's alone with his thoughts.
Oliver was half expecting this to happen one day. He wasn’t a native of the community, instead, he had joined a few years ago, when he was about 17. Due to the village living right next to the border of the Ghost Realm, it had become a place of strong superstition and opposition to outsiders. Ghosts were notorious for infiltrating the lives of mortals and causing havoc, and often death, when the spirit leaned towards vengeful.
Stronger ghosts were able to pass off as almost perfectly human. There were only a few flaws that could show their true identities. One of the major ones was a lack of heart. A lack of a heart was surprisingly something that could happen in both humans and ghosts. Some humans were simply born without one, what powered the body was instead a core of diluted magic. This birth defect was extremely rare, to the point that most people believed it was simply a myth. There were only a few relatively unseen side effects that matched well with ghostly dispositions.
The most noticeable side effect was a lack of positive emotional expression. Most would simply lean towards being neutral or negative personalities. Another side effect was a naturally cold body temperature and an irregular heartbeat, due in part to the slow pulsing of the core, desperately trying to mimic what its host did not have. People with the birth defect could also hear the whispers of nature, usually only in relative silence. Oliver had been extremely careful to keep away from the other villagers, even forgoing checkups with the town medic. The only people who knew of his condition were Baptiste and Jean.
Another trait he shared with false humans was the inability to speak. He had been able to speak most of his life. After being caught by a group of scavengers in some ruins, his hotheadedness caused him to start taunting them; they beat him hard enough to cause damage to his brain, causing permanent speech loss, and left him for dead. Baptiste had been the one to find him, curled up and whimpering in pain. With gentle words, he slowly coaxed Oli out of his protective curl and took him back to the village to heal. The village had been suspicious of him, but let him stay due to the twin’s favor. It appeared their tolerance was finally over.
The day passed slowly. The sunlight streams slowly through the cracks, crawling across the floor in a consistent march. The sky sings a longing song as it desperately peeks through the ceiling, begging him to come out. The moss-covered wall attempts to lull him to sleep with stories of the lands of old, of trees hundreds of feet high, and several people wide. He fights nature’s gentle attempt at soothing him, unwilling to let his guard down. Jean was right as always, and he found himself too tired to stay awake after the commotion of the morning.
He awoke to the sound of footsteps on the soft earth. With bleary eyes, he watched as Baptiste crept into the darkened room. The smell of damp earth was stronger, and the rays of sunlight had disappeared to play somewhere else. Evening had chased after day in the endless game of tag, and some small mushrooms had started to gently glow in the room. Baptiste walked almost completely silently, wanting to avoid waking Oli, carrying something small in his hand. Oli opened his eyes fully as Baptiste finally reached him. He tilted his head curiously and moved his eyes to what was in Baptiste’s hand in a silent question.
“Oh, this?” Baptiste lifted a small vial. “It’s just something I’m supposed to give you, Jean made it. So just drink it, okay?” Oliver was a bit suspicious, Baptiste had always been extremely transparent with what he was giving him, and not being told what was in the vial was making him antsy. Seeing him squint suspiciously, Baptiste laughed quietly.
“It’s not going to hurt you, okay? I just don’t want anyone overhearing what this is.” The reasoning made sense, but something still felt off. Not wanting to cause any additional trouble, he quickly quieted the suspicion and downed the clear liquid. The effect was immediate. Oliver’s eyes widened a fraction as he felt his body become numb, his head slowly filled with cotton and horror. A slow, sad smile spread across Baptiste’s face, looking out of place on the usually bright man.
“I told you, you wouldn’t approve of the plan. It’s not guaranteed to work, but Jean and I have agreed to at least try.” With a small wink, his smile grows. “She is the best doctor in our generation, I don’t think she’ll fail.” His smile falters a little at a passing thought, and Oliver’s eyes droop; it’s getting harder to stay awake. “Just in case it doesn’t work, I do want to tell you something that’s been on my mind for a while.” Baptiste crouches low enough to be at eye level with Oliver.
“I know we’ve only known each other for a few years, and it only happened by chance, but you’ve really brightened the monotonous nature of this little community for me. I’ve enjoyed every second we’ve been together.” He pauses slightly, attempting to force the words out. “I, uh, um, I know you might not be the same way, but I just really want you to know, even if you hate me after.” He focuses intensely on a tiny glowing mushroom in the corner, pointedly avoiding Oli’s almost closed eyes.
“I really-” Oliver’s body slumps in unconsciousness. The words quickly get muffled behind a blanket of sleep. With a sigh, Baptiste gently places his shaking hand on Oli’s cheek, wishing he had more time, and dejectedly gives up his sentence. It seems it simply isn’t meant to be known. He remains next to Oliver while giving him an unreadable, but clearly pained look before forcing himself to stand up. He gives a low whistle to signal Jean to come in, and the twins immediately get to work in the quiet cell without a word spoken. If Jean saw tears fall to the mourning earth, she didn’t mention it.
Oli awakes with a dull pain around his chest, and barely able to move more than his fingers without considerable effort. With a muffled whine, he forces himself to sit up. He glances around, he was laying on Baptiste’s bed, surrounded by the gentle smell of wood smoke. He glances around in confusion. This wasn’t the cell, and with a glance at his wrists, he realizes his hands are free once more. Jean quietly walks into the room, with a cup of what smells like herbal medicine steaming in her hands.
“Where is Baptiste?” Oliver signs quickly, barely able to slow down enough to make it readable. Jean pointedly looks away, putting the cup in his hands. She coaxes him to drink and refuses to look at his hands until he does. Desperate for an answer, and growing more worried by the minute, Oli finally complies with her demands. Setting the cup down gently, she sighs.
“Oliver, you’re free now, you’re cleared of ghosthood. Congratulations.” Her voice wobbles slightly. He tilts his head, questioningly. That wasn’t the question he asked. He locks eyes with Jean, refusing to back down until she answers. His chest feels heavier, and he feels warmer than he ever has. With a jerk, he feels horror taking over his body. He quickly reaches for the pulse point on his neck, feeling a consistent rhythm pulsing in the vein. His new heart sinks to the floor.
“Where. Is. Baptiste.” He signs with extremely controlled motions, clear and concise. There is no room for error. Jean mimics her brother’s actions of the previous night, staring at a corner instead of him. The similarities make his heart ache. He wants Baptiste here, not her. Jean quickly stands up and leaves the room. The lack of answer says it all. Oliver sits in shocked silence for a minute, before carefully peeling back the bandages on his chest. There’s a clean surgical stitch over his heart and a strong, constant thumping underneath the skin.
Medi appears from the floor, gently laying her head on the bed, attempting to comfort her distressed master. Oli doesn’t notice her, tracing the stitch gently, before looking up at the photo of the man who once promised to give him his heart if needed, and actually did.
Jean stands anxiously outside the door, pacing as quietly as she can on the hardwood, debating with herself. There’s a letter in her hand, the elegant writing spelling out the boy’s name, a small drawing of the cliffside they shared next to the letters. She walks closer to the fireplace, the letter hovering closely over the flames, before pulling it back again. She walks between the door and the fire indecisively, while the boy sits in silence, her brother’s heart beating mockingly in his chest, forever removed from its rightful owner.