Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 
It was quiet. 

—

The snow roared outside.

—

Everything hurt.

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*

*

Rolling of wooden wheels and clop of hooves scraped against the dirt path of the woods, as the echoing sound approached ever closer to its destination.

“W—‘r-  a-lm—t  th—r-e, Y- - r  Hi— -n -ss—” a voice called from drowned out thought. 

The passenger of the carriage pressed a hand against his cheek, looking out the window to the rows of trees passing by, letting the repetitive sight lull him through out the long journey. His thoughts weren’t racing per say, but they were definitely running throughout his skull, rows of books and halls felt like they’d been permanently burned into his retinas, so the familiar forest was a refreshing sight. 

“Yo—r H—gh—es…?” 

Thank the stars he wouldn’t have to look at another law book or listen to another lecture for at least a few—

“—Your Highness.” The voice repeated more sternly, now clear in the recipient's ears.

“Huh-? What?” 

The Prince instantly looked up, his no longer unfocused eyes meeting the gaze of the carriage's coachman, who looked the slightest bit impatient. Ah, lost in thought. He mentally chastised. He hadn’t registered the title at first anyway, he reasoned, …he still had to get used to it…

“We’re here.” The coachman announced, turning back ahead. Seemingly not bringing up the Prince's distractedness, it still left the royal feeling the smallest bit flustered, but quickly he shook it away, donning an instinctual smile. Not now, he reminded himself confidently— he was almost home— he’d have all the time in the world to fret there. 

He gave a quick nod as he exited the carriage, not before handing a few extra coins to the driver, who gave a grateful grin in response, thanking the Prince as he left, walking towards the entrance of Subcon Kingdom. 

The footsteps of boots on grass and dirt echoed around, following behind his steps in time. He quickly noticed as the two guards who sat at their posts, still as statutes, both looked up, quickly recognizing the source of the approaching sounds.

“Ah! Your highness, greetings!” the guard greeted the royal hastily, holding their hand to their chest plate and giving a small bow. 

The aforementioned royal cupped his hands together pleasantly, brown and caramel colored hair framed his face as he smiled happily at them. His crown seemed to share the smile as it twinkled in the light. “Hello!” He said simply, giving a canine showing grin. 

“Back from your studies earlier than expected I see?” The second guard asked.

“Yes,” He nodded, “I got the weekend off, so I decided to visit as soon as I could!” 

“Well it’s a welcome visit.” They replied warmly. “Did you have any plans?” They politely prompted at mention of the timeframe of his visit. 

The Prince smiled excitedly “Oh, yes! I was thinking of possibly surprising my Prin—!“ he paused, before clearing his throat, “Pardon, my Queen, ” He corrected, quickly switching to a more proper tone of voice, “—With a present.” 

Even if it had been some time since Vanessa had been crowned Queen, he was still so used to calling her his Princess… and neither of the two particularly ...liked the title much to start with, it just didn’t suit her… Felt too much like—

His thoughts trailed off, …ah, whatever, it was only polite to use the more proper title, he supposed. 

“A present?” The knight questioned in an innocent curiosity.

He snapped from his thoughts, looking up to the guard, nodding, “I’m thinking of gifting her a bouquet!” He beamed, though fought to not let his excitement seep through so clearly— we must act formal, remember— he reminded himself.

“Well I’m sure she’ll love it.” He couldn’t see quite under their mask, but he could easily hear the smile from their voice.

The other guard spoke now— “Though, if I may admit… the Queen has seemed rather…” they paused to find a word— “cold, lately— …distant.” They admitted nervously under their breath. Rubbing a silver gloved hand on the back of their neck. 

The first knight leaned over and lightheartedly nudged the other with an elbow, making their armor rattle slightly, “—But, just another reason a gift might do her some good, eh?” They hurriedly added, mostly lightening the mood, …but the tense atmosphere created still seemed to linger… 

The Prince's brow furrowed. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” he said slowly, before smiling, “Though, she usually misses me when I’m away, so it’s not too out of the ordinary for her.” He quietly chuckled, brushing off their worries and easing the anxious mood fully now. 

Though, the thought remained with a bitter after taste to it in his mind... He had to leave school after getting the news of her mother's passing, thus he had to stay away twice as long to catch up with all he missed while being there to console her. So… it made sense she’d miss him more than typical, he concluded. 

“Well, nevertheless I hope she enjoys your gift.” The guard said, nodding as the Prince finally stepped onto the bridge, stones clicking under his boots as he made his way into the village. The Guards followed behind him, going to their posts at the manor. 

Instantly, the sound of the children's laughter and adults' chit chat filled his ears, as he looked around at the masked children running around, or playing with toys on the bricked paths, sitting underneath the gables of the houses. He walked confidently into the town, waving to any passerby or giving a ‘Oh! Why hello there!’ to any who gave greetings, the villagers all gave some variety of bow, nod, or wave, as he passed. 

He typically gave a greeting to everyone he could— perhaps playing with the kids, having full conversations, or visiting the shops and neighbors— but no, this time he wanted to be quick, so as to not spoil his plan if his Princess happened to be visiting.

So, he turned the corner swiftly, heading straight to the Florists stand without another thought. 

—

“Well Hey, Princey!”

The Prince laughed at the silly nickname. “Well, hello to you too, Dels.” He donned a more casual way of speaking, or, well, more accurately, his more natural way of speaking. 

The Florist, Delilah, slouched over the edge of her stand, giving a wave to her familiar childhood friend. Her bright frizzy hair tied in a long braid. “I thought you were still at that fancy school of yours?”

“I got done with studies a bit early!” He smiled “—Also, it’s not just a ‘fancy school.’” he made air quotes while talking. “It’s an academy.”

Delilah laughed. “Whatever~” she rolled her eyes jokingly, cupping her cheek with her hand against the stand. 

“…So, how have you been?” He asked. 

“Eh, same as always.” She shrugged “Though, Dad finally took Aster under his wing, so I’ve been having to run the shop by myself while he’s showing them the ropes.” 

“I see… Is your brother enjoying gardening?”

“I think so, yeah, what about you? What’s happening in your world?”

He held up his princely demeanor for a moment before he sighed heavily,“Well, law is stressful, that’s for sure, stars, I even had to get a tutor to help catch up on all the work!" he admitted, "But... it is interesting, and a bit fun at times even, so it's worth the stress if it means being an efficient ruler.” 

“That’s good, …so are you just here to talk?”

“Oh, well— no, sorry! I was thinking of buying some flowers!” He smiled nervously.

“Wow, actually buying something for once, I’m surprised.” she said smugly.  

He gasped ‘offended’ “Hey!” He scolded through laughs. “—Well, in all seriousness you know how hard it is just to talk to you at times. Ven always being so stressed, school, tending to the rest of the subjects, being a Prince isn't an easy task! Trust me, if I wasn’t so busy, I’d buy out your entire shop, right here, right now!” 

“Really? Buy it all right now then, prove it.” She said, smugness still painting her face.

“Uh… well— I don’t… exactly have that much money?” The prince said joke-awkwardly, voice trailing down quieter.

“What, have you been mooching off all the Queen’s cash!?” She laughed. 

“No.” He crossed his arms, “I specifically requested I didn’t want to inherit anything.” He said, matter-of-factly. Switching to a more serous tone. 

“Heh, I guess most the suitors were just in it for the money then?” She propped her chin on her hand. 

“Yes, that, and the Queen— er, Vanessa's mother, wasn’t ...exactly the biggest fan of me.” he cringed, a bit bitterly. 

“I’m not surprised, considering how much of a dork you are~" Delilah joked, ignoring the more serious subject matter. 

“Yes I’m well aware of that fact.” He replied, casually.

The Florist gave a small snrrk before laughing, “Kidding, kidding! I know you've had a lot on your plate lately, don’t take it personally. But we still should find time to hang out more.” 

He nodded, laughing as well, his cackle-like laughter not fazing Delilah, who was used to it by now. “I agree!” He smiled.

The Florists expression faltered for just a moment, “Well, anyway—“ her face returned back to its happy, salesperson exterior, “—what’ll it be?”

She motioned her hand to the many flowers behind her, many different colors and species. Roses, bluebells, foxgloves, lilies, as well as others, all beautifully wrapped up into bunches.

He hummed in thought looking them over, the Prince fixated onto a few. He knew Vanessa liked roses, but he got those for her often for that very reason, maybe we ought to buy something different today? He thought.

He glanced to another batch of red pointed flowers he couldn't recall the name of to save his life— he thought it might have been an A name?— Eh, who knew. But, hey, they were red like the roses too! …Though, his eyes drew onto a bouquet of small forget-me-nots, ...maybe she would like the blue and white more? He thought.

"So...?" Delilah spoke. 

"Oh! uh..." he wracked his brain to make a choice, would she like the red ones, or prefer something different? Maybe she would want roses like usual... or maybe she was getting sick of them? Or...? Maybe... Uh—?

“Those!” He quickly blurted out, making up his mind without a thought, pointing to the small blue, purple, and white buds.

“Your favorites, huh? Sure thing.” She smiled, turning as she began taking the flowers from the stand, not saying a word at his apparent spiraling.

“I... always liked them, so I'm sure Ven will too.” He mused, mostly to himself, trying to justify the hasty choice. 

The Florist fiddled with the crinkling paper as she slowly wrapped it around the flower stems, “So, you're… getting these for her?” She asked, nonchalant, but with a slight seriousness to her tone, one no one would pick up on besides him. 

“Yes, is… something wrong?”

She quickly stiffened up “Uh, it’s nothing, just…” she looked to the side, her relaxed demeanor fading. 

"What, is it because I'm getting something different for her...?" he asked, half joking while still carrying puzzlement in his voice. 

“No, just…” Delilah let out a sigh. “…Look, I was… visiting my family up in the Alpines and…” she paused, rubbing the back of her neck. “…Actually… You know what, never mind, don’t worry about it.” she smiled. 

The Prince’s expression faltered. 

“You can tell me... What is it?” He asked in a slow voice of concern.

“It’s just… one of those gut feelings I get, you know? It’s nothing!” She grinned forcefully. 

It was known to the Prince that the Florist had a way with reading between the lines, something he always found himself struggling with. He couldn’t help but worry when she had her ‘gut feelings’ as she called them. Especially when those hunches almost always ended up being true, well, at least to some extent. So, he always knew to take her seriously when she had them. 

This was definitely far from ‘nothing’.

“Delilah.” the Prince pushed her a bit further. 

The Florist kept up her happy ‘everything is fine’ expression, for about a singular second, before—

“Ok, ok— I yield.” She sighed in defeat. “…I just... have a bad feeling about today. Like… something… bad, is gonna happen.” she admitted. 

“...Bad? Like, what, exactly?” He quirked a brow. 

“Like- to you? Or to her? Or... something else—” she paused, “I… I don’t know, I just have a …a bad feeling.” She looked off to the side, seeming to find trouble in expressing her worries into words that sounded right, “Just— be safe, man, ok?” She quickly handed over the flowers. 

He could tell she wasn’t telling the whole story, especially with the prior mention of her Alpine family, but he didn’t pry any further. He wordlessly handed over a few coins and held her hand for a moment, squeezing it a bit in reassurance. He nodded and happily took the flowers, smiling at her kindly, as he watched her nerves calm upon seeing his reassuring face.

“…Of course. You know I care about you, right? If… there's ever anything bothering you, you can always come to me.” He said, to which her gaze softened, nodding in return.

The two smiled, before giving a wave goodbye as the Prince made his way to the direction of the gates leading to his home. 

—

…Unknown to the Prince, a certain Queen looked on at the two in betrayal...

—

Vanessa stormed through the doors of the manor, heels banging loudly against the wooden floors as she ran.

A deep pain throbbed in her chest— in her heart, as ice cold tears poured down her face. This couldn’t be happening, but it was, he lied. He lied.

He had said that he cared for me, that he loved me, but he lied. 

From the open door emerged one of the outside guards, as they approached from behind her.

“My Queen!” They spoke out, concern lined their voice, “...Is everything al—?“

They reached their hand out to her, before it was swiftly clutched in her grasp, her nails digging into the metal armor. 

“Wh—!?” The guard gasped, struggled under her hold, trying to pry their arm away, but her nails dug deeper, sharpening. Their struggling soon ceased, as their body slowly relaxed, a strange feeling washing over them—

—Before everything went red...

—

The Prince crept silently to the front doors of the manor, passing by the statues that greeted him in their stone silence. 

He immediately noticed both of the guards were gone from their usual posts, …strange, hadn’t they gone to the manor when we went into the village? He shrugged it off, assuming it was just his memory being faulty, or that they were simply on break. So, he let himself in. 

Tip-toeing boots made the porch floors creek and wood settle as they slowly walked, trying not to ruin the surprise. Though the royal stopped once he noted the door was cracked…

Odd, he… couldn’t think of any reason the doors would be open— Vanessa was a bit of a perfectionist of sorts, never once had he seen her not close the door tightly behind her if she ever left.

A bit of nervousness set into his mind, had something happened? He thought over the guard saying his Princess seemed distant as of late, and Delilah's hunch fueled words from earlier, …had their concerns been correct?

He shook away the bad thoughts, it was probably nothing, he was just paranoid! His worries melted away as he smiled confidently, clutching the flowers closer to his chest. 

“Vanessa! Dear! I’m back!” He called out as he opened the door, voice echoing throughout the manor.

He ignored how quiet everything was, closing the door behind him and continuing to walk, talking to the empty home. “My studies ended sooner than expected— we have the entire weekend to ourselves! Isn’t that exciting?” he said in enthusiasm while hanging his cloak over the coat stand, as the scarlet-sunset sky glared through the windows. 

He walked up the steps to the second floor, faintly hearing his beloved’s voice from the bedroom as he approached. Getting closer, pressing a hand to the wood as he pushed it open, hinges giving a squeaking moan as the door slowly opened. 

“I even bought a gift for—!”

He was cut off by finally seeing Vanessa, her hands clutching one of the small tables in the room, back turned to him, shaking.

“—...you.”

He listened as soft silent sounds escaped her.

...She was crying.

The Prince stared, his grip on the flowers dwindled, as his focus shifted away from them to her. 

“Vanessa? Princess...? What’s wr—?”

“You left me…” the Queen said, voice quiet and shaking. 

“...Pardon?” He didn’t understand, but quickly connected dots to his school, face quickly changing from concern to a kind smile “Ah! But… I’m back now! You don’t have to be upset anym—“ 

“you left me for HER.” Her grip on the table sharpened, as she barely turned, not wanting to face him. Her typically silky hair now tangled and twisted like brambles and thorns, faintly fading at its edges.

“W- …what?” He was taken aback. ‘Her’? Her …who?

“You left me alone!” She cried out, turning to face him, tears streaming down her face. Hair slowly darkening, as her nails dug deeper into the wood, her teeth gritted, biting into her mouth. “After everything I did!? After everything we did? And you leave me!? you lie to me!? HOW COULD YOU?” 

“I- I don’t understand, what are you talking about!? …What—”

He finally got a good look at her, face stricken with rage, as her hands and teeth seemed to sharp, black hair creeping up her gold, devouring it from the bottom slowly, as her ruby eyes stabbed into him, looking nothing but blood red. 

“What’s happening to…?” He questioned under his breath before—

“I DON'T WANT TO LISTEN TO A BACKSTABBER LIKE YOU.” She roared out, tears turning glass as shards of ice erupted under her shoes. Room shaking and splinters flying. The Prince quickly stumbled back, flowers falling to the floor, as ice struck right through the bouquet, mere inches from his wide eyed face, petals flying in the air as the two stood frozen in place. Breathing heavily.

Cold air filled the Prince's lungs as he deeply inhaled and exhaled in panic, his heart thumped loudly against his chest, ringing in his ears.

He couldn’t process what was happening— before she uttered a single word.

“Guards.”

Gold eyes quickly shot up, as the Prince felt a looming presence appear from behind him, before he could react, he felt himself being picked up harshly. 

He turned to the guards “H- hey! Wait- what are you—!?” He was cut off upon seeing them, nothing under their masks but glossy glowing red eyes. 

“Take him away, now.”

The Prince turned back to Vanessa. 

“I don’t wish to see his face ever again.” Her voice echoed and distorted.

“W- wait—” He felt himself being dragged backwards, he kicked his legs in protest, trying to free his arms, successfully freeing one and reaching it out to her. “—Wait!” 

He watched as the darkness of her hair quickly ate away at the rest of her, her nails and teeth now becoming claws and fangs. Her body shook and convulsed— oh. She was in pain, he realized in horror. Ice shards around grew more intense, splitting up from the wood as splinters flew and frost was painted along the walls and floors. The red from her irises consumed the rest of her eyes, becoming a bright glow like the guards.

The guards in question continued to pull him, his reached out arm now clinged to the edge of the door frame. Fingernails digging into the wood and wallpaper for dear life.

“Please! There has to be a- a misunderstanding! O- or—!” His hand desperately holding to the frame slipped, as he was pulled away. Catching a last glimpse at his love, ice shards surrounded her as she looked nothing but shadow. 

“WAIT—! VANESSA—!” He yelled as he was dragged away, he looked back desperately to the ice cold knights who only a half-hour or so prior had greeted him so warmly. “L- Let me go! I— I order you! Please, listen to me!— Can’t you hear me!? Please!” He kicked as he pleaded to the blank faced guards, their eyes still a cursed blood red.

He continued screaming out as he was dragged down the stairs, as the guards opened the doors to the wine cellar. The room was dark, only being illuminated by candles and moonlight. They stomped down the steps and brought him to the wall, pushing him harshly to the stone, his crown clattering to the floor in the process. 

Their grip on him suddenly lessened, faltering at the suddenness of the echoing golden sound. The Prince tensed up, attempting to use it as a chance to kick himself away, but his plan was quickly foiled, he let out a harsh sound, as the guards regained their previous force once again. 

Something was suddenly clasped around his wrist, a pain shot into his arm from the coldness, as he was pushed further into the wall. He heard rattling, before he could see what it was, another metal clenched his arm.

It now dawned on him what was happening once the pattern struck— he now realized that the guards were chaining him to the wall. 

“W- WAIT! DON’T—!” 

He could barely get the words out before another set of chains was added to his shoulders, holding them up in a painful position. 

He struggled under the cuffs, but it wasn’t any use, it hurt to move his arms with how tightly they were attached. He tried to yell out to the guards again, trying to help them remember their humanity, like he thought they did ever so faintly to the fallen crown, but it was too late, for as soon as he looked up the farthest door was already shut behind them. 

He was silent for a moment, breathing heavily, pain wracking his arms, processing what had just happened, staring wide eyed. It had all gone so fast...

He shot up, struggling and squirming under the restraints, crying out again.

“VEN! PLEASE! IT— IT WAS A MISUNDERSTANDING!”

That’s what it was right? It had to be. 

His breathing grew heavier, as the sky slowly darkened, the world outside becoming engulfed in shadows like she, as snowflakes began to dance in the air.

“Vanessa!?… Please…!” his voice grew quieter.

He began shaking, his face becoming red as tears filled his eyes.

“I… I’m sorry…” he said, shakily and defeated. 

—

Did he do something wrong? What could he have done!? He just had to keep trying! She had to come back… She had to! She wouldn’t just leave him down there...!

—

… Right?

*

*

*

It was cold...

—

He felt his fingers start to burn.

—

He yelled. No response.

—

He yelled again. No response.

—

His legs began to burn.

—

The night dragged on, snow worsening with every hour that passed. 

—

His legs refused to move, arms soon following suit. 

—

Hypothermia crossed his mind...

—

He screamed at the Vanessa that wasn’t there, yelling out curses in anger, before they turned once again into pitiful begs and pleads. No response.

—

He lost his voice from yelling. 

—

Everything hurt. 

—

It was quiet.

—

Far too quiet.

— 

The thought of hypothermia coming to claim him was now inevitable. 

—

It was cold.

—

The snowflakes no longer danced innocently and nonchalantly, but mocked him now. Mocked that he was locked up, and they were free. 

—

He was so tired…

—

He tried to scream.

—

Tried to speak.

—

Tried anything.

—

No response.

*

*

*

Blue light shone through the small bricked window cell, spilling into the cold basement as ice covered the floor, sparkling in the moonlight. 

It had been a few days, maybe a few weeks, maybe just mere hours, he couldn’t tell anymore, time bled together like ink on paper. His throat was red and raw from screaming, now having to yell all the air out his lungs just for his voice to give a mere whisper. 

His fingers had numbed and blacked, ice tracing itself along them. His legs were the same, his entire lower half feeling so numb, like it didn’t exist at all, while feeling the biting cold dig into his skin simultaneously. 

His hair had matted and tangled, darkening at the roots, as strands of bangs messily framed his red and tear stained face, frost dotted along his nose and eyes. His arms were sore and weak from the shackles, as all he could do was hang loosely on the wall. 

His stomach felt like it had become a black hole— swirling and churning in painfully empty nauseating circles. Stars, he was so hungry. 

He tried everything: struggled, screamed, begged, cried. Anything. And she never came. 

The wood door stayed perfectly still, never once had its golden nob turned or shook. Everything was dead silent, apart from his own breath and previous echoed screams reverberating from the walls, as the wind and snow raged on outside. 

He stared blankly, baggy half lidded eyes looking at nothing. 

It was cold. So cold. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, gods everything hurt so much why hadn’t it stopped why had she done this why why why—

Seeing as he couldn’t physically talk, he was instead restricted to the world of his mind, countless thoughts swirling in his brain. 

…She’s not coming.

…I don’t know if anyone’s coming.

...What am I supposed to do now?

…I can’t just stay here, can I?

I can’t just give up.

…But it’s getting too cold.

…Maybe …it wouldn’t be so bad if we rested. It’s not like there’s much else I can do in this state…

He was snapped from his thoughts, shaking his head to the best of his ability.

No! No, don’t think like that! We can’t give up! Not yet! I just— 

I just need to find a way out but… but… how would I—

The thoughts paused. 

…How would I? 

I… just need to think of something. Anything! There has to be something!

But what else can we do? We’ve tried everything already. 

Maybe… I could just stay like this…

But…but if I did that we’d surely die…

You fool! You want that!? He mentally scolded himself. 

No, No that’s not— of course not! But what’s the point in trying anymore, we already tried everything we could think of.

You don’t see a point in getting out!?

What's the point if no one is coming?

That is the point! If no one will save us we need to do it ourselves!

His mind began to blur, he couldn’t tell what thoughts were his own or not, but he didn’t care, as his brain continued its self-deprecation. 

Wait but— but what if we get caught?

We won’t get caught, you said it yourself!

But what if we make too much noise, what if she finds out!? What if the guards come?

She won’t find out if we get out already! We’re wasting time!

The Prince began struggling, arms shaking under the shackles to the best of their ability, as the cold metal grinded against his skin, his mind still abuzz, brainwaves and nerves sparking together like flint and steel. Purple lights and electrons melting to red and blue splatters in his brain like blood. 

Wait- no, stop! 

Don’t you want to escape!?

Yes but—

But what!? 

Just— just think about the consequences for a moment! Don’t you realize how much could go wrong!?

I don’t care! Don’t you want to live!?

Yes but—

But what?

His head and chest burned, his feelings began to break, crashing and shattering apart like glass mirrors or forests set ablaze. It hurt, it hurt, it all hurt—

Just think about it! How would we even move? Our legs are frostbit— we couldn’t walk even if we miraculously got out! 

Getting out at all is better than hiding like your plan! 

I- It’s not hiding—

Then what is it?

He Couldn’t Think.

I’m trying to keep us safe! I… don’t want to get more hurt than we already have! I’m tired! I just wish things would go back to how they were. I want to forget this mess ever happened! I want us to make up! I just want to go back! 

Well, reality check! They won’t! It’ll never go back to how it was after this! Especially if we stay— if we stay here we'll die! 

No! That’s not wh—

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt it HURT—

Yes it is! We’re already numb and cold and starving, sooner or later we’ll die and it’ll be your fault!

D-Don’t say that—!

It hurt.

Would you—

Please—

It Hurt.

Just—

Just—!

Everything Hurt.

SHUT UP!

STOP IT!

The voices in his head echoed in his skull, like a crescendo, as the thoughts finally ceased. He slowly came back to reality, breathing heavily, it felt like everything was muffled and blurred, coated in snow. Hearing his breaths reverberating on the walls slowly grounded him he found, as he blinked continuously, his eyes finally adjusted back to the familiar dark cellar. 

His chest hurt.

His head hurt.

His breathing continued, huffs and inhales trying to process what had happened. Though, his breaths slowly but surely devolved, metamorphosing into something else— a fit of laughter— cold tears formed in the corners of his eyes. His head tilted back, as his voice, raspy and painful, reverberated off the walls.

“H— haha…ahahahahaha! I— I'm losing my mind do— down here!” He croaked out, hardly a whisper “..Ha— I- I’m t- talking to myself…!”

Laughter continued. He didn’t care if anyone heard. They didn’t hear his screams, so why would they bother about his laughs? He was too exhausted to care now.

Though the tears in his eyes welled, as his laughter slowly melted, and his breath hitched. His head idly fell back down, hair once again covered his face as tears burned down his ice cold cheeks. 

He thought about the voices, thought about the non existent struggle, the invisible fight, the feelings, thought about what he should do…

...He couldn’t think of a single answer to any of it

He sighed shakily. “I… I’m sorry… I—“ 

He choked for a moment, throat still sore, before continuing to talk to the thoughts that weren't there. Everything still hurt. 

“...I don’t know what to do…”

He smiled and gave another weak laugh. Face still obscured and tear filled. 

“I’m such a fool.” He barely whispered out.

It was quiet…

...Well, it was, until the Prince gave a pained hiss, as his chest seized. 

The feeling slowly worsened— beginning to burn. He gasped in pain, flinching at the flaring sensation. 

What was happening!? 

He almost thought it to be a heart attack— as the ache squeezed and constricted against his chest— but no, his questions were soon answered, as a light suddenly flashed in front of his chest, coming from it, a glowing purple brightness, it looked like the shape of a heart, he mused in his foggy state of mind.

Slivers of blue and red traveled along the center, emanating brightly from within it— Oh… It was cracked. He realized. And- …Oh, …was that why everything had hurt so much…? Was it breaking all that time? Just the same as his mind had been…?

Soon, it didn’t take him long to finally piece together what exactly it was he was looking at—

It was his very soul staring back at him.

Before he could think, or even panic, the pain twinged, causing him to yell out. He looked on at the cracks as they trailed down the middle of the light, like glass being shattered, cuts and tears getting closer and closer to the bottom, like blood from a cut slowly dripping down it, oh so agonizingly slow.

Tears formed in his eyes, pain welling in his chest, in his stomach, in his head. Watching in terror as the cracks, finally, stopped.

But the pain did not, the pain didn’t stop, no, it began spreading.

A horrible burning ache like wildfire and far worse than frostbite, spread from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes, oh gods it hurt— the pain from before now felt so minuscule— he couldn’t take it, the pressure built, his chest— he couldn’t breath, couldn’t think— he couldn’t take it, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it was too much, it was all too much—

—Crack.

The Prince watched as his heart— his very soul, shattered in twain.

He practically screamed in agony, if it wasn’t for his shot voice. The tattered parts of his soul returned to his chest, as he gasped, suddenly feeling the pain shoot through his entire body like electricity, causing him to wail out again. But this time, there was a new feeling, something completely foreign to him, a sensation flooding his body that he couldn’t begin to know how to describe. Overwhelming, energetic, painful, powerful, euphoric, horrific— Magical.

He looked on in helpless horror, as cursed shadows erupted from his chest. 

He struggled in the chains, trying to get away from the corruption crawling up his body, but it wasn’t any use, as it relentlessly ate away at him, not unlike it had Her, except much, much, faster, not waisting any time as it devoured his body in seconds. Oh Stars was this pain what she was feeling when it happened to her? He broke her heart— how could he.

It quickly clawed its way to his face, as he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the pins and needles wash over him, though as soon as they did the pain faded. His mind slowly lulled, more than it already had, at least, as his thoughts slowly went static. Finally opening his eyes, as tears slowly formed in them once again, but, not from pain. 

He stared for a moment, he couldn’t think, he tried, but all that came was nonsense. Fuzzy thoughts and feelings of something about how he had failed, how idiotic he’d been, how he never knew anything, how he couldn’t do a thing right. He simply cried for a while, he couldn’t do anything else.

But finally his body gave into the tiredness, now happily accepting the call of sleep as his eyes slowly closed, his body limped, suddenly feeling heavy...

*

*

*

It was quiet. 

—

The snow still roared outside.

—

…At least it didn’t hurt anymore. 

Chapter Text

The Prince watched as his heart— his very soul, shattered in twain…

*

*

*

…At least it didn’t hurt anymore. 

*

*

*

The halves of his soul sat silently in his hollow chest, thoughtless minds to an empty body. 

Thoughts and feelings long gone, washed over like waves, only faint glimpses of wants and desires left over inside. Echos of a once alive heart and mind, of once alive screams and begs, relentless pleads that would never be answered. 

Remnants of a life, of rage and sadness, anger and fear, of fleeting feelings– those were the only thing left beating in his un breathing chest.

The desires of a broken heart…

One of the halves burned, thoughts seething into it, embers and whispers of once memories bubbling beneath the surface…

Can’t give up.

Get out.

Wasting time.

Shut up.

Escape.

Get out.

Fool.

Your fault.

Shut up.

Get out.

Escape. 

Get out.

Get out.

Get out.

GET OUT.

Blue flames erupted from the forms chest, the soul burst away and burned alight as it escaped from the lifeless, corrupt body. The magical essence floated in front of the corpse for a moment, lingering, before the shadows that sat firmly in place on the Prince's frozen skin began to move.

The darkness shifted as it slowly left the body in favor of the bright soul, like a moth to a flame. The corruption swirled, spinning around the soul and encasing it, swallowing it whole, not unlike the mortal had been previously.  

It continued to spin, slowly rising higher into the air as it gained form, elongating as it took shape, slowly looking more and more solid then the simple whisps and shades it had been.

Movements becoming sporadic, in a dizzying manner the darkness manically pulsed and blurred from how fast the motions became, as it swirled faster, faster, and faster until—

*

*

*

It was dark…

Snow roared outside…

Everything was quiet…

Well, it was , until a small groan broke the silence. 

“Hhng…?” the Prince's voice attempted to hum out, raspy and tired.

He felt himself sprawled uncomfortably on the cold stone ground, cheek awkwardly pressed up against the iced over floor. 

It was pitch black, his eyes creeped open for a moment before closing once again.

“Ugh…” he groaned uncomfortably. 

Finally he managed to, slowly, push himself up, his arms wobbly and shaky like a newborn doe. 

“My head…” he hissed. Stars, it was absolutely killing him!

He brought his hand up to his forehead, holding it as he tried to ease the pain of the migraine sinking into him. He felt dizzy, head spinning as he kept his eyes squeezed shut.

Though he eventually did open them, still dazed and exhausted, finding it difficult to see, the darkness and headache not helping the situation. 

“Wh…What happened…?” He barely slurred out, rubbing at his head for a few more seconds before it finally eased enough to think, sighing as his hand limped back down to his side—

Wait, but—?

Wasn’t he supposed to be—?

He brought his hand back to his face— his hand that he now could move— it was so dark he wasn’t sure, he had to check he wasn’t imagining things, and sure enough, he wasn’t. 

His arms were chainless…

The shackles were gone.

”…I’m… free…?” He barely whispered in awe. 

The Prince felt a smile slowly fix itself on his face, as he held his wrist, completely chain free. He laughed, caressing continuously at his arms and wrists as euphoria flooded his mind.

He was out! He was actually out!

“I’m free—! Haha! I- I’m free!” He laughed out victoriously, still in awestruck wonder at the situation. 

This happiness was short lived, however, before he began to creepily feel a sense of… something, something being… wrong.

Shouldn't… he be in pain right now?

His legs and hands had been completely numbed, frostbit! Yet, he could feel them perfectly fine now, like nothing had ever happened— well… almost nothing.

It… wasn’t that he could suddenly feel his legs again, but rather, it was that he couldn’t feel the rest of himself… His entire body felt numb now, but... not the exact way as before. It was… different, like his body was empty. He couldn’t perfectly describe it, he could still feel things yet, it was just... different. He didn’t know what other word to use.

It felt as though everything around him had all been dulled, like all his senses had been muffled. He felt the icey floor under him, yes, but not the full extent of the glassy texture, not the pain of the cold touching him, which caused a new realization to come to him...

He... didn’t feel cold anymore, far from it in fact, deep inside his chest, he felt a pure warmth. But that wasn’t possible, his body temperature couldn’t have been making him feel that hot …could it? 

He shook his head, it was ...probably all just side effects of the frostbite, that’s all, he thought to himself. Getting back on topic of the chains, looking to his arms again. It felt odd actually seeing them, being able to freely move and see the vacancy of his wrists…

...How did he even escape? He tried retracing his steps, he remembered being determined to get out, and how he was… fighting with himself about… something.

He hummed in thought, he couldn’t remember what it was about, other than he had gotten mad at himself for whatever reason, it made his head hurt trying to think of why. 

The thought of the fear of how his heart had broken— oh right, that had happened, hadn’t it? Remembering in pain how his soul had shattered, and everything after going black.

…But wasn’t there something else? He could’ve sworn there was something in between then and now, wasn’t there? A fleeting feeling of something he couldn’t pin down, like an emotion that didn’t exist, he tried to think of whatever the gap in his memory was, but it just made his headache return the more he pushed, so he decided to stop dwelling on it, lest he make the only pain he currently felt become worse. 

He held his hands together, a bit of a nervous habit, feeling his fingers dig into each other, ...were his nails always so sharp? They were so obscured in the shadows he could hardly tell. 

He rubbed his hand slowly around his wrist. there wasn’t any pain, but he still felt the need to rub it. He sighed. Well, that led nowhere. There had to be something! The chains couldn’t have just broken, and even if they did, they’d still be on his arms, and he’d be closer to the wall, not right in the middle of the floor.

He huffed in annoyance, migraine continuing, Gods, nothing made any sense.

He turned to the side, looking out the barred vent to the snowflakes outside. Attempting to clear his thoughts, he brought himself to his legs, walking over, shocking himself that he didn’t slip on the frosted floors. 

He stared to the ground at blue moonlight pouring into the cellar, looking up to the window to see if he could find the moon. He recalled the late nights of laying calmly in the grass of his home, staring up to the moon and skies that eased the stresses of the day— stargazing was always calming to him as a child— so… surely it might ease his tension now.

He brought his hand above his eyes— shielding himself from the spatial rocks bright reflected light— before he loudly gasped.

The Prince stumbled back, nearly slipping, as he finally saw his hand under the light. 

…Claws. 

His hands could only be described as such. His fingers seemed to had all sharpened, his hand a dark purple in shade, his clawed fingertips fading to black, as his sleeves the same deep purple in hue. The moonbeams almost look like they were passing through him if he squinted…

“W— What—?”

His hand shot to his mouth, startling himself from the loudness of his voice— Ah, right, he forgot, his voice was no longer lost, now back to its normal volume, he didn’t have to push it to merely get out a whisper any longer.

He prayed to any gods that might listen that no one had heard him. It was dead silent for a moment, intently listening for any creeks or footsteps, but when none came, he uncupped his hand from his face and let out a long sigh of relief. 

Though his relief quickly died, as he went back to his hands, staring in panic at the clawed fingertips, flipping his hands back and fourth to hurriedly examine them. He brought his fist back to his mouth, this time to think, biting his lip in anxiety and feeling sharp fangs dig into himself. Panicking, he un-balled his hand and held it to his mouth, opening it to feel sharp canines poking under his fingers. He looked down at the rest of himself, and sure enough, a deep purple completely coated his clothes and body's coloring. 

He assumed it to be a dream when it had happened, or some kind of hallucination, but no, he was still corrupted. His soul really had broken.

But ...that couldn’t be possible, all the things he ever read on the subject always stated a mortal can’t handle the amount of magic in a soul, the body corrupting and shutting down, dying. So, how was he still ali—!?

…

…Unless… he…

…A horror set into him, he couldn’t even finish the thought as the realization began sinking into his translucent skin and digging its way into his fiery core.

He… he couldn’t— no, no there was no way! just…no way! There wasn’t any way he could be—

The Prince swiftly turned to the chains left on the wall, trying to prove his point to himself, show himself the wall was empty, show himself he was being irrational, show himself he was wrong— before he froze.

Staring back at him with sunken, hollow eyes, a body loosely hung, chained to the wall…

Its gaze was glossy and lifeless. 

The arms were a sickening sight, cuffs cutting into its flesh and breaking the circulation, skin pale and desaturated blue from frost, and fingertips a disgusting shade of ice-cold black— its legs in an even worse condition, just waiting to fall off at the slightest breeze. Stringy brown hair dangled in front of its obscured face, eyes empty as it soullessly stared at nothing. A corpse cruelly decorated in his own clothing.

…Who would play such a sick joke? That's all it was, right? It wasn't real, it couldn’t be. He wasn’t looking at himself, he wasn’t looking at his body, his body was right here! He was right here, he was ok! He wasn’t—!

He wasn’t dead. 

He wasn’t.

He couldn’t…

He couldn’t be—

“No…” he breathed out. 

“No, no, no, no no noNO—!”

The ghostly Prince backed away, claws clasped over his agape mouth, his gold eyes fixed on the body, he tried but couldn’t look away. Slowly walking backwards until he harshly bumped into the cold bricks from behind, legs shaky and weak as he pressed his free arm to the wall, slowly sliding down it to the floor, the back of his hair sliding up as it stuck to the wall, hands clutching the bricks, his back clinging against it for dear life. 

“This— this isn’t— it... it CAN'T—“ he choked on his words, thoughts racing. 

He felt tears form in his eyes, they burned, feeling like fire as they trailed down his shadowy face. 

“I- I can’t be—!” 

He held his arm out, frantic to prove it was all his imagination, prove it was all some, awful, wicked nightmare— bringing his other hand up to pinch himself, clasping clawed fingers together and shutting his eyes preparing for the pain—

The pain that never came. 

He opened his eyes, and looked in horror as his hand had completely gone through his arm. 

His hand quickly shot up away from the arm as he flinched, watching as it returned back to how it was before, he stood frozen in that position, breathing heavily, before he brought the claw back down, moving it back and forth. He watched as his hand easily and painlessly sliced through his arm like it wasn’t even there, making a shadowy trail behind it like smoke, his arm over and over instantly reforming to its original shape just as soon as it split apart. 

He stopped and gripped his wrist, holding it still, keeping it solid in place, hands shaking. 

He moved both arms to his chest, wrapping them around and hugging himself, trying to rationalize what he was seeing by feeling his body still there. A pit formed in his stomach, as the tears continued where they left off, breathing hard and bringing his knees up to himself as he sat in a shaking ball.

Staring up at the corpse across the room, his tears worsened. He swiftly looked away from it and buried his face in his knees, hands moving up to hold his head, gripping at his spectral hair as he sobbed. 

His voice quivered, his breath hitched as he cried, fiery blue tears trickling down his face as the knot in his stomach worsened. He felt like he was going to be sick, if he had the organs to do so anymore, that is. The thought made the tears worse, and he cursed himself in his mind for thinking about it at all. 

But this only caused his mind to spiral more, he was dead, oh gods he was dead, he hadn’t fallen asleep when he closed his eyes— when it went dark— he died. 

How did it even happen? How could he let it happen!? He had been such a fool— stupid, stupid, stupid— if- if he had just tried harder then maybe— 

His breathing became fast, thoughts and realizations going further and deeper, getting more and more morbid as they went. He continued to hold the sides of his head, desperately trying not to make noise, especially with his current position, sitting right next to the door leading into the cellar— …wait.

He instantly looked up, staring at the door as a thought entered his mind, one that filled him with dread… What if she finally decided to come…? What if the universe had some perfectly timed vendetta against him in this moment, and she coincidentally only showed up now, rather than when he pleaded and begged for her to. Just one too loud sound and that was all it’d take. What would happen? What would she even think if she saw him like this…? …What Would She Do? 

The Prince swiftly stood up without hesitation, rushing up to the door and looking next to it to the hook which held a set of keys hanging from it. He frantically picked up the metal ring from its resting place and began shifting through the keys, at least he could pick things up, they didn’t phase through him, thank gods. Thus he began jamming the keys into the door like incorrect puzzle pieces, making him huff and grumble impatiently under his breath. 

Finally finding the one that fit in the lock with a satisfying click, he turned it quickly, locking the abysmal wood door in place. He pulled the key away before tugging it off of the ring, setting the others back in place upon their hook, he looked around for a hiding place hurriedly, before he skidded behind him to the opposite end of the room, opening another door now into the dungeons small storage room, peering in and seeing it was filled to the brim with crates and barrels that gave it the proper title of a wine cellar. 

Without a second thought he threw the key into the room, as it flew and bounced off of one of the walls with a quiet ringing sound, landing atop one of the wooden boxes. 

The Prince sighed in relief, backing out of the room while shutting the door, taking in a few deep non needed breaths of anxiety as he continued to back away, now standing in the middle of the room.

Good. Now it meant she wouldn’t be able to come in… 

He perked up at the thought, turning around to look at the now locked entrance. He stared at it, as a new thought came, one that made his entire demeanor change.

…Unknown to him, the flame of the candle held against the opposite wall, suddenly turned blue. 

He turned and looked back to the once alive Prince on the wall, slowly bringing himself closer, sitting and staring in the middle of the floor, as the single thought rang in his head: 

Her.

It… it was her.

It was all her…

It was all her fault.

She locked him there.

Left him to die.

The tears that had pricked the corner of his eyes finally stopped, drying as his breathing turned from its previous terrified hyperventilating, into deep angered huffs. His hands came down to the floor, claws digging into the ice, as his eyes narrowed, chest going up and down from the heavy breaths. 

She did this to him.

She left him there to rot, to freeze. 

Left him to die,

She left him.

He never left her.

He loved her.

He loved her!

All he ever did was love her!

He never did anything,

It was all her.

His chest became hot, as he began breathing harsher. His body burned, his form slowly feeling more untethered, like smoke and mist, as his claws dug deeper into the floor below. Staring angrily at the phantom in his reflection looking back. 

She …killed him.

…She killed him.

She—!

"SHE KILLED ME."

 

His eyes squeezed shut, as let out a pained wail, screaming in anger now as flames erupted from his body, hair flaring up and tears burning down his face in the process. Bright embers rapidly flew around in the cramped space. 

He huffed deeply a few times, expression filled with scorn as tears flooded his face. Though, his rage-filled haze came to an end as soon he saw the bright blue surrounding his vision.

A gasp slipped from his fanged lips, eyes widening as he snapped back to reality, swiftly looking up to see infernos and ashes raging around him, the floor completely covered in blue fires.

“Oh, no no no— what did I do!?” 

He jumped up, barely flying above the flames, desperately fanning them with his hands, but they didn’t stop, continuing to eat and lick away at the ice.

“No— come on, c’mon! Stop-! I didn’t mean to- No—!“

He began panicking.

“No, no! Come on! Stop—!” 

Inhale.

“I said—“

Exhale.

“—STOP!”

He yelled out in slight panic, his body scrunching up, as his voice echoed off the walls. A part of him suddenly felt weaker, he thought. He hesitantly cracked an eye open, easing as he watched the flames one by one blow out around him, leaving just a melted ice filled floor behind. The waters sloshed around for a second before they calmed and became flat, not much different to the ice that coated the floors prior. 

He floated there, still for a moment, breathing heavily, in and out, as he tried to process— 

… floated!? 

He looked down, gasping, his legs springing up ever so slightly from the shock, staring in awe as he stayed in the air, silently hovering above the waters below. 

His breathing finally began to calm, relaxing as he slowly descended back to the floor, now sitting on his knees in the water, arms going limp at his sides, giving a relief filled sigh. 

He sat there in silence for a moment, his eyes shaking whilst he thought about what all had transpired… it all went by so fast…

His mind fixated onto the fire, while easily connecting the dots he didn’t exactly want to connect— he had done that.

Right, Ghosts had magic. 

…Right. 

His brows furrowed uncomfortably at the thought, though his curiosity quickly got the better of him, and he held out his hand, focusing on it, thinking of the embers from before.

His claws slowly tightened as he focused intently, face cringing as he pushed harder and harder, shutting his eyes as his earlier headache creeped back, his chest now searing along with it— or well, more accurately it was his soul— his magic— searing, he now realized. 

He almost stopped there, dreading the current feeling of the heartburn and migraine combined… before he felt a warmth suddenly appear in his palm…

The Prince opened his eyes to see a tiny blue flare had appeared, only a bit bigger than that of the fire of a candlestick. Silently floating above his, now relaxed, hand. 

It was small, but nevertheless his eyes still lit up, only ever so slightly, at least, as he still grimaced with a look of bittersweet melancholy…

He… really did have magic...

As much as the concept was exciting on paper, he only ever heard of spirits or the dead having access to natural magic, so the idea came with …implications. Things he didn’t want to think about for too long, especially now after almost burning the whole basement down for that exact reason. 

Not Now.

He balled his hand to a fist, putting out the flame and turning his head backwards, not to the body this time, but to the small hall next to it— the exit.

He wasted no time, ignoring any thoughts of protest in the back of his mind, he sprung up, heading to the doors. He knew he had to go now, before someone inevitably came or something else distracted him.

…Though, of course, directly after thinking that, his attention was immediately drawn away, as he caught something glint in the moonlight in the corner of his eye. 

Looking down, he saw a golden crown, his crown, discarded on the floor, the blue light of the window shining upon it. 

He stared for a moment, before crouching down and picking it up, bringing it close to his chest and clutching it. He quickly rushed to the hall, holding the crown safe and attempting to ignore his former body still on the wall as he turned the corner. 

He stood at the wood doors, taking a deep breath, in and out, recalling his hand going through his arm, before he finally walked forward.

A shiver went up his non-existent spine as he easily phased through the doors and stepped a foot out into the cold storm outside, his boot shifting in the glittering snow blanketing the ground. He breathed in the cold air—it was rather strange not feeling the biting cold in his lungs so clearly, as well as not seeing his breath showing up in front of him… though it made sense, he wasn’t actually breathing, after all, at least he assumed so, considering his lack of lungs. 

He glanced back at the door, his other leg still barely stuck in the wood, he bent it and slowly pulled it out, watching himself go right through the door and planting his leg down firmly next to its matching appendage.

“I …really am a ghost.” he said quietly to himself. He already knew that fact, of course, if the magic and incorporeal form weren’t clear enough, but… it only now had truly began sinking in… added by hearing as his voice still sounded echoed, even outside the small basement.

He stood there silently, looking down at the tips of his boots, allowing his thoughts to fade and letting the moment finally sink in fully.

He did it. 

He was out.

The Prince looked at the snow as it fell from the dark sky, cold wind blowing right through him. Though, thankfully, it seemed his body stayed warm, most likely due to his apparent fire abilities, even noticing the snow melting under his feet. He thanked the stars above the books describing ghosts as cold weren’t entirely true, he didn’t know if he'd be able to stand the idea of being naturally cold on top of being in the snow. 

The ghost lifted his legs up, bringing himself up off the ground, just barely floating above the snow. The last thing he needed was for loud boots crunching in the ice alarming the guards— or, twilights forbid,— Her. 

Though, there probably wasn’t anything they could do to him in his ...current state. But he still didn’t want to risk it. After all, he didn’t know much about ghosts, only the basic facts or exaggerated tropes in fairy tales. And she had corrupted as well— he watched it happen, after all— so she was most likely a ghost long by now. Thus he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that he couldn’t be harmed in specific circumstances, by another ghost, for example.

So, he continued to float, keeping himself as far from the manor as possible, though he took steps out of instinct anyways, not much out of necessity— he could probably just drift forwards if he wanted to— but the familiarity of the action aided in easing his still present nerves. 

He tried to look on the bright side, framing it as ‘good practice’ in his mind, starting slow, that was. And, hey, he was already getting the hang of it. On paper, the concept of floating sounded like an abysmally difficult ability to learn, and yet in execution… here he was, calmly thinking or motioning his body to go the direction he needed it to, mindlessly hovering in the air, …it was almost peaceful, that is… if he ignored the lingering intrusive thoughts and butterflies still eating away at his stomach for long enough.

He shook away the negative things and pushed them to the back of his mind. Not Now. He had more important matters at hand, continuing on towards the gate to the village, determination painting his face, snowflakes whipping in the air as his hair and clothes blew in the icy wind…

His subjects needed him.

*

*

*

It was gone.

It was all gone.

The Prince finally got to the village, or well, what was left.

Houses and shops had all been deserted, snow piled on the roofs, the town now empty and lifeless. Looking on at the massive ice shards jutting up from the ground, stabbing into buildings and windows. Laughter of children long gone, the only sounds left being his own breathing, and the wind roaring in his ears. 

“Hello!?” He called out in a loud echoed voice, waiting with bated breath for any kind of noise.

He listened, waited, hoping to hear anything, even just a sound…

No response.

…He couldn’t find anyone.

He continued to rush through the empty village, no longer needing a reason to float, being as loud as he pleased. 

He looked inside every building, making sure to check them all, leaving no stone unturned. His faith was slowly chipped away with every empty room, every silent sound, every yell that got no response.

There was an inherent comfort of being alone, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to find anyone. Where would they go, even if he did? There was nothing left. His whole world had ended with his life— their whole world ended with her madness. What could they do? What hope lied beyond the horizon, the snow? Who would be there? What did he hope to find?

Maybe he just wanted something familiar. Maybe he was trying to rationalize something that was anything but.

He sighed deeply, finally slowing and stopping to rest, standing in the center of town along the snow covered brick path, hugging himself for warmth he didn’t need. Though he assumed he no longer had vocal cords, his throat still hurt, eyes bagged and spectral body exhausted, staring solemnly at the ice shards all around, hope dwindling.

But… he couldn’t give up, he just had to keep looking…

There had to be something… anything.

He continued to look around at the ice, though his eyes narrowed as he focused, staring a bit more intently, he began noticing…a pattern. 

Some of the shards were sharp and angular, like knives splitting up out of the earth, stabbing anything in their wake. But… a few of the shards were different, lower to the ground, in more abstract shapes and sparkly chunks. 

Puzzled, he slowly walked up to one of the strange shaped ones, crouching down to it and brushing the snow from atop it—

He gasped and fell backwards, crown dropping from his grip and landing in the snow upon seeing the ice, what was inside the ice.

No…

He stared, as his breathing quickened, standing up and swerving around, looking closer at the others. 

No. No. No! 

The once misshapen shards of ice were now all too familiar.

The villagers.

His subjects.

They… they were frozen.

His legs grew weak as he fell to his knees, puffs of snow flying in the air upon impact. 

Tears welled in his eyes, as he sat frozen in place, numb and shaking. Slowly, he scooted his way over to the frozen villager he had dusted snow from. Looking in horror as he stared at one of the children, a tiny, fear-stricken face held underneath their mask, the moment horrifically frozen in time. 

His hands trembled as he held their head in his claws, tears falling to the ground and melting the snow below. He hunched over, hair falling forward as he pressed his forehead to theirs through the frost, sobbing. 

Holding the frozen villager in his arms, hugging them tightly, his tears burned and melted into the ice, easily dripping down along the sides of it. Babbling of nonsense through sobs and chokes, words long lost to him, grief taking their place. 

How could this happen?

What was he supposed to do now…?

He continued to cry, holding the statue and just barely wiping his tears against his sleeve, once again staring into their lifeless eyes, looking into his own bright yellow eyes illuminating his face from the icey reflection, catching something move behind him and—

Wait—!?

He turned around, seeing something glowing dash out of view. 

His eyes widened as he quickly pushed himself up, bolting, slipping for a moment as snow was shoved under his feet, as he left the frozen child and ran after the light.

“H- HEY! WAIT!” He called out, chasing whatever it was behind one of dozens of empty houses.

The hope of survivors filled his entire body as he ran, warmth in his chest as he followed through corners and alleys, desperately calling out. Homes and shops blurring by, nothing but wood and stone and snow filling his eyes, catching landmarks and familiar buildings, scenery becoming more known as he began to recognize the path he was on. 

Though his thoughts were interrupted, as his foot suddenly caught on one of the snowy bricks below, causing him to fall forward, tripping and slamming into the snow covered road with a pained hiss. 

He sat up dizzily, rubbing at his chin, easing pain that wasn’t there.

His head swirled around, only seeing the snow falling around him.

…No sign of whoever, or whatever, he was chasing…

…The Prince sighed in defeat, but looked up to see he was currently next to the Florists stand, it too being covered in white. No wonder the area had looked so familiar…

He brought himself to his feet, boots crunched as he walked up to the stand. He brushed snow off of it, solemnly placing his hand to it, tracing his fingers along the crevices and lines of wood, looking at the countless flowers and petals discarded along the ground. 

He dreaded the thought of whatever happened to Delilah. 

The ghost's eyes slammed shut as he turned, hand dragging across the corner of the stand, bringing it up to cup his hands together, as he attempted to walk away, not wishing to think about it, not yet, not until he was sure. Not Now.

But his leave was cut short, as he felt a burning in the back of his mind, or more accurately, his head— as something told him there was ...something there, behind him. Like the feeling of being watched… He heard what felt like muffled sounds echo in his brain rather than in his ears.

He listened again, glancing behind his shoulder from the corner of his eye, but there was nothing— maybe… it was just his imagination? If so, that was pretty a cruel trick to play, brain. 

He turned around, brow furrowed in puzzlement and bitterness, examining the area again, looking close to see anything changing or moving, seeing nothing, besides a green light, he turned back around to—

His head again swerved to the stand. 

Looking again there was still nothing, but— but he swore he saw…? 

Suddenly another glitter of green danced in the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t tell where from, it was somehow all around him yet right in front of him at once, despite the fact he wasn’t seeing anything physically there.

It wasn’t like he was seeing something but … feeling it…?

Nervously, he approached the stand again, the feeling getting worse, the glimmers of light mixing and melding as he tried to instinctively blink the splotches in his vision away, like seeing spots after looking at the sun. He rubbed at his eyes, but finally as he eased, he watched as the colors solidified together into a familiar shape. Seeing a glowing green heart, a soul, clear as day despite his eyes being shut. 

His eyes shot open, looking to see his hand pressed to the wooden table, a realization hitting him— wasn’t… that back of it hollow…?

He quickly ran behind the stand, hearing quiet crying in his skull once more, like hearing someone else’s words through his thoughts. 

Slowly crouching down, practically laying down as his face pressed against the piles of snow, looking under the hollow back of the stand and seeing green envelop in his eyes as they widened. 

A tiny serpentine ghost sat curled in a ball in the corner, its body glowing in green, as its face was some kind of wooden mask, not unlike the children wore. He tilted his head, getting a better look at it. Seeing the wood had colors of red, creams, and browns painted on it, as well as spotting a dark green pointed section on the top, recognizing they intended to be that of horns, a goat specifically. 

He only knew that fact because he instantly recognized the mask, blurry and forgotten memories of his childhood rose to the surface. Seeing the green glow of their body, and the mask, a spark was lit in his brain. 

“…Delilah…?” He quietly breathed out, hardly audible, but apparently loud enough that the green spirit was startled, turning and flinching upon seeing him. The Prince did the same, not expecting it to be scared of him, though he didn’t blame it (or…her? If his assumption was correct?), he assumed he looked rather ghoulish at the moment— no pun intended. 

The little spirit stared at him, its eyes shaking, green like hers, he watched as tears formed in them, as it quickly dashed to him, lunging at his chest. 

It’s you!

The all too familiar voice rang in his head like a whisper, as the Florist clung to the Prince to the best of her body's ability. It was her.

The Prince smiled, having to choke back tears, as countless fond memories of her flooded his mind at once, “Yes! It— it’s me…!” He smiled in relief. 

They laughed holding each other close, the Prince beaming as tears fell down his spectral cheeks.

…Though, the ghostly Prince's voice suddenly hitched.

“I- …I’m sorry—“ he croaked out, fiery tears stinging down his face.

The Florist didn’t respond…

“I’m so sorry—!” He cried, hicing and sobbing through words “Th- This is all my fault! I was— I was supposed to protect all of you! And— I failed you, I failed you all, I’m such a fool—!” He breathed in, continuing to cry through words. “What kind of ruler lets his subjects die!? How can I call myself a Prince- if— if I can’t even protect my own people!? I- I don’t—” he sobbed, shaking as he finally began breaking down, as everything that had transpired finally began crashing down around him— They were all gone, they were all dead, they were going to be like this forever- it was all his fault—!

Shh. The Florist said without words. 

Hey,

That's not true.

Don’t cry. It’ll be ok. 

Her voice echoed in his skull disjointedly, as she pressed her head into his neck, tail curling around his shaking arms as he held her, hugging tighter as she comforted him in hushed silence. 

It was quiet between the two, simply being in each other’s presence, the Prince's tears finally calming...

You’re warm… Delilah said, breaking the silence. 

The Prince laughed weakly. “…Thank you.” He replied in a raspy tone, tears slowly drying. 

We were all really cold, I’m glad you’re not.

“…Yeah…” 

Once again it was quiet, until the Prince shot up quickly—

“We!?” He exclaimed in bewilderment.

Yes, …the others? Did you think I was the only one…? The spectral Florist tilted her head. 

“But— I didn’t see anyone else!? I looked everywhere!” he made a motion with his hands, holding them out, emphasizing ‘everywhere’. 

The Florist was silent for a moment— not commenting on his animatedness like she usually did— before she finally floated up. 

Follow me. She said. 

The ghost stared at her for a moment in some kind of confusion, before he finally obliged, standing up and following her as she slowly floated throughout the different buildings. It was similar to the blur of alleys and homes he saw from before, minus there being any chasing involved, obviously.

It was much calmer like this, though much more melancholy, actually taking in the environment, seeing it all so destroyed…

They kept traveling further, leaving the icy wasteland that was Subcon Kingdom, as they headed to the forest, looking in both wonder and horror at the decaying trees and grass. As they followed through the path, the Prince watched as flowers and plants wilted in his wake, he cringed when it happened, as well as seeing the various hanging lanterns scattered about lose their natural orange flames in favor of his own spectral blue ones, for a moment at least, before going back to their original state once he was out of reach.

They stayed in silence as they walked through the dead wood, (or, well, floated in Delilah's case) feeling the crisp winter air where it should have been spring. Her floating was a little… rickety, for lack of better words. It looked like the walk of someone intoxicated— or someone frostbit that had lost feeling in their legs and couldn’t walk properly— which was to say her dizzy method of floating was understandable, it wasn’t any kind of muscle memory.

They finally stopped at a run down wood shed in the outskirts of the woods. Moss and fungi sprouting out of its wooden edges and corners, clear it was already damaged well before the ice came.

The Florist flew to the side, giving the Prince room to walk closer to it, pressing a clawed hand to its rickety doors as it loudly squeaked open. 

Multiple different colors formed in his vision before the door had even fully opened, he looked in awe at the array of glows and lights in his eyes, watching the door open and reveal the owners of the souls he was seeing.

He stood as multiple tiny glowing eyes, masked foxes, deer, and rabbits, as well as other assortments of flat wooden animal faces, all stared at him. The spirits were the same as her— all tiny and shaking. 

…The children.

He turned to Delilah, giving her a look that asked you brought them here? As she nodded, answering his non verbal question.

The children all suddenly dove towards him, making the Prince give a startled squeak as he fell to the ground. An endless sea of tiny voices rang in his head, overwhelmingly so, as they overlapped and echoed atop each other, making his head hurt at the loudness inside of it. They all hugged up to him as best as their serpent forms allowed, all silently crying some form of his name into his chest. 

He had to stop himself from breaking down then and there, trying to keep his composure. Not Now. He had an image to uphold, after all. Sighing as he held his arms around the ghostly children. “...It’s okay, you— you’re all okay now …I promise.” he whispered out, similarly to them, giving soft coos and hushes to the children’s crying. “I swear… I won’t let you be hurt again,” I won’t fail you again went unsaid,  “…I’ll keep you safe...I’ll keep all of you safe…”

He hugged them tighter. 

“…I promise.” 

A flame— a passion, alit and burned in his chest, telling him to protect them, every last one of them, as he held his subjects close, gifting them the warmth they had all lost in the cold... 

—

They had walked through the forest together, the Prince leading the way as the small spirits followed behind like a school of fish, the group soon coming across a large tree in the center of the woods, completely hollowed out, mushrooms and vines all overgrown around it. He thought he recalled it from childhood expeditions into the woods, but it was currently so warped from the cold and fungi he wasn’t entirely sure… 

Thinking it as a good place for shelter, the Prince informed the Florist to keep watch on the children as they huddled together inside. 

Thus the Prince traveled back to the village briefly, scrounging the abandoned library and small schoolhouse for any useful books. Picking up things of personal interest like picture books for the children, or astronomy and law books for himself. But his main mission being making sure to grab any and all information found referencing the supernatural— whether it be a simple fable or a long academic book— he needed anything he could get his claws on. 

He also went back to retrieve his fallen crown in the process, spotting it buried in the snow, ignoring the frozen statues. 

As he returned, he found Delilah still floating outside, as most of the children slept, curled together into a pile. He sat the stack of books in the corner quietly, and set the gold crown atop the pile, before moving closer to the little ghosts. Seeing them peacefully in slumber made it all too clear to him how tired he himself was, now acutely aware of the phantom bags under his eyes. 

He sighed and slowly sat himself next to the small spirits, watching as Delilah floated inside to join them, curling up next to him, the two relaxed, now knowing everything was safe. 

The Prince looked again to the children, then to Delilah, all either asleep or about to be, and gave another sigh of relief. Looking at the heavy stack of books from across him, noting he had a lot of research ahead of him.

But… it could wait, he thought. 

He felt that same warmth in his chest from before slowly making its way to him, comforting him, as he finally let himself rest, eyes fluttering shut as he let out a relaxed breath, as he let his head nod to the side, resting against the wall of wood.

Before he finally fell unconscious, though… he swore he… felt something, from afar, like how he first felt Delilah rather than physically see her… It felt like… red, his unconscious mind thought… But he was so caught up by the prospect of true rest it didn’t even register… as he began drifting off to ghostly sleep… 

Chapter Text

*

*

*

It was cold...

The other, shattered soul sat alone. Everything silent in the hollow chest.

Where had the other gone? It thought mindlessly. They were supposed to stay together, right? 

It had tried to leave, like it was supposed to, but something stopped it, both physically and mentally, a barrier in its path, a tugging behind it, keeping it trapped, a feeling eating at its non-existent mind. The only form of any kind of feeling it had left... 

It didn’t want to leave, but… it didn’t want to be alone. 

It was scared.

Scared of what might happen, scared for what might not happen, scared for itself, scared for its other. 

What was it to do without the other half? 

Without the warmth? 

How was it supposed to be whole?

More decomposing thoughts and feelings began sinking into it, as slowly, echoes and whispers of memories made their way to it, spiraling and circling inside like a blizzard...

What am I supposed to do?

I don’t know.

Cold.

No.

Stay here…

What's the point? 

Wait.

No, stop.

Stay.

Forget this mess ever happened.

Go back.

Safe.

Forget.

Tired.

Please.

Stop it.

Stay.

Go back.

Cold.

Forget.

Forget.

Forget.

FORGET.

 
Without warning, the Prince's cold, lifeless body… came back to life.

—

Everything was still in the cellar, empty and unbreathing. The body was silent, as the chilled air was surprisingly calm. Though, that calmness had appeared to have worn out its welcome, as a faint red glow began to pulse against the body's chest, it began to grow in brightness— practically changing into a bright white glow as it emanated effortlessly from the form, though the remnants of its origin remained as a red aura that complimented the whites edges. Magic and energy hissed off of it like a wild animal, like a flame being snuffed out, as the light engulfed every inch of the corpse, consuming it until it was unseeable. 

Suddenly, there was a few popping noises, then cracks, then it was made clear it was not joints, but rather the snaps of bones and tears of flesh that had begun to echo harshly throughout the cellar. The noises bounced off the cold walls and reverberated louder as the body slowly began shifting and changing, any wounds instantly healing, the blanket of white obscuring and acting as a censor to whatever horrors were occurring to it. 

The magic continued eating away at the corpse, altering it to its liking, getting rid of anything it didn’t need or could no longer use. Even still, it seemed to keep the body familiar, pulling from the faint, foggy memories and thoughts still left behind in the soul to build the new form. A parasite to its host, the magic leached off of the frost-coated organs left behind. Taking the corpse’s cells, it’s very essence, and shredding them apart, before rebuilding the strands anew, like vulture feasting off the carcass of phoenix. 

The blinding light continued, as the body’s frail frosted arms began to shake, twitching unnaturally as if it were a rag doll tugged and forced by its threads to move. The shackles rattled loudly, chains and metal breaking and cracking, pressure building as the light grew brighter, magic growing stronger, more powerful, chains becoming weaker and weaker until—

Snap. 

The restraints gave way, letting one arm hang freely, the chains ringing and jingling together as they dangled loosely. Soon the same happened to the cuffs on its shoulders with a crack— and lastly, with a few more magically charged tugs, the chains of the other arm broke loose. 

The now free body fell to the hard floor below, giving a loud thud, as a large splash of water accompanied, staining the stone walls in the freezing liquid. 

The light, the magic, began to slowly fade, easing and dissipating in a sparkle of stars and glitter, like a final sigh of relief, as the Pri—

Wait …now that wasn’t right was it?

…He wasn’t a Prince, was he?

No no, he was a— …or wasn’t a...? A ...what? What was h—? Or- were …They…?

Who…

Who… were they again exactly…?

...Strange.

…Whoever they were, they now laid unconscious in the cold water, the cellar filled with a calm silence once more, a sharp contrast to the loud breaking of metal, bones, and bodies falling onto concrete floors all from before… 

The slow, steady noise of breathing suddenly filled the void of sound, as the corpse had finally gained some form of consciousness, now peacefully sleeping. 

Slowly, their relaxed expression changed, melting into a furrowed brow, calm breathing being replaced by a barely audible, but still clearly tired, groan. 

“Hhmg…?” 

Their eyes felt heavy, they tried to open them, but it seemed a part of them was still consumed by sleep, not wishing to get up just yet. 

Though he finally managed to get them to cooperate, his eyes slowly fluttering open, his vision was blurred and foggy, hardly being able to tell what he was even looking at.

They turned over from laying on their side to be flat on their chest, their arm shifted under themself, their throat making another small, strained noise, before they shakily pushed themself up, sitting up on their knees. Though, he immediately regretted it, suddenly feeling dizzy and lightheaded from the action, squeezing their eyes shut and holding their forehead in their palm, trying to steady themself.  

“My head…” he barely breathed out, practically a whisper as his throat felt dry and sore. “Ah- …Everything— …hurts… ow, ow, ow…” he mumbled quietly. 

The spinning sensation he felt surrounding himself slowly but surely faded, finally feeling as though his body was stable enough, they brought their hand away, finally lifting up their head and opening their eyes. 

They squinted, trying to piece together what they were seeing, it was pitch black in the stone room, the only observable source of light was shining through a window sat high up on the wall. 

Bricks lined the walls, it was small and suffocating, freezing water along the floor that made them shiver. 

“Wh…? Where… am I…?” They thought out loud. Stuttering from the cold, and that their voice was still weak. 

Though, they were now acutely aware how weak the rest of their body felt as well, not just their voice. It felt as if… something was wrong, but they couldn’t dream of pinpointing what. They felt …odd— tingly even, like something about them was…missing, different, things meant to be there that weren’t, things not meant to be there that were. Outside of the strange phantom feelings, they felt incredibly achey as well, though they had already noted that upon waking up. Everything felt out of place, their whole body was sore— it felt like they needed to pop their joints, like they’d been stiff for awhile— piecing together it was most likely due to them having slept on hard stone floors, which, wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place for a nap, they mused sarcastically in their thoughts. 

…But… he still felt it wasn’t just that, it felt more sore than a typical cramp or ache …maybe they had sustained some kind of injury? They theorized. And…come to think of it, why had they been asleep on the floor of all places in the first place? Especially in a dark unfamiliar basement, at least they assumed that was what the room was.

…What in twilights name had happened…?

He hummed in thought uncomfortably, trying to recall when they possibly could had fallen unconscious, but their troubling thoughts were cut off upon seeing the moonlight bouncing off the waters below, revealing their reflection—

They quickly gasped.

Staring back at them with sunken, hollow eyes, sat a pale blue specter, its head a round crescent shape, with sharp fangs inside its mouth. 

They blinked a few times, bright red irises watching the watery mirror copy their movements, they looked on in wonder, but a bit of fear, their mouth slightly agape. They stared, getting the same pit in their stomach, the sense that something seemed odd about themself, something missing, something wrong, but they couldn’t place it to save their life.

Strange. Were they… not supposed to look like this? His body seemed oh so familiar, yet completely foreign all at once. It was such an uncomfortable feeling— it felt wrong. 

They looked down to their lower half, seeing a red jacket with gold accents and puffy purple sleeves, a dark collared shirt poking out under the jacket and a silky jabot at their chest. Their clothes seemed rather fancy, but noticeably worn. 

Though their eyes widened upon seeing their arms— shackles on their wrists immediately caught their attention as they shined in the moonlight, a panic quickly sat into them.

They grabbed at the cold metal, pulling at it, gritting their teeth as they tried to pry it off, but then yelping quietly as their hand slipped away off from the cuff, the chains rang together like wind chimes from the sharp jolt... Seemed like it wouldn’t budge, only making their arm sore. Sighing and rubbing at their wrist, they went back to examining the rest of their form. 

They held their hands out, spreading their fingers apart for a moment before flipping them back and forth a few times to examine them, looking at their front palm then the back over and over, holding them together and rubbing at the cold skin. They were the same pale blue as their face, with some kind of markings along the joints of their fingers. They noticed something glittering white on their fingertips, like snow, but it was hard to tell, still far too dark in the tiny room. They also noted their nails seemed… sharp? But it was only if they squinted… 

Along with the other strange things about themself, he looked down again to find he had—

A bright glowing hole where his neck would have been.

“Wh—!?” 

Their nerves quickly worsened. He brought a hand to his neck, where it should have been at least— Ah, so that confirmed his appearance wasn’t normal, wonderful. Hesitantly, but curiously, bringing their hand closer, attempting to move it through the empty space— but as soon as their finger even got in between the void, a shiver traveled down their spine. They flinched, cringing as an uncomfortable feeling flooded their body, equating it to getting pinched or having goosebumps. 

They rubbed at their neck area as best as they could without getting near the triggering area, relaxing once they felt back to normal, or well, relatively normal…

They quickly made a mental note, Ok. Good to know. Don't do that. 

He sighed, looking around at the dark room again, taking in the details. Looking down at the cold floor, silently watching the swirling ripples circle around himself in the water. Catching the smallest glimpse of their face yet again, looking with still sleepy half lidded eyes. 

They soon relaxed, idley staring at themself, taking in their appearance, rather than rejecting it or trying to find what was wrong with it, which seemed to finally calm their nerves enough to think straight. 

Though this meant their mind was now brought back to their original train of thought:

...What had happened prior to now?

He attempted to retrace his steps, trying to recall when he had fallen asleep, but he paused… 

They found nothing, just a gap in their memory. 

He hummed, trying to think. 

…Had he been knocked out? It would definitely explain why he couldn’t remember what happened, and the pain he felt upon awakening— which had thankfully eased. So it was a viable option, but that didn’t explain why he didn’t know where he was prior, or why he felt so …strangely about himself. 

In fact… he didn’t remember being hit or taking any kind of blow at all either, so it seemed it might not have been the case?

Maybe he had just… passed out and hit his head on the floor? It was made of hard material that easily could have given him a concussion of sorts, he thought to himself, trying to reason the gaps in his mind. It would explain the pain as well, but then why would he not remember passing out first at all? It still didn’t fully add up, didn’t feel right. 

He let out a slightly frustrated, but tired, huff. Stars, nothing made any sense, this was all too confusing.

So what was it then? He attempted to think back further, what had he been doing last, before he fell unconscious? If he wasn’t supposed to be here, then where was he supposed to be? Where was his home?

He tried, but all that came was yet another empty gap…

A twinge of panic set into him.

”Why don’t I...?” He whispered, voice trailing off. He brought a hand to his chin to think whilst his thoughts flowed together. 

He kept searching, trying to think of any familiar locations or buildings, rooms or areas he knew. Trying to recall any walls or framed portraits, furniture, floors, plants, Thinking back further and further, but again, nothing.

Did he just... not have a home? But…

Why couldn’t he—?

He tried to envision loved ones, family, friends, anyone he knew that came to mind, any familiar faces or names or objects.

Nothing.

All he could think of was the hollow red eyes of himself. 

He began to truly panic now. Hands coming up and gripping at his head, trying to think. Come on, come on! Think! 

If he couldn’t remember his home, or his family, then… who was to say he couldn’t—!?

—Couldn’t... remember... him… self.

The thought placed itself firmly in his mind, a question slowly entering its place— one that utterly terrified him.

Who…

“…Who am I?”

He whispered out, such a simple concept, such a simple question, something even a small child would know. 

“W...what is my name...?”

Their face lit up in a false hope to rationalize their lack of answers. Th...That was easy! Such a stupid, silly question! What a ridiculous thought, of course they knew it, it’s—!

Their hopeful mask quickly fell.

“It’s…”

“My name is—“

“I’m…”

“It’s—“

Realization hit him worse than the countless bricks encasing him possibly could, he felt tears well up in his eyes, he tried again, but the words died in his mouth. He gripped his head harder and harder, claws digging into himself— oh, so that was why his nails had looked sharp earlier.

…There had to be something, anything? There just had to be! There couldn’t just be nothing!? 

His thoughts spiraled, a deep and true horror filling his entire being, desperately looking for any indicators of their identity. Name, friends, family, hobbies, thoughts, feelings, memories, life. 

...Nothing.

He tried and tried and tried again, searching over and over, just running into dead ends, threads and hints of things leading nowhere, their thoughts going in circles. 

It felt like it was all right on the tip of his tongue, in the back of his mind, thoughts right there in front of him, just out of reach, if he could just grab hold of it, but—

The feeling instantly faded, disappearing right as he got close to it, like sand falling between the fingertips. 

There was nothing, just an empty gaping hole, a void, that felt it would swallow him whole if he let it. 

Why didn’t he know?

Why didn’t he know!?

Why couldn’t he remember!?

“No…” he breathed out.

“No, no, no, nononoNO—!” they choked out, voice cracking and tears welling, dripping to the floor. 

They began hyperventilating, breathing becoming fast and sporadic, clawing at their head harder and harder until it hurt, a poor attempt to dig the memories out.

They brought their hand to their mouth, clasping over it to stifle their sobs, but it wasn’t any use, as their breath still hitched regardless.

It couldn’t be real, couldn’t be true, but…

He kept searching, digging, clawing, looking for anything. Even just a crumb. Any tiny hint or fleeting feeling. 

Nothing.

He hunched over, curling into a ball and clutching his head, shaking and breathing heavily, glowing tears splashed down and mixed with the waters below. His brain scattered like static, unraveling and tangling like knots. 

Their voice hitched and wavered, feeling like they’d choke on their own breath by how fast they had been inhaling, taking in air for dear life, while letting a few small ‘no’s slip through the veil. Their head began spinning again, everything dizzy around them, tears falling down their face, pain stabbing into their stomach, feeling more clammy by the second, like they would be sick at any time if not for their sharp breaths keeping the butterflies at bay. 

Air, breath, take in air, you need air—

Drowning in oxygen, lungs convulsing like their own living being, their eyelids slipped open, trying to search for something— anything. Their eyes darted around, frantic, as a last attempt, but ultimately they landed on nothing, their eyes distant and clouded. Body slumping down, deflated in defeat. 

But slowly, they felt their vision begin to focus, fixating on the light reflecting on the water, eyes slowly traveling up and following it, craning their head to look up at the window above with still watery eyes.

They stared out the barred window, watching the snowflakes dance in the air, the moon hanging high in the sky, spilling its bright blue light into the dark basement like water. Their breathing slowly calming, their grip on their head easing.

The celestial body reflected in their eyes. It felt familiar, like a light in the dark, like the sky was comforting them. Like it all would be ok...

They knew it was a lie, but stars did they still need it. 

They slowly pushed themself up, not questioning why they didn’t feel their legs, as cold waters sloshed around, trying to stick to their body as they stood up closer to the window, getting a better view and propping their arms up on the edge of it.

…It was beautiful.

Outside showed a deep midnight blackness covering the skies, as pure white snowflakes fluttered delicately in the wind, …it looked like stars, they mused. Upon looking up revealed the large moon, bright and illuminating in the pitch black of the night, clouds passed in the skies, but it was difficult to see them in the darkness. It felt… complete, right, like all the elements were complimenting one another… 

They kept their eyes fixated onto specific particles of snow, watching each fall in a slow pattern, helping to ground themself and keep a mental balance. Their breathing slowed, body relaxing and going limp, as they remained focused on taking deep breaths, in and out, in and out, slowly but surely. Letting their eyes stay focused on the moon and stars and clouds in front of them.

They let out a final, long exhale, before pressing their chin to their arms, laying their head on the sill of the window, watching the outside longingly. Their eyes felt heavy, though not in the way tiredness would do it, it was probably due to the crying, they reasoned, giving another exhale. 

He tried to ground himself, trying to piece things together, once again making mental notes—

So… It was winter, it wouldn’t be snowing otherwise. 

It was nighttime… no duh— or, well, perhaps it was morning, before the sun had risen…? They decided not to question it.

It was most likely early, or later, in the month, based on the moon's crescent shape at least. Either option was plausible. Well, that was if their fractured memory wasn’t failing them— they swore the moon was only crescent during that time, right? Though they weren’t sure how reliable their knowledge was… 

…

...It was cold.

They gave a bitter expression, grimacing and giving a sour hum as they brought their hands to their face, “Stars…” they groaned in, well, they weren’t sure what the emotion was, it wasn’t annoyance— they weren’t angry— but simply saying they were upset was an understatement.

He just felt… tired. That felt like a good word. 

His hands dragged down his face, falling back down to rest against the window. He tried to refocus his mind onto the information gathered— So... all of that meant it was …probably late (or… early?) December or January, then? …He sighed, relieved to at least have some sense of what was going on. But his expression still faltered. He still had no clue what he was to do, how was any of that meant to help him!? He was all alone with no one to turn to for help, no memory to guide him, no idea what had even happened. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to get out of the small prison in the first place—!

He jumped, a small noise of surprise escaping his throat, (or, would it be non-existent throat…?) As a faint sound entered the dark room.

Everything was silent for a moment, he hushed his breathing, listening intently. The world remained still for another beat… was it just his imagination?

But again, he heard another noise echo from above, like muffled mumbles or whispers…

It… it almost sounded like—?

—A voice.

Humming. He heard it clear as day now, listening as it approached closer, hearing along with it the creeks of wood— footsteps.

…He wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone…!

He could get help!

Euphoria flooded his mind, rushing over to what seemed to be the source of the melody, being a wood door at the end of the room. 

“Oh— Oh, thank stars! I’m not alone!” He exclaimed happily to himself, breathless, his voice echoing against the walls and floors. 

He quickly brought his hand to the door, about to call out an excited 'Hello!?' —before he froze. 

…His hand hovered over the gold knob, he stood silently, as his entire form came to an abrupt halt. 

Something… didn’t feel right.

…A sense of invisible dread gnawed at his brain. His hand remained inches away from the knob. The air suddenly felt thick. 

Something wasn’t right. 

He heard the voice again, much closer now— he couldn’t make out the jumbled words, but it sounded echoed and distorted. 

Suddenly, everything felt cold, more cold than before anyway. A shiver traveled his spine, as he backed away from the door.

Before he could think, the knob began turning back and forth manically, the strange, high voice boomed in his eardrums, screaming out as ice shot out from under the door. Splinters of wood flew as the shards jutted out, like knives trying to pierce through him, slightly freezing the waters below.

His breath quickened as he gasped sharply, trying to run, but only now seeing why he didn’t feel his legs before, or well, his lack of them, like his neck. He hurriedly, but wobbly, flew to the opposite wall where he was before, arms catching himself and pressing against the brick, he looked down to where his legs should have been with a sense of loss, looking back up with their eyes catching sight of a hall leading to another door— an exit? They thought, hopefully. 

Whatever was on the other side of the wood continued screaming, a horrible evil emanating from it, the dread they felt continued eating away at them, fear taking hold of their entire body, like muscle memory, like they knew to be afraid of whatever it was, knew to get away from whatever it was. 

They quickly skidded over to the hall, their body felt like it was under water, as they could hardly move around, much less move fast, now definitely clear that the ‘no legs’ were a new addition to their body. They shoved their arm against the wall to push themself over to the hall quicker, their side slamming into the corner in the process, giving a short pained sound before hurriedly running— floating?— up to the door. 

They pushed at it, wincing as they used all their strength– which wasn’t much, considering how cold and weak they’d felt the entire time they’d been conscious. But they still didn’t give up, they had to get out. They didn’t know what was on the other side of that door, and they didn’t want to, as it surely wasn’t there to help him. 

They continued slamming at the door, over and over and over again. 

Their arms shoved up against the wood painfully, whimpering and growling under their breath, pushing as hard as they could. “Come on, c’mon—” Their teeth gritted, fangs sinking into their lips, eyes screwed shut as they gave a final shove at the door as it finally budged, cold air blowing into them. 

Snow and wind pushed against them harshly, trying to stop them, trying to keep them. But they finally managed to go forward.

Without a second thought they turned, grabbing hold of the sides of the cellars door and slamming it shut. They stood still for a moment, holding their palms flat against the exit, breathing heavily, as the cold air sunk into their core.

They sighed, turning and looking out at the icey winter plane, watching their cold breath materialize in front of them in short puffs of milky white. They began shaking, their body shivered as they grabbed at their arms for any speck of warmth, hugging tightly to their chest. They watched the snow fall around them, blinking snowflakes from their eyes, as the wind whirled around them, the only sound in the silence...

Or, it was. 

...They jolted, as a piercing screech bled in their ears from behind, an even colder air than the snow had hitting their back, they quickly turned to see ice, like it had on the door, begin shooting up from the ground.

They turned on their non-existent heel, trying to get away, before the breath was suddenly knocked out of them. Something tugged at them harshly from behind, keeping them froze in place.

…Where had they seen this before...?

They looked to see a shard of ice had snagged on their long jacket. Panicked, they began pulling at the cloak, but it only caused it to cut deeper. They watched as more shards jutted upward from the powdery ground, he struggled more, but the fabric was strong, and the blade of frost wasn’t letting go anytime soon. 

They tugged at it, frantically, as the garbled voice screamed and yelled, getting louder with each pull, each tear. The voice getting clearer and clearer, she was yelling, yelling... something at him, yelling a name at him, yelling for him. 

He almost deciphered the words before the cloak finally came loose, ripping as he heard her give a final, banshee-like scream, as the force of the pull sent him falling into the snow below, tumbling down the small hill as puffs of snow went flying in the air.

Everything was suddenly quiet, dead silent as he laid in the snow, gripping the jacket, holding his breath, listening for the monstrous woman. But no shrieks came to their ears... it seemed it was finally over.

They sat still, slowly blinking, processing it all. 

The first sign of life they get, and it’s some kind of horrible ice demon trying to kill them. 

They should have been mad, they thought, should have been angry, but their eyes became heavy, feeling the sting of tears once again, as an awful helplessness flooded them instead. 

What were they supposed to do? 

They didn’t know where they were, where any safe place was. They were scared, weak, freezing. No idea who they were or who they could go to, or by the looks of whatever that monster was, if there even was anyone they could go to in the first place. 

Their breath hitched as they squeezed their eyes shut, feeling the tears trail down their cold cheeks. 

They never thought they’d feel so utterly terrified… and yet. They brought their hands to their eyes, digging into their face as they scrunching up into a sideways fetal position on the ground. What little knees they had hugged up against their chest, tears melting in the snow under them, shivering, as snowflakes flew around them.

Gods they just wanted out— just wanted to be away from the cold, from the heartache, from the stinging pain. Stars, they just wanted something— anything. Any semblance of familiarity, of comfort, of safety… but they knew they weren’t going to get that any time soon. 

They continued to sob in defeat, not noticing the cold air slowly fading, not noticing the strange sensation in their chest, not noticing the air around becoming static…

He sat up, huffing, trying desperately to wipe the tears from their face, sniffling and staining their sleeves, as his eyes burned. 

He sat still for a moment, composing himself, slowing his breath and wiping his tears, but his eyes finally adjusted and noticed the ground under him…

…That …wasn’t snow?

It was white, yes, but ...definitely not snow.

The floor glowed and refracted like glass, smooth and flat under his hands, giving just the faintest reflection under them, hurting the eyes a little to look at.

He gasped. Swerving his head around, he was met with an endless nothing, a white void, like a blank canvas yet to be painted. 

He swiftly looked up, seeing the void faded to a bright red at its ceiling, highlighting thousands of glowing stars— not literal ones from the sky, but white lights in the imitating shape of them. They hung high up in the deep red that backdropped them, as they glowed against his vision. They shimmered and flared like bioluminescent plants— distinctly alive and feeling. 

He stared in awe at the glittering lights and color, all reflecting brightly in his eyes. 

He felt himself getting the same fuzzy feeling from before, when he looked out the window, that same comfort. That safety.

...It wasn’t cold anymore.

Chapter Text

Hey.

“Hm…”

Hey, Earth to sleeping beauty~

“...Hhnm?” The Prince stirred. His brain felt foggy and obscured as he came to conciseness. His eyes squinted, lazily creeping open, immediately noting the blurry green in his vision. 

C’mon dummy, you gotta get up, The voice echoed in his senses.

“Mmf… five m’ minutes—” he slurred, turning back around on his other side to face the wall.

No, get up. C’mon. The Florist said, headbutting his back, her small form trying to push him up insistently. 

The Prince gave another small sound, before rolling back over, though, his tired eyes swiftly widened upon seeing the small masked ghosts that surrounded him. He simply laid frozen in shock for a moment. The sage-leaf colored spirit in front of him stared silently as well, as he slowly recognized the green gaze that had been staring into his gold. 

He sat up, piecing together his surroundings— the wood of the hollow tree, the stack of books across him, the dozens of little spirits that were either looking up at him or still escaping slumber. 

He quickly noticed his body feeling numb and empty, but also strikingly warm— an almost foreign sensation after spending so long feeling nothing but consuming coldness and chains, the glow of the plant's bioluminescent walls a stark contrast to the inky abyss of bricks… 

All of the previous day swiftly came flooding back. Oh. 

Right.  

All of it really was real… 

The ghost stared for a moment, still a bit disconnected from reality, but he snapped out of it as his nerves calmed, panic melting. He turned to the ghostly children staring up at him, donning his princely smile.

“Good morning…! Is… everyone well?” He attempted to sound cheerful despite his tiredness.

The children nodded, hearing hushed yes ’s and mhm !’s from the tiny voices in his head.

“Good...” He sighed, smiling sleepily in relief. 

He rubbed his eyes, turning his head to the Florist. “...How long was I out?”

Not too long, Delilah confirmed. 

“Good, less time wasted then!” He nodded, “Those books won’t read themselves, will they?” He gave a sly grin, to the Florist's unamusement.

Shouldn’t you rest for a second? You only just got up…

“It'll be fine, we need as much information as we can after all. Besides, I like reading.” He smiled in reassurance. 

But—

“I’m fine , Dels, really,” he said softly, targeted more directly to her.

He felt the Florist's voice edge at the tip of his mind, like she was about to speak, before becoming cut off by a sea of more small voices.

Could I help?

Hey, I wanna read!

Oh! Me too! Pretty please?

The ghost turned to the spirit children, now all looking up to him, though their faces were non-existent he could tell they were ecstatic. It seemed as if the situation was, thankfully, not fazing them as much. He… wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing… 

The Prince laughed quietly, “Sure thing! The more help the merrier.” 

He looked over to the stack of books, his expression soured slightly upon seeing the gold crown that sat atop it, but he quickly shoved the feelings away. Not now, he thought. 

He reached over and grabbed one of the heftier books, while sliding one of the lighter children’s novels to the smaller spirits. Watching as the ghostly children struggled for a moment to open the page without any arms, but they finally managed. He had to ignore the slight pit in his stomach. 

He shook the darkness from his head, propping the larger book up in his lap. ‘The Nature of Souls and Spirits.’ sat engraved upon its cover. He opened it to glance at the table of contents, which appeared to stretch across both the open pages. 

…Looks like he’d had a lot more reading on his hands then he thought. 

*

*

*

“...Hello?”

They paused.

Their voice was deafeningly empty, no echo or reverberation from the non existent walls, like being singled out to a specific point, it made their voice feel so loud, yet so so quiet. 

“Is… is anyone there!?” They called out. 

No response.

Their eyes met nothing but red and white. 

“Anyone…? Please? …Hello!?” Once again, they yelled out to the nothing. 

No response…

*

*

*

When asked what happens to the self after death, most, at least amongst the religious quality— those that follow the teaching and ideals of the Twilight Goat, would answer quite quickly. ‘The soul disappears into the stars, to exist among the twilights in the astral plane.’.

But what occurs to souls who do not? Those tainted by strife and pain in their death? 

This book will act as a non biased guide to the world of the strange and macabre, as I, the author, will present this information strictly from an academic and scientific standpoint. This text shall go over a number of topics, specifically to do with the supernatural and magical. compiling both the recounts of famous tales and or folk lore, to more scientific studies of the subject and therefore species. 

The Nature of Souls and Spirits.

Written by Sandy S.

From the Sand and Sails Academy of Sorcery. 

—

This way! Hurry! C’mon!

“I’m going as fast as I can kiddo.” The ghostly Prince chuckled as he was dragged along by one of the small spirits, a fox masked one, who had excitedly ran to him, informing him of ‘something cool’ they had found. Prompting them to drag him to whatever it was they had discovered in the haunted woods.

They suddenly lurched to a stop, prompting him to look over their shoulder, to which he gasped at the sight. 

The Prince looked on at the sea of stumps before him, it was a large clearing apparently…  

He stared at countless cut off trees, overgrown cherries, and fungi, as a small creek ran through the area. His mind wandered at the sight, recalling this most likely being where the village's lumberjack, and subsequent wood carver, must have gotten his supplies. Though the Prince recalled him, he couldn’t place a name or specific face to the man, only having seen him a handful of times. 

See! It’s all us-sized! The small spirit said excitedly.

“...What do you mean?” He prompted. 

Look! If you put windows and stuff they can be like houses! 

The once-alive little boy floated to one of the stumps, showing it was indeed the perfect size next to him. 

The Prince pondered the idea, humming in thought as he brought a hand to his chin. 

“Well, it would be a nice idea to rebuild the village…” He then held up a finger, “—But, I want to check with the others first, after all, some of the children might not be as eager to leave from my side as you.” 

Aw… okay, the child echoed disappointedly, floating a bit lower to the ground. 

“...But if you really want to…” he sighed, “I’ll let you pick a stump you like. Deal?” He smiled softly. 

A small excited gasp rang in his mind. 

Deal!

He chuckled watching the young spirit rush to various stumps and inspecting their quality, before inevitably making their choice, picking one next to a patch of cherries not far from the entrance where they stood. 

His face scrunched ever so slightly, being reminded just how small and fragile the children were now.

Do you think you can do a door with your cool fire stuff!? Pleaseeee?

He chuckled lightly, “Not just yet kiddo, you’ve gotta be patient, I said you could pick out the stump, that’s all, we aren’t making any houses yet, remember?” 

But … can you?

“Well… I’d have to figure out how to better control it first, so until then you’ll have to wait a little bit, alright?” He smiled. 

The little spirit was silent for a moment, before slumping down defeated.— Fineeee. He imagined the child was mentally kicking a stone under their foot. 

He knocked a hand against the hollow wood, changing the subject. “So, why did you pick this one?” 

Oh! ‘Cause it’s next to the cherries, I like them! Papa did too. 

Despite the innocent sentence, their eyes held a certain sadness at the last part the Prince couldn’t shake. He had an unfortunate idea of what it was— he knew what it was like to lose a parent— he recognized the look in an instant. 

He was boring and never let us sell any of em, the boy grumbled to themself mostly. 

He broke away from his morbid thoughts. “Pardon? …Your …father sold fruit?” He asked.

Mmh, he did flowers! He planted– um, plants. …you’re m’ sister's friend, right? I thought you knew him?

The Prince felt as gears turned in his head— the pieces coming together in his mind, now recognizing the small fox mask and lime green eyes in front of him.

“Ah, so you’re Aster!” He finally spoke, “I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner, I’ve heard a lot about you from Dels!” The ghost smiled. He never directly met the boy, only catching a few glimpses of them, but he remembered enough descriptors from Delilah to connect the dots. 

Really? 

“You seem to be quite good at wandering off I've been told.” The ghost spoke slyly. 

Hey! They huffed. 

He quickly laughed lightheartedly, “Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean any offense.” 

He once again could easily imagine the boy was currently blowing a raspberry at him. 

He brought a claw to his chin and hummed, glancing to the stump next to him, “Hey… how about… I let you put those rebellious skills to work, and you can keep helping me find neat things like this around, huh?” He bobbed his head to the rest of the clearing.

Aster gasped, You mean I get to be an adventurer!? 

“Ha! Sure, …something like that.”

Awesome!! I won’t let you down, boss! 

The Prince was silent for a moment or two, before practically cackling. 

“Ahaha! Never heard anyone call me that before,” he laughed. 

Ah! ‘m sorry! Aster ducked his head down, apparently flustered. Um… ‘your highness’...? They corrected. 

“What? Oh- no, no, kiddo you're fine!” He gave a reassuring smile, “...If anything, I think it’s got a nice ring…” he hummed out, which seemed to ease the child’s worries. 

The two laughed together in the soon to be village, voices— or well, the Prince's voice— echoing happily throughout the clearing and bouncing off the countless trees and mushrooms.

Maybe… things would start going back to, …somewhat— normalcy sooner than expected… 

—

Souls:

The Soul is the container to magic and life. Holding magic in one place as a means of protection. Magic, when contained to a specific point, quite literally breathes life into a being, it is what causes a mortal's very essence and existence. Souls are separated into two key components: life force and magic, the life force being the shell, or ‘shield’, keeping the magic inside safe, whilst magic is, as stated, what gives a being energy, life, and a sense of self. 

The soul works in tandem with the nervous and circulatory systems in order to keep the body in function. This is why simplistic depictions of hearts are given the shape of a soul in most cultures, due to them being both similar in function, as well as placement. Another detail is soul color can usually be determined via eye color, though there are are exceptions to this, such as with Soul Mates— (twins or family who are born with opposite eye and soul correlation to one another.) 

Though the soul is not a physical organ— rather a spectral/magic manifestation— it is typically considered to rest in the center of the chest, just right of the heart. 

Due to souls not being physical organs, they can be removed from the body, but it should be noted that this is quite dangerous if not kept close, as this is what causes the phenomenon of lost souls (which will be discussed in the next chapter). Another reason this is ill advised is that, due to magic being so closely tied to emotions, removal of the soul could result in many adverse symptoms to the host mortal, such as fatigue, depression, exhaustion, clouding of consciousness, derealization, nausea, shortness of breath, etcetera. But, thankfully, as long as the soul is within close proximity to the body, you shall feel no unsavory side effects. 

—

Hey, does that fancy book of yours mention necromancy by any chance? Delilah asked out of the blue, resting her chin against the Prince's leg as he read. 

“Pfft- why do you ask that?” 

Jus’ wondering… like, zombies? Skeletons? I don't know, bringing-back-the-dead stuff. 

“Nothing like that I’ve seen. Sorry.” He shrugged jokingly. 

He turned to her smiling, but his playfulness faltered upon seeing her, her expression was hard to read, but it was definitely downtrodden, no mistaking that. 

“Delilah…?” he asked softly. 

She was unusually silent…

“…Is… there something you wish to talk about—?”  

No! No, I…  just…

He paused, blinking a few times as his brow creased, “You… miss it, don't you?” he said slowly, practically reading her mind. 

They were both quiet for a moment, but he felt her voice very faintly reach his head, like the words were being said from afar, despite her being right next to him. 

…yeah… she mumbled, green eyes glancing to the side. 

He gave an empathetic look, “...I wish I knew how to help, if I could magically get your body back, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but…” the Prince sighed, looking back to the countless lines of words and ink in his hands. 

The florist spoke once more— I wish I could've become a ghost…

“No you don't. Trust me.”

And why is that? She asked challengingly, a mix of both slight teasing and seriousness.  

The ghost paused, trying to think of a response that wouldn't cause him to lose his composure in the blink of an eye. 

“...Hurt.” 

The Florist gave an understanding look of sorrow, but it was still ringed with a certain uncomfortable longing.  

I just wish I felt at least a little more human– like you– and not like… whatever this is. She said while looking down to her serpentine spirit body. 

The Prince gave a melancholic expression before sighing, flipping to the next chapter of his book. 

Glazing over the words and description quickly, his eyes lit up, as a smile fixed itself along his face. 

“I… think I have an idea!” 

—

Possession and Dwellers:

Dwellers, the weakest form of spirit, exist in a state of purgatory, in which they are not ghosts, but are still filled with enough rampant emotion and magic to teater along the line that separates soul from specter. Thus, these souls gain forms forged by magic, rather than corruption, but in doing so, due to their souls still being intact, have no magical abilities like that of most spirits. 

But despite this, dwellers, similarly to souls, have the ability of possession, in which they can take control over inanimate objects. These possessed objects are referred to as Vessels . Additionally, despite what many horror stories will try to make you believe, living creatures cannot be possessed, neither by dweller nor soul, as they either already have souls, like mortals, or a form of life attached to them, like plants. 

What separates a dweller's possession from a soul, is that when the soul is outside of its host body, they are run off of pure emotion, with no thoughts to guide. Mindless and animalistic, these lost souls have no concept of self outside of a body of their own, or within a possessed vessel, thus they act upon pure instinct without reason. This is why the host body can become emotionally drained upon separation from the soul, because it is quite literally a draining of emotion. Though souls being separated from their bodies, as well as pure soul possessions, are quite rare, and typically only occur under specific circumstances. 

—

The ghostly Prince spent the next day gathering things from the destroyed village, cloaks, fabric, cotton, thread, and anything of the sort. Once having all he needed, he got to work. 

He knew just enough about sewing that it could work, and having the childrens many cloaks helped to have a base to work off of. 

Now he was almost thankful for all the strange traditions and superstitions Subcon grew up adopting. In a way, he was continuing the trends– protecting the village's children from dangers with their cloaks and masks. But in this instance, rather than keeping them safe from evil spirits, they were now the supposed spirits, though thankfully there were no ‘evil’ ones like the numerous tales warning about the woods, or like the scary bedtime stories always held. 

Though he tried as hard as he could to keep it a surprise, word got around to the Florist of his little arts and crafts project, to which she forced him to spill the beans of what he was planning. Once she learned he was trying to make a body for her, she nearly cried tears of joy on the spot. 

She decided quickly she wanted to help him, to which he obliged, and as it turned out, she was much more skilled in the world of embroidery than he was, giving him many tips on what to do and not to do. Apparently she had picked it up from her family who lived in the Alpines. When he asked more about them she changed the subject, he didn't pry any further. 

Once they had finished, the Florist wasted no time in possessing the new body. 

Stitches were uneven, cloth and fabric looking like it would fall apart any second, and the entire hood that he assumed would house a face, was instead translated into one large swirling eye— turquoise and green spiraling and twinkling with magic and light inside. It wasn’t the best, far from it, rather shabby if he was being honest, but it worked. 

It had taken a while for her to become adjusted to the form, as it was quite a different feeling from a human body— but nevertheless, she thanked him numerous times over. It warmed his heart, knowing he could ease her pain…

…If only he had such a simple solution for his own darker feelings, the ones that had begun rear their ugly heads, as they crept from the back of his mind, awaiting silently…

—

The amnesiac paced, or well, floated , in circles. They had stopped calling for anyone at this point, clear to them now that they were all alone in the starry void.

He kept trying to find a wall or a ceiling to the endless plane. Both attempts were unsuccessful, as the walls and skies seemed to be never ending, stretching on and on into infinity. 

They felt like they'd be seeing stars in their sleep from how many they'd passed by, making them question if they'd been moving at all, or if he was just frozen in place. 

Was that star there last time? 

I'm sure I passed that one already. 

Was this part of the floor that reflective before? 

The sky was less red over there wasn't it…? 

Wait– I've not been here yet? Or- wait no— have I? Or…?

…He felt like he'd get vertigo from all the circles he was going in.

—

A number of small dwellers crowded their way around the murky brown swamp. The Florist sat at the edge, turning to the children and giving a shushing motion with her mittened hands to them. Hushed whispers of non-existent voices edged their way to thought, before being silenced. They looked at her, glowing eyes and masks tilting in questions and confusion. 

The Florist silently pointed to the swamp, revealing the ghostly Prince standing not too far away, his arms held out in concentration.

What is he doing? One whispered. 

“Practicing.” The Florist replied quietly, “So no talking, alright? He’s gotta focus.”

The dwellers observed from over her shoulder intently, watching in awe at their ruler as sparks of blue flames and ember flared from his hands. He quickly shot it towards one of the many trees around, leaving faint scorch marks along the wood. The children all repressed the urge to coo in wonder at the sight, upholding their promise of being silent. 

They watched as he summoned more fires, this time around himself and not from his claws, he did the same as before, scrunching his face in concentration and sending the fires crashing into their targets of trees. 

One of the children in particular, the lime eyed fox, floated above the rest, excitedly getting a better look. 

They watched as he held his hands out once again, closing his eyes as his form seemed to shiver ever so slightly. His brows knotted together as he gritted his teeth, whatever he was attempting seemed to be taking more strain than the other attacks.

Without thinking of his sister's words, the young Aster let out a loud cheer of enthusiasm. 

C’MON BOSS! YOU CAN DO IT, I BELIEVE IN YOU!

The Prince jolted harshly at the sudden loud voice assaulting his brain, sending him stumbling forward, the trajectory of his magic being sent to the floor rather than the air around. 

The other children sent silent scolding looks to their fox faced friend, as he cringed and floated back to the ground. 

The swamp beneath the Prince bubbled as light shone from underneath the surface, no one in vicinity had the chance to process before a blast of magic loudly erupted from the ground, pure light of purples blues and yellows blasted into the sky, hitting the treetops and sending birds frantically flying away. The beam dissipated as sparks of energy and magic scorched the air, like a haze or smoke, as left behind embers and leaves fluttered through the wind and skies, the muddy waters below sloshed and rippled.  

Everyone was silent, the Prince breathed heavily in shock as his subjects stared in awe, before they all cheered excitedly. He turned to them, the dwellers all enthusiastically twirling in the air, as the Florist mirrored his baffled expression. 

“I… “ he let out a harsh breath, “—think that’s enough training for one day…” he practically wheezed, before collapsing to his weak knees and letting out a stress induced sigh. 

—

Corruption and Ghosts: 

As mentioned in previous chapters, the soul acts as a container for life force and magic, though, under large amounts of stress, the magic inside can become unstable, and cause the outer protection to break. A mortal cannot contain this magic on their own, and if the soul’s shell shatters, the magic releases into the body, causing corruption. These are appropriately referred to, in slang terms, as ‘heart breaks’. Though the term over time evolved to refer to general emotional pain, rather than the kind that would cause corruption. 

Corruption, and magic by extension, are far too overwhelming for a mortal form to handle, thus all bodily functions slowly shut down, as the mortal dies, causing the soul of the mortal to form into a phantom of their former self— this is the reasoning for corruption, as the ailment is spectral and non physical, like the soul, so it is used to create a new form for the corrupt soul to inhabit, in which the flooded magic can be conducted freely without consequence. This is what gifts ghosts the ability of natural magic, and what makes its body spectral rather than physical, though the solidity of their forms have demonstrated to be something that can be controlled and manipulated. 

Any form of high emotion can be a cause for corruption, but typically it is reported that negative emotions are much more prevalent to being a trigger. These emotions and feelings that commulate into a heart break, are referred to as a ‘hearts desire’, being the thing that dictates the emergent ghosts temperament and abilities, as there are many instances of both small and drastic personality alterations after death, though these personality shifts could also be explained by things such as post traumatic stress as well. 

Negative emotions being so common, causes most to be wary of ghosts, due to the high chances of the specie being dangerous or erratic from either personality shifts, strong feelings, or unstable magic...  

—

The Florist sat crisscrossed in the grass, watering can held close to her cloth chest, staring down to the still empty patch of dirt. She sighed, pulling the can away and finally getting the courage to tilt it towards the ground, watching silently as the water slowly trickled down from the spout.

She stared, setting the can back down to her side, she paused, not taking her eyes away from the soil, glazing every detail of the ground and grass, still unmoving, unwavering, just as the day before.

And the day before that.

And the day before that…

“Hello—“

The Florist gave a squeak of surprise, jolting and seeing the shadowy Prince now stood over her side.

“H- hey man…! Goats, warn me next time you do that!” She laughed.

“Oh, I didn't mean to scare you, sorry!” He gave a nervous fanged smile. 

“You’re fine, don’t worry about it…” she sighed, easing and straightening her posture back to how it had been prior. 

The Prince bent over her shoulder, looking curiously to the empty ground. 

“I’m… not messing you up, am I?” He tilted his head, “I know the plants don’t really …favor me. Corruption and all… haha…” he said awkwardly. 

She recalled how the flowers around wilted when he walked past them, back when everything had first started. 

“No, they’ve not been budging regardless.” She slumped, resting her fabric cheek against her hand. 

“That’s good— or well, good I’m not causing it, not good they aren’t growing—“

“You're fine, man. Don’t sweat it.” She chuckled as she spoke, heh, he always sucked with words. 

“...Right, sorry!” He laughed awkwardly, “I just had some… things on my mind, I suppose…” 

“...like what?” She quirked a non-existent brow. “Wanna… talk about it?” 

The Prince was silent for a moment, eyes darting to the side before sighing and slumping down next to the Florist, matching her crisscrossed position. 

He held out his hands in front of himself, Delilah looked in confusion before a soft purple glow emanating from them. She was about to question it, before a poof of shadowed smoke caught her off guard. Sitting in his once empty hands now was a golden crown. 

“...How’d you do that?” She said simply. 

“Oh— right, I didn’t show you this yet did I?” He looked up at her as he spoke, “…Well,” he motioned his hand to the ground in front of her, hands once again giving a soft glow. Delilah's eye widened, watching as a black inky hole slowly appeared on the ground. She hesitantly dipped her head down into it, prompting a chuckle from the Prince, as she stared in awe at the pitch black void held inside, wispy purples stretched up the floor like dripping lava. 

“Woah.”

“...Yeah, I seem to have this— … I’m not entirely sure what to call it. But, I can put things inside of it, and take them out.” His hands gestured to the crown. 

Delilah lifted her head out of the portal, glancing at him. “Huh, like a… pocket world, or something…?” 

“...I suppose so.” He mused. 

She sat up, pointing to the crown. “So, why were you keeping that in there?” 

The Prince glanced down at it. “Well, I was just thinking… I wanted to find someplace to keep it safe.”

She couldn’t help but notice the saddened look in his glowing eyes, even if he could hide it behind his smile, she always saw it. 

“But well— the pocket dimension would be good, but I don’t exactly trust my magic enough yet to be certain… but I also don’t want it laying out in the open either… you know?” 

“Ah, don’t want anyone taking it?” She nodded. 

“Well… yes but, no it’s— it’s not that…” he mumbled. 

Delilah hummed questioningly. 

“I just… don’t know if I… want to see it…?” 

“What!?” The Florist stiffened, “Dude If you’re still hung up thinking you ‘failed’ us or whatever, I already told you—“ 

“No! No, it’s not that!— that’s not what I mean! It’s just…” 

He paused, looking to his lap and running his hand along the gold. Seemingly trying to find the words. 

He fell silent. “I just… don’t know if I deserve it…or– well no, it's more like- like I don't think I— or… it’s that I don’t want to be–” He huffed, “I don't know– just… it’s complicated… I—“ he sighed. “…Nevermind…” 

Delilah eased ever so slightly, glancing to the side and giving a sigh as well. She should have known it would be difficult to articulate. 

“I… think I get what you mean.”

He paused, “You …do?”

“Yeah...” She stared at the empty dirt below. “I… don’t really know what to do if I can’t get the plants to grow back. …I’m a florist, that's my job …What am I without my flowers, you know?” 

He nodded along as he listened. 

She sighed, “I get it though– …it is complicated… I want to help… but…” her voice trailed off, unsure of how to get her feelings across. 

“Hey… we’ll fix it! I promise.” He interrupted her thought, giving a reassuring smile. “I’ll try to help as much as I can as well.” he nodded and continued smiling like nothing happened. His eyes still looked sad, though, she noted.

“...Yeah. Thanks.” She looked away once again. 

The two sat in silence, Delilah looking at the vacant dirt, while the Prince continued running his fingers along the metal of the crown. He glared at it before his eyes lit up, seemingly getting an idea. 

“Hey, I… I think I know a good spot to keep this…!”

“Really?”

He turned to her and nodded, voice giving a hum of confirmation.

“I’ll just use my old storage spot!” Motioning his clawed thumb behind himself vaguely, “Er…Well then, I- I guess I better go… visit with…” He said, standing up and not finishing his sentence as his voice trailed. 

“Visit…? Who do you— oh! …oh.” The Florist looked to him in a saddened mutual understanding, remembering where exactly his usual storage space was. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “...You don’t mind me leaving so suddenly, right? I’ll come check up on you later, promise! I just want to get a chance to catch up with her and D—” 

“Yeah, yeah! Of course, don’t let me stop you.” She said, waving her hands. “Tell them I said hey.” 

“Will do.” He nodded before heading the opposite direction “I hope you have better luck with the flowers…!” He waved, smiling before finally turning and walking away. 

Delilah held up a hand to wave before it fell, she turned back, glancing to the ground. 

She rubbed a blade of grass between her fabric fingers, voice giving a shaky sigh. “Yeah… the flowers…” 

—

Spectral boots crunched against grass as the ghost walked, holding his crown close to his chest, thoughts racing. 

What was he supposed to tell her!? That he didn't want to see it because it reminded him of himself? How he didn't want to be constantly reminded of how he failed? How everyone was gone because of him? Of how much of a fool he had been? Of how stupid, stupid, stupid–

He huffed in frustration, forcing his body to cool as the fire in his chest seared. He just needed to clear his head. That was all. Stop overthinking, there's time for that later. Not now. 

The Prince slowly approached his destination, looking solemnly to the rundown structure, bricks and broken wood strewn about…

He stopped in front of it, letting out a long sigh that had been held against his throat the entire walk. 

His brow furrowed, walking up a knocking a knuckle against the stone. 

“...Hello Mother.”

No response.

He sighed again, before running his fingers along the destroyed bricks that once made up the walls of his old home, as he stepped inside, or as much of an inside there was. Looking around at the discarded or scorched furniture, seeing burnt wood, paintings, bookshelves, tables, and others all scattered about. 

“I… hope you don't mind me visiting, I just— …thought I might use this place for something is all…” he said softly as he walked, pulling up one of the still intact chairs and sitting down. 

“...I was thinking perhaps a storage area? Just for things I won’t need. I mean, I was doing that before too, I suppose.” He looked to a small chest in the corner that had acted as his aforementioned storage area, he glanced to the crown held in his hands, slowly rubbing his fingers in circles along the warm metal. 

“...Are you doing well?” He asked the non answering stars above, craning his head up. 

No response.

He looked back down. “I hope so…” 

He pressed his arms and chin to the table, staring idle in thought. 

“Dels says hello…” he smiled weakly.

No response. 

He was silent for a moment, before his face ever so slightly lit up, “...Hey! Speaking of, maybe next time she goes, I could visit you and father at the bell now that—” he paused, looking at his shadowed hand, still flinching at the sight of the claws, expression faltering. 

“A- …actually …scratch that, …I don’t think I’d want you to see me like… this.” his voice trailed off, eyes darting to the side as he forced his hand back to familiar softened fingers. 

“Just— forget it, nevermind …It’s not like you can hear me anyway.” he huffed, sitting up from the table, dragging his gaze away from the skies.

He walked over to the small chest that sat wedged next to the fireplace, slowly crouching down to it and pushing it open. Inside sat cobwebs and childhood trinkets, his old mask, toys, and a few other miscellaneous items. 

He brought the gold crown from his hand up to the chest, contemplating. 

Thinking it over again, staring at the old items inside gathering dust, he… now wasn’t sure he exactly liked the idea of having it… locked up, like that.

He glanced to the side, looking to the unlit fireplace. An idea forming in his mind. 

He stood up, bringing himself closer to it, his arms stretching up and opting to delicately place the crown atop the mantle instead. 

“There.” he said quietly. 

“Now you’ll all get to be together… y- you know, considering… I…” he didn’t wish to finish the hushed sentence, words dying on his throat, screwing his eyes shut and blocking the tears that had been threatening to fill his eyes the entire visit. Not now. He had more important things to worry about.  

Though he looked down to the fireplace, mind flickering with an idea, he went back to the chest quickly, digging through it, he swore he saw—

Aha! Matches. 

He snatched the dusty box from the crate and sat down next to the fireplace, swiping one of the matches against the floor a few times before it finally lit with a crackle. 

He threw it to the leftover wood sat inside, watching as the flames slowly ate and burned away at the fuel, growing in size slowly. A soft smile fixed itself on his face. It felt nice, keeping the home alive to some extent. He thought he would feel uncomfortable, having fire in this of all places, but it seemed the good memories of the flames outweighed the bad…

He glanced around at some of the other things laid about the ground, grandfather clock, bookshelves, ottoman, and its matching crimson family chair all catching his eye. 

Maybe… it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to add some furniture to the new tree…

—

‘Why have you come to haunt me!? I have done no sort of sin, spirit!” Cried the woman in fear, 

“Oh no, my dear~” drawled the cloaked phantom, “I have not come to punish you, for I feel we are more alike than you know. I have watched you from afar. You might not know it, or like it, but you feel the same, we are connected, connected by the same floors and roof by which we reside.” The ghost motioned its skeletal hand to the haunted home around the two’— "Well that’s completely inaccurate!” The Prince interrupted his narration.

The ghost sat in his armchair, a book sitting in his lap. 

He jokingly crossed his arms “I should sue the author for this offensive portrayal of spirits, as if I’d have something as gross bones , yuck~” he said sticking out his tongue, causing whispered shrieks of laughter from the young dwellers sitting circled around his chair. 

The Prince smirked to himself, chuckling before looking back to the book, continuing on with the children's fable.

—

Magic:

Magic users abilities come in many forms, but typically, it can be placed under elemental categories, though there are unique cases of differing abilities from spirit to spirit, no one ghost is the same as another, That is, unless they are from an elemental spirit family, like fire or water spirits, which will be discussed later in their own chapter. 

Most, if not all abilities, can be found physically/non magically somewhere in the world, known examples, cited from the book; ‘A Guide to the Mystifying and Magical’ being pyromancy, hydromancy, agromancy, electromancy, cryomancy, and so on and so forth. More abstract and rare examples of magic being things such as umbramancy, photomancy, astromancy, geomancy, and atmomancy, some stories even suggest psychomancy or necromancy, though that has yet to be proven, and is simply speculation. All spirits have a base ability like these, but there are many smaller powers that are universal among all corrupted ghosts, things such as teleportation, telekinesis, flight, form altering, pocket dimensions, etcetera.

Even if natural magic can only be accessed by spirits, there are many studies of artificial magic being created for the use of by mortals, this is achieved by a similar phenomenon of vessels, but of objects containing magic rather than soul. These enchanted weapons and objects are not very common, due to the difficult nature of forging them, thus only a select few individuals have access to these items, such as sorcerers and witches, who attended academy’s teaching of the subjects to prove they have the proper knowledge and skills. These items act as conductors for magic, like that of an electric current. Though the mortals themselves are not gaining any magical abilities of their own, and rather are simply using the magic of these enchanted items, similarly to how, say, one using a pen is not creating the ink inside, but instead are guiding and using what ink is already there. They are tools, like any other. 

Though, there have been concerns by some that this can be seen as disrespectful, especially taking into account most magic users are of the undead variety, but others see it as a way of understanding the species further, acting as a bridge between the living and dead of sorts. Whatever you, the reader, take away as being considered morally sound or not, I cannot say for certain. 

—

The sound of rocks echoing against invisible footsteps rang through the forest, as the Prince stared down to the stone bridge under his boots, snow melting beneath and marking him a path. He glanced down to the cliffs' endless inky abyss that sat below the bridge. 

He looked up, staring at the chilling snow storm ahead, catching broken buildings and structures faintly hidden behind the foggy mist and haze of ice. 

He scowled at the sight, angered by how close the danger and cold truly was, as much as he wanted to ignore it, forget it was there, he couldn’t— not with it being so easily able to take hold. The ice and snow were able to consume the forest at any second, the cold was able to hurt them all at any second, She was able to hurt them all at any second. 

He felt the telltale tingling of fire in all his senses, magic readying itself inside of him. 

The ghost backed away from the bridge, planting his feet against the dirt of the forest, where the warmth was, where the safety was. 

He held out a hand and focused, attempting to recreate his accidental attack from the swamp. He channeled his thoughts towards the ground that lay feet below the stones, catching sight of a faint glow appearing from below, like someone had suddenly dropped a lit lantern at the bottom of the pit. 

He continued to focus, pouring more energy and thought into the preparing attack, watching the glow become brighter. 

Just a little bit more, …almost there, …and— 

He released his hold, focus disappearing and replacing with pure emotion and anger as his claws were sent upward, the blast of light was near blinding as it shot up from the depths and slammed into the bridge, shattering it with ease, as the booming cracks of stone and rock shot through his ears, but not as loudly as the magical beam did, as it boomed with the vibrations and buzz of energy. 

He huffed, both from the pain of the magical induced headache, tiredness, and anger. The magic dissipated, leaving behind the broken bridge, blocking the snow— blocking Her — from ever thinking of getting near his subjects. From ever stepping foot in his home. In his kingdom. His forest…

—

The corpse stirred as they returned from slumber, they groaned quietly as a stinging sensation suddenly wrung against their skull. 

They sat up dizzily, eyes adjusting to the red and white, as they held their head in their palm, easing the pulsing pain racking their brain.

A headache. Just great. 

They honestly shouldn’t have been shocked, considering the strain the vast white aether was most likely putting against their eyes. They sighed as they continued to rub against their head, easing as the pain subsided, though when they opened their eyes, they found the pain didn’t return upon seeing the brightness that they assumed had been the cause. 

They blinked a few times, the headache was gone, but shouldn't the light have hurt regardless? Strange… was it just random then? 

He shook his head to get out of his own thoughts, he had more important things to fret over, he huffed as he pushed himself up from the floor, as he looked around to the endless abyss of light. 

He still had to find an exit.

—

Magic Overloads: 

Due to emotions being so closely tied to magic, ghostly creatures have such high potential of magic that their power can fluctuate strongly with their feelings. At a peak of emotional stress, a ghost's magic can overflow and become uncontrollable, impacting almost everything around it. These outbursts of power are known as magical overloads. It is unclear what specifically can be a causation of these calamities, but high levels of distress are the only known reasoning, and it seems almost anything emotionally upsetting to the spirit can trigger these panics. 

Overloads work similarly to that of the mortal heart break, but in the case of ghosts, the released magic now has a way to be properly expelled from the body, causing these explosions of energy. 

Spirits in this state are reported to often lose all sense of self, either acting irrationally, or outright animalistic. A ghost experiencing an overload is quite dangerous, and if one is to be encountered, it is suggested you should find shelter or leave the premises in the fastest manner possible. 

Overloads have been known to destroy entire areas with magic, countless ghosts easily devastating the lives and homes of those around them. Uncontrolled and powerful, spirits like this should be calmed or contained quickly before further damage is done, as no doubt, no haunting nor possession can come close to the catastrophe of an overloaded magic user, as these are the most dangerous of events on record that a spirit can cause. 

—

The Prince sat alone in his hollowed out home, thoughtlessly skimming the pages of his book. It had been a slower day, which he was relieved for, gods knew he needed some time to relax… 

Though, of course, as if it was timed— he gasped, as a sudden ebbing was felt in the back of his mind.

Even after learning more about his magic, no help from the mortal wrote books , the sensation was still strange— a sixth sense that couldn’t be perfectly described, similar to other sense, yet utterly alien to them as well— feeling something phantom, non existent to touch, like hearing a distant rustling, but rather with brain and thought than with ears, or catching sight of something from afar without eyes.

He twisted around, glancing behind his armchair and looking to the abyss of trees, his sight and senses catching flickers of orange and brown and gold, focusing, the form of a soul finally made its way to his thoughts. 

It felt… different though, like a scent without smell, like it was emanating something… foreign from the forest, different wavelengths, different aura, different territory. 

This soul was new , it wasn’t from Subcon. 

Someone had entered the forest. 

The ghost's eyes widened, he took his focus away from the soul and rather to the area around it, feeling the air around shift and his body fill with a fire and smoke as he envisioned his destination, as he swiftly teleported himself closer. Teleportation was still a strange feeling too. 

He stumbled for a moment, gathering his bearings, before looking around to the trees and swamp now surrounding him, ducking behind one of the many trees, he turned around, looking to the dirt path that marked Subcons entrance. 

His gaze finally met the apparent soul he had sensed. 

A human. 

The man stomped with metal boots and rattled with armor, pure pearly white with gold lining the fine details, much more embroidered than Subcon’s simple silver. The glittering gold setting off alarm bells in his mind for a different kingdom, a wealthier one in particular. Seeming to be solidified not just from the differing armor, but a small gold clasp around his crimson cape, bearing the kingdom’s emblem.

The man— or more accurately the Knight— glanced around, with brown eyes that almost seemed orange reflecting the crackling ember lanterns. His whiskered face was stern and serious, but there was a slight hint of unease the Prince couldn’t blame him for having. His gloved hand held tightly to the end of his blade, which was held still in its sheath. His blond hair and blink-and-you’d-miss-it braid bobbed with each step he made, as he scanned the surroundings.

“Hello! Is anyone here!?” The man yelled out harshly, his accented voice echoing off the trees. “I was sent from the Calcite Kingdom, we caught wind of the blizzard!”

The Calcite Kingdom , the somewhat familiar name rang in his head, he knew of the Calcite islands, but never personally went. His family never had the money to travel far, though he knew Va— … she would go to the beaches on vacation often, at least that’s what she had told him. 

“We are offering any assistance we can give! If there is anyone here, make your presence known immediately!”

The Prince shuffled, leaning closer to the bark like a shield, claws digging into the wood, a far too familiar dread filled his entire form looking at the Knight, thank stars he didn’t wear a helmet like Subcon guards did. 

He was relieved that someone was even bothered to send them help, but…

His gaze flicked to his shadowed claws gripping the tree, shades swirling and rippling like a poor excuse for an attempted pulse. 

It was already too late, he feared. 

The Knight walked down the path, closer to where the dwellers would be situated, the Prince's non existent pulse spiked. 

“Are there any survivors out there!?” He called again. 

The Prince glanced warrily to the man's blade. He refused to just watch as the Knight went on some wild goose chase. And he wouldn’t dream of accidentally putting his subjects in any danger. 

Biting the bullet, he sucked in a breath, and his eyes squinted shut as he turned away. 

“There are none.” 

He listened to the rattle of metal and dirt scraping against boots, the Knight apparently jumping from the sound. 

“...Who is there!? Show yourself!” The Knight yelled out, but still kept his stoic composure.

The Prince paused for a moment, considering if he should even answer, gods he was putting himself in all sorts of danger right now . 

“What do you mean there are none? Who are you?”

He summoned his strength and spoke once more, “I- I am sorry, there…” he stammered, ”There were no survivors…” he confirmed solemnly.

He couldn’t see his expression, but he definitely sensed the Knight's perplexion from his voice. “But… you are speaking to me now are you not? There is no need to hide, I was sent to help, I am no threat to you.” He emphasized. 

The Prince cringed. “I… I apologize, but… I fear your search will be fruitless. There is no point in this. Just— just return to your own kingdom—“ leave at once, please, just leave, just go, go away— get out— “it- it’s too dangerous here.” He said bitterly, while trying to maintain his speeches' royal poise. 

The Knight was silent, before mumbling to himself. 

“Wait…” 

…Oh no. 

“...that voice—“

No, no. Don’t say it—

“...Your Highness?” 

There it was, his cover instantly shattering into thousands of pieces. A pit formed in his stomach, as his back scraped against the tree, slinking down as his knees buckled in defeat, now what?

“Prince? Is… that you…? Whatever do you mean by that? And— why on earth are you out here in these freezing woods? Shouldn’t everyone be in shelter?” He paused for a beat, “…Come out, please?—” 

“No!—“ The Prince yelled in panic, pausing and once again taking in a shaking breath. “No… you would— not… wish to see me like this.”

He gave a short sputter of confusion before speaking, “Like what!? …With all due respect, your majesty, you are only raising me more questions— I cannot fully trust you at the moment if I cannot see you. If you do not comply, I will be forced to take drastic measures, and I do not believe either of us would wish for that.” 

“Okay!” The Prince stammered, letting out a defeated sigh. “O- okay… I’ll come out, just… could you …cover your eyes? I… will let you know when I’m ready…”

The Knight was silent for a second, most likely quirking a brow at the strange request.

“Please.” The ghost practically whispered. 

Another moment of agonizing silence. 

“...As you wish.” He finally obliged. 

The Prince eased after hearing the clinking of armor. He shakily pulled himself back up, peeking from behind the tree to confirm, seeing the Knight with his silvery white gloves resting to his face. 

The specter gave a relief filled sigh, before emerging from his hiding quarters, faintly hovering above the ground before planting his feet firmly in front of the tree, revealing himself now in full view. 

“Brace yourself…” the Prince said quietly, looking to the side as he pinned his arms to his chest. 

The Knight took his cue and slowly brought his hands away. The ghost cringed as a sharp gasp escaped the man. He watched from the corner of his eye as the Knight's hands clasped to his mouth. 

“Oh— oh gods… Prince? Is… is that truly you…?” He breathed out in disbelief. Staring at the humanoid shadow standing in front of him, glowing fangs and eyes piercing through his soul. 

The ghost could only nod silently, curling in on himself further. 

“But- but I don’t understand- you… you’re—”

“Dead.” The Prince sighed out, “Yes.” 

The Knight was silent, processing the information. “…So… when you said there were no survivors… you really meant—“ 

“Yes.” The ghost once again answered, not missing a beat.

Even if he didn’t know the Prince personally , the devastation was clear on the man's face, and the ghost hated it, he didn’t understand how he did it while still upholding his Knightly demeanor and composure, when he himself struggled so much to seem like a Prince, even before death. 

“No one lived—? Not a soul?”

“No.” 

It wasn’t a lie, after all.

The Knight's face stayed frozen, but his eyes clearly showed a sickening dread. 

The Prince shuffled uncomfortably, anxiety screamed and wailed from his body language, along with his body itself, as it didn’t exactly feel the most tangible at the moment, definitely not solid. 

“So, what happened…? If… it isn’t too much for me to ask?”

The Prince paused, unsure of how to answer. He didn’t wish to tell the man about his ghostly subjects, he knew that much. But how much could he explain? How much could he force himself to even say aloud, as well as how much was safe to give? He didn’t know whether or not he could trust the outsider, after all. With how those mortals see you in the books what do you think one in the flesh would think?

He took another shaking breath. 

“The snow…it- it was the snow. The blizzard, I mean.” He managed to force himself to say, stopping himself from calling it The Freezing, he didn’t want to imply it was unnatural, he didn’t want to imply he’d lied, he didn’t want to imply Her existence. “I… wasn’t there at the time— so I’d not seen it personally— I was… somewhere else... But… I did see the… the… aftermath…” 

There was a short window of silence before the Knight spoke once more, “I… I am terribly sorry…” he said empathetically. 

“It’s fine, really.” A lie, but he didn’t wish to let his guard down just yet, especially not to a stranger. Not to one showing empathy to a spirit he didn’t even know the name of. 

The Knight stayed still as a statue, though his eyes flickered violently with an amalgamation of confusion and fear. 

“What about you? Are you…?”

“Yes, I’m fine. No need to worry.”

Why did he care?

“Are you… positive? I can’t imagine—“

“I’m fine.” 

Why was he asking so much? Why couldn’t he get out already!? 

“...What of your subjects? Or the Queen? What happened to—“ 

“Do not—” he found himself snapping, feeling his body rise in temperature, his outburst causing the Knight to flinch, instinctively gripping the handle of his sword. “—Do not… mention… her, … please.” 

The human didn’t speak, only staring at him with an uneasy expression. 

The Prince backed away, body cooling and solidifying like hardening magma. “I… I’m sorry… I… didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, you need not apologize …I should have realized it must have been a fresh wound…” the Knight also stepped back, rubbing his neck. 

He didn’t even know what she’d done. The Prince glanced to the side, giving an unintentional annoyed snarl before his features softened once again. The Knight's face was equally unreadable, though, a bead of sweat rolled down his brow. 

The two stood in an awkward silence for a moment, the forest's cold wind blowing through them—

Crack.

They both snapped their heads to the woods around, the Knight instinctively drawing his sword, silver blurring into view in an instant. The Prince also instinctively summoned a flame, both looking frantically to the greenery around. 

Rustle, shuffle, crack. 

They held their defensive posture for an all too agonizingly long second, listening to every rustle or snap. They both watched as one of the many bushes rattled and shook, leaves being strewn about as it convulsed—

…Before a simple stray bush cat emerged, the small feline not even giving the two the time of day as it ran along the path, blurring away further into the woods.

The two both gave a long sigh of relief.

The Knight tilted his head and eyed the phantom from the corner of his view, still holding out his sword defensively to the woods. His eyes widened. 

“...you truly are a spirit…” the man practically whispered, a mixture of both wonder and fear. 

The ghost flinched as his face flushed, blue embers swiftly sputtering out, as he haphazardly clasped his hands together behind his back. 

…He didn’t wish to be reminded. 

They stayed frozen for a moment, the tension could be cut with a knife, or, sword, in this case— though the specter did anxiously eye the Knight's blade. He had put out his fires, so… why did he still have out his sword? 

There was no danger… right? 

He glanced back up, looking at the hint of fear in the others gaze, the warm brown of his eyes drew the ghost in, recalling how he’d first sensed the human enter the woods in the first place— glancing down to the gold and white metal of his chest plate, catching the faintest flashes of brown just like his eyes— Ha, he wondered if the man knew his soul looked just the same…

Though, the Prince hissed as a sharp pain came to his head, and a cold emptiness filled his stomach, he quickly doubled over. 

“Prince! Are you—“

“I’m fine- I’m fine… Just strained myself. My apologies.” He said before straightening his posture, still holding a hand to his stomach, which felt like it was currently eating itself whole— was it because he’d summoned his fire earlier? Or… maybe it was the nerves? …Yeah, that must have been it— emotions effected magic, after all. “Stress and magic don’t really… get along… haha…” he gave a forced smile, which he was still used to doing from his time being alive. 

The Knight gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “If… I may be so inclined, might I suggest I bring you with me? You do not seem in good shape…”

“I’m fine.” He waved his clawed hand in dismissal. 

Don’t trust him. 

“Your highness I insist. We might not have many sorcerers in our kingdom that could be of aid in terms of the supernatural, but I’d wish for you to at least have any assistance you can get physically—“ 

“No, I’m fine, really.” His tone gained a bit of bite he didn’t intend.

It’s a ploy. A trick. Don’t trust. Not again. 

The Knight reached a gloved hand towards him. 

“Prince. I believe it would be best if I take you back with me— We can get you help— keep you somewhere safe, where you won’t be harmed further—“

“NO!” 

The specter yelled out, flames once again instinctively building in his fists, magic and searing embers ready to melt the opposing dangers face clean off. 

His mind flashed with silver armor, of chains, cold, suffocating darkness.

He was going to take him away. Going to lock him up. 

His stomach turned. Paranoia and instincts he didn't even know he had beginning to take root.

Not again. No. He wasn’t going to take him away. He wouldn’t take him. He wouldn’t allow it. His subjects needed him— his kids— his Florist— He wouldn’t— Not again. Not again. 

The ghost growled, blue embers emanating still from his balled claws.“No! I- I’m not going anywhere with you- I won’t let you!” He yelled out in a mixture of fear and anger, “Not like that idiot— that- that poor excuse of a Prince! He might have been a naive fool who got himself killed, but not me! I’m not repeating his mistake! You won’t take me!” He stated, “Not like Her— not like that wicked Queen! I won’t LET YOU!” The spirit breathed heavily, somewhat regaining his composure but not enough to process what all he’d just let slip out. the Knight was silent, his sword still held in his arm, as his expression faltered, darkening. 

“So you admit it.”

What…?

“You’re not him, are you.”

…What!?

The specter looked at the man, dumbfounded, but before he could speak, or even give his defense, the Guard lurched toward him. 

“What did you do to the REAL Prince!? You— you DEMON!?” 

“Wh—!?“ The ghost was cut off as his words became replaced with a sharp gasp, the Knight's blade coming inches away from his throat. 

The silver gleamed in the moonlight, the sword looking like a piercing icicle in his shaking eyes. 

Oh gods, oh stars above this human was going to kill him, he was going to die, he was going to be locked up again— he was going to die again—

“I might not have known the Prince, but what I do know is that he loved the Queen. And that you’re some- some shape shifting ghost trying to impersonate him!” The Knight barked, “—That’s why you’ve been insisting I leave, insisting everyone is dead— Not everyone could have perished, that’s statistically impossible! You’re holding them hostage is why, or worse!”

Even if the Knight's words were anger filled in tone, his face, though serious, showed nothing but paranoia induced fear. 

“—And why would the Prince of all people return from the grave!? He was always known for his kindness— spirits are notorious for tricking people!” He gave a dry sarcastic laugh, “What, trying to lure me into a false sense of security with his face!? You disgust me, you vile phantom.” 

“Wh-!? that's not—!”

“No, I don’t want to listen to whatever deceptive lies you want to spout, wraith.” He snarled, “I won’t ask again— what have you done with the Prince?” He growled out in a low tone. 

“But— I am! I—“ the ghost froze, thoughts burning alight in his mind. 

…The man had a point— …could he even call himself that…?

After all, the Prince had died, leaving behind a mere husk, a shell, a shadow. 

And even then, he had no way to prove it outside of his appearance, and the man was correct about the shapeshifting abilities, so even that couldn’t be trusted. 

The Knight didn’t know him, he couldn’t give any personal information or things only the Prince would know to someone who never knew him in the first place! 

He was brought from his thoughts as the Knight blindly swung his sword at the ghost, who stumbled backwards, losing more and more balance with every dodge and swing. 

“W- wait! Stop—“ he yelled out, but the man didn’t listen. 

The dodging continued, both parties' faces contorted in fear and rage. Right. Left. Duck. Right—

The ghost stepped ever too late, and the soldier's blade cut into his torso. 

He gave a pained gasp out of instinct, but quickly realized, …there was no pain. 

He hesitantly looked down to see the sword phasing cleanly into his side, shadowy corruption like mist, simultaneously clinging to and repelling the metal at the same time. 

The Knight grunted as he pulled the sword from the specter, who held his arms up to shield himself, while the Knight lifted the weapon up and sliced into him once more, to which the same occurred, the sword simply going clean through the spirit's body.

A quiet cackling laugh escaped from his throat. 

The man gave an angered growl, opting to lunge at the ghost, who tripped backwards from the sudden motion, falling down onto the harsh ground. 

“W- What are you doing!?—” the ghost was interrupted by the Knight pinning him down, letting out a hiss as his arms involuntarily turned solid in the man's grip, his gloved hands clenched around his wrists like chains. 

Not. Again. 

“I’m doing my job, is what! Protecting those weaker from sinister creatures like you.” The Knight said, holding him down with greater force. He was the hero, obviously, and it was the monster. Oh how it wished to tell his children of their history books lies. 

The ghost focused his energy, screwing his eyes shut and letting his body go limp. Feeling himself slip from the Knight's grasp, he quickly jumped upwards, phasing right through the man, and feeling a much more uncomfortable chill go through his spine than he recalled the door of the cellar having, causing him to double over for the second time that day. 

His ears rang as his head and chest continued to both burn in pain, his stomach doing the same, feeling like a black hole, curling around and swallowing itself. His ghostly body normally felt empty in a sense, but this was on a completely different level, it didn’t just feel like it didn’t exist, it felt like it was actively disappearing, like it would quickly take the rest of his body with it if he didn’t fill the aching void as soon as he could. 

He heard the shuffle and stumble of armor, turning to see the human pushing himself up, blade at the ready to jump him once again, but the ghost, with an unknown part of himself, got to the man first. Lunging at the Knight without thought, sending his sword flying a ways away into the dirt, the two tumbling to the ground once more, though with the tables reversed this time. The ghost snarled as he felt his claws dig into the mortals' metal covered arms, watching in satisfaction as he winced. 

He didn’t intend to feel the prideful revenge, if his judgment wasn’t so clouded he would feel awful for what he was doing, but nevertheless it still tasted sweet. 

Protect self. Protect subjects. Protect home. Protect territory—

“If I ever catch you, or any other guards in my forest again, I swear I’ll—!”

The apparition's attention was suddenly brought away from the Knight, and rather to the sudden aura he felt begin to emanate from inside of the man. 

The human struggled and squirmed under his grip, but his aggravated cries and yells did nothing to the spirit, falling on deaf ears as his vision stayed focused on the man's chest, where the searing glow, like burning holes into his vision, creeped in and out. He could feel it, similar to before— feel without touch, hear without ears, taste without tongue. Like the wooden logs of firewood, it gave off warmth, nothing like his own of course, but similar, like it too craved energy and held passion, giving comfort and safety. 

The empty feeling of his body grew… 

He stared into the glowing amber-like hues, catching swirls of oranges and reds and yellows like ashes and embers in his gaze. It looked so warm… he wondered if light like that could satiate his own flames…?

Without thought he brought his claw away from the Knight's arm, gently placing it to his chest plate, feeling the energy under his fingertips, as well as the mortals racing heart and frantic breaths, but he didn’t notice, far too preoccupied by instinct driven curiosity and wonder. Lifting his claws up swiftly to reveal the source of the magic, though he had already seen it of course, but he now saw it in full view to the mortal eye; the man's soul, it was just as seen earlier— a glowing brown, just like his eyes. Eyes that currently shook with fear and adrenaline and Gods what am I doing? Why am I doing this? What is this? What the hell am I. Why- why does my stomach feel so—? No, no stop, stop, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it—!

He felt the emptiness once more, his body screamed and begged him for warmth, for magic, for wholeness. 

His lips ever so slightly parted, fangs feeling much more prominent in his jaw, mind obscured by his body's relentless phantom pleads. He brought his other arm away from his target without thinking, in order to carefully cup the soul with both hands, though the owner took that as his chance. The man shoved the specter away, legs scraping in the dirt pushing himself backwards before kicking himself upright. Standing for a moment, taking in shaky breaths, before bolting, metal rattling with every move. 

The ghost's head snapped upwards, turning to watch as the human fled, but not for far. He simply stared with half lidded eyes, as the Knight's harsh steps slowly but surely became off-balanced, no longer centered as he struggled to fight the apparent dizziness that seemed to plague him. 

Legs shaking and body wobbling, his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, before the rest of him slowly slumped over into the dirt.

The Prince was brought back to reality at the sight, fiery light returned to his eyes as they widened with a shocked gasp, not wasting a second and bolting upwards, rushing to the guard, stomach still hurting and soul still safely in hand. 

“H— hey! Are you alright!?” He said, voice panicked as he sat down on his knees. 

He turned the Knight over, his hair clung to his clammy forehead, as his eyes looked glazed over and hollow. Thankfully he was still conscious, as he could see him try to speak, possibly to question what happened, but no words came. 

Oh gods- what did he do!?

The ghost watched as the Knight's widened eyes trailed down, he followed his gaze and looked to his shadowed hands, which held a glowing brown warmth within. 

Like the flame of a match being struck, it hit him what happened, and without second thought he shoved the soul back to the man, the magical essence disappearing into his body, to which his eyes gained back their life. He gave a gasp, sitting up and panting as sweat trailed down his face. 

His eyes fixated on nothing for a moment, before looking up to the ghost, terror filling his every feature, a stark contrast to most of his previous expressions carrying at least some fashion of formal cadence, all of that now abandoned in favor of pure unadulterated horror. 

“You- you’re a monster!—” He yelled out with haggard breath, backing away and shoving himself up in panic, in a blur, he wobbly dashed behind the phantom, grasping his blade and rushing back the other direction, not sparing the ghost a single glance as he ran out to the exit of the woods, not looking back. “Damned soul snatcher—!” He caught the man curse faintly under his breath. The loud stomp of boots slowly disappeared into the night, noise being whisked away by the crisp wind and leaves.

The spirit stared blankly, mind like the remnants of a forest fire, just smoke and burnt, charred remains, unsure of what all truly happened…

He glanced down to his palms, the ones which once held the soul, claws receded in favor of familiar fingers.

His brow furrowed. 

All that glared back, were the sharp talons of a heartless monster. 

* 

*

*

The Florist once again found herself sitting in the gray flowerless grass, half full watering can at her side, as she stared thoughtlessly to the floor, buzzing thoughts and feelings she couldn’t quite decipher running through her head. 

The soft crunch of grass met her ears, knowing instinctively who the steps belonged to.

“Hey.” She said quietly, keeping her gaze to the soil, she had no need to look up to know it was him. 

“...Hello.” The ghost seemed to hesitate. “The… flowers aren’t going any better, I assume…?”

“Nope.” She popped the syllable. 

They both stood in silence— …almost… too silent. Her friend's voice seemed much more worn and tired than normal, she noted. 

She finally looked up to him, he seemed like his regular shadowy self, maybe a bit more anxious in body language than typical, but that was usually normal, he always had his more reserved days. 

But… his eyes— she couldn’t get a good read of them for once, it wasn’t sad, it wasn't exactly a nervous look either. Almost… scared? 

“Hey. Are you… okay?” She pondered. 

“Of course? Why wouldn't I be?” He snapped slightly, though unintentionally, based on how his face instantly softened after the words left his lips. “S- sorry, I’ve just… been a bit jumpy lately. That’s all.” He apologized. 

Yeah. Definitely not ok. 

“Well, …anyway—“ he swiftly changed the subject, “—There has to be something we can do to get them to grow, you’re sure you tried everything?” 

She decided to roll with the subject change, “Yeah, I used every bit of the fertilizer we scrounged up, still nothing.” 

“Well there has to be something— anything we can do. Is… there any way of getting in contact with your family in the Alpines? Didn’t you get supplies from them? I’m sure they could help—“

“I can do it myself.” The Florist stated, “I’ll only go to them if things get desperate. Just gotta keep trying, I’ll get it soon.” 

“But things are desperate! You’ve been at this for days now! I- I don’t want you to push yourself like this. And we don’t have much time until they figure out about the— you know.” he cringed, glancing warily to the old kingdoms direction, before he began to mumble to himself “…with how close they are to us they probably already know, after all if those as far away as Calcite knew about it then—“

“Wait, what?” She looked questioningly at the mention of the islands. “How do you know that…?”

He froze, his mouth clamped shut into a thin line.

Delilah paused. “…Are …you okay?” She asked for the second time in their conversation. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” He said, scripted, not missing a beat. 

“Did something happen…?” She pushed. 

“No, nothing happened.” His voice gained a slight bite.

“Would you at least talk to me?”

“No! I just—”

“Dude what's been going on with you!?” She yelled as she stood up.  “You used to tell me stuff— you’d always let me know if you felt crummy, so what’s going on? Why won’t you talk to me? Was it something I did!?” She exclaimed, “…Please, I’m getting worried about you.” Her expression softened, tone turning more quiet, “...What happened?” 

“I—” He blinked. “What… happened?” His brows furrowed. 

“Yeah? …What’s been going on?” She lowered her voice further. 

“What happened…?” He repeated, almost sounding offended.

She grew silent at his sudden lack of emotion. “...is… everything alr—?” 

Her concern was cut off by a booming cackle escaping his mouth. 

“Ahahahahahahahaha —! Wh- what— haha- happened? Hahahahaha!— what- what do you think happened!?”

He laughed out, a strained mania induced smile plastered his face.

“I DIED!” He yelled out, his long held facade finally slipping away. 

Delilah could only look at him in empathy and confusion. 

“I- I had to watch as the love of my life murdered me! I had to see my own body— I had to see the children’s bodies! And- and then— ahaha-! I— I just had to act like everything was fine!? Like it didn’t hurt!? Like it didn’t just crush me inside anytime I saw any of you!? I—“ he was sent into another fit of deranged laughs as he held a hand to his forehead. 

The Florist still remained silent.

“I—” he laughed once again, but it slowly but surely devolved into something else, like drizzling rain turning dirt to watery mud. “I— I don’t—” his voice began to break, a clawed hand being dragged up and running through his hair as he shook his head, “I don’t know what’s happening to me, I—” his voice trailed as he lowered his arms to grip his sides. “It’s— I keep getting so much more… angry- but I never did that before! It’s- it’s like… it’s like after… it happened— after it broke— after I died— it’s- it’s like everything’s just went numb— not just my body— and- and I don’t know what to do— I don’t know what’s happening to me— what I am— I …I’m scared Dels! I—” his words finally disappeared into sobs. 

“Hey, hey- calm down man, it’s okay!” She ran up closer to him as she spoke, he mumbled halfhearted arguments to her words under his breath. She rested a mittened hand to his leg, watching as glowing blue tears fell from his eyes. “…Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You think I wanted to make you worry!?” He yelled out in an upset cracking voice. 

“Of course not, that’s not what I meant, just— Why did you keep insisting it was fine when it wasn’t!?”

“I...“

“You made me more worried! I thought I was going crazy!”

He blinked with wide eyes, tears slipping down his face from the action, “...What?” He said quietly, looking at her in confusion. 

“I- I thought—“ she went silent, looking to the grass beneath her plush feet, “I thought you were just- being all optimistic for the kid’s sake— but then… you still acted like that around me- so I thought… maybe I was the only one who was upset. You—” she paused, blinking the artificial tears pricking the corner of her eye. “You… gave me hope… that we'd really fix it…” she said, voice shaky. “You gave me hope… that everything would go back to normal… not- not just the flowers…” 

There was a silence between the two for a moment, the Florist looking straight to the ground below.

“Delilah, I… I didn’t mean t—“

“I think I need to be alone.”

He gave her a look of confusion. “Wh—?“

She jerked backwards away from him, avoiding eye contact, “I’m sorry— I just- I need some alone time for a bit—“ the Florist's voice wavered as she quickly dashed by, averting her gaze. 

She heard him call out to her in the distance, she couldn’t bring herself to look back, she just needed to blow off some steam, that was it. 

…So why did it hurt so much?

—

The corpse looked up to the glimmering stars and lights of the ceiling, holding his hands against the liquid-like floor. The empty void vast and open, full and wide, any sense of familiarity stretching farther and farther away. 

“O- okay, you… are very pretty and all, but can— can you let me go now…? Please…?”

No response. 

If searching for a way out themself wasn’t going to work, maybe the void itself could offer help. They looked back down, catching their reflection shimmer in the illuminating glass. 

“I’m- I’m not sure why you put me here… but— but please , let me out…?” They asked the nothingness. 

They watched as their reflection’s face faltered, their nervous smile wavering into a frown, as their brows furrowed further.

“...I’m not asking.” They said, a command rather than a plea. 

No response.

“Let me go. Now.”

No response.

Their scowl faded, fanged lips beginning to quiver.

“…Please, I—“

Alarm took hold into his body, as he shoved his hands against the floor. The non-existent walls creeped in the corner of his vision, feeling as if they were closing around him, despite there being none to begin with. 

“Let me out— l- let me go— please!” 

His hands gained more pressure, pressing down as hard as they could, his arms beginning to shake from the force. Their voice that once held strong now shattered and cracked like glass in their panic, as their chest seized. 

“Stars, please, I- I can’t take this much longer, I want out! I need out! I don’t want to be here—!  Please, please, just- just let me go alread—“

A sharp gasp escaped their throat, as they felt themself seemingly fall. 

—

The ghost jolted upward from the Florist's movement, leaving his body slightly hovering in the air. “W- wait! I didn’t—!“ he tried to call out, but he cut himself off, both because she was already long gone, and because of what we saw upon reaching out his hand.

Claws.

Sharper than the ones his hands would normally gain when he wasn’t unconsciously thinking of it, now it was three sharp points stretching from his palm, like talons.

He scowled uncomfortably at the sight, bringing his other hand— which was, thankfully, normal by human standards.— up to the claws, he held his hands together for a moment, before slowly pressing his thumb in between one of the sharpened digits, forcing it to wispily split in two, making his hand to return to its regular humanoid state, matching the other. 

Not now. 

He rushed through the trees towards Delilahs direction, she couldn’t have gotten far, he focused his energy as he ran, catching glimpses and feelings of green glows from his senses. He was getting close. 

The sensation became more intense, the hues and feelings cumulating together into a specific point. 

His vision focused as he finally saw lilac fabric tucked behind one of the many trees.

As he approached, he noticed her head tilt a little, but she still didn’t look at him, acknowledging she knew he was there, she just wasn’t in a talking mood. 

He sat down near her, but not next to her, his back pressing against the bark. He could see her more clearly now, her knees held against her chest as she rested her plush chin in her arms. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. 

She didn’t speak, but her eye did glance to him as he spoke.

“I… I shouldn't have… yelled.” he paused, awkward, motioning his hand as he spoke, “…After all— you're going through the same as I am… I just— …I was trying to help it not hurt for all of you like it was for me…” he chuckled, “…Seems I failed at that too…”

She took a moment to answer, “...’s okay, I get it.” She said, properly turning to sit next to him. “Besides, I… think you deserved to let it out. That… sounded like a lot to have on your chest like that.”  

He shook his head, “That's still not an excuse— I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It’s not your fault.” 

“Well it’s not yours either.” She countered, “I said it's okay.” 

“…But—“  

“No ‘buts’ dummy, I know you didn't mean to. Quit blaming yourself, would you? It’s not your fault.” She said firmly, echoing his own words to him. 

He was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say, before he sighed. “...Alright.”

“…Besides, having to look after everyone must be stressful, and even before this, all the royalty stuff was too— I know it was, …even if you didn’t say it, I know you .” She gave him a gaze of understanding. “And even if we all went through similar junk, you've still had it worse, I mean, when I came back I didn't have to see my own—“ …she quickly cut herself off.

Ah. 

They both were silent, the Florist probably mentally kicking herself for mentioning anything, while the ghost simply stared to the ground in thought. 

“...I hated seeing myself like that…” he mumbled, more to himself.

Delilah hummed, “What? …Oh—! Oh. ” It dawned on her what he was referring to, “…I’m so sorry man, I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Goats, I couldn’t even imagine—“

“Well yes— but- uh, no, that's… that’s not what I meant— …that was horrible, but… I just— I hated seeing myself so…” he paused, trying to find the words, swirling his wrist in a circle, inhaling. “... Weak,—” He settled on, balling his fist before continuing to elaborate, “—Frail. Like some… some sick reminder that I couldn't do anything, some memento of how I failed. I… I hated seeing myself so— so pathetic, I just—“ he paused, blinking the sudden tears from his eyes. He rubbed at his glowing eyes with an arm. “S- sorry…” he sighed, “I don't know why I keep feeling like this… it’s all so— complicated…” 

The Florist was quiet for a moment, “…You don’t have to feel guilty about your feelings being all stupid, feelings are always stupid.” She said lightheartedly, “But no more keeping secrets from me, alright?” She pointed at him, a serious look in her eye. 

“Right…” he sighed. 

There was a small silence, the two simply sitting in the other’s company. 

“So… how did you know about the islands?” Delilah broke the emptiness of noise. 

Oh, right. He paused for a moment, trying to think of how to explain the story…

“...A Human.” 

He made sure he didn’t think too hard about the wording. 

“What!?” Delilah jumped, looked at him flabbergasted. “When did—?“

“Yesterday,” he clarified, “a… Knight from the Calcite Kingdom arrived.”

She eased, body slumping back down. “I… see…” she paused, “So, what happened? Why didn’t you let me know!? That’s a huge deal!”

“I- I was… afraid he would be a threat. I had to be sure first.” 

Delilah hummed in thought, “...Considering there’s no Knight here anymore , and how you were acting, I… guess it didn’t go well…?”

The ghost gave a hum akin to mmh-hm, looking off to the side uncomfortably, “…Things got… intense, to put it lightly.” He elaborated, chuckling weakly before looking to the ground, “I… tried to explain to him but— but he …didn’t believe me…”

The ghost's expression soured, rubbing at his wrists, thinking of what he’d have to tell her, confess to her, his face became a homunculus of sorrow and fear combined.  

“I… I hurt him, Dels.” He finally admitted in a quiet voice. 

Delilah was surprisingly silent at that comment.

“Did he hurt you?” She asked simply. 

He rolled his eyes, scoffing, “I can’t feel pai—“

“Did he try to hurt you?” She emphasized. 

He looked at her, an upset look in his eyes as he bit his lip uncomfortably, it seemed like he couldn’t dodge the question, could he?

He turned his head and mumbled a quick “...Yes.”

“You didn’t hurt him badly, did you…?”

“Of course not! I—”

“You only did it after he did …right?”

“Yes, but I still—!“

“Then you’re even.” 

“But—“

“He tried to hurt you— no duh you’d try to defend yourself! I know you, you wouldn’t hurt someone on purpose! Quit beating yourself up so much, man!” She shook his side with her hand, as if trying to get the idea in his head further. 

Defending himself. Right, that’s what it was… but…

Why did he like that fear in the man's eyes— that little horrified spark in his gaze— when he had him pinned, when the soul appeared, in that moment, why did it feel like a deliberate attack , and not just protection…? 

He wasn’t scared in the slightest like before, wouldn’t he be scared if it was just defense? Why would he feel like that? Why at that moment… did he feel the strongest he had ever felt before? The most powerful he has ever felt before? Like an epiphany, his mind screaming in excitement that ‘Yes! That was it, that was the first time he’d ever had control!’ 

“So… what happened after?”

He snapped out of his thoughts, processing her question and recalling the events. The fight, the pain, the soul. It had all been so much…

“He- he ran off …But…”

“But…?” She tilted her head. 

“But— well, before that I—” he paused for a moment, trying to not get into the specifics, beginning to talk with his hands. “…I had this— this awful, …gnawing feeling in my stomach, and- and it’s still not gone away, and- I don’t know what it is, I...“ 

“…Well, what does it feel like…?” The Florist prompted.

“I don’t know! That’s what I mean! It just …hurts. But it also… doesn’t…? I don’t know how to describe it.” He groaned in frustration. 

“What, like… nausea?” She suggested questionly.  

“No, not like that. It just— feels… empty!”

“...Hunger?”

He sighed, “Ghosts don’t need to eat, remember? I—”

He froze, thoughts flickering within his eyes. 

He… couldn’t exactly recall what he was feeling when he held that soul, his mind in that moment felt consumed by smoke, like he couldn’t see— well, couldn’t think in this case. 

But his brain was still scattered with the few semblance of thoughts from the moment, the pain, the emptiness, the almost… feral need to fill the hollowness, to stop it, how his claws were now fitting, how his fangs now felt right in his mouth, how the soul seemed so tantalizing, so warm …like it was the key, the thing to fuel the fire, to stop it, to fill the gaping hole— like it was his salvation, his satiation. 

“You… okay?”

Hunger. 

“I… I need to go.” He muttered. 

“What?”

That’s what it was. 

“I— I’ll just— get out of your hair- I’m sorry—“ he stood up quickly. 

He wanted to eat the man's soul. 

“Hey, wait—“ she attempted to reach out a hand, before he brought his palm up to stop her from getting up. 

“Don’t… follow me, please.” He turned sharply. 

“B- but—”

“I just need some time to think.” 

With that, he floated off. 

…Since when did he float to get around? 

…Whatever. 

It didn’t matter. 

Not now. 

—

A strange sensation flooded their body and surroundings, bright light engulfed their vision as they turned dizzy, the air around becoming chilled all of a sudden.

He opened his eyes, caught off guard by darkness. 

Well, no, no not darkness… he blinked, eyes adjusted to find a dark room , not dark like the one he had first awoken in though, it was dusty, filled with cobwebs lining the corners, cardboard boxes, and old furniture draped with cloth. 

He turned around, finding a large set of windows, a small chest in front of them, and silky moth-eaten curtains that flowed from the cold outside air, the velvety sheets whipped silently in the room. 

He floated closer to the glass, gently pressing pale blue hands against the pane, peering out to look at the sea of snow and stars held behind the thin barrier, the moon above shone full and bright, emanating its blue-white hues. 

Their eyes widened in awe, and a smile fixed itself along their face. 

“I did it…!”

He was out! He was actually out!

They laughed, turning around and beginning to look around the room, as they began glancing inside the many boxes, sneezing a few times from the countless piles of dust, and lifting up sheets to reveal the old furniture and chairs held underneath. As they slowly pieced together this must have been an attic of some kind.

One box they noticed was larger, and properly left open, unlike the others which were lazily half closed. His curiosity peaked, if this one was already open, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to inspect it…? 

They dug through the box, seeing many tubes of what appeared to be paints, clearly used by the colorful crust caked along the tips hidden beneath the caps. Other miscellaneous things caught his eye, old papers, books missing pages, quills and paintbrushes. 

Though his gaze caught the moonlight bouncing brightly off something hidden near the bottom, they dug for a moment before their fingers grazed something cold and flat. Lifting their arm out of the box, their gaze fixed onto what appeared to be something glass. They watched the light refract and gleam in their grasp, which gingerly held a small cracked monocle, the rose tinted lense reflected pinks and reds and whites like their void did. 

They brought it to their eye to look through it to the world held inside the glass, as it bubbled and refracted back red. They brought their hand away as their fingers unintentionally slipped past the thin monocle. They gasped, waiting to hear the glass shatter into thousands of tiny shards, but it never came, they blinked, finding that the monocle stayed in place, floating silently from the corner of their eye. They cupped the air around it curiously but also with intrigue.

“Huh…” They thought they would have questioned it, but with how their head stayed attached to their body without a neck, they simply opted to assume it was the same— or at least a similar— phenomenon. 

They glanced curiously around the rest of the room, looking to the opposite corner from where they stood, quickly catching sight of something in the corner— a small spider web, along with one of its namesake arachnids sitting atop it, unlike all the other empty cobwebs. 

They smiled and excitedly floated closer, slowly resting their arms against the box sitting underneath it. They gasped in delight. “…Hello…!” He said in a hushed sing-songy voice, as if he was speaking to a small bush cat, rather than a creature known for seemingly being ‘creepy’. 

“Is this your home?” He asked, knowing that of course it wasn’t. But maybe it wasn’t an entirely incorrect statement, it wasn’t its home, but it still lived there, he supposed. He might as well humor himself. 

His eyes gleamed admiringing the arachnid construct it’s web, its many pointed legs spindling silky string and thread into the desired pattern, the nearby moonlight bounced off the strands, almost making them glimmer. 

“Beautiful…” he sighed out. “You are very good at that.” He complimented. The spider didn’t respond of course, but it was still nice to finally have any form of company than none at all. 

“...I suppose this makes you the first living thing I’ve properly spoken to, hm?” He hummed, a bit of melancholy held behind his words that he hid for the sake of his small multi eyed companion. 

He continued to stare admiringly at the thin threads of the web, not noticing the distant creek of wood. 

He glanced to the windows held next to him, assuming the sound to be a branch scraping against the glass or the wind of powdery snow, his eyes widened looking at the bright moon, full and encompassing in his vision, feeling like it filled every sense, overwhelming but comforting at once. He smiled softly, hearing the noises becoming louder, but not thinking anything of it, it was probably their imagination.

He was caught off guard feeling a sudden wooziness washing over himself, he took in a sharp inhale through his fanged teeth, grasping his forehead into his hand to ease the discomfort. Though it didn’t just affect their head, as their stomach felt like it turned completely barren, butterflies frantically fluttering around inside. The world around them began to spin and swirl, things becoming blurry as their insides did somersaults. What in the—!?

They turned to watch the small spider scurry away, seemingly in a panic. 

Creak. 

Oh. They definitely heard that one, his head shot up before the dizziness took a stronger grip, and the room felt much colder. Anxiety spiking, they could barely catch whatever made the noise, before bright white sparkled and danced around their vision, as the room continued to spin around him like a carousel. 

He caught sight of something behind the haze of light, moving and shifting darkness, shadows made alive. It was a silhouette, clear as day. Their vision just barely registering blood red eyes, before their chest seized once more, and everything turned white. 

—

She didn’t get it, she couldn’t. She couldn’t ever get it.

She was a dweller, she was stuck. Always the same, like the dirt of the empty flower patches. She didn’t change at all, still the same friend he always had, still the same Florist he always knew…

He wasn’t the same. He changed. He didn’t know when, or how, but he did. He wasn’t stuck like her. His form, like a whirling fire, was ever changing and swirling, burning and reshaping constantly. He was humanoid, until he wasn’t. He was the Prince, until he wasn’t. 

Speak of the devil he groaned in his mind, as he gripped one of the trees standing next to him, feeling the now knife-like claws scrape into the bark. 

He didn’t care now, he couldn’t be bothered to fix them. He grumbled under his breath, opting to let his body do what it wished, the headache and stomach pain searing into his body wouldn’t allow him any proper control of his form anyway. 

He continued to shamble his way further into the woods, one arm clutching around his stomach and the other dragging across the trees like a crutch. Scratches scraped along the trees like a wild animal marking its territory. 

You- you’re a monster! The human man's words echoed in his skull. 

The Knight had been right. What human had dagger-like claws or fangs. What human would let his emotions get the better of him as much as he. What human would even dream of hurting another like that. 

The pain worsened with every step. Why hadn’t it gone away? 

He should have been disgusted by the realization— he wanted to kill the man, just like that— what? Just for hunger!? He had wanted to take another’s life over a pitiful stomach ache! 

But no… he wasn’t bothered by it. If anything, he was relieved , like he had just found a simple solution to an answer he was seeking, and not some horrid, abhorrent discovery about his ghostly state of being. 

He hissed as the pain worsened, like fire charing all his insides black, filling his metaphorical lungs and throat with smoke and soot. He couldn’t breathe. You have no lungs, of course you can’t, fool, a part of him chastised. But he didn’t care about whatever specifics there were— it still hurt, dammit. 

He fell to his knees, gripping his stomach while his other claw clutched the soil below, he stared at it, snarling from both anger and the pain.

Ghost. Monster. Phantom. Wraith. Whatever word— he was all of them. Anything but human, anything but that foolish Prince. That Idiot. Weak. Frail. Pathetic. Fool. 

He was such a fool. 

He wasn’t like him. Nothing like him. 

Both a blessing, and a curse, it seemed. 

The specter suddenly choked, any previous thoughts blown away from his mind as the fire bubbled up his throat, like magma and lava filling his body. He brought his claw from his stomach up to his mouth, to stop whatever burning was occurring. 

He felt his legs begin to numb, more so than normal, all too familiarly to the cellar— he simply wrapped his false feet together, digging harsher into the dirt below, quite literally helping in grounding himself. His body felt blurred, like it was fading together as one large mass of shadows and smoke, rather than individual body parts, it was just body. He ignored it, the pain was already too much to focus on on its own. 

He continued to choke as the flares didn’t stop, it felt like his throat was being filled with ash and embers, he suddenly found he couldn’t close his mouth, like it was held open. His eyes tried to squint shut, tears filling the corners that burned worse than the liquid iron filling his form. 

His back arched, catching sight of his hair frizzing out from the corners of his eyes, as his face felt numb like the rest of himself, his thoughts turning ash against his skull, as he couldn’t tell where his eyes began and mouth ended. All he knew was that he couldn’t close either, as the burning pain finally engulfed his gaping maw. He hacked and choked as liquid hot fire fell from his eyes— mouth? He couldn’t tell, a gaping hole of light and flares were all that currently filled his face. 

Hissed gurgling rumbled from his throat, as the yellow-orange light, like the very sun melted into magma, continued to pour. Unlike his ghostly blue fire, this was real, the embers filled the surrounding woods with ease, eating away at the trees as leaves and twigs snapped out of place to the charred grass and ground.

Even if he could barely think, he sensed someone from afar approaching, but he ignored it. He couldn’t even think about it, anyway. 

His ears rang, but he still recognized the voice, familiar, comforting, like laying in a field of delicate flowers with buzzing insects— soft but loud simultaneously. 

He recognized the panic in the voice as it called out his name. The ghost could only gag and cough out the remaining magic left over, feeling slowly returning with pins and needles like the sizzling of non-existent flesh. He could feel his eyes now, as they squinted shut from the stinging pain as well as the brightness, as his fangs stabbed into his mouth as he slammed it shut instantly, prompting a hiss of pain as he continued to lay doubled over. 

His eyes widened, as it hit him who had been yelling— Delilah.

He turned, ignoring the inferno carnage of combustion, catching green from within the blackened smoke and orange. He saw as blurred purple continuously dodged and scattered from embers, muffled shrieks and cringes of surprise echoed with each sharp movement. 

His senses sparked alight, as a booming crack entered his ears, he looked up to see the branches from one of the many char black trees snapping, fires eating away at the thin wood, thin from his large spectral eyes, but massive for a small plush body. 

His eyes darted down, matching the branches quick falling, as all thought of pain or reason was ignored, he lunged forward, ghostly form flying towards the Florist with great speed. 

He only caught a quick glimpse of her shocked expression before he crashed into her, shoving her away from the flames, as the burnt branch slammed into the ground behind them, soot and ash flying in the air in the process. The two laid against the dirt path, huffing for relief filled air they didn’t need. 

The ghost looked ahead in horror at the destruction he had caused, the flames easily licking away at the trees and leaves, but they seemed to be contained to the specific area. Thank the gods, he couldn’t imagine living with himself if he ended up burning down his whole forest. 

In contrast, the Florist looked in mostly wonder , as her gaze was drawn to the many burning flowers now sprouting up from the crisped ground, their warm glow felt reminiscent to the ones of the Alpines, but not quite, they felt more like the raging flares of the sun, rather than the gentle shine and twinkle of the twilights. 

She looked up to her friend, who in turn looked down to her, a twinge of panic in his expression. 

“Are— are you okay?” He breathed out raspily, turning to her, large talons cupping in the air next to her. 

“Yeah, yeah. Are …you okay?” 

He sucked in a breath, looking up to the gold-red embers burning a good large section of the woods. The forest fire blazing away against his vision. His head fell back to the ground with the puff of clouded dirt, “I don’t know...” He huffed. 

“Better than a ‘no’ I guess…” the Florist mumbled. 

The pair sat against the cold ground, Delilah's small body snuggled ever closer to his, which he now noticed looked much more ghostly than before. 

“Heh, you're all fluffy now.” She said tiredly against his side, he couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or a tease. 

“Yes, I’m aware.” He replied flatly, looking down to his now serpentine body laying flat against the ground. 

There was a small silence…

“So… are you gonna change back to normal, or…?”

“No, not yet.” He sighed. 

She nodded, “Right, you should probably rest after… whatever that was.” She motioned her hand to the magical fire eating away at the trees. 

She brought her hand back down, laying it on his chest like a lazily given hug. “We’ll talk about that later, yeah?” Delilah said, to which he simply hummed in an agreed response. 

They sat in a peaceful silence, listening to the crackles and snaps like white noise, staring up to the sparkling stars and moon above, the ghost finally calmed, the Florist still hugged against his side tiredly as he let his body ease, but his countless thoughts and revelations weren't ready to relax so quickly. Oh how he dreaded the thought of telling her. 

“...Delilah?” His voice said, still scratchy like ash against his tongue.

“Hm?” She hummed. 

He cleared his throat, easing the raspy feeling left behind from the cinders. “Would you still… care about me? Even if… I thought about— or if I did something…” it felt childish to say, but he didn’t know a better word— “…Bad?”

“...’course I’d still care. You're my friend.” She replied simply. 

He didn’t entirely believe her, probably because she didn’t know the extent of what he was referring to, but… he could explain later.

He opted to just sigh, shadowy body further relaxing in her embrace, allowing his frets to melt away for the moment. 

“Alright.” 

—

The corpse blinked a few times, eyes shocked by the sudden brightness as they took everything in, staring down at the faint reflection under their hands.

“No…”

They looked up. 

Red and white.

“No. No! Not here, not again— anything but here!” They pleaded.

Their gaze rushed back to the floors, as they pushed down with their hands

“No, no- let me out, please, no, come on—“ they mumbled frantically, thoughts racing and breath catching in their throat. 

“I was so close—! I- I actually got out! You- you can’t do this—! Please!” They felt tears form in their eyes.

“I actually saw someone! I almost- I–!“

…They’d… actually seen someone.

The realization rang in their head like a bell, the shadowed silhouette searing their brain, they stared blankly in shock for a moment, as their brow quickly knotted together, teeth biting into their mouth as their hands pushed with as much force as they could, to no avail. 

They cried out in anger, fist slamming down and banging on the pure white floors, somehow not making a sound. 

“DAMMIT.”  

A swelling feeling formed in their chest…

“What did I do!? What— what did I do to deserve this!? I don’t understand- I— please…! I…” they hiccuped, curling in on themself, as their voice dissolved into tears and begs. 

His eyes blinked continuously, watching their glowing tears splash down to the floor.

Red and white

Red and white 

Red and…

 …Pink ?

They blinked more.

…Red.

Their eyes widened, watching as crimson drops suddenly fell from their sockets.

Am I bleeding!? He thought in panic, swiftly brushing a hand to their cheek, bringing it away to see red staining their palm, but not like blood, it was bright, and fluorescent, like the floors and stars. 

He tried to blink the tears away as his vision began to blur, becoming overtaken, as he felt his non-existent throat suddenly turn to desert, dry and rough, coughs suddenly mixed in with cries, as the pit from before once again formed in his stomach— oh stars, it hurt—

The alien feeling from their chest began flooding their body like a tsunami, it was …familiar, they thought. Their tears began to burn, suddenly feeling solid and runny like syrup and sap in their eyes, as his coughing fit continued, practically hacking, as they couldn't even get a breath in. 

They felt saliva slowly clawing its way up their throat, as they continuously forced it back down, only for it to bubble back up over and over with every raspy hack.

A warmth suddenly flooded their tongue and gums, they gagged, coughing as something suddenly spilled from their mouth, breathing haggard and blinking to see the red from their eyes now stained much more of the floor, feeling as the liquid ran down both their cheeks as well as chin now.

They barely had a moment to process it before they began gagging once more, their eyes burned, their mouth burned, their chest, their stomach, it all burned, it was too much, the sensation bubbling beneath their skin slowly rose to the surface like rushing water, he felt like he was about to shatter under all the pressure, it continued to build as he failed to choke back the tension, too much, it was too much, it was all too much—

They loudly hacked a few more times, before the dam broke. 

It happened so fast, they couldn’t close their eyes, couldn’t close their mouth, couldn’t see, couldn’t think.

But they felt.

Felt their eyes dilate, felt the magical liquid erupt from their throat, felt it drip from their eyes, as it poured down to the floors in a waterfall, they struggled to cry out, as the red poured out their sockets like a faucet. 

They tried to think but couldn’t, the moment blurred and their mind and emotions turned static, as the sensations were all too overwhelming. 

They became knocked from the trance as they finally gained control of their lungs, coughing and throwing up more of the red and clearing their air pathway, eyes screwed shut, burning. Their body shivered as they hugged their arms to their stomach, breathing heavily, their mind was still blurred, but conscious now at least. 

They opened their eyes again, everything mixed together, colors deep and blurred splotches and hazes, they couldn’t see. Their breathing continued, both panic from the blindness, and the desperate remembered need for air. 

Their vision, slowly, came to, as they looked to the ground below, now seeing it was painted in red. 

They saw their reflection, much more noticeable in the darker color, their vision still blurred, seeing a strange pattern in both their eyes that they knew wasn't there before, red trailing and staining down their face like tears. 

They squeezed their eyes shut, opening them again, blinking, as their vision finally cleared…

They stared, still breathing heavily, the stains far worse than they had initially thought, and only one of their eyes had returned to normal, the other still blurry and having the strange pattern they saw in both prior, hypnotic diamonds stretching across their entire eye, with one in the middle seeming to act as their pupil. In panic they continued to blink harshly, attempting to fix the damage, but it remained. 

He stared a moment longer, shaking. 

Their reflection hiccuped, as tears filled their eyes, vision blurring once more, glowing white tears falling to the floor, mixing and turning pink before being consumed by the red completely, as they curled in on themself again. 

Trying to stop the tears, trying to wipe off the stains, trying to fix their eyes, trying to force positive thoughts, trying anything. But all of it was to no avail…

Unsure of what else he could possibly do in the situation that he hadn’t already tried, he soon gave up, resorting to crying himself to sleep, the familiar and comforting world of slumber whisking him away and melting any worries or pain…

—

Unknown to him, though, the discarded magic from the floor had begun to solidify…

—

Unknown to him, the liquid defied gravity, somehow dripping upwards, slowly turning mere droplets, to long, thin strands.

—

Unknown to him, A puppet had just gained its strings.