Archive of Our Own

Winter has always been my favorite season, for the glory of going to bed in a comfortable blanket, with the room set at a freezing temperature.

Which is why the world felt beyond unreal when my hands scrambled forward as gravity took hold from a fall, and wet soil swallows unprepared wrists.

The ground was as muddy as a school playground after a rainy day. I have not played in mud fields since I was in elementary, nor have I touched the outside ground on purpose due to the possibility of diseases and bugs. The feeling of slimy dirt under the nails was also unbearable, and a horrible shiver ran up my spine from the gross feeling of wet ground.

A hard yank was needed to get myself free, and with two hands covered in soil, I am unable to look away from the clothed sleeves I had not worn before bed.

But wait, The brain unhelpfully supplies under brewing wonder. There's more,

Shouting. Vicious wind whistling which wasn't the wind at all.

A quick look toward the chaotic crowd with weapons told me this:

This is a battlefield. Yes and yes.

People are dying, Also yes.

Someone nearby looks like you but also isn't you. Because you aren't them. And they aren't you.

…What?

That didn't make any sense at all.

But do you know what also doesn't make sense?

Impalement.

Blood rushing, I dove out of the way from a sword stabbing into the space I had been in milliseconds ago. Knowing there were several eyes falling on me, I kept moving, running, and hid right behind a large boulder close to the bloody scene.

None of it feels real, but the cold from escaping wet soil is very real. The ringing in ears is real.

And the cut-off screams, brandishing of weapons, all happening merely several feet away.

Don't look here, My heart cries as someone's head goes skidding a little ways past the lone rock. Don't look. Don't stray. Don't come!

Even so, I have to sneak a glance to find an exit. There had to be somewhere, an opening…

Destiny is a farce. And yet I made eye contact with someone fighting ruthlessly in black armor.

They aren't you. The brain repeats. But you two look…

Red eyes stare back in a dilated pinch of disbelief.

You two look the same.

I bolt, fueled by both fury and terror.

And judging by the rabbit-quick steps, they were following, thus causing a lurch of panic in my core.

No no no, I can feel the stinging spikes of bloodlust in the air. I can hear the drag of a sword on the ground, done on purpose to incite fear, and it was working. Somehow, the sound of the incoming sword was far more terrifying than the sound of dying people. They kept coming closer-

"No," I breathe, regardless of how different, how deep my voice was. I didn't dare turn to face them. "Stay back!"

"Well then, Shapeshifter," I hear him say, sharply sardonic. "Take on another form that isn't my face, and perhaps I'll reconsider…!"

Those words must've been some kind of declaration because, in the next second, half my face was kissing mud as he slammed my form to the ground, his hand on a sensitive throat.

It hurt.

If I'm going to die here, Despite the grip, I attempt to make eye contact by glaring into the reflection of a nearby puddle. I'm going to remember your face so I can haunt you later.

Let it be light from the stars, or light from the moon, the puddle shined with truth.

The stranger had scarlet silted eyes, white fangs bared in malice, and black hair to match the armor. Under his grip, pinned, was another person.

With half my face obscured by mud, it was easy to paint a match to which body was which.

But even then, that was difficult.

The only feature I lacked was the armored suit. That much was obvious with how cold the air was, clothes only a thin barrier to the elements outside. The biting cold told of winter, and while the muddy ground was busy suffocating an eye and ear, realization floods like a rainwash.

Every other exposed feature was mirrored in the stranger above, from the ruby eye(s) to sharp ear(s).

What the hell. Is the only appropriate thought, and is likely shared by the one with the crushing grip.

We truly did look the same.

Everything in this room is dark, incredibly pitch-black, but somehow I can see the outlines of everything present.

Which wasn't much. Only the floors, a drain, the ceiling, and a space far above, which looked to be some kind of window. This place…It must be some sort of prison without the bars.

Dark. Cramped. Stale and damp due to poor air circulation.

There is no surprise to such treatment. I had not been shocked, only furious when Vanrouge (someone called him that,) dragged my limp form by the back of the sweater.

He had been rough. The exit out of the front lines was ruthless in dragging, a chillingly silent tormenter as the culprit. I hissed and swore back then, fueled by the misery of rocks digging into an unprotected back. There was also bashful hatred from the multitude of stares given by strangers and bystanders alike. The only reason I had not thrashed was due to Vanrouge's literal cut-down by sword of anyone stupid enough to approach.

In fact, the first time I witnessed such a brutal kill up close, I made it ridiculously easy to stay limp.

As expected, his coal-black weapon was not for show.

And there was hardly anything to escape with when Vanrouge tossed me into this dark room.

Exhaustion gnawed at the bone, and thirst scratched at the throat. I wasn't hungry, no really, not when all the stress in the world kept squeezing my only thing to do was to stare at the ground, or shut eyes to the pitch-darkness.

You know, A hysterical thought bubbles deep in the chest. At least this isn't the time of slavery?

Or, My hand is outlined in the dark, different than before. Smaller? No. Thinner? The nails are completely obsidian black. Maybe it is? But no one would know you were Black because you changed. You are no longer 'you' in appearance. What nation is this? Is this even my world?

These new foreign fingers of mine gently flexed into fists. I gently licked my teeth, cautious of the fanged points. Nausea pools in my stomach as I recall the puddle's reflection of two human-like creatures under the faint light of the night.

And what sort of creature am I?

There's a shift of the air, a heavy drag of stone, and a looming presence bursting the bubble of thin-ice calm being alone had previously created.

No, I think, viciously as my stomach shifts in heavy discomfort. The neck burns from increased tension. Don't look up. Don't you dare look up, Even if the urge was strong. Even if the desire to capture answers burned.

A familiar tormenter enters the prison with the sharp clack of armored shoes.

God damn it, damn you, How hard is it to hide how much you tremble? Harder than hiding the blood after biting the tongue, apparently.

Once upon a time, a much younger me had declared fangs to be the coolest feature when it came to non-humans. How disappointed they would be, to know they were just as bothersome as sharp-edged retainers by the tongue. One could only swallow so much blood before the metallic taste grows stale.

"How strange," Vanrouge seems to verbally observe, commentary very unneeded. "For someone who's supposed to be me, you don't seem very well-adjusted to the dark." Even without sight, the sound of his slow-walking steps is mocking.

Breathe in…Breathe out.

You FUCKER, The result of pent-up aggression in the soul screams, fueled by the past knowledge of scare tactics. Outwardly, dark-nail hands grip the solid, rough ground. My head then ducks mutely, cowed by recent events and the taste of fresh rancor in the air.

I know better. Reckless aggression would simply end with a snap of Vanrouge's sword down my neck. His posture is one of a waiting opportunist, likely having done something like this countless times before. I know better. I know better. I am not going to lose it at this very moment. I will not. I cannot. I am far more patient than that.

Years of walking eggshells around an abusive parent was a testament to this.

Tired. I'm tired and it's still cold. These clothes were razor thin compared to the chill from the bare weather, and while no longer outside, the insulation in the walls seemed to be deliberately poor.

"Are you aware why you're here?" Vanrouge continues on, dull. "Well now. Don't keep me waiting. I've heard you speak before." A low chuckle from his end sounds like slow-stabbing knives. "I'd hope not to resort to other methods to get information." The threat falls like water.

And despite the parched throat, I refuse to drink from a poisoned source.

"...The dark." The admittance is small, and I feel even smaller with how alien this voice sounds. "I don't…I don't like being in the dark."

Considering how this conversation is already beginning to sound as if Vanrouge was talking to himself, he must be feeling the pressure, too.

"Pity. How about you change back to your true form then? I'll get you a candle if you do." A pause. "And perhaps some water." Vanrouge's tone and words were carefully even, one could mistake it as 'pleasant.'

Watch him get me a candle that's not lit and expect me to light it by myself, I simply stare at this stranger, matching ruby eyes staring right back. And then let this 'water' be a spray of a watering can, meant to be sprinkled on the skin rather than sipped.

I am no stranger to this kind of atmosphere, the brittleness of broken eggshells still has sharp edges after all.

…Vanrouge holds contempt, that much was obvious, no matter how much he smiled or kept a visible neutral standing.

And me? I'm not much different from him at this time. I am equally, undoubtedly, pissed. Only, I was far less likely to mirror his sickeningly calm face. And self-preservation lay like a snake around the nape, firm and tightening with each passing second.

"...Don't joke," I tell Vanrouge, hiss on the throat, the scratchy noise comfortable. "The fact I'm still sitting here," In one piece no less. "Means you discovered something unpleasant." Which is why you're here digging for information, aren't you? How desperate must one be, but I suppose sometimes, direct confrontation is better than scraps.

Ah. Tired. "What are you searching for?" It's an accusation, a rude one resulting from hours of nonstop waiting and dread.

I won't be tortured yet, Relief bites at stiff ankles. Not yet. Not yet. Which allows a certain type of boldness for a time.

"Hm. Well, I tried." Vanrouge continues to smile, and it isn't at all kind.

"Enjoy the darkness for a little longer, won't you?" Vanrouge chuckled darkly, turned, and left without further word.

The sound of a heavy door opening, then sealing proves this entire conversation wasn't a hallucination.

How long will it be until they decide enough is enough? Will they hold me down and use a cement brick to crush my leg into pulp? Do they break individual fingers until the prisoner snaps? An unknown variable is not enough to protect my livelihood. Silence without answers is dangerous in a situation such as this one.

"I don't like the dark," I repeat, quieter, but for some reason, I know Vanrouge could hear. "I need…I need some sort of light." Not even a shift of the air for a response. "Paranoia grows easily in places like this," The dark often brings a surprise attack. Hurt. And I'm terribly exhausted. "I," Swallow. "I need…"

What good are words if no one will act?

Air is wasted on the cruel.

Dark, dark, it's too dark, The back of my mind wails. I see the room but it's still too dark. I need my nightlight. If not, if not, I'll begin to…Ah, but no one cares here, do they?

I may not have fallen into a world of the past with eager hands ready to enact enslavement, but this slow poison is still poison.

I covered my eyes and pretended not to exist.

Voices came from beyond the heavy door. The first tone was overly sharp and one-sided in authority. The other was quieter in the way of politeness, but like before, dreadingly familiar. The steady increase in conversational volume only tells of the future; the prison door was bound to open again soon.

I can't feel my legs, Which is terrible considering my possible need for them when these incoming visitors enter the cramped space of this prison. And I haven't slept a wink.

It must've been forever since I made the decision to cover my eyesight from the never-ending darkness. From a natural dark to a forced one, it was the only ounce of control given to myself. An act to keep sane and remotely level-headed when the inevitable came.

Even so, nausea had grown like fanned flames. The urge to heave continued to bump against the rib cage every hour. Thankfully, the prison remained clean, even with the drain a few hops away.

Above being tired and dry-tongued, the headache of stress continued to pound at the skull.

Agooooony, The inner depths of my mind sang, both sorrowful and brainless. Beyond power of speech! Thirsty, I'm so, so parched. When the one thing you want…Is the only thing out of your reach.

Truly. Visitors at this time are absolutely the worst luck.

"And you truly thought this wouldn't require my attention?" Whoever this was, her voice was close to that of sharpened knives. "Or, here's a better inquiry. Did you think you could keep this from me?"

Ah. Ah-hah. It sounds like Vanrouge fucked up in some major way. Sucks to live.

It sucks to live without water as well.

"You have greater things to attend to," Vanrouge replies, strained.

"General Vanrouge," The woman sharply hisses.

"...Apologies, My Queen," Vanrouge says, solemn.

Hm? What? Does authority equal royalty in this circumstance? An actual queen? To what pleasure do I owe?

"I suppose it matters not. We're here now. Let us see what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into." The apparent 'Queen' drawls, low and annoyed. "I warned you and the others to be on the lookout for traps. Every day, the Humans tend to grow a little more sly…Look where ignoring my advice has gotten you! Imbeciles, you lot," The Queen grumbles, irritation so heated, one could feel the rage from afar.

And like the memory of before, which feels completely far off, the door opens again.

Regardless of how weakened my body feels, I scramble to sit in a proper posture of pretzel-crossed legs. Clear and obvious weakness is not an option upon first impressions. Not with captors and not with bold self-assured beings.

Not a spec of light enters the prison upon their entry, but piercing emerald irises stare into my own gaze.

It felt like someone was trying to scoop out the insides of a brain to check for a prize. Perhaps the spoon was made of gold, as there were golden flecks in the other's eyes.

Let there be light, Deep-rooted fears whisper in a rush. Let there be light. May I be right, and let there be light.

By the woman's side, far shorter in height is the familiar narrowed ruby from Vanrouge.

Disappointment feels like slime on the tongue. There wasn't a single glass of water or a light source in sight.

Ahh, how cruel of you. And yet speaking such heart-woes to a royal in front of her guard seems like an open invitation to become sword practice.

"...General?" The new person didn't look away in my direction.

"Yes, Queen Maleficent?" Vanrouge answers her without a beat.

Do I know you, Is the first thought that comes in a rush as I focus on Maleficent's features in the darkness. Her figure and finer details are outlined like the shine of metal under the moonlight, with lines able to be seen and observed. I know that name, I'm faintly aware of the outline you have in this dark, it's familiar. Have I known you? You don't know me, but I? To you? To which?

I miss my blanket. I miss the comforting cold while the sheets of warmth comforted my form. Oh, how I missed my many stuffed animals, did they know I was gone? Who's going to tuck in my wonderful plushies every morning when I live throughout the day? For their years of hard work, protecting me from nightmares, are they going to be left to dust?

I want. Light. The crumbling remains of patience whispers.

"You're a damned fool." Maleficent abruptly spits.

"Very much so, if you are the one to say." Vanrouge calmly agrees.

"Don't get smart with me, General. The scent is the same, not just appearance, and," A pause, a ponder of thought. "We might as well dismiss all those reckless thoughts of yours." Maleficent sniffs. "I'm going to check the magic of this so-called 'Imposter.'" She announces sternly, and her gaze sharpens.

My stomach lurched and I flinched away when she reached out. With an itch on instinct, hands retreated in preparation for a defensive scratch by dark nails.

That was as far as I had gotten, a black blade far too close to the throat ceasing all movement from both Vanrouge and I before my sharp points could get close.

Vanrouge stares at me as if I were a stain.

I stare back as if he were a mutant bug with too many legs to be anything but a centipede.

"Now stop that," Maleficent commands, but the swing of her voice tells of amusement. Her gaze flicks back to mine. "It won't hurt. I merely need your cooperation. A hand, if you may." Maleficent sounds as if she was providing an offer, some type of patience.

Oh, how easy she makes it sound to obey in an absurd situation like this. As if obedience would protect me from execution.

"I-I don't," This voice still feels so awful. So odd. Not mine.

"Speak." Maleficent curtly clips.

"I don't…Like touch." The words bleed out like raw egg, wet and uncomfortable to feel.

The resulting pause, muted surprise from both parties, caused red-hot shame to burn along the skin.

Actually, since I suddenly have pale skin, is my blush super visible? An unhelpful part of the mind whispers, desperate to flee the inevitable. This is the only way not to tear up or hide away, the feeling of alienation creeping up the back like a shadowed friend. Is it red? Pink? Something different?

"I don't like the dark either," The next murmur pours out like cough syrup. It's the only outlet granted, a whine when nothing else made a lick of sense. Lost and dreary, I faintly wonder if I have a bit of a fever. "I don't like either!"

How unique, to sound so childish and yet so desperate at the same time. Perhaps I was playing it up to get pity points, but the scratching grip at the throat felt real. The fear of crossed boundaries in a world entirely unknown was real.

So please be kinder than Vanrouge, and back off, please?

"You don't like the dark, and yet you're a dark fae?" Maleficent asks, indignant. "And of the bat race? Surely, you aren't this incompetent." She exhorts the pursuit of truth, face hardening.

"As I said, what else could it be, other than a Shapeshifter?" Vanrouge murmurs.

"Quiet, General," Maleficent tells him right back. "You lost your right to conclusions the moment you decided to handle this matter on your lonesome. Troublesome." Her word was clearly law, I can see Vanrouge merely duck his head in respect. Even so, there's a glint of challenge in ruby reds, and emerald green stare right back at the general without a bother.

"Matters not," I snap, grit, and hiss all at once over their silent bickering. "I, I don't really mind if it doesn't hurt, but I don't want to touch your skin." And that was the most important part of this entire conversation. The bit of information I wanted to be known, even if this didn't matter in the long run, how my opinion wouldn't matter.

The rumbling growl feels good on the throat, as natural as the recent hiss.

How gleeful the younger me would've been, to be able to produce such a unique, beautiful sound. Oh, how the younger me would try, but human vocal cords weren't made for those verbal actions. How they would be scolded for attempting, yelled at for mimicking.

But even so, judging by Maleficent's bored stare, she was not as amused.

"...General?" Maleficent carefully calls.

"Yes, My Queen?" Vanrouge straightens.

I await the order to be gutted, biting down hard on fanged teeth.

"Should this impossible situation truly be what I think it is, he's your responsibility." Maleficent commands. "I won't have you dying on me because of your very misstep." Maleficent seems to scoff, the stern layer of her voice indicates there wasn't any underlying joke to be made.

…Hah? Not even a glance toward Maleficent could peel open her intentions.

Vanrouge says nothing to that, only giving the smallest bob of his head. "Shall I hold it down, My Queen?" Is what he asks instead, and I eye the thin blade just under my jugular.

"None of that." Maleficent sighs. "I can handle one rambunctious fae, regardless if they bear your face." With a roll of her eyes, she steps forward once more, but like a shadow. "Stand down, General. I will take care of this." This command, far firmer than the others.

"...As you wish." Vanrouge pulls the sword back, sheathing the weapon into a holder.

I shudder out a breath, only a little relieved as a much worse threat approaches.

"Rejoice, Little One." Maleficent murmurs, and I quiver from the static ozone crackling in the air. She raises an arm, palm as well as fingers setting fire to an emerald flame. Maleficent barely bats an eye. "Not everyone is given the luxury to experience such complex magic." Maleficent easily says, neutral.

Never wanted to, Is what my courageous mind screeches, but I am unable to flee when Vanrouge is watching from only a few feet away. His posture is one of a coiled snake parading an atmosphere of calm. I knew better. Keep away, keep away, keep those fingers away!

Maleficent reaches forward once more.

I cover my eyes with defensive arms, shuddering.

I can't believe this is happening. This is basically what happened with my aunt. Fuck you, The rushed thoughts, the chilly panic, and the rabid beating of the heart. There was no way to escape this. No way…How hard can this body tense in anticipation? Considering the lactic burn I was already feeling from stress, I was going to find out.

But the invasive needle-stabbing sensation never came.

Instead, warmth.

Like a low-heater in the winter. A comforter blanket in the cold, just like bedtime before I fell into the mud.

Muscles relaxed, fingers dug into sleeves, and miserably, I sulked.

I mourned the warmth of my bed. I mourned my lost appearance. Most importantly, I mourned my prickly cat who was always on time for her morning breakfast.

"...Right then." Maleficent murmurs, and I can still hear her razor-sharp intake of breath despite how muffled everything sounds. Whatever she searched for, the queen had found. "General. You know as well as I-Loss on our side is often needless. I expect you to be in top shape for the incoming invasion three months from now." Maleficent snaps her fingers, the sound loud and sharp. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Vanrouge agrees calmly, but I can feel him bearing holes into my defensive armadillo-positioned arms.

It's easy enough to ignore him, breathing was more important.

"My former point stands. You are to take care of this," Maleficent hesitates. "I am uncertain about what to call him. He is not a Shapeshifter, nor Fake. Perhaps it is because of your unique strength, that you…No. I'll have to look into this further…" As she mumbled this, the numbing warmth began to die off. "You are to recover within these months, General. And do your best to adapt to your new circumstances. That is an order."

Huh. Okay. So no execution?

Should I drop my only physical defense? Can I challenge Vanrouge's gaze once more without the threat of losing my head or tongue?

"…Yes, My Queen." Vanrouge murmurs.

"Good. I'll be checking in." Maleficent warns. "And General? Fix this mess up. For Wonderland's sake." There's a moment of silence, a shuffle of movement along with a tap of a foot. "Your new charge is a pitiful sight. Additionally, should it come to light about your lack of dedication toward my commands, I'll kick you into the next continent." Maleficent promises, and her words seem to sting the atmosphere because faint sparks fizzled in and out of existence.

I can feel her stare on my form, perhaps trying to meet hiding ruby eyes, but even so, I still don't move nor show myself to a queen who isn't my own.

Americans of the States never had royalty.

And then Maleficent vanished, her presence gone.

Just like that.

Leaving me alone with Mr. Vanrouge and all of his insecurities.

"How long are you going to stay like that?" Vanrouge's words are low but flat as steel. "It is unbecoming of a Vanrouge. Stand up."

I have never heard of someone who sounded like bloodied needles until today.

Very slowly, I pull my arms away. The darkness is still as bottomless as ever, but so is Vanrouge's hostility as I meet his provocation in the form of eye contact. "You wish for me to stand? I cannot, and will not unless you get me some water." And light, but I knew Vanrouge would purposely resist fetching any. "I know you must be angry but please resist taking your rage out on this poor soul."

A low hiss reaches the air, and with a jolt, I realize the sound isn't mine.

"You act as if I know who you are." Vanrouge snaps, his fists visibly gripped.

"And you talk as if I'm worse than an inconvenience." A smile smacks onto my face, regardless of how my lips quiver with the same vibrations of a terrified fawn. "And since our life force is shared, how else am I going to treat you, if not with familiarity?" Since he couldn't let me die, and vice versa?

The narrowing of Vanrouge's pupils into thinner slits confirms my first guess.

A cackle is choked down, instead, I wheeze as my fingers shake.

"You're the one who got hit. Don't let there be a next time; learn how to dodge."

Good news, Vanrouge informed me through a detached tone about our soon-to-be departure from this place.

Bad news, he refused to leave for a few hours due to an important 'guest' who wanted to meet me of all creatures.

Which…Sounds fake. However, Vanrouge gave the run-down of what he would do, shared life force be damned, if I made any subtle movement to harm a hair on this guest's head.

And Vanrouge had been fairly graphic with those threats-He's impossible to get along with. I have no idea why I bothered to offer him the barest amount of neutrality. It matters not how Vanrouge finally stepped up to make sure I was without mud, dehydration, or even hunger, he was insufferable.

Nevertheless, whoever this guest was, they must've been important. Important and a personal contact.

I simply want out of here. Vanrouge delivered the water, but he never budged on the lighting of this cramped place. Likely done on purpose, Vanrouge disliked me, and he was going out of normalcy to prove it every step of the way.

Which is why we're still in this cramped prison, with Vanrouge staring me down with rubies colder than ice.

Take a picture, may it last longer for you to stare hatefully at night. I blink sluggishly back at Vanrouge, finally turning away from him when the door is given…A knock?

"You need not have to announce your presence, Prince Malleus," Vanrouge says, eerily calm as he finally steps away to stand guard by the wall.

"Oh! Okay." The voice of a young boy comes from the solid entrance. Within seconds of opening the heavy door, a child scurries in with little nubs for horns. He seems out of breath like the boy ran all the way here with startled reindeer feet.

"Wow," Prince Malleus breathed, green eyes wide, and he looked too much like a mini-Maleficent to be real. "He feels and smells just like you, Lilia…"

I blink, very slower than before, as this child rushes over into my space until he's only a few feet away.

Then Prince Malleus seems to realize how close he is and takes a tiny step back with a sheepish aversion of the eyes. There's the smallest dust of red growing on his face.

"I had thought it was a Shapeshifter like everyone said. But. Um…That's not what Grandmother told me." The Prince seemed to hesitate, looking over at Vanrouge for the actual answers.

Regardless of this show of embarrassment and shyness, the Prince was still completely in awe, mouth open as he sneaked another glance in my direction. Frankly, I'm surprised there's a prince.

And Maleficent is a grandmother?

So much royalty in the week! Oh, how oddly the world turns.

"I'm aware," Vanrouge answers the child dutifully, without any hostility. In fact, he sounded gentle.

Vanrouge's clear two-faced facade is nearly enough to provide whiplash but I resist the urge to bite down on my tongue. If only to save it from another piercing of fangs.

Instead, like a newly cleaned stray, I cautiously observed.

"Is he really your other half?" Prince Malleus blurts, glancing back and forth between the two 'Vanrouges' in the prison.

"...Possibly." Vanrouge vaguely seems to agree.

"Then there's really two of you now?" Prince Malleus whispers, a small hand used to cover up the volume. "Word has been spreading around. So I wanted to know if you knew too, but um," The child shuffles on his feet. "Did it hurt? Lilia? When that weapon…Spell…When it…" The Prince was clearly uncomfortable, mouth twisting as he struggled with the words.

Vanrouge drew in a breath, the softest I've heard him ever since arriving in this world.

"Yes, Prince Malleus." Vanrouge replies, dipping his head.

Prince Malleus finally looks at me, gaze abruptly sharp.

The turn heel was fast, and so I peer at the child with pastel green nubs for horns. Curiosity burned along with the pinch of worry from the other's intense gaze.

I didn't do a thing to cause it. I was only the result. Please do not blame me for this,

Sometimes. It was easy to tell a relationship between people simply by body language.

If I had to guess, Vanrouge was one of Prince Malleus' guardians. And in turn, the prince was clearly fond of him.

It wasn't me, The thought rushes forth again, louder, and my throat is feeling parched once more. An inch of panic threatens to break through the surface, regardless of how desperate dark nails scratched into the ground. Look toward the ones who tried to kill your friend and not the bystander who was pulled into this.

I am neutral with Maleficent. Receiving the bad side of her grandchild is sure to become beyond disastrous in the long run.

I want to live.

"You hear that? It hurt, and Lilia doesn't get hurt." Malleus says, insists, and frowns. "So that means…You two have to do your best not to get hurt again. Neither of you is permitted to die." The child seems to straighten his posture into one of firm understanding. Emerald eyes stare into my own. "Which also means, you have to take care of Lilia, too."

Hm? This conversation…

"Lilia!" The child calls, finally turning to the guard leaning on the wall.

"Yes, My Prince?" Vanrouge answers, watching, waiting, not ever moving without command.

How eerily chilly of him.

"What's his name?" Prince Malleus inquires, blinking owlishly.

…Name?

It appears Vanrouge wasn't sure what to make of the question either, due to his long-standing pause, because the Prince carried on seconds later.

"He'll be staying with you, right? Then…He needs a name. What's his name?" Prince Malleus stares Vanrouge down as intensely as he did to me moments ago, no show of favoritism clear.

And if it weren't for the puzzlement rippling under my thoughts, this would be the time to admire such a daring young soul.

Instead, numb, I ponder over the meaning of names and actuality.

Vanrouge releases a sigh, something like knowing, something like defeat.

"His name is Paschal."

How silly, I think, despite having no idea how the name is defined. However, that was alright, I was far too focused on what this conversation meant. Focused on what the Prince forced upon Vanrouge. Maleficent may have given the actual order, but Malleus had built the settlement and glued it down.

And Vanrouge? It appears he had no choice but to obey.

To give someone or something a name is to create an attachment. There is no way Vanrouge isn't aware of this.

Very, very silly, indeed.

"Paschal," Prince Malleus repeats, trying the name on his tongue. "Paschal…"

In a movement of shuffled arms, Prince Malleus lifts his hands and offers what seems to be a gift with the bottom caked in soil.

Three little fungi, glowing dimly in the dark with the luminosity of nightlights.

It's the only light source in the room, and I cannot look away.

"Grandmother said you don't like the dark." Prince Malleus says, plain but tone edging one of sympathy. "These grow in the garden sometimes. I don't know if you want them, but," He pauses, clearly thinking.

But it didn't matter, my mind was whirling with too many thoughts at once.

I am not going to pledge my life to a child I barely met. I am not going to protect a random royal with my entire being. I am not-

A sniffle cracks my previous exterior of a cautious figure. Shoulders trembling, I hold the light source closer, feeling as if I was given a little sun to take care of. My vision is definitely blurred, and I can sense how the Prince stiffened up from the blatant show of tears.

To shield the child from further embarrassment, I merely ducked my head to hide away, cradling the glowing fungi closer.

Thank you for being kind to me. In a time of uncertainty. In a time of suspicion and loathing.

This, I will not forget.

I suppose I'll try my best to get along with Vanrouge after all.

And speaking of Vanrouge, the other hadn't said anything else since he spoke of my new name.

Instead, he watched.

Vanrouge merely continued to watch in silence as I began to finally cry.

I am going to miss that prince, but it won't be the last time I'll see him.

After Prince Malleus had to leave for tutoring, Vanrouge was quick to scurry us out of the prison. Within minutes, he had us through the shortcuts of the stone halls, and outside for both air and travel. There was little time to enjoy the taste of fresh air once more, not with how Vanrouge gave a sharp stare of warning.

It must be due to the castle staff who passed by, staring at the two of us with wide eyes and softer whispers.

Despite this, Vanrouge hardly said a word to any of them. He only gives directions to me, pointing down which pathways in the forest to follow. Vanrouge's eyes are forward and focused, he clearly didn't have time for distractions and created the body language to do it.

Soon enough, we're deep in a forest, but the fast pace hasn't slowed a bit.

"Do not leave my side," Vanrouge commands sternly as I step over a rotted log. "If you get lost here, it would be a hassle to find your way back."

Ah, One of those illusionary spells then? Like in fairy tales? Maleficent mentioned dark fae, is everyone here one of those? How easy it must be to wander into fae territory without knowing, but unable to leave.

The amount of research needed to understand half of what was going on here feels like a headache.

Nevertheless, in a world stranger than the previous, I keep close.

And eventually, Vanrouge leads us to a manor.

It's a large building with dark wood, but there was no sound coming from the walls. A silent, lonely, thing.

Of course, the correct action to do is to go inside, but my feet are glued to the grass.

"What is it," Vanrouge demands, flat, and I realize he's tired.

"...You did not take me as the type of person who bathes in luxury," I say, eyes forward on the empty manor.

"Oh? Who do I seem like?" Vanrouge took a few steps forward, but his posture of one ready to turn heel should an attack come toward his back.

It's easy enough to ignore his caution, finally following after Vanrouge while watching the stars.

Ah, I didn't respond, did I?

"Someone who prefers the simple things in life." And those words felt like the taste of truth. An assumption is given to a person who acted with duty.

So. Who was Lilia Vanrouge? And just why was he so strong, in such a high position, and clearly a threat to enemies?

Vanrouge barks a laugh before he falls back to the usual quiet. He rocks on the back of his shoes. His hair seemed to sway while rubies remained on the building ahead. "Well, you're not entirely wrong. However, I wonder how such a thought came to you." Unlike before, suspicion didn't haunt his tone. Just tired curiosity.

And frankly? It's true. I don't know him well.

Just as much as I don't know this world well. Or the inhabitants. Or the culture. Or why there was a lethal battlefield the moment I woke up.

This is going to be a struggle, I just know it.

"Intuition." The best and curt answer I can come up with. "Vanrouge, you're treating me a little more as a person." It's not a change of subject, not particularly. "Why is that?"

When you clearly dislike the fact a stranger has your face? Your voice? Your appearance?

For a moment, Vanrouge doesn't answer.

Vanrouge opens the door to the manor with a flick of a wrist. He didn't even touch the knob.

Oh, magic, how odd and wonderful you shall be.

"If someone has enough generosity to be kind to the unknown, even after tragedy, I suppose I should also make the effort." Vanrouge finally says, soft and staring into the darkness of the manor. "I mustn't let the Prince win…I would be a terrible role model."

With those words, Vanrouge left inside, leaving the door wide open for the second guest of the manor.

…All hail Prince Malleus. The awe and admiration within bubbles amazement in my chest.

In a tiny movement of my hands, I hold the three glowing fungi close to the heart.

For the first time, the darkness ahead felt inviting.

Perhaps it's because I have a piece of light given by generosity and kindness. A luminous piece lacking warmth, but full of possibility.

I walk into the manor without further word, into an uncertain fate with myself, and one General Vanrouge.