Work Text:
Sunlit snow in the Evening
The air in the Kingdom was stagnant.
The military base always had that atmosphere before a mission. Germa66's eagle eyes settled on the island. The purple snail stared at the horizon where it could be barely seen. A stalemate ensued in the army's hearts as its prey drew near, the hunter not a few days away but ready to move into action.
The cold had settled over the Kingdom. A looming presence sailing towards the next mission through everything, like an unstoppable clockwork machine; Elliot, a small gear with no breathing room to escape or hide. However, tonight it seemed the stars were writing another story: how the soldiers moved through the night market as he watched from his room. They were people, or beings acting as ordinary people, having a life, a system, and a sense of loyalty so pure that it exceeded the definition of patriotism.
Something is happening. Elliot can see some soldiers speaking with the merchant behind a food stall, and the noise reaches the tower where the servant chambers are. How mundane. Two soldiers initiated a scuffle, their ebony-shaded glasses almost getting lost in the darkness, but their voices were loud. Loud enough for the scene to ring oddly with the once outsider and the unspoken rules to never mention the apparent similarities between soldiers; the night is still young at the market, servants moved around outside his room, making his eyes drift, shadows, fleeting shapes in the gap between his door and floor.
Cold glass pressed against his temple as the moonlit green glint that resided around the golden-edged pupils shifted away from the window and towards his room. The space was sufficient to him, as it should be for every servant with the honor to be close to its designed responsibilities. The bed had fine fixed dark covers with the candle at the nightstand giving a warm glow around the edges and shrouding the corner of his closet into an almost ephemeral area with no end. Brown strands curl against the window as he tilts his head more. It felt as if the fatigue of weeks on end had finally settled on his shoulders, the coldness from outside making his warm breath appear as the window fogged up in a uniform shape. He watches it disappear, only to appear at the other end, smaller.
/No/ his brain starts rushing through possibilities as the white spect drifts to rest at the windowsill outside, and another joins not inches away. /snow-/ when the word appears in his head, his body reacts as if reacting to acid, scrambling back with clumsy footwork. The Kingdom's first snowfall of the year leaves his body cold, freezing up with a paralyzing fear at the sigh of the snowflakes gently falling against the glass. The warmth inside is not enough for them to melt, instead accumulating into a thin layer outside his window.
Even with the forewarning of a winter forecast, he felt unprepared. Winter islands in the New World always left a sour taste in his mouth, seeking reasons to shut himself away in his room much earlier than usual. Hearing the rest of the staff speak highly about seeing snow, perhaps alluding to a fluttering wonderland framed in white and letting soft sighs up like hopeful wishes, only left Elliot confused. These gentle floating orbs reflected light, giving the palace a sense of magic, but he could only imagine them betraying them and turning into a blizzard. But his personal opinion didn't matter, not when he was rendered useless against the fragile-looking coldness.
He disliked snow, which said a lot, considering that there were very few things that he despised and avoided. He had been taught to face consequences and confront his fears, but now he couldn't quite do that as the memories of his parents' warm smiles were whisked away by an unseen glade. In a logical state, it would have been strange for the butler, as the room was tightly shut. The window locked, shutting the world away. But it wasn't the weather outside that took his breath away, leaving his lips quivering and his limbs twitching with his imagination. He could see his mother's pale bluish skin, dry, cracked lips whispering solemn promises to him like a slow approaching winter's apparition. Her touch was cold, like ice against his cheek. The hoarfrost spread up his face. Icy needles prickled at his skin, causing him to step back on shaky legs, stumbling backward into his bed to ironed sheets
His intake of breath felt sharp, like a thousand blades digging into his lungs.
The charms of the white beast allured the innocent and naïve while it hunted. Calling forth pitiful and small, unsuspecting prey to separate from the pack and devour. Consumed by its hunger, the cold was an unseen monster Elliot Fletcher had met far too many times. His gloved hands gripped his sheets, trying to ground himself. The candle on his bedside gave soothing warmth that just wasn’t enough. In a quick turn, he watches the flames flutter once more --tilting his body, closing his eyes-- He goes blindly to the window, knowing his room far too well to draw the curtains in a quick pull.
Taking off his glasses with one hand, he hums while rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other one. It had been a long week, breathing carefully and focusing on how his lung filled in achingly before letting it go. He moves to change out of his uniform as noises from other servants start rising from outside his bedroom door, the chattering whispers of girls and some men reaching his acute hearing. The mention of the falling snow outside is lighthearted and cheerful. Humans. The staff was not a cloning effort of the scientific team, yet they were treated and indoctrinated as such. As he changes, his mind shifts back to the future work, recalling Cosset mentioning the changes for the menu depending on the products the island could provide for them. He didn't understand her but could sympathize with her, and he had agreed to help with the accommodations.
A knock on his door takes his attention. A maid he cannot identify from her voice calls his name, "Mister Fletcher, we are about to head out. Would you like to join us?" a kind question, rare through the years of services, but the snow-
"I highly appreciate your invitation, Miss. However, due to personal circumstances, I am unable to join you tonight as there are still duties for me to attend to," he says gently and firmly, hearing her walk off, the voices wander. Rumors coursed through the kingdom about the brunet's nature, a fruit of the labor the scientists had gone through in an attempt to replace the servant staff one day, rendering the other maids useless. This was untrue, for Germa66 only focused its resources on its military expansion.
It continued to snow outside. A looming beast seemed to want to eat him away as he lay on his bed. His small body doubles over and grips his arms tight enough to dig into his skin. His sensitive ears shouldn't be able to hear the twinkles of snowflakes as they land on his windowsill. But he knows.
He is alone here, huddled under his covers like when he was a kid. The monster under his bed trying to reach for him. He was utterly alone in the small room, flakes of memories outside his window that seemed so beautiful at the surface, like an abyss with a monster at the bottom of the dark water; It stared back as he shut his eyes. He is afraid of what's behind his eyelids when they close, and his thoughts are the only thing he can hold on to.
Shimmering watercolors of teal and gold eyes open as a glint pass over his eyelid. The candle flickered gently, shining over his uniform's brooch. The red gem glimmered with the warm light of the candle—the golden encasing’s warmth spreading against his shaky fingers when he reached for it. The red rock reminded him of something, the flames that enraptured his gaze whenever he got a glimpse of them, the hair that he brushed down at times when the low voice was rumbling his eardrums in the mornings, and the heat that spread through him as he breathes in unsaid synchrony with the beat of hearts.
One last time, Elliot's eyes flutter again, holding the brooch under the covers like an invisible lifeline. Resting the gemstone against his lips, the touch burns through the cold night.