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After every major change, usually comes a period of adjustment.
Seasons tend to function the same way, which is why autumn and spring existed. Both were setups to future extremes, the never-ending cycle of change. Regardless, these spaces of 'peace' existed, no matter how trivial, and thus was meant to be taken with grace.
…Or, with hatred; if someone had pollen allergies, and disdain, if all autumn chores were forced onto them.
And so, an adjustment period, without a season as the time-clock, could last for hours, days…
And for me, it started within the first week by stepping into the manor.
Vanrouge had mostly left me to my own devices. He acts like he's not watching, not observing every movement his 'copy' makes. And yet he leaves trails of his shadow by the doors. The sound of his steps occasionally creaked along the wooden floors. Often, Vanrouge doesn't bother hiding the glow of scarlet red in the halls when the night is at its darkest. His presence is something to sense, to immensely detect before sleep takes over, and it's displeasing.
As someone who's dealt with a lot of nightmares when young, tormented by whatever evil spirits stalked souls recently born, the feeling reactivates magma slowly moving under skin. Every sense of my being bristles and internally hisses from the mistreatment, and retribution is wanted.
However, it's difficult to bare new fangs at someone who isn't directly in front of you without looking like an idiot.
And so, I refrain.
The magma trapped under the confinement of unfamiliar skin, cannot erupt and become lava just yet. Not around a threat who mockingly lingers around the corner, and definitely not when survival is still up in the air, never mind how present it was.
Speaking of which, Vanrouge often doesn't appear directly in my vicinity.
Which…Is clearly deliberate; it's his manor.
Lilia Vanrouge obviously knows his way around his own darn home.
He's simply avoiding the 'problem.'
Vanrouge may have acknowledged my presence, but this doesn't mean he has any reason to keep interacting, not unless he were under orders. And the only 'orders' he was explicitly given were to, in simple terms, Don't let your copy die and Don't fuck up. Aside from the Prince's emotional words, Vanrouge only had to commit to the bare minimum.
Which is very fair. Who wouldn't?
Extra work is extra work.
However, The beginnings of a cyclone brew within the mind, leaving me to stare listlessly at shining black nails. I'm still very bitter, so I'll begin to test the waters and see what makes you itch.
There are other reasons to poke a sleeping bear who cannot directly beat you to a pulp.
Every sunrise since I've arrived at this manor, I've been going to sleep on a semi-comfortable bed. It's the best blessing this entire situation has given me. No longer would eyes have to drift in total darkness with stuffy air, there was now an open view of a window and a full-sized room. A bed with dusted sheets and a heavy blanket to match. Rest would come after some discomfort, courtesy of Vanrouge. But still, slumber still came.
And yet every sunset, without fail, I awake in a dark space. Sometimes, in the cabinets of the empty kitchens. Others, between the shelves of the library-A place I didn't even know, existed until waking to a large sight of books, darkness, and multiple little eyes watching from above like radioactive mice.
The appropriate reaction back then was to quickly get up, sing the national anthem under breath, and dash back into the halls.
The only saving grace of the situation is the glowing fungi by my side at all times when I came to rest. A universal rule only applicable to me, is a tiny flower pot with little luminous light growing on top. I carried the fungi everywhere in this dim-dark manor, and apparently, even in deep sleep, I did not forget my silent companion.
As for the worst part of this recurring scenario, Vanrouge was always close by when I wake.
In fact, I catch bits of laughter, amusement from him before Vanrouge vanishes back to whatever place he holes himself in.
How fun it must be for Vanrouge to play this small, one-sided game. He didn't take me as the type to be childish, but I suppose anyone can be, at heart. Even those who have slain, who have hurt, been hurt, can include in the pettiness relating to a problem.
It's an easy choice.
And yet not the choice I accept-I'll find the truth on my own, The inner depths of myself, shrouded in contempt, sneer with the drawl of a snake. And find bonus facts, if only to use them against you.
Wouldn't that be nice?
May your annoyance grow, Vanrouge, just as mine has, Mouth twitching, I force lips into a normal expression of thinned impassiveness. Now, let's go find the library.
The eyes of many await.
The doors are heavy with how the wood dragged roughly against the russet-red rug, but a simple push of one hand opens them without much effort.
It's an odd feeling rendering renewed silence; my original body would've been out of breath.
Small, small blessings in the face of misfortune.
How much does this strength extend, I think, and catching the smallest sound, I stare up in the dark. And can it protect me from this?
Cradled in one hand, is a comforting ceramic pot. The pastel luminosity is my only support against the many eyes watching in the deepest depths of the dark.
"The quivering fawn who could not walk three paces without tripping over his own feet," Vanrouge's familiar voice cuts through the silence. "Have you come to read or are you simply leaving doors open to be rude?"
Ah. It seems Vanrouge was also in the library, dressed in simple formal clothes and a revered expression to match.
I will open every door and window if it means grating on your nerves, Staring at Vanrouge's ears, I mirror a placid calm as his presence seems to suffocate the room. Thank you kindly, for the ideas. I'll have you know, I've improved with walking! I don't trip as often.
The fact Vanrouge was mentioning those early fumbles so readily… It's not easy adjusting to a new height after years of staying at a more consistent balance and set of inches.
Actually, there were better uses of my time rather than verbally dissecting Vanrouge's words. I tilt my gaze back up to the dark.
Many little dots of gold stare back.
"Are they yours?" It's a simple question, the topic at hand belongs to the many eyes of gold shining in the shadows.
Vanrouge visibly sighs without so much as twitching his nose.
Okay. Next question for the dramatic homeowner.
"Do they live here to protect your manor?" Despite the initial scare during the library awakening, the resting creatures above never gave chase.
"In a way," Vanrouge smoothly replies, finally helpful. "They serve their master. If anything note-worthy were to happen around the manor, I would know." His eyes purposely do not follow my direction, seeing through me rather than talking at.
Ah.
What a kind way of saying 'Don't act stupid, I'm still watching your every move but this time with underpaid spies.' At the very least, Vanrouge wasn't giving actual threats like right before I met Prince Malleus. I should paint a sign on my head. Something to make him react. Sliding fingers down my arms, the rug was easier to inspect without awkward consequences.
But no. I have to think bigger. Wiser. What kind of reaction do I want from him, and how do I get it?
"Are the books off limits?" And if Vanrouge is going to keep giving vague answers, then I will continue down my path of knowledge without looking back at scarlets of amusement.
"...Check the shelves. Keep away from the books by the door, everything else is fine to touch." And with that, Vanrouge turns away and walks deeper into the library. Even without physically seeing him, it's as if he never left my sight.
The books are free-reign, it seems.
The smell of old paper is strong, too. And fresh ink. I suspect Vanrouge has a section of the library to himself, a secret area to write on classified documents. He has a work life of his own, I was merely intruding on that space.
…I always did like the feel of hard-cover books. Leather covers were the best to touch.
Let's see what I can find about this world and this area, then.
Let the many eyes above bear witness to the efforts of an Otherworlder with the face of their master.
As an expert skimmer who hated reading scientific papers in college, it was easy enough to scope out the helpful books from the highly advanced writings. The sight must be a little funny, several stacks of books spread about a long table. Meanwhile, feet lay on the surface, the current cover resting on the lap.
This world has many species it seems. Monsters, sentient paintings, merpeople…
Ghosts…
Tugging the little flower pot closer, I traced the bold label of Fae in the book.
Lilia Vanrouge is the original cookie batter. As the cookie-cut shape from him; I'm a Fae. A Dark Fae at that. Maleficent also mentioned something about a 'bat-race'?
Still, just what does a Dark Fae entail? Different from the classic 'Dark Elves' trope, Dark Fae can clearly come in many shapes and sizes, it seems. Due to all these misconceptions read in another life, I was ready to think any fantasy creature with 'Dark' in its name had dark skin. In manga and novels, those creatures were often described to have such.
But not Lilia Vanrouge, who was a prime example of shattering worldviews in the most inconvenient ways possible.
It's going to be a hassle getting used to this. Listlessly, I tug at the edge of a page, covering a hand with a sheet of paper. Looking at reflective surfaces already makes me nauseous.
Clearly, it wasn't just reflections, but such is a problem for another time.
Shutting the species log, I gently put the hard cover on top of the other selection of helpful books.
"Enjoying yourself?" Vanrouge had appeared by the table, his expression was of the usual calm. The type of placid which gave nothing away.
How annoying of him.
"Not particularly," I say, staring at the table full of scattered books. "There are a lot of reasons why Humans hunt Fae down, huh? Glory. Materials for potions," Many, many more, and thus likely the reason this war started in the first place. "But the Fae have powerful magic, so is fear truly the driving factor for the declaration of bloodshed?"
In truth, this entire practice was 'justified' lynching.
Oh, how worlds love to follow similar disgusting patterns. Since my previous world still goes around lynching Black people in both the open and secret, why not have those terrors follow into a completely new planet?
How kind of the universe to put me in a similar position all the while losing the color of dark skin as well as my entire original appearance. And how kind of Vanrouge to ask this question when his gaze lingered a little too long on several of the grim-dark books of this reality.
Vanrouge stared with a new, thin smile as if he detected a trap. "...Who knows? I am merely a soldier. It is not my job to ask questions." He tells, with so many secrets and not enough mindfulness.
Only to obey orders and enforce them, huh? A classic response.
Oh wow, oh meow…Somehow, I don't believe you.
"Spoken like a true General," Continuing past this may have actual consequences so I'll just count the seconds.
"Paschal," Vanrouge interrupts, and while his voice was placid, my dark nails dug deeply into the table. "You are a guest of the Vanrouge Manor. To the outside world, you are also a Vanrouge." His gaze sings of challenge, pupils as sharp as a needle, and fangs poking out from his lips. "Anything foolish which dares to come out of your mouth may also plight my name." Vanrouge smiles, not at all kind. "And that will not be tolerated."
…Mhm, and now I can bask in the gratefulness of the 'Me' from seconds ago. I was going to say worse.
Heheh, I can't believe you caught me so easily. Vanrouge was not to be underestimated, huh?
"Understood," Is that good enough, Vanrgoue? Shall I wag an imaginary tail too? "So? How many friends have you lost to the Humans?" The words spill like a question about the weather, and the sour-bitter taste of pettiness lingers like a poisoned thorn.
Vanrouge's mouth twitches. "Far too many." He answers, curt but unbelievably honest.
And that?
The haze in Vanrouge's eyes sobered me within seconds.
"Sorry," The blurt is a bit awkward, but I won't backtrack. I refuse to fix an apology for any reason other than insincerity. "Sorry, that was mean. I didn't mean to disrespect their memory or their missing existence in your life," It's difficult to talk to those who treated me badly in the past. Hostilities wound and malice bleeds ick like an infected cut. "I'm sorry that happened, and continues to happen to you,"
Ah. It's difficult to talk about this. What to do? What to do?
"If you are to live in this Kingdom," Vanrouge seems to brush the words away like they were acidic raindrops. His scarlets are once again focused, trained on the far less-experienced person of grieved conversation. "Then, Paschal, you will understand how difficult it is to live. Shapeshifter or not. Part of me, or not. Dark Fae, or not…You will learn."
How kind of him. Once again, it sounds again like a warning. A unique kind of threat.
How many times must Vanrouge declare a reminder of how I shouldn't exist?
Does he not realize with every trip of the feet, every time I lick my teeth to feel fangs, these damn ruby eyes-I know!
I know.
"You are not to follow their fate, as you are tied to mine." Vanrouge finishes with a curt tilt of his head, black hair bouncing from the movement. "If you decide nothing else from this conversation should stay with you, remember this. You are not to be careless with your life."
Hah.
Then, why must you be so flippant? Why are you so insistent on driving me up the walls with power plays and games?
Still. Vanrouge has a point, and so I must answer accordingly.
"It would be quite lame to perish because of someone else's recklessness." It's easy enough to trace shapes on the flower pot at my side, an attempt to quiet the mind. "I get it. You don't like me. And there's no reason to pretend regardless of duty," Sitting up, I turn to completely face Vanrouge in perfect posture.
How odd of a sight this must be to the creatures watching above.
Even now, I can see Vanrouge scouting for any kind of lie. He's not incredibly obvious about it, but the cautious tend to show their patterns through silence and observation.
And under that, trapped within guard scarlets from Vanrouge himself, I can detect the smallest hint of curiosity.
"Do you have a book on sleepwalking? It's an annoyance." It's a chance to narrow down my search. Whatever Vanrouge is looking for with me, he won't find. However, I have topics to investigate as well.
So?
Won't you be a dear?
Vanrouge snapped his fingers.
For a second, I thought there was magic when the sound of bundled wind brushed sharp hearing.
But no, a little furry bat flew over for instruction, golden eyes shining.
That was you?! My mind screeches, overloaded by the sheer height of the little thing. How many generations of you live here? There had to be over a hundred up there! What the hell, Vanrouge? How are you feeding them? And what do these bats eat?
Wait. Wait.
Vanrouge opened his palm, and the helpful little bat dropped a thick book in his hand.
That's not fair. I want an army of cute creatures too. Dear Universe who brought me here, if you grant me this wish; I will forgive your every transgression. Now, what do I have to do,
Talking is impossible. Speech has disappeared from the table. Nothing else matters at this moment other than living through it.
The amount of envy for this Dark Fae is unbearable.
"I was beginning to tire of pitying you," Vanrouge delivers the line as if he were bored. "Here we are. I'm sure this could be helpful." He places the new set of pages on the table.
"Who cares about the book," I tell him, full of steel and honed in on the bat now perched on Vanrouge's shoulder. "Do your familiars follow your every order? And to hold an object of that size, what an amazing little one!" Oh, oh, I was getting pumped! So cute! So adorable! "You must have quite the bond of trust!"
Why did I ever run from them?
Vanrouge blinked, his shoulders seemed to lower the slightest smudge. "Pardon?"
…Is he daft?
"The bats," I stress the word, both slow and drawn. "The bats, you fool, do you see how small they are? And that violet shine! Their fur is clearly healthy, and their flying is both graceful and skilled," Asthma doesn't seem to exist in this body, another blessing because now there's no reason why I can't keep talking. "I don't know if trained is the right word for this but they're amazing," I pause, but not due to any lack of breath.
I can feel it. The emotion running through the veins, the shake of hands, and renewed tapping of a foot on the rug.
Vanrouge is equally frozen, as if he too, cannot comprehend.
"Thank you, for the book." I say, in a sugar-sweet voice regardless of the deep tone.
Then after snatching the written work off the table, flower-pot in the other arm, the surroundings became a blur as I dashed out of the room.
He didn't stop me? Is the singular thought which plagues the mind as I stumble and crash into the wall. Nothing breaks, thankfully, and the throb of pain is dull. Fricking. Ow. Ouch. Too fast. Should've slowed down earlier…But. Vanrouge didn't chase me.
Good, good. My face was still burning, excitement still bumping against the ribs.
It was easy enough to find my room again, shutting the door, and sulking over to the bed.
With a rough tug of the blanket, I wrap the entire cloth over my head and body. The new book presses against the chest, and my flower pot remains by the bedside. A protective cocoon, this position was familiar in safety and feeling. The mattress under my back was sturdy enough to ground my thoughts, no matter how troubled.
However, the fabric isn't cold enough to allow a breakthrough of calm.
Oh no, oh no, I think, shuddering as dark nails trace shapes just above the glowing fungi. I want to pet them…
And yet, it's an impossible dream. Not with the way Vanrouge and 'Paschal' currently co-exist with passive aggression.
I wonder, if I sleep, will I be able to experience the dream of petting those little ones?
Perhaps I am being wishful.
However, in a world like this, in a new body like this, I deserve it.
I deserve to dream.