Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She opens her eyes.

Her small, clammy hands grip the leather of the armchair. It lets out a wailing creak as she slowly turns around in her seat, trying to make out her surroundings. 

It is dark.

The moonlight shines in through the large windows, illuminating the cluttered insides of the room.

She tries to get up, but quickly sits back down as the ground seems to sway under her feet, pressing her warm palm to her head in a futile attempt at stopping the sudden pain. It comes in short waves, steady as her own heartbeat, but nothing accompanies it. No images come to her mind that could possibly tell her how she ended up here.

Only darkness.

She catches her breath as she absentmindedly rubs her forehead. The pain soon fades away. She manages to get up, and makes her way to a window, where she is greeted by the sight of an empty, misty street.

Where am I ? 

She leans in, pressing her hand to the window, trying to make out anything helpful. Just then, a figure appears in a corner of the street, floating, yes, floating, she realizes, towards the window. It has no feet, and only the faint outline of a skeletal body can be seen under the black, swirling clouds coating it. Its eyes blaze red from under a worn-out hat. 

She jumps back with a shaky gasp, her dry throat refusing to let any scream escape. 

A click echoes in the shop, making her heart jump again as she frantically looks around the room, trying to locate the source of the noise.

What's going on?

A pull.

Without thinking, she turns her head, sharply, towards a globe. It is in no way special, unlike the golden glow gleaming through the half opened trunk hidden behind it.

Was it open the whole time?

The light is soft, and gently beckons the young woman forward. She pulls her cloak tighter around her, as a nervous shiver courses through her small body. It is suddenly warmer in the shop. The girl pushes the globe aside, her gaze never wavering as she stares at the trunk, the golden light reflected in her eyes.

She kneels down, and the lid squeaks as she pushes it open; the back of her hands brush an ancient helmet and a sculpted candle holder aside, as the light glows brighter with every movement that brings her freckled hands closer to the mysterious light source. Underneath books bound with fragile covers which faded gilt faintly glints, lies the artifact aglow.

Her hand does not hesitate before grasping the rolled parchment. As soon as her fingers make contact with the soft paper, its light fades off. She turns the parchment in her hand, observing the clasp holding it closed, and brings it closer to her face, to better see the elegant symbol of a tree and the arabesques forming a bas-relief on the clasp. As she approaches her other hand to open it, the mural lamp above her flickers on, making her gasp in surprise, as she looks up at the eclectic lamps hanging at the back of the room, which are now lit up as well. She momentarily forgets the strange parchment in her hand, when at the corner of her eye, she notices the street, outside. The mist is moving. She approaches the large window again, her hand resting on the lifeless shoulder of an old mannequin, lowering her head into her shoulders to see under the large letters reading ' ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES ' backwards. The bluish mist swirls and rushes off the street, and disappears. The young woman cocks her head to the right and to the left, trying to see any sign of the shadow-like creature she saw earlier, but the street remains peaceful and unperturbed, as if nothing had happened at all. The full moon shines brightly in the cloudless sky, its large, all-seeing eye sneering at the clueless girl.

She is pulled out of her reverie by a man's voice, the words soft and unrushed, as if he were speaking to a frightened child.

"Don't be scared! It's safe to come out now."

She could have sworn the purple clad gentleman was not standing out there a second ago. Yet, there is no hesitation in the way her hand brushes the lace curtain off the door handle, and pushes the door open. The man greets her with a smile, his cane clinking on the wet and irregular cobblestones as he takes gentle, slow steps towards her, the light of the streetlamps shining on his short red hair and sideburns. From under the brim of his top hat, his bright blue eyes twinkle with unknown knowledge.

"Welcome to Darkwood. I know who you are, and why you're here."

He stands still in the middle of the street, his hands resting on the pommel of his cane.

Darkwood? What do you mean? I… Who… am I ?

She steps forward, willing to inquire about her situation. However, he speaks again before she does, gesturing to the rolled parchment she is still holding firmly in her hand.

"The Map has chosen you, and it is your destiny to save this town from its Curse."

Her hand tightens around the parchment. 

So this is a map? What do you mean it chose me ? Why was it glowing? A Curse? Why me specifically?

"Take care of it, and it will help you in return. Good luck, Seeker …"

The man tips his hat as a goodbye. The young woman opens her mouth, to take a chance and ask him the thousands of questions she has before he leaves, but a barn owl's hooting resounds, and she looks up as the bird flies straight towards her, its black round eyes reflecting the full moon. Startled, she raises her arm in an attempt to protect her face, however the owl's wings only graze her forehead, letting her feel a small gust of wind created by the sharp feathers, before it flies away in the night sky.

While attempting to calm her heartbeat, she turns back towards the mysterious man, hoping for some answers; however, she is met with nothing. She turns confused eyes towards the street to her right, but it is utterly devoid of people. The man has vanished, seemingly into thin air.

Was that a dream ? Am I asleep ? I must be…

She is alone again now, with this strange… Map . She holds it in her hands, and her thumbs move on their own, pressing the buttons of the clasp with one swift movement, as if she had done this countless times before. The clasp falls open, and she unrolls the parchment. 

A city is represented with a great attention to detail, from the sharp coastlines to lonely letterboxes in street corners. 

This must be Darkwood…

Her eyes follow the countless tiny threads of golden light which seem to be woven into the very fibers of the parchment. The lights move in a shimmering, lazy waltz, before uniting in a bright and focused ballet, leading towards a single point. She squints, trying to decipher the small, curvy letters.

Grand Stage

A pull.

The young woman closes the Map, and starts moving. The silence of the streets is only disturbed by the echo of her sharp steps on the wet cobblestones. A stray cat stirs and runs away into a dark alley, hissing at the one responsible for interrupting its slumber. But the young woman does not stop, or even make a sign of acknowledgment. Her feet move on their own, their pace fast, steady, mechanical, leading her further into a city she does not know. Her hand is wrapped firmly around the rolled parchment, its tendrils of light crawling lazily towards her fingers.

A little further away, an old man is walking down the street. His calloused fingers move gently and deftly as they knot two loose threads together, to prevent a piece of his worn-out jacket from falling off. A few coins tinkle in his pocket. Maybe, had he earned more today, he would have been able to buy a ticket for tonight's magic show; it has been so long since he saw a performance… He needs not even sit with others in red velvet seats, only catch a glimpse of the colourful stage lighting up from a dark corner, his vision obstructed by flowery hats and newer frock coats…

He looks up. The stars are especially bright. His eyes narrow as he spots the small silhouette ahead. It stops for a second, before taking a sharp turn, and stopping again under a street light, in front of a wall. Intrigued by the individual's unusual pace, he takes a few steps closer, and notices long red curls strewn with flowers, cascading down the cloaked back of a petite woman.

"Hey, miss? You alright here?"

No answer. She has her back turned to him, and seems to be staring at the street sign in front of her.

"Erm… Are you lost? You shouldn't be out alone so late, I've seen some—"

He lets out a strangled cry, stepping back, not daring to turn away from the bright light. Like two golden full moons, her eyes stare at him. He frowns, his wide eyes scrutinising her face, looking for any sign of hostility, but her expression remains implacably impassive. Not a single muscle twitches on her young, sun-kissed face. 

She takes a step forward, and he steps back again. Another step forward. And one backwards. And again. She steps out of the small circle of light around the street lamp post, her unblinking eyes boring into his as they illumine her features, still as an ancient statue's. 

A gust of humid wind rushes through the street, and his hand shoots up to keep his frayed hat from being blown away. Her long red hair flutters around her face like a bloody halo. 

She takes another step forward.

He runs, his nervous hand holding his hat down on his head. He mutters to himself, his jaw quivering, his eyes widening.

"That ain't human!"

Chapter Text

The theater house is like an ancient temple laid onto the large square. The white and pale yellow of the walls, illuminated by the faint gold of the street lights, are a stark contrast against the dark night sky. The pools of light are buzzing with life, people converse, feathers and fabric ruffle in the wind, droplets of cold drizzle catch the light on top of hats.

Heads turn when the young woman approaches, fear-filled gasps are heard at the sight of her glowing eyes, booted feet shuffle against the wet pavement, leading the aghast audience out of her path as she comes forward. From their place harnessed at coaches, the horses nonchalantly turn their heads in her direction, inky eyes staring at the strange visitor, unbothered by her eerie appearance. She does not appear to see any of them, humans or animals, and heads straight up the stairs, her vibrant red curls bouncing around her shoulders, her heels hitting the white stone with a sharp sound that echoes in the night, and disappears between the sculpted columns.

She enters the building, glancing up at the large high relief of theater masks at the top of the large staircase at the end of the entrance hall. One is gleeful, the other sorrowful.

The ticket seller awakens with a gasp, noticing a newcomer. She has her back to him, but he puts on a smile nonetheless, as his job requires.

"Good evening miss ! The interval is over but you can slip into the back of the room unnoticed…"

The cheerful young man does not look up at the young woman as he produces a ticket for her.

"Here, it'll be—"

A bloodcurdling scream escapes him as his eyes meet her own glowing ones. The ticket falls from his trembling hand and at her feet. She does not move a single limb. Their eyes stare into each other for what seems like an eternity, an emotionless pit of light facing a glistening gaze full of fear, before she turns away sharply, and walks through the hall and up the stairs. Meanwhile, he leans forward and looks out the window of his booth, watching her leave with an agape mouth and wide eyes, which he rubs with force as if to try and convince himself he is not still asleep.

She arrives on a balcony overlooking the seats, her eyes glowing in the dark, fixed on the magician on stage. His white gloved hands reflect the stage lights as they join in front of him as he seems plunged in deep concentration. A blue light faintly glows from between his palms, and as he suddenly spreads his arms, releasing it, a swarm of red roses erupts around him. 

Thunderous applause resonates as the flowers fall around the spectators, and several women catch a rose in their hands, grinning giddily as they give a small wave to the handsome magician.

The girl's solar gaze never leaves the man as she walks down the stairs, the spectators blind to the strange individual arriving behind them, in the shadows at the back of the room.

Once again, the magician plunges himself into deep concentration. However, this time the cold blue light goes to his eyes, engulfing his dark irises. As he spreads his arms, the shadow of large hairy spider legs seems to sprout from his back and into the room as he grins widely, letting out a dramatically evil laugh. The spectators clap again, gasping and laughing heartily at the exaggerated display.

And suddenly, a scream.

Had the woman not been already of a great age, her hair would have turned white from the fear of seeing a ghostly, wailing pixie-like blue creature emerge from the untouched green dress of the young woman who had been sitting beside her just a moment ago. Panicked heads turn around the room as a dozen similar pixies replace young women, floating obediently into the glass jar the magician had just conjured in his hands.

As soon as the last creature enters the jar, he briskly closes it, his crooked grin growing at the sight of panicked people running out of the room, only faltering slightly when his vibrant glowing blue eyes meet cold golden ones. However, he quickly regains his composure, and, with a mocking wave at the newcomer, disappears in a swarm of red roses. 

The redhead comes forward in the room, her eyes still aglow, stepping on a discarded rose and crushing it in the process. Just then, a man, in his panic, slams into her as he runs out, not looking back, and her shoulder hits a marble bust, which falls down onto the floor with a loud sound, its head crushed to pieces. She leans against the wall as her eyes abruptly stop glowing, and blinks, her breath erratic, wincing as she rubs her sore shoulder.

As she slowly comes back to her senses, looking around the room that is now empty and eerily calm, save for the several grief stricken people clinging to the clothes of the women who just disappeared. She walks silently between the seats, looking at the scene before her, but the people around do not seem to notice her, too shaken by this turn of events. 

She makes her way to the front row, where a young woman is carefully inspecting the green dress left there, the seat, even the shoes on the floor.

“Excuse me…?” she speaks in a tentative voice. “What is going on…?”

The woman's head snaps in her direction. She seems a bit older than her, and her face is pale, making her painted red lips stand out. A little hat covers her short brown ringlets, her beige cape is tied by an elegant bow, and the azure of her dress is only matched by the one of her eyes, which sparkle seems dull.

“You saw what happened…?” she asks in a trembling voice.

The redhead nods before answering. “I did… that man did something… and now all these women are gone…”

“Yes… and that something is soul stealing, I'm sure of it.” the brunette responds, gritting her teeth.

The girl blinks, her gray eyes widening as she attempts to process the words. “What ? You… what ?” 

The woman nods and looks down, fiddling with the silver ring on her right index finger.

“This is the first time I ever see this, but there are so many tales about it that is is impossible not to recognize it.”

The redhead mirrors her, nervously tapping the rolled map with her fingers.

“I… look. I don't know about any soul stealing, but… Maybe I could help ?” 

The woman's eyes turn to her once more, widening slightly.

“Help ?”

“Yes,” she says, tilting her head in confusion. “Why ?”

The brunette shakes her head, a soft yet incredulous smile tugging at her lips.

“Forgive me, I didn't really expect a stranger to want to help right away. Though, I’m not really sure how you would be able to…”

“Well, I can at least try.”

With these words, the young redhead immediately gets to work, walking around the grand room at a slow, careful, almost relaxed pace. The dim, golden lights from the flower shaped mural lamps are reflected in her eyes, and cast a soft glow over her skin.

There, on the now deserted stage, among the roses petals iridescent with an eerie magic glow, lays a discarded top hat. The gray felt and the red silken ribbon around it catch the light of the spotlights, dust slowly gathering onto the fabric. 

She picks up the hat, gently blowing the dust off, before peeking inside cautiously, almost expecting something to surge out from its dark depths.

Then, as she makes her way to the back of the room, she suddenly stops in her tracks as she hears a soft ruffling sound under her foot. She looks down, moving her foot away to reveal a rose. She bends down, and picks up the stem, mindful of its thorns. The crushed dark red petals fall into her palm, traces of magic escaping them in a purplish shimmer. Her eyebrows crease in a thoughtful frown.

How did it end up crushed…? The trampling, surely…

She quickly shakes her head, not intent on lingering on such a seemingly trivial detail, and returns to the woman, whose big azure eyes are set on her, curious and perhaps slightly impatient.

The woman stares at the items now gathered in the girl's hands. Her mouth is slightly agape, but no words come out. She faintly shakes her head, bewildered.

“Oh my… You’re a quick one ! I didn't expect—”

They both freeze suddenly as they hear a faint noise. The young redhead whispers.

“What is that ?”

The brunette frowns, listening closely. The noise occurs once again. And once more, small and plaintive.

“Is that…” her eyes widen. “Oh my…”

She rushes towards the noise, gripping her skirts as she runs. The girl follows behind. They go through one of the large blue doors leading backstage, and skip between the wooden and pasteboard sceneries, paint buckets and pegs disappearing under downy boas and sparkling costumes. Under a gilded throne adorned with engravings which coarse nature is visible only up close, is the source of the mysterious sound ; a small, dark furbag, with two tiny dark eyes glistening in the dark space.

“Just what I thought,” she says. “Amelia never leaves her house without Kaitie.”

“Who's Kaitie ?”

“Her dog. She must have ran off in fear…” 

The redhead glances at her, and slowly comes forward. She kneels down at the door, not daring approaching the dog and scaring it further. She extends her hand, speaking in a soft voice.

“Hey Kaitie… it's alright little one, come out…”

The little Yorkshire terrier slowly approaches, sniffing her hand tentatively. She cannot help but smile as she feels its cold wet nose brushing her skin, glancing at the little pink bow on its head.

The woman looks at the scene, stunned, and after a moment spent staring, her blue eyes wide, her mouth agape, she exclaims.

“How did you do it ? All of this ?”

“What ?”

“It was as if… as if you simply knew where to look… and here... Kaitie never lets strangers touch her, but... you did…” 

“I… suppose I did ?” the girl answers with a shrug, her faint smile masking her own confusion. She gently takes Kaitie into her arms, standing up.

The brunette looks at her for a while, torn between gratefulness and wariness in front of the strange girl.

“You did… Thank you…”

She then blinks suddenly, snapping out of her thoughts, and smiles apologetically.

“Oh my, but I forget my manners with all this ! I'm—”

"Helen ! Where have you been ?! I have been looking for you everywhere, for God's sake ! I thought I lost you in this mad crowd !"

The voice echoes in the empty room, startling the two women. The concerned party rolls her eyes, sighing, before turning to the irritated man. Salt-and-pepper stands escape from his otherwise neatly slicked back hair, his expression worsens the wrinkles on his slender face, and his reddening cheeks, his large front teeth barren and his small quivering moustache make him look as if ready to burst as he takes long, unnerved strides towards them.

"Richard, I am here and well, you needn't worry so much."

"You are my wife, of course I worry about you !"

The redhead looks back and forth between the couple, confused, and shifts Kaitie in her arms, then tentatively raises her free hand, speaking softly to try and calm the man.

“Sir, calm down, your wife is alright, there's no need to shout…”

The man turns to the stranger with a frown, looking at her up and down with a mix of confusion and disdain.

"Who are you ? I do not remember ever seeing you in town before, I would have remembered…"

The man's lips curve into a disapproving scowl, his frowning gaze traveling from the young woman's loose, unruly red hair barely held out of her face by wildflowers, down to her legs clad in loose white trousers, almost completely visible under a dark, worn-out cloak that seemed too big for her, and the thin shimmering layers of her ankle-length dress. 

“... a mess of a faun such as you,” he mumbles, adjusting his burgundy satin tie. “What is your name ?”

What is my name ?

“What my husband means to say,” the brunette says, shooting a glare at him, “is that you are dressed quite unusually compared to what we're accustomed to… Anyway, I'm Helen, the mayor's assistant, and this is my husband Richard, he's a… businessman. What's your name, miss ?”

What is my name ?

The girl's mouth opens, then closes, not finding any words to say, any syllables to assemble, any letters to combine to forge the very words that could define her. Richard sneers.

“Well, do not look at me like that, what are you, a fish ? Well, you certainly seem to be out of water…” he sniggers.

Helen frowns at her husband's remark, but the redhead does not seem to pay it any mind, her face frozen in an expression slowly fading from confusion to horror.

“I don't know my name…”

The couple's eyebrows shoot up, Helen's in concern, Richard's in doubt.

“What do you mean ?” Helen asks in a soft voice. “You don't know your name ?”

“N— No…” she stutters, her voice shaky. The dog looks up at her, whimpering softly as it smells her hair, but she does not react to it. “I try to think about my name, where I come from, but nothing comes to mind…”

The couple's eyes widen, and they briefly look at each other before Helen speaks again, her tone suddenly more cautious.

“Wait, wait… What do you mean by where you come from ? Did you come from… outside of Darkwood ?”

“Darkwood… it's this city, right ? I think so ? I have no memory of this place…”

“No memories ? None at all ? Oh my…”

“What is this ?” Richard asks suddenly.

The young woman follows his gaze, looking down at the rolled parchment she is still clutching in her left hand. She does not answer.

“What is this ?” Richard insists. “It looks ancient, is it some kind of artifact…”

As he speaks, he stretches out his arm to seize the parchment, but she briskly steps back, shifting her body as if to shield it. The dog growls and barks at him. Helen puts a hand on her husband's arm, frowning.

“Richard, now is not the time !” she whispers. “You're scaring her !”

“I just want to take a look, nothing else…”

“Sure, sure…” 

“I mean it !” he hisses. “I swear it reminds me of something I read about… I cannot quite put my finger on it, but…”

With a thoughtful frown on her face, Helen turns back to the girl. 

“If you don't want to give it to Richard, could you give it to me ?” 

She extends a hand, waiting for her to hand over the parchment, but the redhead does not budge, switching from frowning at Richard to gazing hesitantly at Helen.

The latter, seeing the girl's refusal to cooperate, lowers her hand, sighing.

“Look, miss… if I listened correctly, you have no memories of who you are, you potentially come from outside Darkwood… You have been very helpful, but right now, you also seem very suspicious.”

The redhead softens a bit.

“I don't mean to… I just helped you as much as I could right now, I absolutely mean no harm…”

“I didn't mean to imply this.” Helen says softly. “But in those circumstances, you have to understand our wariness.”

“What circumstances ? What do you mean ?”

Helen bites her lip, hesitant.

“Well, miss, you are—”

“Helen !” Richard whispers, gritting his teeth. “It is probably not safe to tell her everything !”

Helen frowns, and waits, thinking for a moment before speaking.

“Wait for me here, I have to make a phone call.”

She briskly walks out of the room.

"May I use the phone ?"

The ticket seller jumps in his seat, in a way that would appear almost comical if it were not for the dire situation. His wide eyes lock onto the woman in front of him, before they close as he breathes out in relief, finding the beloved mayor's assistant a much more welcoming sight than any cloaked being with emotionless glowing eyes.

“O— Of course, Mrs Darlington, go ahead…”

She quickly thanks him, and goes to dial a number, the movements of her fingers quick and efficient.

After a short moment, a brief sigh of exhaustion can be heard, followed by the grave voice of a man.

"Hello ?"

She speaks urgently, "Mayor Smallcat, good evening." 

"Good evening Helen, what is the matter ? I thought you were at the magic show with Mr Darlington ?"

"I am or, well… the show's been cut short."

"Cut short ? Whatever do you mean ?"

She sighs, "To put it simply, the magician was some kind of… dark sorcerer in disguise. He made several young women disappear, I think he stole their souls…"

"He— Their souls ?!" he cries out. "Dear god, are you alright ?!"

"I am, but Miss Anders was among the victims though… as well as Miss Sharp and Miss Granger, and others I'm not recalling at the moment."

"I am so sorry, Helen…"

"Mayor Smallcat, there is something else."

"What is it ?" he asks. His voice appeared to have aged several years in seconds.

"Right after those events, a young woman showed up. She doesn't seem to remember who she is."

"A young woman ? Do you know her ?"

"No, I don't remember ever seeing her in town either. She has no memory of where she came from and doesn't seem to be from around here."

"So she might come from outside Darkwood… Did you notice anything particularly unusual about her ?"

“Unusual is the right word sir. She is not dressed like a lady at all, and resembles some kind of adventurer. She also carries a roll of parchment with her, and refuses to let go of it.”

"A roll of parchment ? What does it say ?"

"I don't know, but it looks quite ancient, she keeps it closed in her hand, she is almost clinging onto it for dear life."

"I see… anything else?"

"Well, she helped me find a few clues about what happened, she was very good at finding them… Maybe she's an investigator ?"

A pause.

"Good at finding things you say ?" he says with a pensive tone.

"Yes ?"

"Could you bring her to the city hall, please ? I would like to have a word with her."