Work Text:
In a warmly lit room several floors up, adults talk and laugh and do whatever it is adults do when they're invited to parties. Rose had spent all of dinner squirming in her seat, doing her best to be on her best behavior— they were in Godfather's house, Mum had reminded her a thousand times before they came. This was the time to be quiet and still and respectful.
But her dress itched, and the conversation was boring, and all any of the adults at the table would say to her was how much she'd grown since they saw her last. Even Snow was fidgeting by the last course. Finally, finally, Godfather had excused them with a kindly smile.
"Wander about if you'd like," he'd said, eyes sparkling. "There are many secrets in my palace; why don't you see what you find?"
"Your Majesty," Mum had murmured. "There's no need; there must be a thousand things they could break… they can behave themselves."
Godfather waved her off. "Nonsense, Thea. Nothing they truly can't be allowed to touch is accessible. They'll be fine."
Rose was already taking Snow's hand and scampering out of the room. Permission from Godfather was more than enough to excuse anyone from anything.
She and Snow have been exploring the palace since. They've found more parlors and sitting rooms than Rose can count, a room filled with shelves upon shelves of weird creepy dolls, and a room full of complicated planters that looked like they should have had waterfalls cascading from them, but instead had seemingly endless colorful falling sand. Snow had stared at that one for ages, mesmerized, before Rose got bored and dragged her away.
"Maybe we'll find the royal treasury if we look long enough," Rose suggests. "Think of all the cool stuff that would be in there! Maybe they have real swords."
Snow wrinkles her nose. "I don't think we could just walk into that. Besides, why would they keep swords in the treasury?"
"Maybe they're made of pure diamond. I don't know. It would be cool." She nudges Snow. "Maybe they'd have cool jewelry, too. Or old tiaras like the ones you keep begging Mum to let you try on."
"We shouldn't touch that stuff, anyway. It's probably really…" Snow trails off as Rose opens another door, this one leading into what looks like an old storage room. "Ew. I didn't know there were rooms this gross in the palace."
The air smells musty, and even the floor has a layer of dust. Rose's shoes leave prints in it. She grins. "There's got to be interesting things in here. Come on."
Snow crosses her arms. "It's disgusting. Besides, we'll get our clothes dirty."
Rose lunges for Snow, grabs her arm, and drags her stumbling inside. "Too late!" she says cheerfully. "Come on. You know you're dying to explore it."
For a long moment, Snow just worries at her lip. Then she sighs. "Fine. But I'm blaming you if we get in trouble."
They wander past a gold-inlaid globe of a planet Rose can't identify, a shape that looks like a grand piano (Snow refuses to let Rose take the cover off to check), and an enormous chest that won't open, no matter how hard Rose tugs on the lid or how long Snow looks for a key. There's an ancient datapad with a real glass screen and physical buttons, a strange wooden mask with a keyhole in the middle of it, and an extremely large taxidermy duck.
Snow giggles at that and picks it up, shoves it toward Rose.
Rose bats it away. "I'm not five anymore, Snow—" she starts before something catches her eye. It looks like a portrait, half-covered with a sheet, but from the half of the subject's face that's visible, he has the weirdest eyes Rose has ever seen. "What the heck," she whispers. She draws closer to it and, before Snow can protest, pulls the sheet away.
The portrait is of a young man with pale skin and long brown hair, wearing a deep red gown. Even if it weren't propped up on an old wooden chair, it would be at least as tall as Rose is, looming over her in its tarnished gold frame. It looks like the stuffy portraits in the family hall in their home or the museums their tutors take them to, except that the man's eyes look like the worst cybernetic job Rose has ever heard of.
The eyeballs themselves are cold and empty, glinting like camera lenses and rimmed in brass. It looks like there's metal worming under his skin around them, and all that skin looks discolored and bruised. Of course it looks that way— they can barely do cybernetic eyes now, and this portrait looks hundreds of years old. Could whoever is in it even see with those?
Worst of all is his grin. He shows too many teeth, looks almost crazy the way he smiles.
Rose can't look away. Like a disgusting bug in Papa's garden or a hover crash on a broadcast screen, something about it keeps her eyes magnetized to it with a horrifying curiosity.
Snow shivers beside Rose, just as transfixed. She reaches for Rose's hand. "Who is that?" she asks, hushed. "Do you think that hurt?"
Rose can't imagine it didn't. "I don't know."
"I don't like it." Her voice is very small, and the sound of it snaps Rose out of her trance.
She squeezes Snow's hand and steps in front of her, between her and the portrait. "Turn around. I'll try to cover it again."
Snow does, and Rose grabs the sheet and tries to throw it back over the portrait. It's much too tall. All she does is get dust all over both of them. Snow sneezes.
Rose gives up on covering the portrait. "Let's just go," she says, taking Snow's hand again. As she turns her back to the portrait, she feels like the man is watching her. She doesn't let herself shudder, though, not while Snow can feel her. When Snow is scared, Rose has to be brave for both of them.
She shuts the door firmly behind them, locking the creepy portrait away. Snow brushes dust off herself, a troubled set to her brow. "That was awful," she says quietly. "Why does Godfather have that?"
Rose pastes on a grin, even though her chest still feels a little funny and the image of those eyes won't leave her head. "It's just a creepy picture. He probably got it as an ugly gift and hid it here so no one would have to look at it."
"Who do you think was in it?" She avoids Rose's eyes.
"I don't know," she says again with a shrug. "Maybe he wasn't even real. Whoever it is, he probably died a long time ago." Snow doesn't seem comforted. "Come on. Let's forget about it. We can probably go out to the garden until the adults are finished."
Snow finally smiles at that, relieved. "Dust yourself off first. You look terrible."
Rose grumbles as she does, but soon they're wandering back towards more familiar parts of the palace. The portrait isn't forgotten— Rose will dream of it that night. But by silent agreement, she and Snow don't talk about it again.