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You may not be able to boil someone down to their singular, fretful and lonesome core. Plunging them into those searing bubbles and roaring heat, scraping off rising scum and letting the steam carry away all that’s unnecessary would surely reveal dozens of fragments, all intricately informed from one another. A person is not one trait, but many. Rather than an embodiment of an incident they are a fairy tale of repetition and habits. All that represents what you are is complicated, it is expansive, and it cannot be reduced to singularity.
And though Qifrey is no exception to the matter, still does he differ from the rule. For sitting among the many fragments of himself would something jagged and foreign be found. Run him through a sieve and you could pluck out his most influential partner, a spot of ruin that intertwines so fully with his being that they cannot be understood apart.
It is a light that shines upon even his darkest hiding spots. How patiently it spies, waiting for hints of vulnerability to overtake him with. Qifrey doesn’t even have the luxury of ignorance, for it has climbed into the deepest alcoves of his body and made an unwelcome home there. His uninvited visitor, his scrounger of a confidant, his despicable, spoiled, silverwood.
If he cannot run and he cannot hide, then Qifrey’s only option is to lash out. He considered once, and then many times after, to let his passenger make a forest out of him so he might know what sweetness relief could bring. But time and time again he was reminded he has debts to pay and love to find and offer, so he pushed away the embrace and tied another knot in his rotten rope of misery.
He’s lived that way for years. Qifrey knows well the sores of nurturing a parasite, to walk with it, raising it against your will. It’s an intimacy of sorts, a sour and vile song with music that never ends. He knows it well, and it knows him. And it’s through such insight Qifrey has realized that he, too, has become a leech of his own making.
Qifrey has attached himself to his dear Olruggio like a tick hanging on flesh, feasting upon his kindness and giving nothing but disease in return. How he depends upon his selflessness, how he cherishes his astounding determination. Qifrey has grown so entwined with Olruggio that he’s dragging him into the soil too, asking that he be the nourishment to his roots, the sunlight to his feeble leaves.
He takes no pleasure in this, and he was never meant to. It was by design that they would become a pair of blossoms who only grow in despair. It’s been years since Olruggio bound himself to Qifrey, and years since he’s continued to prove his word. Never once has he done anything but forgive, understand, and reassure him this is the path best for them both.
Despite his profound fidelity, however—Qifrey has finally realized he might yet be able to save him. For he’s found himself so intently in love with his precious friend that the misery of thieving away his life might be outdone by the despair of leaving his side for good. Qifrey’s affection runs deep, he’s so accustomed to Olruggio’s companionship that it will surely jolt him to tear them apart. Without his presence, Qifrey’s life would become dull and monotonous, and such is his intent.
In order to protect him, Olruggio willingly cursed himself with Qifrey’s hand. How leaden that guilt has become, aged like fine wine into something pungent and dry. It wrecks Qifrey more with each passing day. As it was meant to, yes, but it isn’t fair! Olruggio, at least, should be released from this dour cycle. His innocent soul should be free of the burden Qifrey was always meant to shoulder alone.
He’s mused many times now of how hotly Olruggio would argue the notion. He, so bent on generosity that he’s willing to wither into dampened ash. Yet, too much of anything can be a vice, and he’ll soon kill himself with his kindness. Qifrey must go, Olruggio’s compassion is better spent on someone who might properly return it. For all Qifrey wishes to stay, for each night he’s spent wondering how he might repay this debt, the two of them aren’t to be. The most he can do for him is leave his side, as to not stifle his life forever.
Qifrey intends to go on a lengthy journey to the south, operating under the guise of experimenting with his freedom of the Great Hall before taking on students. It’s easy to figure that becoming more worldly is a becoming trait of a prospective teacher, after all, he hasn’t been questioned in the least. But in reality, his plan is to find residence in a village far from Olruggio and without a bustling community of witches. He needs proper isolation if he’s to match one anguish with another.
It isn’t that Qifrey doesn’t still think of running his atelier, in fact his prolonged longevity will likely rely on it—nor does he believe he’ll have the affordance to wait until he’s free of his monster to begin living. It’s simply that, when he told Olly he was considering becoming a teacher, he very soon began looking into earning accreditations to become his Watchful Eye.
This gesture wasn’t a crushing one. In fact, Qifrey was deeply moved by Olruggio’s persistence in supporting his lifestyle, how willingly he’d alter his course so they might stay together a while longer. But it was then, too, that Qifrey understood he’s stalling Olruggio’s growth. He’s gone beyond just leeching at his life as they scampered through the Great Hall, this dedication was one that would capture any number of Olruggio’s days. Staying by Qifrey’s side, taking tender care of his dreadful host. The prospect was simply too much to bear.
So Qifrey decided it must end. He’s to begin his travels as Olruggio continues to earn his position and mingles with new clients for his contraption-making. Ideally, Qifrey will be absent long enough that Olly is forced to shift his career focus elsewhere, and thus will their orchestrated separation be complete. It hurts and haunts Qifrey to intentionally betray Olruggio’s expectations so, and he hopes to hold onto the feeling as far as it will take him.
On this last day before he goes, Qifrey is devoting his time to picking up around his prospective atelier. There’s still mending to be done, cleaning to be completed and then done over again—but it will have to wait until his return to be properly finished. With hope nothing will fall into disrepair in his absence, a risk he’ll have to accept. Whatever might befall this house shouldn’t ruin everything, anyhow.
As he sweeps about the atelier, Olruggio is there working with him, tidying up and marking spots for potential seals. No completing them yet, for on the off chance someone enters the atelier while it’s empty, it could be disastrous if they come across a contraption that isn’t properly disguised. It’s best to wait to draw them until they know they’ll soon be—
Olruggio begins to draw a seal behind a grate in the kitchen, balanced atop a counter on his knees to reach the nook.
“Olly!” Qifrey exclaims, regretting his tone immediately as Olruggio nearly tumbles down from his precarious climbing spot.
He stables himself, thank goodness, both hands holding onto the vent opening tightly. “Don’t startle me!” he says, whipping his head around. “Shoot. I’ll have to start over on this one, now…”
Qifrey frowns. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought before raising my voice,” he begins first and foremost. “Though—you really shouldn't be inscribing any seals yet. It’ll be a while still until anyone lives here, we’ll just have to scrub them away once we leave.” If he’s really so desperate, they could always write paper ones for temporary use, too.
Olruggio begins to begrudgingly and carefully scamper down from the counter. “Er—well. About that,” he says between some awkward grunts that eventually land him on his feet. “I’ve been thinking, lately, that I might start staying here from time to time while you’re gone? Or maybe using it as a sort of go-between, I guess.”
Qifrey blinks. “A go-between?” he asks, putting aside his broom and folding his arms. “I was under the impression you needed to collect your accreditations in the Great Hall.”
“Sure do.” Olruggio begins hunting around for a rag, scouring the kitchen before spotting his prize in the sink. “One requirement is completing a functioning Windowway and getting it approved. Figured I could build it here, since we’ll need one anyway—and then, why not spare some time getting the atelier cleaned up for when you get back?” He rinses his rag in soapy water then glares up at the vent. “So putting down some semi-permanent seals shouldn’t be a problem. And I really want to get some proper air flow in here. So long as you don’t shout while I’m drawing again.”
Qifrey is momentarily stuck, stunned in place and in silence. Oh, he’s truly smothered Olruggio, enough so that he’s become complicit in his own suffocation. “Olly, I don’t know if I can accept that much generosity,” he says, disguising nerves as politeness. “I couldn’t put so much work on your shoulders alone. I have every intention of returning to finish refurbishing once I’ve finished my travels.”
That, and he isn’t sure what he’ll do if Olruggio sticks around here before Qifrey severs their precious bond. If it should come to the worst he might need to give up on this atelier entirely, finding a new permanent home in the south. How he loathes the idea, what a terrible nick that would be in his plans. But he supposes if it’s misery he’s looking for, giving up this comfort could be for the best.
“If everything works out, this’ll be a home for the both of us. I should put in some work, I’ll be living here just as much as you will.” After clearly judging if he should use his glyph shoes to make it to the vent and deciding no, that’d be just as cumbersome, Olruggio begins to climb back onto the counter. “If you’ve got a vision, I’ll leave any finishing touches to you. But let me give you something to look forward to coming back to, yeah?”
The words hurt. Qifrey is deceiving Olruggio in his entirety by leaving him now. And where he certainly does as much every day, this abandonment strikes him differently. He leaves now without prior consent. At least when lies and cheats Olruggio for his hospitality, it was done by his own design. This action, rather, is the breaking of a bond.
Qifrey watches as Olruggio wipes away the faulty seal and prepares to inscribe a new one. This may be how it’s meant to go, offering unfaithful promises, letting himself feel the sting of what will be Olruggio’s slow realization that he’s been led on. If the idea is painful, it’s useful. If it ails him so to lie to a love he’s known forever, it may be enough to keep him afloat a while longer.
“I won’t stop you, then,” Qifrey says, taking back his broom and sweeping himself out of the room. “If there’s anyone I’d entrust this atelier to, it’s you.”
It was silly of Qifrey to hope he might secure a home such as this. His path is not one so softly padded and well-intentioned. If he’s to save Olruggio, Qifrey cannot easily save himself as well.
He’s never been a lucky one.
The first night Qifrey spends alone doesn’t feel all too different.
Which is probably a boon. Clearly he hasn’t sprouted branches yet, he doesn’t suffer any growing pains. He’s still too wrapped up in himself to feel any proper release, and he anticipates this loneliness will grow into its own beast given time. It’ll live in his stomach and scare any darlings away, and should it sustain him enough, Qifrey may not need to worry about taking on apprentices for a while yet. He’ll simply rot in his isolation and remember the sweetness of life from afar as he searches for his cure.
To remain in the spirit of this being an adventure of sorts, Qifrey travels by flight and foot alone. He’s in no rush to his destination, and in truth hardly has one, rather intending to meander through the occasional village and complete acts of service by the handful, scouting for an ideal spot to settle. There are hardly any requirements for his new home other than somewhere remote and somewhere far. Tolerable too, he should hope. Though he’s quite well adjusted to misery should he fail to live comfortably.
He sleeps outside tonight. He did actually pass through a town a short while ago, and was even offered a room from a family whose wall he helped repair. But on this first day, Qifrey wanted to get as far from the atelier as he could. It makes it harder to turn back, harder to give in to his heartache. If only for Olruggio’s sake, Qifrey cannot ease the way. Sudden, swift, and painful is the only path forward.
Of course, it isn’t as if he didn’t come equipped to handle the wilderness. He’s packed a few contraptions to simplify his travels. A water-repelling tent, ever-heating food—and settled at the bottom of his pack in a size-reduction case is a quilt, intended to trap heat more effectively than its unenchanted counterpart. Though despite the frigid night, Qifrey is unwilling to let it warm his chilling bones and leaves it entirely untouched. In part, yes, because he worries what such warmth might erupt in him, but it was also a parting gift from Olruggio. Which has turned it to something quite impossible to take advantage of.
There is very little life Qifrey’s experienced without Olruggio. He didn’t turn his back on him in order to remove him from his thoughts, really it’s quite the contrary. If this despair is to replace his previous guilt, Olruggio must remain a constant reminder of what he was forced to give up. He must remember everything Olruggio has ever been to him, and the ways he can never repay his unrelenting care.
As they are now, Olruggio is content to be used and Qifrey is anguished enough to continue using him. There are no exits that let them leave together, they’re trapped dancing in a constant, fractured rhythm. Like the eternity that is a closed seal, a circle that simply turns, they are doomed to repeat and repeat and repeat.
This is Qifrey’s resistance. He will flail and kick and scream, tearing himself apart to break their vicious repetition. Let his fate bind only him, misery need be his only partner. Olruggio is far too kind and Qifrey is far too broken. It’s the only way.
Cold air seeps through the tent. Though it repels the rain it keeps out little else, leaving Qifrey on the cusp of sleeping through his shivering. He’s never been permitted a sweet, sound sleep, as when he begins to doze too deeply his panic becomes a sharpened edge. His parasite used to twist him awake in his youth, but as his terror and desire for life grew, his body began to frighten itself awake all on its own.
As such, often more worthy to him than sleep is rest. If he cannot quite shut his eyes through the cold, he can simply let his brittle bones and freezing tendons lie still a while. He cannot go long without sleep, no, but he isn’t so tired that his body forces it upon him. And even then, should his exhaustion overcome his fear, unsettling night terrors keep him helpfully on alert. His self-imposed despondence is a strong one, and it allows him to function if nothing else.
Should Qifrey free himself of the silver within him, he often wonders if he’ll manage to sleep even then. What a horror to think he’ll be too accustomed to this dreadful life to ever allow himself the experience of comfort, his ill-gotten partner a permanent scar.
The grim thought keeps him alive to the morning.
There’s a town Qifrey comes across in his travels that’s less fortunate than most. A village remote enough that it doesn’t reap the benefits of its greater community, but is still expected to give to it twice a year. It’s left their resources hardly bountiful, homes surely not as sturdy as they once stood, and people sickly thin and forever hungry.
It’s clear witches very rarely pass the threshold into the town, for Qifrey is quite the unique marvel for children and adults alike. Witches aren’t always treated fairly by outsiders, and thus does their divide strengthen itself, but here he’s subject to more innocent wonder than he’s looked upon as a living hammer. Heart bleeding and body weary, Qifrey spends some days aiding the villagers as he decides where he’ll travel next. In kind, they offer him room and board, ever thankful for his assistance.
This village would’ve been a fine candidate for his newfound home had it only been a few days farther out. Unfortunately the surrounding fields remind him still of the atelier, the grasses waft up familiar smells of autumn and grain. Rather than homesickness, it’s comfortable, and therefore not enough to make him ache as he must.
It’s been just over a week since he’s left Olly. Not nearly enough to have relinquished his burden, but with hope the creeping sting of loneliness will reach him soon. It seems the gravity of his situation hasn’t settled in yet, he can’t help but cling to the thought of Olruggio not being far at all. In some ways that persistent feeling is just as he’d hoped, as it will make the ending he’s rushing towards all the more painful. But the pacing is wrong. He still doesn’t feel he’s quite abandoned him. It’s a soft heart that he has, indeed.
Though Qifrey still stands human and without a trace of his silverwood. So it’s clear he’s doing something right, his companion has never been known to be lenient. It’s only, he just—he’d thought he’d be more miserable by now.
On his final day in the village, he helps to clear the main road as to make everyday walking easier within their little hamlet. They offer him yet another, final night before he takes his leave, but Qifrey insists he must get going. Much as he could help them more, it wouldn’t bode well if he should get attached to this place.
Though Qifrey does find himself wandering back to one household before he goes. An older couple living with their son-in-law, all taking care of a toddler who lost her mother. Qifrey spent an afternoon helping to polish graves outside the town’s borders when he came across the fractured family. Each and every resource they have goes to their budding child, leaving the father and grandparents with little but the clothes on their backs to support themselves.
It is such kindness that will breed a more tolerant generation, Qifrey knows. But the child needs no more loss at her tender age. What devastation might rain upon her should she lose another guardian, but this time so clearly for her own sake? Sacrifice is a heavy burden to bear, and those who live on in their place share a piece of that weight.
Qifrey rummages through his belongings until fishing out Olruggio’s quilt. The seal is intermixed with its intricate patterns, sufficiently concealing its design for general use. He lets it unfurl to its proper size and offers it to the father, asking that he might share it between the four of them so they may all live on together. Children must be raised, after all. It is not enough to save them.
Satisfied with his final gesture, Qifrey leaves the village with the sun high in the sky. They send him off with thank yous and invitations back, and promises that they’ll make well of his goodwill. It really is a quaint, but sweet, town. He hopes the coming days will treat them kindly.
A profound feeling rises in Qifrey’s chest. He’s left behind that final piece of Olruggio there, letting its purpose serve another, spreading Olly’s persistent benevolence just a bit farther. It dawns on Qifrey then, truly, that he’s begun to leave his life in the past, sending the people he once knew off with it.
He may truly free Olruggio. This is a tactic and it’s working. Qifrey’s curse is one that need not be shared—if he cannot break free of it, then what a glorious thing it is that someone else might be.
What a true relief that is.
No matter how he tried to panic himself, no matter what horrid memory pushed through his mind, Qifrey could not prevent the onslaught of his wretched, miserable parasite.
He’s made it far enough that he’s covered by a blanket of trees in a forest, out of sight of the little village he just offered goodbyes to. His flying came to a swift stop as his heart soared with glee at the thought of saving Olruggio. With every joyous beat did another twig pierce him, sending him careening down as his roots tried to swarm the ground.
As a frantic resort, Qifrey imagines himself drowning. Flailing uselessly in water so freezing and dark that no way is up and no way is down. He pictures the last of his air leaving his lungs as terror becomes desperation, searching for an exit without knowing if he nears it or drives himself further with every kick. Wet, and cold, and so horribly alone.
It’s enough to keep him from settling, but only just. Qifrey is enveloped in his silverwood, trapped in its cage alone. Distant from his home, from his atelier, from Olruggio. Oh, no, no, please, Olruggio.
What cruelty has fate brought upon him! Has he no escape, must he confine himself to a cycle of constant betrayals to survive through the days? Qifrey fights and shouts, trying to pierce himself on the branches to break from his prison. But no mere thought is able to save him, no anguish is match enough to the sheer satisfaction of relieving Olruggio of his torment.
Can it really be that no agony he endures is comparable to his guilt of entrapping Olruggio? Does he love him so?
The unpolluted despair of the realization is all that forces the silverwood’s grasp to falter. The hole in his gut, the sinking of his insides, they replace timber with desolation. Ugly, deep sobs begin to bubble in his throat. Qifrey cannot save him. He cannot save them both, no, he cannot save even one. What a ravenous, hungry dejection it is that feasts on the defeat that once tasted victory.
He must go back. He must entrap Olruggio once more, feed upon his generosity and betray him anew. Ah, curse him, Qifrey loves him too much. And he couldn’t ever stop, for the relief would surely kill him.
Qifrey doesn’t realize he’s been freed of his captor until he feels his own heaving cries, doubled over on the ground and hands grasping fistfuls of dirt. His cheeks are wet, his chest is heavy. But he is alive.
What a rotten man he is. What a plague, a sycophant that cares more for himself than the host he claims to adore.
Yet still, once the day begins to meet the night, does this miserable creature wobble up to stand once more.
Qifrey stumbles inside the atelier from a downpour. He doesn’t know what time it is, nor day, the clouds so thick the light has muted into something undetectable. His cloak was left in shreds after his parasite punctured him, and in his exhaustion Qifrey didn’t even pause to renew his seals and repel the rain from his back. He returns to his home drenched and dreary, worse than he’s ever been, spine numb and heart punctured.
His disastrous arrival doesn’t go unnoticed. Olruggio, for of course he was here today, runs straight to the doorway to meet his unexpected visitor. It’s terribly clear on his face that Qifrey was among the last he’d imagined to see.
“Qifrey! You—whoa, there,” he says, lunging straight to Qifrey’s side as he stumbles in. “Careful, now. You’re drenched to the bone, what’s going on?” He slings one of Qifrey’s arms over his shoulder, putting a supporting hand around his waist to lead him deeper into the atelier. “I wasn’t expecting you back for… a while.”
Qifrey swallows. He bites back every wail, every curse, every tear. He lets the gloom swim inside him, his guilt accumulating as he looks to Olly’s sweet, concerned expression. Always there for him, always his willing lamb to sacrifice.
“I suppose I just missed you.”
And so does their eternity continue.