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Alchemy could be quite the fickle thing. A mixture could turn foul if left to boil for too long, yet too little and it would yield ineffective results. Ingredients are derived from other ingredients from yet more in a long chain of dependencies. Every failure meant materials wasted- materials perpetually in short supply. You had once wasted months at a time slowly rekindling your supplies one link at a time. Mednila Shrooms and Sornak Root to make restless extract, which is then boiled with frogs' eyes. The product then is transmutated by moonlight, then infused with arcana. And so on and so on. The long gaps between attempts at forward progress infuriated you, so you schemed at ways to interweave the process of manufacturing ingredients with your attempts to reach a breakthrough. You were on the right track, you knew, but alchemy could be quite the fickle thing. You needed the correct ratio of ingredients, processed in the correct way for the correct amount of time. With so many variables to account for, you didn't have time to waste restocking ingredients for your next round of trial and error.
You assessed the amount of time each stage took, how long ingredients would remain stable, and time-of-day requirements to create a schedule that would allow for the continual creation of new ingredients - given the availability of base materials. It cut down on the frequency of your active experimentation, however that was more than made up for by the newfound consistency with which you could now perform them. The greatest detriment resulting from your plan was lack of rest. You overcame the physical fatigue with elixirs and magic, however the mind cannot so easily be altered to forget the strain it is put under. Day by day, you grew ever more irritable and reclusive.
Moonlight sparkled through glass bottles filled with a green liquid that fizzed under the silver glow. On a table nearby, a large vial was held aloft by a metal frame. A candle's flame tickled the bottom of the glass while the contents stirred in response to the heat. More vials stood at the ready on the table next to the stand, along with jars filled with various substances from sand to crushed apple to lizard tongues. More tables crowded the space, all covered in equipment and supplies. You stood in one of the narrow aisles between tables as you dutifully chopped roots and shrooms.
The door to the room opened with a low creak. Bells jingled faintly among the ambient sounds within the room. Normally, they were such a sharp and bright sound that echoed the laughter of the man who wore them. Only he could slink with such practiced grace as to mute them into a giggle as he wished, as he did so tonight. The sound nestled into the fizz of the bottles under moonlight, the bubble of the boiling vial, and the chop chop chop of your knife. It filled the room, mischievous, observant - as if the walls themselves were watching the both of you. Then, they fell silent.
You waited for the man to speak. He always had something to say. Always wanted something. Time stretched on, your knife met the table with more force than before. He was still there, you could feel the vials of blood at your hip shifting under the ebb and flow of his magic. What did he want? Other than to infuriate you so. You paused to dump the diced shroom into the basket with the rest. The oddly-shaped, uneven pieces stood out against the uniform ones below. Juice from the Sornak Roots stained your knuckles a muddy indigo color when you rested the knife against the cutting board, handle still clenched tightly in your fist. You stared into the basket of whole shrooms, eyes unfocused and jaw clenched.
A once-cheery bell song marched through the crowded room, harkening the dawn of a new hour. The sound dragged your gaze over to the longcase clock on the other end of the room. Candlelight caught in the sharp angles of the chips and gouges that marred the wooden case. The warmth of the orange glow reflected off of the clock's face invited you to sleep. Dong.... Dong... The hour was late, why not take its hands and let the steady tick, tock, tick, tock sooth you into rest?
Off to your right, a dozen tiny metal balls shifted within their iron prisons, whispering like children telling ghost stories in church. You found yourself back in your body, too aware of the weight of the Earth as it tethered you to the ground and the way your garments shifted against your skin and the cold liquid that clung to the joints of your fist. You risked a glance back at the clock. The light in its face had taken on a magenta hue.
"I will not entertain your presence if your intentions are to distract me," you snapped, "If you have matters to discuss, then by the Humors, speak. Continue your attempts to bewitch me with your grand illusions if you must. I will not have this silence." You unwrapped your fingers from the knife's handle and flexed your stiff digits.
Your hostility was met with a bemused chuckle. "You always loath my interruption, and yet when I await your readiness to speak, this is how I am repaid? My, my, is there truly no way to bring a glimmer of satisfaction to that... troubled mind of yours?" Your uninvited guest shifted and the bells on his person giggled with him. A smile was clear in his voice - as it always was.
You half-heartedly wiped your hand on your tunic. "My mind will be satisfied when my goal has reached completion. Your intrusion impedes my progress."
"Sitting here, quiet as a mouse, impedes your progress? Oh, how temperamental you've grown in your lack of rest. To think, at one time you could simply ignore me and my chatter!" His bells murmur their agreement. "Does a roaming fly also cause you great duress? Or a bird, perched too close to the sill?"
"The king grows ever more restless by the day. Should my progress stall-"
"Oh! I know! You will run away, will you not? Far away, beyond the king's reach, where 'resources may be scarce but your blasphemy can continue un-interrupted'!" His bells rattled with every emphasized syllable and, despite your refusal to acknowledge him with your gaze, you could imagine his whole body moving while he gestured. "So, if our dear, desperate king is not of concern," the bells fell back to whispers, "then why, pray tell, do you continue to rot in fatigue?"
"You speak as if there exists no ample opportunity to bend my mind to your will, Fool. With your ceaseless attempts to manipulate my actions for your gain, your concern confounds me..." You plucked another Mednila Shroom from the basket on your left and placed it on the table, "Unless... you intend to feign compassion so that I may lower my guard." You picked up the knife again, but only stared down at the shroom. Its brown skin darkened where it absorbed the juice on the table's surface. At one time, you had cut the two in separate locations or cleaned the table between ingredients. It was once a habit, but exhaustion and the pursuit of efficiency had not left it unbroken. The shrooms were going to be combined with the roots regardless. Any slight reduction in quality that resulted when the tinted shrooms were used as an ingredient for other things was offset by the time saved in chopping everything at one time.
A low hum passed through the fool's lips, the weight of his next words balanced upon his tongue. "A weakness you acknowledge as if it is one you have put to mind before... yet you choose to leave unaddressed. What a strange display from the resolute alchemist, ever-guarded against my tricks."
Your knife finally made its first cut into the mushroom. "It is a calculated risk for the sake of efficiency."
"Is that all I am to you?"
The comment sent lightning through your veins, knife frozen against the cutting board. Your head turned toward toward the Fool, but stopped short of bringing his form into your sight. Depriving him of the attention he so constantly craved was a matter of principle, now. The remark on its own was not outside his usual quips - however, the manner in which it was spoken dropped a stone into the pit of your stomach. Devoid of his usual teasing lilt which turned even the most serious of conversation into joke, the question sounded unsettlingly genuine. "What?"
"Is your regard for me nothing more than what risk I may pose to your work?"
"Yes." You responded, too quickly, too sharply. You would not allow him any greater advantage than your fatigue already granted.
The room held its breath. His bells murmured just out of sight. Fabric shifted against wood, ending with the soft tamp tamp as his feet met stone. "I will make my leave. After all, I would hate to interfere with your blasphemous machinations," the Fool quipped, the sarcastic tease in his tone making its return.
His magic retreated, vials at your waist going still. Something uneasy shifted under your skin at the absence, so you probed with magic of your own in an attempt to reach under his. Blood was the true vessel of the soul, and could be coaxed into revealing its master's secrets. Certainly, he would notice the intrusion, but did you care? So long as his motive for intrusion remained uncertain, your mind would be caught in the encounter - probing at every angle in search of resolution. "At least spare me the anguish of fruitless speculation; for what reason did you come at this hour?"
"Is 'basking in the presence of your company' an acceptable answer?"
"Not when it is you whom supplies the answer."
Disappointment. It burrowed into your veins unwelcomed. A sleepless mind becomes clouded by the residual thoughts of days past that sleep was wont to clear - and yours toiled to find an origin for this feeling within the mental fog. You had spoken the truth, and one you held no reluctance in admitting. The clock chimed a quarter past, and your body responded of its own volition. You laid the knife onto the cutting board and stepped over to the vial of now bubbling liquid. In a breath, the candle underneath extinguished.
"I see," came the Fool's response. Slow, tentative. Something in your chest ached to be seen, to be acknowledged. "Then I came seeking an answer. I received that which I sought to gain. Does that justification suffice?"
"I suppose it..." The Sun rose lazily in the back of your head long before the first golden rays of daylight would consider dancing across the windowsill of your workspace. Anticipation grew in tandem with the realization that dawned over your mind's horizon. Anticipation gave way to threads of patience wearing thin, so you roused the thought forward. In moments, it gained enough presence to reveal the truth. You were not experiencing your own soul's reply to the conversation at hand.
His.
"Can you not bear the thought of my absence?" He teased, the bells on his garments laughing along. The phantom venom on your lips gave his words a bitter flavor. "At least grant me the dignity of acknowledgement if you intend on dragging out our conversation. I'd think myself a basilisk in how you avoid my gaze!"
"Wait-" your plea was cut short as a careless gesture toppled the stand and shattered the vial against the wall. The dark liquid surged down the rough stones and bled into the wood of the table's surface. Righting the stand salvaged nought but a few drops that clung to what small portion of glass remained intact. The rest of the pieces lay scattered across the table, curved like the petals of a black rose with edges sharp enough to cut.
"Why, I never took you for an artist! Perhaps you ought to chase such pursuits in lieu of alchemy- after all, you've created quite the evocative piece. I'd call it... 'Insomnolent Folly'."
The appropriate response to the situation was frustration, panic, perhaps despair. Hours of laborious time, wasted. The Fool, making light of your plight. The window of opportunity to salvage what you could dwindled with each second you stood observing the tragedy. Laughter bubbled in your chest despite it all, though was tamed into something quieter in the journey to your lips. You giggled at the absurdity of his insult, at the desperation that drove you to this mistake, at the accuracy of the proposed title. Insomnolent Folly. Lack of sleep cloistered your thoughts during the day and turned your tongue to stone. Your fellow alchemists surely presumed you utterly incompetent by now after the innumerable instances in which both your mind and words had failed you. You humiliated yourself so in the pursuit of constant progress. In this moment of delirious clarity, the endeavor no longer held its luster.
You took a step back and examined the mess. The imagery of flower petals called to mind walks through the castle garden in passage between the Alchemists' Spire and the greenhouse. It was a lively breath into the solemn, stale air that had permeated the castle's grounds since the battle at Amber Adelaide in which the king had lost his two remaining male heirs. Your eyes had made an enemy of the Sun due to your propensity to remain indoors, so walking became scampering between the rows of neatly-kept nature to reach your destination with no regard for the journey. Perhaps a proper stroll would be in order, though at a time the Sun's gaze was not so scrutinizing.
The blotch on the wall resembled a horse if you squinted your eyes nearly shut. One with five long, spindly legs represented by the thin streams of liquid that separated from the main mass and rambled down the texture of the wall. The image of that oddly-shaped horse brought a smile to your lips.
The bright chime of bells coaxed you from your thoughts and returned your wits about you. The Fool remained nearby, a fact you considered a blessing-
A pulse slipped under your skin to which your heart's response was to cease its function. The feeling was soft, unguarded. A delicate crow's feather. Unmistakably...
Fond.
Something traitorous in your own soul responded in kind. The shock snapped the connection you had wormed under his skin. Brown eyes blinked into view as you at last, at last dared to observe his face. His smile was merely a ghost across his lips, features contorted into an expression entirely foreign to his usual demeanor. It was all you saw before your eyes unfocused and his figure blurred into vague shapes of sapphire and crimson. The air was dense as water. It dulled every sound into indistinct noise as its weight suffocated you. Whatever words may have departed the Fool's mouth fell upon deaf ears.
Thoughts chased themselves in loops around your mind until the very floor beneath your feet spun in turn. Could a soul lie? You had never encountered evidence one could, however he was an enigma capable of feats thought firmly buried in the realm of impossibility. The thought was seized by the whirlpool raging inside your head and vanished into the depths. Another soon took its place. One you did not wish to entertain. An ache ensnared your heart like the great jaws of a predator against the neck of its prey - tight enough to hold in place but not to break the tender flesh. Did some treacherous piece of you wish his soul had bared truth?
A sound, bright and sharp, pierced the roaring waves, though your mind remained too dizzy to recognize it. Weights settled onto your shoulders and anchored you, held you steady while the floor gradually stopped turning. Warmth enveloped you in gentle embrace. You did not realize you had been shivering until your body relaxed. It coaxed your head above water and your gasping breaths yielded. At last, at last, you could breathe.
Blurry shapes refocused into the Fool's face, his arms extended for his hands to grasp your shoulders. Concern, even fear, colored his expression for but a moment, after which he recognized your awareness and slipped on a smile as easily as a mask. "My, my, what has you drowning in air? Forgot your meeting with the High Alchemist on the morrow?" Panic surged in your chest before the warmth rose up to drown it. You had forgotten about the High Alchemist's request for your presence, though it was an obligation you did not remember divulging the details of.
Seemingly satisfied with your stability, the Fool released your shoulders, though the warm feeling that surrounded you did not retreat. "Hm... if that was not the cause..." He tapped his chin as he donned a pondering expression - one so exaggerated it proved effectively comical and coaxed the ghost of a smile across your lips. "Then perhaps I, your dear Fool, was to blame?" He tilted his head as he regarded your form, smile no longer reaching his eyes.
Your body was heavy, a stone sinking into a bed of sand. Fatigue doused the final embers of your strength to hold a shield against his advances, of your will to abstain from giving him what he desired. He was clever, and you were hollow. Any resistance would merely delay the inevitable. "You were... I felt you- your soul..." Your decision to give in did not make speaking the truth any easier. With a huff, you resolved to lay it bare, too defeated to concern yourself with softening the blow. "You felt my magic. I searched your soul for answers of my own and you feigned fondness to catch me off-guard."
He chuckled. "So that is what you were up to! You are rather skilled in your magic, I must say. Not many can read another's very soul. Your skill exceeds mine in that matter, I must admit." His arm swept across his chest as he dipped into a bow, which he held for a moment before he continued. "Not even my finest tricks could deceive such magic!"
Annoyance stirred in your chest. Did he think you dumb? "Flattery will not aid you in this endeavor. I am well aware I am nothing more than a means to your end." The Fool stiffened, the bells on his person murmuring hasty prayers before they fell silent in anticipation of his response.
It began with your name. Not "Alchemist", nor the title you wore among your peers to protect the very word he had uttered. Names held power, and you had once traded yours for access to the materials and equipment afforded to a royal alchemist. The Fool was happy to oblige, though had never called upon your name until now. The way in which he uttered it was quiet, preceded by a breath that suggested hesitance. The part of you that believed he was attempting to regain control after his schemes had been revealed shrank under his gaze. His smile was gone. What remained was genuine. Hurt. "I seek your presence because I enjoy your company. I endeavor to involve you in the means so you may be by my side in the end. This venture is not without peril; I have wagered and lost many a boon to keep you close. I may be an unintentional risk to your goals, but you are a deliberate risk to mine."
The logical part of you knew not to trust it. His trickery knew no end with no one, with no exceptions. It also recognized you were in no state to defend against his silver tongue. The edge of a table dug into your back, dutifully supporting the majority of your weight, as your legs threatened to buckle.
"Rest, dearest alchemist. The world will not end in your absence."
Your eyes wandered over to the window sill lined with liquid-filled bottles that continued to fizz quietly under the soft glow of moonlight. Their color had transformed from green to a silvery-blue which rivaled the shine of the moon itself. Within the coming hour, the contents would spoil if not correctly processed. You watched how the frenzied bubbles raced to the surface during a long beat of silence. The setback would prove a minor inconvenience, you decided, so you pushed yourself to your feet and ambled slowly toward one of the tables across the room. Underneath it lay an assortment of moth-eaten fabrics in a heap that was anything but a bed.
"Absolutely not," the Fool's voice sounded behind you before he cleared his throat. You craned your head just in time to watch the smile return to his face as he retreated to the safety of impish wit. "Why, I see now the origin of your refusal to rest. I, too, would rebel if I were driven to lay my head upon a nest fit for rats!" He chuckled. A ribbon of magenta magic curled around your wrist and tugged you toward the door. "Come now, little rodent, even vermin like you deserve a crumb of cheese now and again."
Any will to protest died as the ever-present warmth that had nestled around you curled closer, like a dragon guarding its hoard. It felt as if you were rolled snugly into a cozy blanket, and you were rather inclined to curl up for a nap right where you stood. The wisp of magic bid you onward, however, so you reserved yourself to follow. The Fool would have his way, you would have your rest, and neither of you would address the situation come dawn. That is what you hoped, at least. The line between his manipulation and genuine sentiment was so obscured in smoke and mirrors you preferred to pretend it did not exist at all. Doing so was safer - it minimized the risk to your work, your goals, and your heart. The king stood as a poignant example of how The Fool twisted whatever trust was bestowed upon him. Many, like you, had decided not to trust him at all.
So consumed by your thoughts, you lost track of which corridors you had traversed through. You had spent enough time wandering through this tower you assumed you would be able to navigate back to your study from any point within, and you did recognize the dark alcove that stood before you now. The trapdoor set into the stone floor, however, was out of place. Past a short flight of stairs, a small room filled with alchemical equipment laid within. You paused for a moment to observe your surroundings. On the whole, the room was rather organized. The equipment showed no signs of dust or damage, and the tables beneath only carried a few specks of stains. One of the two bookshelves present contained all matter of ingredients neatly arranged in bottles, jars, and baskets; the other boasted thick volumes on all matter of subjects, from alchemy to magic to art. Candelabras provided warmth and light.
"Quaint, isn't it?" The Fool mused as he dragged something out from the corner - a toybox in the shape of a circus wagon. "The perfect place to slip away. The true escape, however, is right this way." He bowed, arms gestured toward the now-open toybox.
Inside, a vortex of purple and magenta swirled a dizzying dance. The sight alone made your head ache as nausea welled in your throat. You looked away. "You are quite the fool if you think you can lead me into a prison so easily."
"Prison?" He placed a hand upon his chest in offense, "What would I gain by trapping you within a prison?"
You had no answer. From the exhaustion and illness digging their claws into your mind, your reason had fled. Your concern quickly dwindled under the weight, and you bent over to rest your hands against the edge of the box's opening. Vertigo and a hand at your back sent you tumbling inside. The sensation of falling did not last long, though you did not trust the feeling of standing on solid ground that replaced it enough to open your eyes. You stood still in anticipation of an impact that would never come.
"Afraid you must concede to my decorative capabilities?" You flinched at the teasing voice, which lowered in response. "I may be a man of many illusions, but I assure you the floor is not among them."
The floor was, indeed, firmly beneath your feet. You found yourself standing within a bedchamber much grander than anything you had ever seen, though not lavish enough for what you imagined royalty might inhabit. A dark wooden wardrobe stood across from you, gentle, leafy designs carved into the doors. A few tapestries filled with color and complex organic shapes contrasted the smooth, geometric wood paneling of the walls. Flickering candlelight danced across the woven designs just dimly enough you could not recognize the patterns. The far corner of the room felt oddly empty, only a single candelabra and a small table standing vigil in the open space. A simple bed with a large chest at the foot, which was decorated with swirling designs similar to those on the wardrobe, stood in the opposite corner. The sheets were neatly made, and dyed a color you were quite fond of.
Other objects existed within the room, however you deemed them unimportant to observe as soon as you laid eyes on the bed. You crossed the room in a few steps and collapsed upon it. Sleep reached out its hands to pull you under, but the lingering adrenaline from the tumble into the toybox kept it at bay for the moment.
"And you thought I meant to lead you into a prison." Mischief honeyed the sarcasm dripping from The Fool's words.
You tilted your head enough for one eye to peek over at him, unable to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at his usual antics. "A comfortable cell remains a cell nonetheless," you quip.
"Oh, and I am certain you would loathe the inability to convene with the High Alchemist."
"I would," you lied.
A hum danced its way off of his lips. "As you wish, then, dear Alchemist," he bowed, the bangles of his cap nearly meeting the floor, "The door will be unlocked for you when you awake." He grasped the handle of a wooden door you were uncertain had existed before and pulled it open to reveal the same swirling portal that had gotten you into this place. With a playful flutter of his fingers, he bid you farewell and "Sweet dreams". Then, he pranced into the vortex of magic, the door closing behind him.
Sleep finally breached your adrenaline's crumbling walls and you surrendered to it willingly. With luck, you would arise from your ratty nest of rags come morning light, the night's events nothing more than a dream. You were woefully ill-prepared to reckon with the implications of his actions and your very soul's response. In the final moments before darkness fully consumed your consciousness, your traitorous heart skipped a beat at the memory of his fondness.