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“Thirteen A.M. Ante meridiem.”
It’s something that’s been rolling around Ralsei’s head for a while, now. It’s meaningless, he thinks. Nonsense words, something evocative to keep his mind busy while he pretends to be busy around Kris & Susie. Something mildly interesting to pass the time until he has to snap back into himself, into his body, and say something encouraging. Something witty. Something kind.
"A lot of somethings,” he remarks to himself, absently. They’re in the Dark Sanctuary, the world cast in the shadow of Hometown’s church. It’s probably a place his friends would think he’d like, being a nerd, or whatever, but he hates it. He hates the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books he wouldn’t touch if they were the last entertainment after the Roaring, he hates the rich, muggy smell of incense trickling down from the thuribles, making the back of his throat ache, and he really hates the prophecy. Well, he doesn’t hate it. He’s not allowed to hate, and it’d be ridiculous to not like the prophecy anyways, like holding a grudge against the rock that’s rolling down a hill, coming to bash your skull in against the dirt. It’s a thing. It’s not making the choice to be exactly what he doesn’t want to hear, over and over. It just is. He just is.
He can’t let his train of thought keep running on like this. Clenching a trembling fist, eyes unfocused in front of a bookshelf he’s pretending to read the spines of, he takes a deep breath in, and out. It’s fine. He’s somewhere he doesn’t like, and that’s not the end of the world. He’s already done that for a while, hasn’t he? He doesn’t have to be upset, he shouldn’t be upset. He likes some stuff here. The old man is interesting, for sure, and the tea he serves is nice. Sweet, herbal, not too strong. He likes tea. Secretly, it’s an indulgence, brewing tea. His friends don’t know – how could they possibly know? – but it’s never something he was supposed to learn. He was only ever told to help the heroes unwind, take a load off after a long day’s work. Nobody ever said anything about tea. He experiments in private, with new leaves, new china, taking only the most measured of sips. It’s not much of a hobby, probably, but it’s his.
…After a moment, Ralsei shakes his head, and stops thinking about tea. He went too far in the other direction. That’s not productive, especially when his friends are up to something. They’re talking quietly in the corner, trying not to be heard, he thinks. He watches, in his peripheral vision, as Susie and Kris take the cushion from a couch – for him? He hopes it’s not for him, he prays it’s not for him, but he knows it is. He hates to be self-aggrandizing, but it has to be. Who else do they know that has a room that empty? He swallows down a lump in his throat. It hurts how unsubtle they can be, thinking about him. He knows how it’s all going to end. And he really should tell them sooner, rather than later. He’s being greedy, soaking up as much time with them as possible. He’s being awful.
But, despite that, he can’t help but smile into his scarf, something warm blooming under his cloak.
“Thirteen A.M. Ante meridiem.”
He’s sitting in front of a stained-glass window now, arms over his knees, head cradled close to his chest, horns pressing into the sleeves of his robe. Just out of sight, the shattered remains of the thing impersonating the old man lay on the floor, still as can be. He wants to leave now, more than before, more than ever. He wants to be done with this stupid, sorry episode of his life, get on with whatever time with his friends he has left, and then get to the ending as painlessly as possible. (He really hopes it’s painless.) But Kris said they needed to do something, wandered off up the stairs to the fountain, told him and Susie to stay put, (he thinks they were going to talk to the fire extinguisher…?) and now he’s here, stewing in the awkward silence after an important conversation. He feels tender.
Lightning flashes, thunder booms, and he flinches, embarrassingly, and lets out a noise like a frightened animal. Susie is next to him, also. Extra embarrassingly.
“You, uh… good, man?” Her jacket scuffs against the window as she scooches in closer to Ralsei, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. He’s still not used to how casual she is with touch, sometimes, and he’s almost glad his cloak is thick enough to muffle the shock of it. “I mean, I know we just had that whole… talk, a couple minutes ago. But, y’know, if there’s anything else on your mind…”
Ralsei is silent. He knows it’s going to make the conversation that much more awkward, going to weird her out. He’s kind of hoping it does, that she’ll back off. Or maybe he’s hoping she’ll press even more? He doesn’t really know.
“You just still seem out of it,” Susie mumbles, making another movement closer to her friend. She’s so nice to Ralsei that it makes his whole body hurt, out of sympathy for his heart. He draws his head up from his knees, gently shakes his glasses back into place, and doesn’t bother hiding his numb expression as he begins to speak.
“I don’t… like that you had to see me like that,” he offers. Susie nods, in what Ralsei can only assume is the universal gesture of, ‘Okay, say more, I’m listening now,’ and he continues. “There’s so many other things that could come out of me when I’m already talking about my, um… feelings. I guess.”
His hands cling to his sleeves, claws digging into the skin of his arms.
“I don’t really want to say… anything else I might be thinking, then. Not that I don’t want to be open, about the prophecy, and the Dark Worlds, or, um, anything else! Anything else important, anything you think is important. But those thoughts aren’t that.” Susie’s grip tightens, almost imperceptibly, on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that part of me.”
Susie is silent for a moment, hand stuck on Ralsei’s shoulder, breathing even, like she’s just listening to the patter of rain on glass, and not doing whatever this is. (He doesn’t know what this is.) It’s not something he’s ever heard before, now that he thinks about it.
She doesn’t tell Ralsei he’s wrong – they both already know he’s wrong, that she worries about him more than he possibly knows, that Kris does too, that they all do. She doesn’t even have to say it – his heart already knows, even though his brain doesn’t. Instead, she says, “Tell me one of them.” Ralsei quirks an eyebrow, and she elaborates.
“One of the things you don’t want to accidentally tell me. If you tell me now… you, uh, can’t accidentally say it later. ‘Cause you already said it, on purpose.” She’s smiling softly, the look she gives when she’s telling Kris a stupid joke, half-serious, half-not, and Ralsei can’t help but smile tiredly back. The look drops off her face after he doesn’t respond for a moment, and she turns her head away.
“Sorry. Dumb idea?”
“No, no, Susie, it’s just…” his smile turns up at one corner more than the other, lopsided, lightly teasing. “Now you’re putting me on the spot…”
Susie chuckles, and moves her hand to Ralsei’s far shoulder, pulling him in for a soft noogie. “Well, think harder!”
“I’m trying, I’m trying!” The hazing doesn’t last long, but when Susie’s done messing with him, she doesn’t let go of Ralsei. The moment trails off, and he leans his head onto her shoulder, too tired to berate himself for it being greedy, or wrong, or anything else he’s called himself a thousand times over in the past. He loves how much bigger she is than him – it’s not like he’s very tall. What little he owns is perfectly tailored to his size; he does all of the work making it himself, so of course it is. But there’s something comforting about the feeling of her body half-draped over his, like she could just pick him up and take him wherever she wants, or smother him completely, or do… anything else. Anything at all. It’s not just about making the heroes happy, when it’s with Susie. It’s about making her happy, seeing her smile just one more time, then another, and another, now until forever.
But that’s not what he’s going to say. That part’s just too embarrassing. He has his answer now, and he feels it bubble up inside of his chest, rise to his throat, despite just how much he’d rather pretend he can’t think of anything at all. He just has to speak it, just has to make it real. His mouth opens, and he doesn’t spare any time to contemplate whether Susie will judge him or not for what he’s about to say. It forces its way out, trembling, infantile, in a far softer tone than anything else he’s said over the past three days, somehow.
“I don’t want to be a prince anymore.”
Susie’s eyes widen, and Ralsei shuts hers, fearing the worst, ready to pull away, to run to the fountain, or back into the dark of the old man’s study, or to her terrible, empty, little room in Castle Town. She shouldn’t have said that. She had other things to say that wouldn’t have been as weird, as bad, as wrong. But she picked one of the worst, the one she’s watered unconsciously for years, letting bloom in the deepest depths of her heart, taking root and poisoning her from the bottom-up. She can’t be like this, she just can’t, and she knows Susie won’t let her be like this, either.
Instead, Susie pulls Ralsei’s trembling body even closer to hers, allowing her, oh-so-graciously, to rest her head in the crook of her neck. She almost feels like a girl, when Susie holds her like this, when she so plainly shows everyone who might catch a glimpse of them just how small and frail Ralsei is in comparison to her. She shivers, and waits for Susie to say something.
“Hey, Ralsei,” she says into the smaller girl’s ear, and Ralsei can hear her break into a roguish smile. “Then don’t. Be one.”
Ralsei stammers out, “B-but I- I’m not supposed to be-,” and Susie cuts her off.
“What, you think you owe that to anybody? You’re your own person.” She puts a hand to the back of Ralsei’s head, holding her steady. (Susie smells like gunpowder, she realizes.) “Ralsei is whatever she wants to be."
Between sniffles, the Princess from the Dark keeps babbling out meaningless refusals, a soft chorus of, “I can’t,” “I’m sorry,” “I don’t…” She feels like her voice has been stolen, replaced by a baby’s, repeating the only three things she knows how to say. Susie shushes her, and kindly, delicately, as if she’s fragile, massaging glue into a broken piece of porcelain, fixing countless splinters back together, rubs her hand up and down Ralsei’s back.
“Rals, seriously. You’re good. I know- Used to know some people. Who were also like that. It’d make you happy, right?”
A gentle sob. “What would…?”
“Being a princess.”
A minute passes, and neither of the girls take steps to remove themselves from each other. Susie is careful to be gentle with Ralsei, hands never gripping too tightly, not pulling fur, never pressing too firmly, not leaving claw-marks. Ralsei keeps herself tightly nestled into the larger girl’s body as her breathing stabilizes, releasing handfuls of Susie’s shirt she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Mumbling, she finally admits, “…Yeah. It’d make me happy.” Her face gets hot with embarrassment and shame, at crying, at telling Susie a secret she never though she’d be able share, at how close they are right now, at so many other things she can’t place. But Susie’s touch quiets something inside her like nothing else. Her mind stills, the worst of the feelings fade, the knot in her stomach comes undone, and, begrudgingly, through teary eyes, she gives what might be her first real smile of the night.