#(this got so long i’m just agdgdgdg)

[hearthtales]

Feldmire listened to Nightshade’s story as well.

It had watched from the shadows as she arrived, hidden in dusty corners and crevices. Nightshade’s appearance was unlucky, but Feld didn’t worry too much — even when she stumbled upon the loophole in its deal with Maude, and even when Maude failed to stop her. What could this girl possibly do to ruin its success? How could she wake Samhain when Feld had entangled him in the dream so thoroughly?

Samhain’s dream had exceeded its expectations and eased the constant hunger that gnawed within the creature. It had replenished Feld’s energy, renewed its confidence. Feld floated in a sea of satisfaction.

It still followed the girl, its curiosity too strong to resist. It slipped behind a wall in Samhain’s room (it was so easy now, with that pesky barrier gone) and watched through a crack as Nightshade tried to wake him. When she placed a silly little pouch in his hands, the creature stifled a snort of derision. It had no idea what the pouch held or what purpose it served, but it seemed foolish to give a gift to someone who would never wake up. Why didn’t she keep it for herself?

The girl talked on and on. By the time she switched the topic to desserts, Feld’s interest had waned into boredom. So it left. It drifted lazily away, through the pipes and insulation, up into the attic. It curled itself on the seat of a tattered armchair, basking in a spot of sunshine like an especially unpleasant cat.

Surely the girl would give up soon. Maybe she’d take a nap before she left, and it would taste her dreams as well, but Feld didn’t find her presence nearly as appetizing as Samhain’s. It doubted her dreams carried the same delicious blend of melancholy.

For now, it savored its victory and amused itself by imagining what trinket it might turn Samhain into.

—

Nightshade described memories and rambled about desserts, and always, always, she spoke as though she were addressing someone. Someone important in all her stories. She wasn’t talking to herself, Bran realized, the truth slowly dawning on him and dread twisting its way into his throat. She was talking to…

Samhain.

He was still there. He’d never left; he was simply trapped asleep. Feld had gotten to him. Which meant Maude had lied to Bran when he’d found her that morning and asked if Samhain had left yet, because Maude always knew which guests Feld captured.

The unfairness of everything crashed down on Bran, heavy and overwhelming. Trembling, he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. His breathing wavered, so he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to muffle it. His eyes stung, so he squeezed them shut.

He knew he was acting childish. He knew he should have expected this to happen. Why had he thought Samhain would be different? He needed to compose himself, enter the room, and gently tell the girl that her friend wouldn’t wake up, no matter how many stories she told him. He needed to apologize to her, because in the end, all the fault rested upon him.

He needed to get up, at least. But for some reason, he couldn’t. He stayed there instead, just outside Samhain’s door, and willed himself not to cry.

—

The dream went fuzzy around its edges. Leaves and flowers blurred together like watercolors.

Liore, the dream’s heartbeat, stayed strong for now. She clung to life even as other parts of the illusion faded. Nothing softened the immediate impact of Samhain’s words. Her breath faltered, and betrayal and confusion flitted vividly across her face.

“Let me go?” she echoed softly, her tone laced with hurt. “What do you…?” Her words trailed off, and she lowered her hand from his cheek, but she didn’t let go of his hand. “I… I don’t understand, love.” She was trying to understand, though — it showed in her faint frown, her creased brow, the way she searched his gaze desperately for clues. If she noticed the change in his eye color, she showed no sign of it. Her voice wavered slightly. “Have I done something wrong?”

Sam accepted the aster behind his ear with a soft hum, before taking her hand and kissing it with a smile. "Ah'm all right, love. Guess ah was just hearing things."

Upon Liore's suggestion, they took a break from gathering firewood and strolled leisurely through the wood; their hands always locked together like a promise. It was a beautiful spring day. Flowers were in full bloom, the bees and butterflies were a-fluttering in the green everywhere they turned. They took idle steps, one after another, as they chatted and laughed and reminisced under the timeless, blue sky. "Remember when ah was ill in bed an' Granda brought you over an' ye both cooked that hare stew for me?" Liore chortled, now comfortable with referring to Aed as her own family having taken care of her since her mathair passed.

"How could ah forget? Never thought ah'd get an earful just for choppin' carrots wrong," Sam groaned at the memory, which only made Liore laugh harder.

"Ah was just thinkin' o'how that was the tastiest stew ah ever had. When are you goin' to cook it for me again?"

"If you just wanted me to make you hare stew, ye just 'ad to ask, love," Sam chuckled back, pecking her on the forehead. "All right, ah'll make it. But you'll 'ave to make me apple crumble in return."

"Apple... crumble?"

A soft ripple could be felt all throughout the dreaming.

The two stopped in their tracks and in that moment, it also felt as if time had stopped with them. Sam turned to Liore in a lightheaded daze and she was still smiling sweetly when she asked "What's that, Sammy?"

"Ah, you know, it's like a pie but.. not? You've made it before, remember?" Sam tried to explain but Liore shook her head.

"No, ah don't even know what that is. Ah know apples.."

"Yes! You said the best apple crumbles were made with green apples, not red ones..! Remember? Because..! Because..." The words trailed off as Sam's expression hardened. The thunder was getting louder.

—

"—because red apples get waaaay too mushy after you bake them, but green apples are sturdier! They keep a bit of crunch even after they come outta the oven!" Nightshade had moved away from exploring recent memories to rambling about their favorite desserts together. She remembered Samhain really liked the crumble she made last time and unlike her, who loved it with vanilla ice-cream, Samhain preferred to eat his plain. "An' since ya don't like sweet things, green apples are perfect cus they're kinda sour an' less sweet than the red ones!"

Suddenly, Samhain's hand twitched and gripped the dream-draught tighter. Nightshade perked up at the reaction, wide-eyed and hopeful, since it'd been the first and only sign since she sat by his side. She still hadn't noticed the bedroom door was open nor the eavesdropping figure just beyond it.

"C'mon Sammy..! If you wake up, I'll make you an apple crumble when we get home.." she whispered, holding her hands together, praying she was getting through to him somehow. "Please, please, please wake up..!"

—

Sam looked down at his free hand and realized he'd been holding something very tightly - a little cotton pouch with rainbow-colored thread woven into the draw-strings. He recognized the craftsmanship. The scent of magick was familiar to him. He knew the contents within, what the charm was for. Mallow. Orange blossom. Rosemary...

"Sammy?" The voice broke him out of the trance. He turned to Liore again but this time, smiling sadly. Liore noticed the change in him and worry took over her, her other hand reaching out to cup his face. "..Sammy, what's wrong?"

"Ah'm sorry, love..." He shook his head, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. He took a deep breath and exhaled, his body no longer tense like it was a few minutes ago. "..It's been wonderful but," When he opened his eyes again, they were a deep shade of green.

"..Ah have to let you go."

[theaterism]

aa all my energy went into finishing that drabble so i might be a little quiet here now, but i’ll be lurking!