#also i got a blister on my thumb from stabbing it too many times

[butch-springsteen]

the thing abt fibre art is that time works differently when you do it. i just spent three hours (i think??) needle felting and it feels simultaneously like years since ive seen sunlight and also seconds since I started.

[the-erickson-labrynthian]

Nathan and the Allex Cube: Chapter Three

Apologies for not having this up yesterday like I said I would. I’m just gonna do it now all in one part, since the chapter is a bit shorter than the last one. If you’d prefer to read this chapter on Wattpad, la link est here: https://www. wattpad. com/user/BrandonErickson2. If, by chance, you haven’t read chapter one or two, the can also be found there, obviously. Now, let’s move on to the story. Hope you enjoy, and be sure to tell me what you think! Have a great read.)

Chapter Three:

After having an actual bath for the first time in either days or weeks, Nathan finally felt fresh. His face was dirt free, with the red in it fully glowing. His hair was clean too, (though not neat) and his body was scrubbed until nearly raw. Nathan was almost sad to ruin the feeling of cleanliness by putting on his old clothes. Or, as he called them, 'rags'. A long-sleeved blue shirt that even after soaking in soapy water still held onto crumbs and black spots of soot, and jeans that were ripping on the knees and the ankles, even starting to rip toward the crotch.

He walked out of the bathroom (or the room they stuck a couple tubs and a few small holes in and called a bathroom) to see Renold turned around in the kitchen. Suddenly a smell hit Nathan. A strong smell. He grabbed his stomach. There was no mistaking the smell of this.

"Bacon," Nathan's mouth was watering.

"You're out?" Renold asked, not turning around.

"Obviously. Where'd you get the divine meat from?"

"Don't ask me that. Sit down, please."

Nathan pulled the stool towards him and got on, wrapping his feet around the legs of it, "Where's Dad?"

"Still out. He's taken a long time. Like how you took two hours to take a bath."

"You wouldn't understand how hard it is to clean skin."

"Is that an insult?" Renold turned around.

Nathan flinched, "Ah, um, no. I think you look prettier without skin."

"Thank you, but," Renold turned back around, "I think skin feels nicer."

Nathan remembered the thin line that separated the bottom and top of Renold's hands. Between the shell and the receptors that could feel. The part that was life, and the part that wasn't.

"Oh..." Nathan looked down at the floor, "I'm... sorry."

Renold didn't respond, he only flipped the bacon on his pan and twisted it around in circle. In the silence, Nathan thought back to the morning.

"You have very nice hair, Nathan."

"Thank you."

"Beautiful eyes, too. And, lovely skin."

"Hey, Renold."

Renold responded, but slowly, "Yes?"

"Is Dad responsible for this food?"

"Well he was, but I finished the job. He had the rest a while back, but I always keep a bit saved. He likes to think he could go forever without food. He can barely go twice as long as he can go without alcohol. I make sure to ration for him."

"And why are you cooking it now?"

"I think you need some bacon."

"But won't he be mad?"

Renold lifted up the pan and twisted it into Nathan's vision, "But don't you want some, delicious, delectable, entrancing bacon?"

Nathan licked his lips. Renold's description was incredibly seductive. Nathan wanted two pieces right off the pan to shove into his mouth, even if his hands would be blistering. His stomach growled at him again. There was no other option.

"I am hungry... will you take the fall if we get caught?"

"Of course," He smiled.

"Plate, please."

"Fork, too?" Renold asked.

"I guess I don't want grease all over my new clean hands."

Before Renold grabbed the plate and fork he turned around and grabbed Nathan's hand. He lightly dragged his thumb across the surface, "Wow, you actually cleaned it this time. When you were younger, you thought the water took care of it for you when you splashed it on," He laughed and turned back around.

"I did?"

"Well, yes," He turned back around with a plate and fork, putting both down in front of Nathan and ruffling Nathan's hair as he pulled behind him. He put his hands on Nathan's shoulders, "See, your father had convinced you that a drop of water was a thousand microscopic nanobots that ate the dirt."

"I don't remember..."

"You were young," Renold scratched at his neck, "Of course, once he had convinced you, you started having nightmares that the nanobots would eat you up."

"Oh. I remember those..." Nathan drifted off and then broke into laughter. Renold joined in before a sizzle from the pan made him move back to the bacon.

"Is it done yet?" Nathan asked.

"Depends how you like bacon. Your father always liked burnt."

"I prefer undercooked to overcooked."

"Then it's ready, but you might not like it much."

Nathan pushed his plate to Renold, any bacon was good bacon in his mind. Any meat was better than days of nothing. Renold put two pieces on, but Nathan looked up and pleaded with his eyes. He held up a finger and asked quietly, "One more."

"Did you think I was going to eat all this?" Renold asked as he slid the other three pieces on the plate.

"I... I don't know. Were you?"

"I am not hypnotized by cooked animals like you and your father, I prefer something less, breathing. Personally. Not that I need food, though. Either way, I don't mind you being a slave to the heartbeat like you are."

"Very poetic. Give me my meat."

Renold smiled and slid the plate back. Nathan nearly stabbed his fork into the first piece and pulled it into his mouth. It burned his tongue at first, but the salty taste made Nathan not care as he moved it around in his mouth, eventually swallowing after the taste was gone. Then, the burning hit. Nathan rubbed his fingers against his tongue to get rid of the feeling, but to no avail.

"Need some water?"

"Maybe," Nathan said, breathing heavily with his tongue out.

"They are hot. Just to let you know," Renold said as he pulled out a water jug and poured a glass.

"I may have figured that out. Wish you had told me they'd sear my tongue."

Renold handed the water glass to Nathan, saying, "Well it just came off of the pan. Not my fault you couldn't control your human desires."

Nathan didn't respond, he was too busy chugging the whole glass. After finishing he wiped his mouth and forcefully put the glass down on the counter. He started panting.

"Better?"

"Yes."

"Good. Maybe you should try eating in bits."

"I guess..." Nathan started sawing the next piece into tenths.

Renold pulled right next to him in another chair and leaned over, "How is it?"

"Good, for someone who doesn't like meat."

Renold rested a hand on Nathan's shoulder. Nathan put the first bit into his mouth.

"I might go to bed full, for once. I can't believe we've had food this whole time. Does Dad have food all the time?"

Renold stayed silent, drawing circles around Nathan's shoulders.

It felt nice, but Nathan didn't let it stop him, "Renold?"

"He doesn't ever go hungry. He doesn't like to."

Nathan dropped his fork onto the plate, "Then why the hell do I have to?"

Renold paused, taking away his hand from Nathan, "Well... do you remember the story where your father was trapped in that cell for a week?"

"He never stops telling it..."

Renold continued, "He was never given a drop of food, not even slop, only a small amount of water. So he could die slower, they said. William was dying, it's true. He started to see things, started to feel his stomach shrink and shrivel. He was delirious."

"Still is."

"Nathan."

Nathan picked up his fork and started eating again, "Sorry."

"So, your father was running out of time, and in the last night before he believed he would give up, he had a vision. A moment of perfect clarity. Suddenly he had the energy of a horse. He leapt up and worked all night on a plan. Creating a lever system out of peeling wooden planks aligning the walls and disjointed the front gate from its hinges, then once he was out, he made a spear. Then-"

Nathan cut him off and told the next part with a monotone demeanor, "He led himself out, slowly but surely, making sure to avoid every guard, fit through every hole, steal every loaf of bread," Nathan put another mouthful onto his fork and took another bite, "He robbed them blind and escaped without so much as a whisper."

Renold nodded, "And some who said they did notice him claimed to the papers that he moved like the wind. Creatively curving around every possible wall to create the illusion that there was no one. He fought as hard as he could that night, with everything he had left in him. Even after filling up on food and water as he left, the second William was safe, he collapsed into a river."

"And then the journey started all over. You expect me to believe all of that? You've told me this so many times, but it's too..."

"Too much like a story? That's because your father was known for doing the most insane and unbelievable things. That was how things worked when you were with him. Every day could turn into an adventure with one turn, and almost every day that adventure was a life or death scenario. That's why your father had to work so hard. That's why he wants you to work hard."

Nathan pushed away the finished plate and turned to Renold, "So that's why he starves me? He thinks that if he starves me I'll awaken and become a genius? That's bullshit."

Renold shrugged, "I won't say I agree with his methods, but I respect them."

"Well, I don't have to."

"You're right, you don't, but I hope that you can at least understand them. Can you?"

Nathan looked down. He circled his thumbs around one another in his hands. Renold put a hand under Nathan's chin and pulled his head back up, asking again, "Can you, Nathan?"

Nathan forgot how bright Renold's eyes were. They were designed to be almost inhuman, a brighter blue than any other face Nathan had ever looked at (though he hadn't looked at many). Renold had short brown hair that completely exposed his forehead. The thin hair matched well with the thin eyebrows and sideburns. The rest of the head, much like Renold's hands, was perfectly smooth. The face was the palest shade he had seen on a human that wasn't sick, and had no rough parts or blemishes. There were more wrinkles in the face than the hands though, making the face look more natural as it contorted around to the smile Renold always liked to show off.

"Nathan?"

Nathan stayed silent, looking at Renold's face, unblinking.

"Nathan."

He wondered, Do I understand? A flash of a clock came into his mind.

"Shut the hell up, you ingrate! Do you even understand anything?"

He wanted to slam his head again. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"Nathan!" Renold patted Nathan on the cheek.

"I..." Nathan started to tear up.

"What?"

"I don't think I understand anything. I don't think I can understand anything."

"Nathan, don't say that-"

"I think I am an idiot!" The first tear rolled down his cheek.

Renold pulled him into an embrace. Nathan instinctively wrapped his legs around Renold's side and dug his head into his neck. Renold put a hand in Nathan's hair, messing with it as he whispered, "You're okay."

"I just hate that I can't be him..."

"Do you really want all that excitement?"

"I don't know," Nathan whimpered.

"Let's find out, then. I want you to do something for me. Close your eyes. When you close your eyes, Nathan, tell me what you see yourself doing."

"What?"

"Nathan," Renold pulled Nathan's head back to make eye contact, "Listen to me."

"Okay."

Renold turned him around and hugged him from behind, "Close your eyes."

Nathan did as told. Renold continued, "Now think about yourself. Think about you, and imagine yourself with what you always wear, if you imagine any clothes at all,"

Nathan giggled, "Gross."

"Focus."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Your outbursts are what makes you you. Now, think about what you look like. That's you, too. That's who you are, in your heart. Well, in your mind. You know what I mean. Think of that."

"Okay. It's just me."

"That's good. Now, what are you doing? Don't just think of the first thing that comes into your mind, think about the thing that you, in your mind, would do to be happy. Think about the thing that makes you feel right. That's a good word. Right."

"Okay..."

Renold pulled behind his ear, "What are you doing?"

"I am at the pump by the well. Pumping it, obviously."

"That's what you want to do. Think about what that says about you. Think about how that shows what you look for in life. Simple. Relaxing. Comfortable. Would you really want to be on your feet all the time?"

"They get sore. Especially when I forget my shoes... there's a lot of rocks out there."

"And so would your legs, your knees, and your mind most of all. Without a break, someone like you isn't happy. Your father? He's the opposite; his feet get sore when he does nothing. He has to be moving. Get rid of his energy. You are different people."

"So I can't be like him?"

"You could, but would you be happy? Close your eyes, would you be happy?"

Nathan watched a darkness cloud around the image of himself. The image started running. Running endlessly, sprinting towards nothing to escape from nothing. It reminded him of what he was doing now. Running with no rest. The image had wide, tired eyes with deep red lines. Sagging and sickly skin. It was a mirror.

"No."

"Then why try?"

Nathan stayed silent.

"I say, don't bother with it, Nathan. You do such much better for the world if you do what makes you happy. It'll be what you do best."

"But will he ever let me do that?" Nathan pulled away from the gripping hug.

"Well..." Renold tried to answer.

"He won't, will he?"

"He has a lot to learn. So do you. Maybe you should talk to each other more?"

"I do... he wouldn't listen..."

"Sounds like you won't listen to him, either. If you assume, how will you get anything done?"

Nathan sighed, "I hate when you're right."

"I'll make sure you can talk, and I'll make sure he can listen. I know how to handle him. But I cannot make you listen, Nathan, that's up to you. Can you listen, when he talks?"

"If I can keep track," He laughed.

A sudden rumbling outside startled the two. Nathan looked through the window to see his father's truck, a large sheeted part around it. William opened the garage door and drove it in.

"He's home... great."

Renold got up, "I think I'll go see how he's doing. You can do dishes, right?"

"Of course. How do I hide the smell?"

"Get some motor oil and 'spill' it on the counter."

"Do I clean that up?" Nathan asked.

"I'll handle it," Renold smiled.

Nathan grabbed the plate and glass and went to the sink, "Hey, Renold?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Renold didn't respond. Nathan only heard him walk away, and hoped he had a smile on his face. Nathan pulled up a jug of water and put on his own smile as he poured the jug into the sink. He felt a little more peaceful.

Thank you, Renold.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty One, “Give and Get”

Hola, I hope that you all are doing great and that life is treating you well! How are you guys liking Niall’s new album?! From what I’ve heard of it, I’m really liking it! What are your fav songs off it? I’m sooo glad lots of shows are coming back for the Fall! I’ve been loving HTGAWM, Riverdale, SPN and lots of others! Also, I just wanted to say if there’s anything I can improve on regarding this story and writing, please let me know! I know that there are some parts I need to rewrite because they’re confusing and that the timeline is a little weird, my apologies. I hope you guys are enjoying the story and that it’s not boring, and that it is progressing.... I’m trying to be more detailed and make some things clearer so I hope things aren’t too bad. Let me know what you think! Well, I’ll keep this little message short and let you get to the story :) This is a pretty juicy chapter if I do say so myself ;) PLEASE PLEASE let me know what you guys think, I’m sooo curious to hear your reactions especially to this chapter! Enjoy! c: 

Click here for past chapters of The Assistant! 

I know that he doesn’t believe me.

“Yer not a good liar, ya know that?” he answers, lifting his eyebrows ever so slightly. I nod softly, looking around awkwardly without an idea of what to do, or say. “Did sumbody do this t’ you?” Harry continues, taking another step when there aren’t many left. I inhale nervously when the pad of his thumb softly brushes over the healing cut at the edge of my scalp that I couldn’t as easily hide the scab and bruises of this morning.

I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t. Because if I do, I’m afraid all of the words pent up inside of me that wish to free his ears with the truth will all come rushing out. No matter how much I try to stop them. And that the crazy beating of my heart will make them go all over the place, just like his touch has done to me. A gentle ‘heeey’ drops from his lips, making me look up at him and into his soft caring eyes that belong to the real Harry. My Harry. With courage bubbling up inside of me, my lips begin to part when a loud voice cuts in.

Angry wet raindrops fall on my shoulders, piercing through my sweater and shooting ice into my veins. I wrap the thin piece of clothing around me tighter, cursing myself from this morning for not having brought any kind of coat to make up for this pathetic sweater and this chilly rain. And cursing myself for forgetting to put gas in my car yesterday, landing me on the tube for today and in this wet Fall weather. As I walk under the faint glow of the wet streetlamps, my shivering body grows colder and colder with every painful step. Icy drops run down my face, the only relief I find in this sudden rain is the numbing of the stings and throbs painting my body. Splashes of rain puddles hit my legs, soaking through the sheer black tights donning my legs. You only have one and half more blocks to go, Becky, you can do this, I think hopefully. And with that, I soldier on. Soaked to the bone and beaten down.

My feet squeak along the wooden floor, leaving tiny invisible puddles behind me as the warmth of the flat begins to thaw my frozen body. I drop my bag on the table in the entryway, toeing off my shoes and leaving them where they land. I plod my way across the room and into the kitchen, unbeknownst to the movements my body makes. 

Open the cabinet. Take down a mug. Pick up the tea kettle. Fill it with water. Turn on the burner. Set it down. Walk over to the kitchen island. Pull out a chair. Sit down. My eyes fix themselves on one spot on the wall, staying there and no motivation to move.

Click!

Thud!

“Hey, I’m just stopping back to grab something I forgot. Boys don’t really have hair straighteners, I realized only after I left the flat,” Skye’s joking words poke through my hazy bubble, but that’s all they do. “Becky. Wait . . What the bloody hell happened to you today?! You look like you got run over by a car, Ree. You’re bleeding!” she almost shouts, voice rising in volume as she clears the room and comes to cup my cheeks with her warm hands.

“I’m fine, it’s old,” I reply quietly, meeting her eyes after she turned my head to make sure I’m looking at her.

“You are not fine, Ree. You have t-this gash in your scalp and a cut in your lips, both covered in dried blood. Did somebody do this to you?!”

“No, I-I just fell. You know how clumsy I can be sometimes,” I answer, attempting nonchalance as I step down from my swively chair and go to tend to the whistling teapot.

“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met, always have been and always will. Now I’m not bloody leaving or going anywhere for that matter, until you tell me what really happened, Ree. Actually, wait- you stay here and don’t you move your bum one bleeding inch!” she points at me, raising her eyebrows above her sky blue eyes surrounded by black eyeliner.

I mindlessly remove the kettle from the heat, pouring the blistering hot water into the yellow mug, watching the water mix with the Peach tea bag.

“Now come here,” Skye orders moments later and I turn around, surprised to find her gently but a little forcefully leading me to the island once again. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog, Skye, don’t give me commands.”

“I don’t care, just sit down and let me take care of you,” she replies, flicking her wavy hair half the color of bone and the other half sky blue to over her shoulder. My gaze follows her hands as they reach for the brown bottle and cotton pads. “Now are you going to tell me what happened, or not?”

Putting the bottle down hastily, she gently pushes my damp curls away from my face and runs the pad along my forehead. I suck in a breath through my teeth, wincing at the terrible stinging on my forehead.

“Ree?” she sighs, giving me a hard look in the eyes. My lips don’t move and neither does hers. A sadness I don’t want to look anymore into hangs around her eyes as she runs the pad along my forehead a few more times before discarding it, red blotches staining the cotton. “My God, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve met,” she sighs, the package crinkling as she removes another pad from the bag and soaks it with the hydrogen peroxide.

The pad is inches away from my forehead again when tears begin to fall down my cheeks out of nowhere, my lips creasing with them and my eyes falling shut. Skye’s face falls and she discards the pad, pulling my face against her chest and tucking my head under her chin.

“It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok,” she repeatedly hums against my hair, planting kiss after kiss on my damp ringlets. Arms around my neck keeping me close. “Everything’s going to be ok. You’re going to be ok, Ree.”

If only I could believe that too.

And if only the thought of giving him up didn’t scare me so damn much.

My weekend consisted of cuddles on the couch with Skye in our PJs, who decided to cancel her trip last minute, instead staying back to have a two-day long movie marathon with moi. She took care of me, making me a grilled cheese when I wanted, and stirring up chocolate milk for me when I wanted that too, and tending to my cuts a few more times until they were scabbing up and could fend for themselves. She didn’t push for the story again, but I knew it was on the end of her tongue and it was only a matter of time until she’d catch me off guard and make me spill.

With Monday looming closeby, I soaked up the last hours of freedom until eight am rolled around and I dragged myself out of bed. With a heavy lunchbox courtesy of Skye’s rare cooking excursion this weekend of Taco Soup and garlic bread, I head off into the chilly bright morning. Slipping into my forgotten front seat of my car, I start up the old thing and only then remember my lack of gas issue. But when I look at the gage, it’s hugging the bold F. Oh, Skye, what would I do without you, I think to myself with the warm hint of a smile clinging to my lips.

I put the car in Park and turn the keys until the hum of the engine is no more. With a deep breath, I peak a look at myself in the rearview mirror. Loose chestnut curls barely touching the shoulders of my violet peacoat and the smooth brown dress underneath it. By habit, my eyes dart to the slightly discolored area of skin just meeting my scalp and the dark crease in my bottom lip. If you don’t look too closely, you can’t notice them with the makeup and the colored lip balm. Sighing, I grab my purse and lunchbox and leave my car for the long parking garage in search of the elevator that will take me up to the seventeenth floor, and back to Harry.

The main floor of seventeen is doused in a quiet hum, albeit for the occasional phone ringing and small conversation among the Cubiclers tucked away in their cubicles by the elevator. Dark clouds hover on the other side of the clear pristine windows, threatening to burst at any moment as they cast dreariness over the black tiled floor and sleek gray granite walls of the firm’s main floor. The circular fluorescent bulbs hidden in the black wooden ceiling work hard as the rain nears, and stab needles into my head that still dully aches after three days.

My MacBook sounds its typical whoosh as its screen comes to life. I open my email with slow fingers, relieved and yet surprised to find only a handful of emails waiting for me. A handful or sometimes two less than usual. Thank God.

My fingers float across the keys with learned ease, composing a reply to a current client asking for some more information and certain documents that are the usual after Harry liked what he heard in the face to face consultation from Friday. I include a timeframe for when they’ll hear from us next, before sending the email off.

The day drags on with its hits and its misses. My time is spent answering emails and typing up new ones, retrieving and delivering case files for Harry that land on his empty desk as he sits in a courtroom across town. Last but not least, I take another crack at filing, rounding out another few sizable stacks before lunch arrives and I’m knee to knee with Asher in the breakroom scarfing down my soup and sharing my cookies.

3 o’clock rolls around out of nowhere, the rain clouds far gone as I savor the sliver of sunlight peeking out from behind the now fluffy clouds. Harry’s weekly list dinged in my inbox hours earlier and has grabbed my attention ever since, checking off a few things already until I decided to devote the rest of the day for filing and then hopefully finishing out the rest tomorrow. I kneel down and pick up the granola bar I dropped trying to take it out of one of the drawers of my desk. My hip bumps my creaky old desk as I leave for Harry’s office to get on that filing. The voices of Green Day, The Stones and Fleetwood Mac among others swim around me as names and numbers occupy my mind, as bright warm sunshine peeks in through Harry’s windows. I don’t catch one glimpse of him for the rest of the day, or of anybody else of significant importance much to my pleasure. I leave the rest of the files for tomorrow, gleeful at the sight of only a few stacks left and the bubbling hope of how happy Harry will be to see them all done. A new song by Vance Joy fills my car as I pull out of the parking garage and begin to make my way home.

My alarm clock rings too quickly the next morning, waking me up with a sad frown at having to leave that wonderful dream where I was on a beach with Derek from Teen Wolf. Mmmmm. Fucking alarm. I stumble out of bed and whiz through my morning routine with heavy limbs and heavy eyes. My Tuesday is a blur of coffee, emails, to-do lists and dreading doing the rest of those files. But with a new album and sneakily watching some more American Horror Story, I get through the day along with Skye’s soup and cookies.

With the secondhand hugging the 11 and the shorthand inching towards the 5, I decide to call it a day and make a break for my desk. Hiding away thick files and stacks of empty ones, I tidy up my desk and put everything back where it was this morning before deciding to head out. But when I’m reaching for my purse, I happen to look up and find Harry walking in my direction. Well, so much for thinking I could avoid you today, the words course through my skull as I heave a silent sigh at watching him arrive in front of my desk.

“Did ya drop something’?” he questions, leaving out a greeting as his striking maroon suit tightens around him when he bends over to pick up something off the floor. His eyebrows quirk together as he looks down at a white envelope, and a second later I feel my heart cease in my chest. “Hmm, ‘s addressed t’ me, I wonder what it ‘s,” he continues, apparently thinking that because of that he can go ahead and help himself and open it although it wasn’t sealed and the content already had begun to spill out. 

I scramble around my desk and over to him, not so calmly or chalantly ripping it from his hands. But when he looks up and over to me, I realize I was a fraction of a second too late because the creased letter tight in my hand is open just enough for the words stuck to it to be known to the world. Thick emotions paint his face all over, creasing the space between his eyebrows as they knit together sadly with his puppy dog eyes locked on me. Lips trembling to open, but not fully getting there. All as my heart races uncontrollably, regret filling my body quickly with my chest growing tight and my cheeks hot. Realization dawns on me, making me think back to bumping into my desk on my way to file some stuff. Shit. Devastation slowly sticks to every inch of skin on his face and seeps into his green eyes framed by thick lashes.

“Becks,” he rasps, hand going to his hair as if it’s his own unique coping mechanism. “What's this? I-I mean I know what it ‘s, but I don’ get it. ‘m so bloody confused . . yer quttin’?” Harry croaks, words coming out fast and then slow, and sloppy and crazed. “If you want less hours or t’ get off earlier, I can do that. Even if ya want more hours, we can figure that out. Or if ya wan’ a lighter workload, we can work sumthin’ out, Becks, I promise. Jus’ tell me what you need and ‘ll make it happen, jus’ pleas don’ leave.”

Wow. His lips sputter to a stop, as my heart does something the same and I’m left all of a sudden speechless, but with so much to say just a minute ago. Or so I thought. My heart only thumps faster and harder when he comes closer to me at the end of his plea.

“I-I’m not leaving, Harry. I-I just- I don’t know . . . “

“What d’ya mean? Tha’s a two weeks notice letta I just read. T-this isn’t makin’ sense, Becks,” he replies in a huff, throwing up a hand in exasperation before it falls heavy with a plop against his leg. Yeah, I don’t know, either. “Wha’s bloody goin’ on?” he outright asks, eyes glued to me and expecting an answer. And a good one at that.

“I have it because I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Why’re you thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’? What happened?” he questions quickly with sad eyes, and when they stray from my face to land on my forehead he steps forward, and I suddenly feel the urge to shrink into myself. If only that were possible. “Becks, yer head - ‘s gashed open, what’d you do, love?”

“I’m just clumsy, I tripped and fell,” I answer, looking away from his prying eyes and then back to find something in his that I don’t like.

I know that he doesn’t believe me.

“Yer not a good liar, ya know that?” he answers, lifting his eyebrows ever so slightly. I nod softly, looking around awkwardly without an idea of what to do, or say. “Did sumbody do this t’ you?” Harry continues, taking another step when there aren’t many left. I inhale nervously when the pad of his thumb softly brushes over the healing cut at the edge of my scalp that I couldn’t as easily hide the scab and bruises of this morning.

I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t. Because if I do, I’m afraid all of the words pent up inside of me that wish to free his ears with the truth will all come rushing out. No matter how much I try to stop them. And that the crazy beating of my heart will make them go all over the place, just like his touch has done to me. A gentle ‘heeey’ drops from his lips, making me look up at him and into his soft caring eyes that belong to the real Harry. My Harry. With courage bubbling up inside of me, my lips begin to part when a loud voice cuts in.

Jennings.

“Harry! I got Mr. Bishop on the line about the crazy Tillings case that’s all over the news. You know the one, with the wife stabbing her kids to death . . Well, there’s some stuff he wants to talk to you about, like maybe even hiring you for the Defense instead of Tomlinson,” he nearly shouts, with a foot out of the door of the large meeting room across from us. Several of the big lawyers like Stone, Bradley, Mickey, and Rose are visible through the half drawn blinds strewn over the windows acting as walls around the secretive room. It looks like the judge interrupted an important meeting, another one that Harry just so happened to skip out on. 

Harry sighs, muttering an ‘I’ll be there in a sec’ to Pete, before turning back to me. Hand back to himself and eyes full of questions, ones that I don’t want to answer. But I do. I just don’t know if I can.

“We’re not done here. ‘ll see you tomorrow’ before court and we’re settling all this then, alright?” he says with a wag of his ringed finger, and I nod at him. It’s really not that much, but it seems like more when he squeezes my arm as he holds my gaze before leaving with a goodbye.

Well, I guess my secret’s out. 

I inadvertently avoided my phone and emails for the rest of the night, and the next morning until I pulled into the parking garage attached to the gleaming skyscraper that I call my work. With my head down and the word ‘avoid’ repeating over and over in my head, I quietly make my appearance and try my best to slip away to my desk unnoticed. My heart pounds a little as my email loads, the innermost part of me dreading the long list of new emails waiting for me and the possibility one or a few might be from Harry.

A strange calmness covers me when his name isn’t found anywhere in my new emails on this dreary and cold Tuesday morning. Nervously, I pull up the weekly list and double check his agenda for the day, even though I was the one who wrote it and I should remember. But I wrote it up weeks ago.

Tuesday, November 9th

Court for the O’Pete’s Case 10AM - All day

Dinner with friend at The Grand 5pm

The plan for the day is simple and to the point, with some room for leeway and adjustments which I won’t be surprised if he makes. And a later start to his morning, which I know by now that he certainly likes. But not today, because guess who’s going to be Mr. Early. Ugh. I busy my mind this morning by answering emails and returning calls, peeking a glance every now and then in the direction of the elevator expecting to see him pop up out of nowhere. The first few times I look over without a hint of his appearance, but the fifth time I watch the elevator doors open and spit him out.

Oh no.

I know I can’t, but I almost try to hide behind my desk. Drop my head and busy myself with something. Turn around and make it look like I’m grabbing something from behind me. Crouch down and dig in the lowermost filing cabinet.

“Hey.” an internal groan ripples through me at the remembering that of course, he has to walk right past my desk on his way to his office. Could I be any more stupid? Probably not. “I wanna um talk t’ you ‘bout yesterday, ya busy?” the raspy words roll off his tongue fast. I slowly sit up to look at him, but it can’t be slow enough. His long curls gleaming wet after what must have been a morning shower, his nose and cheeks dotted with red from the London cold.

“Yeah no I’m fine,” I reply hastily, my words tumbling out before I can tell them to stop. Dread and nervousness guide my actions as I turn to face him fully and close my laptop.

“Kay, c’mon then. I wann’ talk in my office.”

Gulp.

Pushing my chair in, I leave my desk and follow his heavy footsteps down the hall and around the corner. The thump thump of my heart picks up as his drying curls bounce on his shoulders, and his shiny new YSL boots click clack on the tile flooring.

Here we go.

“Sit down,” he instructs, waving a hand to the black leather chairs in front of his cluttered desk. I do as he says, crossing my legs and folding my hands as I watch him set his black leather messenger bag on his desk and get situated as I wring my hands nervously. 

I watch his careful and rather rushed movements, until he’s hung up his jacket and fixed his hair. “Now le’s talk,” Harry sighs as he walks towards me and sits down on the corner of his desk to face me. Okay then.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Don’ lie t’ me. You know I wan’ t’ talk ‘bout that two-week letter I found of yers,” he goes on with a huff.

“I know, but there’s nothing to be said. I changed my mind and decided not to give it to you.”

“Well yer mind had t’ have been made up pretty damn good ‘bout quittin’ if ya felt so compelled t’ write it in tha first place,” he argues, looking away after a moment with a shake of his head.

I take a cue and shake mine too, frustrated at the way he’s acting and how big of a deal he’s making about this.

“You were never supposed to see it,” I comment softly in admittance, looking up from my lap and to him. But he won’t look at me. A hand adorned with rings is in his hair as he looks away, then stands up and walks over to where midmorning sunlight streams in through the polished window.

“What, are ya not happy enuf here, Holte?” he asks, throwing up a hand that he seconds later stuffs in the pocket of his tight black pants. It’s almost painful to hold back a snort at his remark, or to chime in with a ‘duh’ or an ‘are you serious’. “I thought we’d figured out our own li’l system and that you were comfortable an’ happy here”

When I don’t answer, I can’t ignore his heavy sigh that pokes at me and somehow makes this worse. “What can I do t’ make ya happier, huh?” Harry says softly, but not in a nice way, and more like in it a perturbed way like he doesn’t want to have this conversation any more than I do.

I don’t know about that.

His question catches me off guard a little, and I almost want to take it the wrong way. But things aren’t like that, and what’s to say that they ever will be more. Turning my mind to something else to get it off that, I start to think of what I should tell him. Well for starters, you could stop dating that bitch of a Barbie and that would take away something like half of my problems. Then there’s maybe treating me with some respect and decency, and not just when you like or those certain days when you decide we’re friends.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I decide to say, but I regret it almost as soon as I say it, because he’s Mr. Doesn’t Take No For An Answer.

“Why can’ ya just talk t’ me,” he relents, something sad and real creasing his brows and painted in his eyes. I start to fall for it and the truth itches to come out.

Briiiiiiiing!

He huffs and his gaze lingers on me willing me to speak as he seems to wait it out to see if it’s going to ring a second time and a third time and a fourth. And just when I gather a little nerve he reaches out and picks up the phone. “This is Harry,” he answers, pulling his lips in and pressing them together as he listens to the person on the line. I watch his eyes dart around and he nods with a ‘mmhmm’ before grabbing a pad of paper and a pen, jotting down something important.

I can hardly take the mix of awkwardness and tension for a minute longer, and I stand up and make it for the door.

“Becks, wait.”

The name and its sudden return hit me like a wall, hard and out of nowhere. My lips tremble with all of the things that I could say, and my limbs stutter with the things I could do. I decide on one, and I turn around. “I’m not going anywhere, so would you stop worrying about it?” I tell him, watching his face donning an expression I don’t want to read as the phone is still pressed to his ear, his hand cupping the speaker.

I think I hear a small sigh, but I don’t know because I’m already turning around. A harsh clud! tickles my ears and just as the icy metal welcomes my fingers, a warmth arrives on my shoulder making me spin around to find it.

“Please don’ leave, I still wanna talk t’ you. Ya’ve been actin’ so weird lately and there’s a cut on yer head and ya dropped a two weeks letta’ that ya say wasn’ real or sumthin’ . . . Will ya jus’ tell me wha’s goin’ on already?” Harry almost pleads, the ‘please’ stinging in his eyes. I can’t do it. The pleading and concern drowning in his eyes does it. It gets me.

“You won’t believe me,” I almost mumble, unsure of if he heard me until his quickfire ‘tell me’ knocks that down.

“Ya underestimate me sumtimes.”

A soft ‘okay’ falls from my lips recklessly a few breaths later, just like the rest of what I’ve said in the last minute. A shaky breath trickles into my lungs, my heart picking up speed as words jumble around in my head. It’s only made worse when his hand placed on my shoulder that’s hard to forget gives a little squeeze, egging me on.

“It’s um Amber, s-she keeps harassing me, Harry. I put that file on your desk the other day and I know that she took the crime scene photos out and did something with them just to sabotage me, or something. Also other times when she comes in, she always has to give me shit somehow: accidentally knocking over a coffee on my desk, accidentally hitting the end button on my phone when I’m on a call, or her favorite being to tell me that I’m not allowed in your office when you’re not here. I’ve told her time and time again that I am, but she won’t believe me,” I talk fast, shoving the words out into the free air before I stop myself, or before he does. My eyes jutt away from his, far too nervous and scared to wonder what they’re holding because his poker face doesn’t work on me. And if I see something I don’t like, I’m afraid I won’t get the next part out, because of that and the dryness eating up my throat. “A-and Friday I was doing filing in your office, and from the second she helps herself in she won’t leave me alone to get out because ‘I’m not allowed’. She was almost screaming at me, and she literally dragged me by the arm out an-and threw me at the door but I missed and hit the trimming o-on the wall, giving me a bloody fat lip and doing that to my forehead,” I divulge, sputtering to a hurried stop before another word takes it out of me and I’m spilling tears on his shoes.

My chest shakes with each hasty breath and the violent thuds of my heart pounding against my ribcage. Sweat slickens my palms I didn’t realize I was folding together so hard, the tips of my fingers white against my knuckles that I instantly release. But then they start to shake. Tears prick at the back of my eyes, ready to make their debut as I nibble nervously at my lip. Dread fills me, mixing with my nerves and anxiety and fear and everything else to make the worst feeling ever. It surpasses the gut-wrenching anxiousness of sitting at your desk in class waiting for the teacher to hand you your graded test. Or being statue still behind the wheel during your driving test afraid one little mistake will make you fail. Or the impending drop of a rollercoaster that makes you feel like your stomach is going to jump into the sky along with the rest of you.

The uncomfortable eeriness of silence pools around us, slowly building an invisible distance between him and I. A distance I’m afraid will be magnified by just a few words from him. Words that he could spill at any second. The waiting is always what kills you. I get ready to speak, new words ready to spring off the tip of my tongue.

“Tha-that’s not Amber, Becks, she’d neva do that kinda stuff, let alone give sumbody a gash on their head and a fat lip,” Harry finally says, words quick and sharp that are accented with a nervous laugh. Gulp. My heart drops into the pit of my stomach at the drop of a hat- or at the second he disagrees. A sudden angry heat fills my body all over, joined by a sourness spilling into my stomach. I think the toast and oats from this morning are going to be reappearing real soon. “‘m sorry ya think that, Becks, but I know her and she wouldn’ do that kinda stuff t’ sumbody, I swear,” he finishes. As if I needed to hear it a second time.

Braving it, I meet his eyes and find them creased with something sad that I don’t give a shit to decode, but I know they look even worse when they lay on mine. I take a step back, feeling his hand slide from its place on my shoulder. He steps towards me and almost grabs my hand, but I pull it out of his grasp. “Don’t,” I almost spit through gritted teeth, my heart beating loud and fast in my ears. My name starts on his lips, and I shake my head. No. “O-of course you didn’t believe me. God, what was I thinking? Why would you anyways?! Your head is so fucking wrapped up in her that you can’t see anything else but what she wants you to see, Harry!” I explode, words flying places without a thought. Because who gives a flying fuck.

Rage seethes through my veins hot and fast. A sudden boom! of thunder echoes through the room, big fat raindrops hitting the window with pits and pats. The former rays of sunshine nowhere to be seen as smoky clouds dominate the sky. 

Yeah, things sure do change fast.

“Becks, c’mon. ‘ve known her for years, I know she wouldn’ do this stuff yer accusing her of!” he replies, throwing his hands up and doing a half sigh-half gasp in exasperation. “Why would she anyways, what reason has she got t’ harass you if that were even true?”

“She hates me, Harry! Ever since the first day she met me she’s had it out for me. I’ve done nothing to her, but she insists on making my life hell ever since. I don’t know why, m-maybe she feels threatened by me or something, because you’ve kept me around for so long and because I’m a fricken girl! Why are you asking me? You should be asking her, Harry!” I almost shout, but at this point I don’t think either of us cares anymore. A guttural groan leaves his lips, a hand caught in his hair next messing it up further as he keeps his distance rightly.

“I know her, Becks. I know she wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Somebody dragged me by the arm and threw me to the ground, Harry! It wasn’t some ghost, I saw who it was. It was bloody daylight out and I’m sure you could ask anybody around here and they could tell you they saw her here at that time on that day, and maybe even what I looked like afterward!” I yell at him, finding my hands in my hair next, feeling the urge to pull it out. Palms sweaty, goosebumps covering every inch of my body and my brain turned on to fight mode. The sour feeling in my stomach grows, and next my eyes begin to blur ever so slightly and I don’t know how much longer I can fight. Or how much more. “W-why don’t you believe me, Harry? Why would I ever lie to you?” I relent, throwing a frustrated hand up to have it smack against my leg. My words crack at the very end and I shake my head with a sad smile.

It looks like a light clicks on in his head, filtering to his eyes as his lips part slowly. His forehead shiny with the same kind of clammy and angry sweat that covers my body. I blink at the blurriness, but it only grows worse.

“Amber’s not like that, she’s neva been,” he continues, refusing to give her up by holding onto her honor. It makes me sick. And if I stay here another minute longer, I’m afraid that I will be. “Becks, y-yer just confused o-or ya took sumthin’ she did wrong.”

“Wow, you’ve really got yourself hooked on believing all of her lies, Harry. You really have no clue of what kind of person you’re dating . . And I can’t believe I ever thought th-that there was some good down deep inside of you,” I spit, the anger and intensity falling as the words hit the air and my fight leaves me too, leaving the last words hanging there in my exhausted voice.

His grief-stricken face drowned in a mixture of sadness, confusion, and anger stare back at me in a blurry haze that disappears with my next blink. Hot tears trail down my cheeks, my whole body heavy. My heart. My stomach. My head. My eyes. His boots click when he inches towards me, but I move away by habit. A habit I didn’t know that I suddenly have. It hits him too, and the hurt etched into his face deepens from seconds before.

My heart wrenches at the sight of him. And the immediate disgust. I spin around, dying to get out of here and as far away from him as I can get. I swipe hastily at the tears flying down my cheeks, the clack of my heels muffled in my ears where my heart beats ravenously faster and faster and so do his words that play like a tape in my head.

It doesn’t stop when the sounds of seventeen come back to me, or people passing me, or the bile beginning to rise in my throat. Or even when I’m pushing past the doors. Or when I’m emptying the remnants of this morning’s breakfast from the pit of my stomach. His words and the look on his face still drill into my head, and when another wave hits me I heave into the toilet as the cold ridges of the dirty tile dig into my boney knees. Once it passes, I’m not yet out of the woods as sobs wreck my body and only grow worse when I play over and over the words he said.

And it only amounts when I think that maybe just maybe he’ll burst in here any second calling for me and admit his fault. But as the minutes grow and my cheeks become wetter, I sit back and curl against the partition of the stall and cry harder. Because he isn’t coming. He never will. 

He’ll never be that prince in shining armor I’ve wanted him to be this whole time.

[misskikuwrites]

Fire Emblem Fates: Rebirth

Chapter 33: The Fall

Also known as: Alone

After dying at the hands of a possessed Takumi, Corrin wakes up before Hoshido and Nohr are at war.

Determinded to undo all her regrets, Corrin sets out to save Ryoma and Takumi, unaware of their true, hidden enemy.

Spoilers for all routes.

Corrin lived it again in her dreams. That desperate fight for survival that ended in screams and blood. She saw it again as if through a stranger’s eyes. She tasted their blood on her tongue, heard their cries in her ears and could do nothing about it. She woke with a scream in her throat. A blistering pain rippled across her chest. She yanked down the neckline of her nightgown expecting to see blood, to see a puckered wound weeping on her chest. She sucked in a ragged breath at the sight of that accursed scar. Her skin was slick with sweat, not blood. Her heart was still beating. 

She was still alive.

Corrin swept from her bed as her lungs struggled for air. She paced the room, her toes digging into the plush carpet, before tearing for the door. It swung open with a crash and she descended the stairs in a flurry, ignoring the biting cold that enveloped her. Her silken nightgown clung to her skin by the layer of sweat glistening on her skin. She ignored the cold, her lack of attire, and ducked into the castle.

Her feet drove her forward on instinct, slapping against the cold tiles as she hurried down the hall. Tears pricked her eyes. They blurred the torches hanging on the wall into blinding light that stung. Corrin breathed the cold air and stilled before his door. A sliver of darkness ran beneath the wood. Her heart stammered in her chest as her stomach sunk. He was asleep. Her hands clenched to fists by her side as she flushed. Of course he was asleep. There wasn’t a flicker of light in the sky, being hours before dawn. She’d been an idiot to come here.

Her sniffle cut the silence, and she stepped back from his door abruptly. She knew what this would look like if someone saw her. Crying in front of his door this late at night… she could just imagine the rumours that would follow. That is, if people knew they weren’t siblings.

Did people know? She had no idea. She didn’t care. She couldn’t think of anything other than she didn’t want to be alone. She longed for his comfort. For the understanding they’d shared, for the words he’d say, simple and curt and everything she’d need to hear. Her face scrunched with tears as her lips trembled.

She was an idiot to come here. He deserved whatever sleep would come to him, not being woken up because she’d had a nightmare. How stupid that sounded now she thought about it. How stupid she felt. The idiocy of it all brought tears to her eyes, brought a sob to her throat. It escaped despite how tight her throat was, despite how hard she tried to stifle it. His door clicked open.

Corrin’s eyes shot up to his. She blinked, and tears slid down her cheeks, slowly, obviously, pausing at her jaw only to drop soundlessly to her feet.

“Corrin?” Takumi inched his door open wider. He stood before her, long hair undone and spilling over his shoulders, blinking blearily as if freshly awoken. The confusion on his face melted into concern as he studied her face, the tears she fought back, only to give up and let them fall. She dropped her gaze from his. Her lips pursed together in a fine line to stop them trembling. She couldn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Takumi took her hand and drew her into his room.

Takumi pulled the door shut behind her and went to light a candle that sat on a little dish on his table. It cast a warm glow over the room that only made Corrin feel colder. She found herself following that light, and dropped into a chair without any prompting. She clasped her hands together on her lap, felt the soft silk against her skin, and wished she’d taken a moment to grab her cloak.

Corrin snapped her eyes up when a blanket was draped over her shoulders. Takumi gave her the briefest of smiles and drew a chair up so that when he sat, their knees almost brushed. He was close enough that she could whisper, that she didn’t have to fight the tightness of her throat to get the words out loud enough for him to hear. She looked to the space between their knees, unable to find her voice.

“You had a Nightmare?”

She nodded. His voice was so soft, so gentle and understanding, it was getting harder and harder to speak as her throat clenched. Like an invisible claw around her throat. She sucked in a harsh breath. “You were possessed.” The words hurt. Burned as they passed through her throat. She lifted her eyes to his and blinked as her tears fell. “A hollow puppet. There was nothing left of you.” Somehow, her hands found his face. She was leaning forward, cupping his cheeks in her hands, studying his eyes. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Takumi placed a hand over hers, and leant into it. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

She bit her lower lip as it trembled, and nodded. “I was so scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I’ll say it as many times as it takes. I’ll say it over and over again until you believe it. I’ll say it enough to make it true.”

She shook her head, almost smiling at his stubbornness, though it quickly faded. “Don’t say that.” The words struggled out her throat. “What if I get my hopes up? What if I believe you and then it all falls apart? I can’t believe it’ll be fine. I can’t. I’ve had my hopes shattered too many times already.”

“You won’t lose me,” Takumi said again. There was such certainty in his voice that she wanted to believe him, despite the pain in her heart, despite her memories, her nightmares, telling her otherwise.

“You don’t understand. I have nightmares where you… you’re too far gone. I have nightmares that you’ve come to kill me, to make me pay for everything I’ve done.” She didn’t know why she was saying this, why she was revealing the depths of her nightmares to him now. The words spilled out with her tears and she didn’t stop them. “I have to fight you. But I can’t. I can’t do that – I can’t kill you. I give up and let it happen. I let you… I let you kill me.” She shook her head again, her hands dropping from his face. He caught them on her lap.

“Corrin,” Takumi began, drawing her eyes back to his. “If there was ever a time in which I raised my hand against you, I’d want you to kill me.” He squeezed her hands as shock registered across her face. “I can’t bear the thought that I’d ever harm you.”

“I-I couldn’t–”

“Please.” The pain in his eyes cut through her heart. She went to shake her head, words failing her, and he pressed his forehead to hers. His fringe graced her cheeks, strands of his long hair falling between them. “If you have to kill me to stop me, do it. I don’t want to be the one to end your life, nightmare or not.”

“Takumi–” his name broke on her lips as a sob. Her eyes fluttered shut, blocking out the painful burning behind them. He did the same as their breaths mingled in the silence. “I could never…”

I love you too much to do that.

That realisation came as a start and bloomed so suddenly in her chest that she couldn’t stop the tears that followed. She sobbed quietly, their foreheads pressed together, his hands holding hers. It was painful to breathe, her lungs seizing in gasps of cold air. She felt Takumi shift, felt the brush of his hair against her cheek as he moved, and then the soft press of something to her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, to find Takumi brushing away a tear with his lips.

Her heart caught. It throbbed painfully, fully aware of why it hurt, of this feeling coursing through her. It made the tears come faster. She leant into him as he thumbed away the tears on her right cheek, kissing away the ones on her left. She didn’t know how something so soft, something so loving and gentle, could hurt so much. Every press of his lips, every touch of his thumb, drew a sliver of ice through her heart. It was so warm and so cold at the same time.

“Don’t leave me,” she breathed as he kissed her cheek again and again. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” Another kiss. Another press of his lips to her cheek. “I won’t ever leave you.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the stab of pain from his words. She thought back to that other time, to the hatred that burned inside him towards her. He’d screamed of her betrayal. He’d fought against her until he couldn’t fight any more. She saw that final moment again. When he was no longer himself. When there was nothing left of him except pain and death.

No. That wasn’t him. The Takumi she knew, the Takumi she loved, sat across from her now, kissing away her tears. Her sobs faded, and she drew herself back to look into his eyes. Somehow, she managed a smile. She noted the burning flush on his cheeks, the way he struggled to meet her gaze.

“Thank you,” she said. It hurt to smile, and it fell from her face. The emotions tearing through her veins were still raw. Her eyes stung, throat burning from her sobs. She felt like fragile glass, barely holding itself together despite the fractures spread across its surface. One touch and she would surely break and shatter for all to see.

Takumi’s thumb lingered on her cheek. “Are you all right?”

Honesty got to her before she could speak, before she could form a lie, and she shook her head. She knew that if she left, if she found herself in the silence of her room again, it would all come crashing back down.

“Can… can I stay here tonight?”

The hand on her face stiffened before it dropped away.

“Wh-What?” Takumi sat straighter, as if a rod had been inserted where his spine was. He glanced to his bed, to her, mouth agape. He blushed furiously, despite the pain in her eyes and the complete innocence of her question. He swallowed thickly. Corrin looked away from the obvious discomfort she saw.

“Sorry,” she croaked. “Forget it.” She’d only meant that she didn’t want to be alone, not really thinking. Of course he’d be discomforted in sharing his bed with her. They weren’t siblings. Not anymore. “I’ll go.”

“Corrin–”

“It’s fine. I’ll let you sleep.” She knew she wasn’t going to get any. She knew that if she let him speak, he wouldn’t deny her. She could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at her, the way he was still holding her hand. She stood, and turned her back to him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She was out of his room, the door shutting behind her, before he could find the words to answer her. He dropped his head into his hands, silencing a groan of anguish that she didn’t hear.

Corrin leant against Takumi’s door for a breath before she noticed the figure watching her from down the hall. She jolted, whipping her attention to them, before realising who it was and sighing. Of all people who could’ve seen her leave Takumi’s room this late at night, she was glad it was Kaze. She strode over to him, forcing the embarrassed flush from her cheeks.

“Kaze? What are you doing here?” She glanced behind him, then down the corridor she came, making sure they were alone. She drew her arms around herself in the cold, and Kaze held out her cloak. She stared down at it. Slowly, it clicked, and she stole it from him with a glare. “You were watching me?” How else had he known she’d left her chamber without her cloak? How else would he know where she was, where to wait for her?

“My apologise, Lady Corrin,” Kaze said with a light chuckle. She fumed, and drew the cloak over her shoulders. “I assure you that I wouldn’t have followed you if I weren’t under orders.”

Orders? The only one he’d listen to over her was… “Ryoma. He asked you to watch me?” She sighed, and made for her room. Kaze fell into step beside her. “Since when?”

“This morning.”

“Because of our new allies?”

“Because he cares about you.”

Corrin breathed a puff of air as they stepped out into the courtyard. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and watched her breath plume in the cold. “You won’t tell Jakob about this, will you?” She could hear his protests already.

Kaze chuckled. “You have my word.”

Corrin pursed her lips into a semblance of a smile.

Even in the comfort of her quarters, sleep didn’t come easy. Fear gripped her like a cold blanket, rising up every time she closed her eyes. She fought the fear, she fought sleep, until she couldn’t any longer and let her dreams claim her.

The morning that followed couldn’t come soon enough. Corrin woke before dawn, her mind a mess, and made herself busy by readying her armour. She was fully dressed and painfully awake when Jakob came at first light. She answered the knock on her door knowing it was him, though she hadn’t expected the frown that marred his features.

“Is something wrong, Jakob?” Corrin asked as he stepped into her chamber. He sighed roughly, straightened his back and gave her a dutiful smile.

“Not at all, milady,” he said. “Though I haven’t seen hide nor tail of Felicia in days. I can’t image where she’d be, skirting her duties like this.”

Corrin stiffened, picking at a nick in her armour with her fingernails. “Felicia… quit.”

“Quit?”

“Yes. She’s… no longer fighting with us.”

Jakob scoffed. “She can’t simply quit – it’s unheard of! And where would she go? I doubt there are many that would take her in.”

“Sorry.” Corrin plopped down on the edge of her bed with a heavy sigh. “It’s my fault.”

“It is most certainly not. She is just as impulsive and ridiculous as her sister. Let me find her. I’m sure I can talk some sense into her.”

“No, Jakob,” Corrin huffed, the air draining from her lungs. “She left because of me. I told her.”

Jakob stilled, the frustration falling from his face. “Milady…”

“I guess she couldn’t stand being around the one who caused her sister’s death. Especially now that she knows it could’ve been prevented.” Corrin forced a smile, stood from her bed. “Let’s talk of something else. You brought some tea?” She nodded to the tea tray and made a show of reaching for it as if to pour it herself.

“Allow me.” Jakob was by her in an instant, the teapot drawn from her hands soundlessly. Corrin smiled knowingly and sat, allowing Jakob to fuss over her tea and breakfast, rather than the fate of Felicia. The morning seemed to drag on, but soon Corrin and her allies stepped from the Astral Plane, into the darkness of the Bottomless Canyon’s outskirts.

The sky crackled above them as it always did. Light and darkness bled together in a swirl of scarlet and blues. The air was charged with lightning and nerves, a sickly anticipation that worked its way into their ranks. Corrin greeted her allies with smiles, quashing her trepidation, as they headed for the edge of the canyon. There, she would tell them what they were to do. She only hoped they would follow.

Corrin caught Takumi’s eyes across their group, and gave him a small smile. He returned it, then answered something Oboro said to him. He seemed fine since last night. No trace of a hangover, no awkwardness from their meeting. She hadn’t let herself think about what had happened that night. He was drunk. That was all. The rest… She tore her eyes from him to see the rickety rope bridge that hung over the canyon. Their army stilled, gaze following her as she stepped forward. She let her eyes follow the wedge of darkness that split the ground.

Ryoma came up beside her. “The skies above Hoshido and Nohr are changing.”

“It seems like the time has come.” Xander stood on her other side, eyes on her, waiting. “Corrin, what is our next move?”

Corrin drew forward, her fingers gracing the bridge’s rope, before she turned and faced her allies. She scanned them. Hoshidan, Nohrian. No. For a long time now, that hadn’t been what separated them. It’d had been who knew, and who didn’t. Those who understood, and those who questioned. She looked to them now. The allies that knew what lay ahead, the ones who would follow her despite what she was about to ask them to do.

Jakob and Kaze, never far from her side, gave her a nod. She looked from them to Silas, who pursed a smile. Azura met her gaze, eyes impassive, and she, too, nodded. Kaden flinched beneath the roar of thunder, fur standing on edge, as Keaton stood beside him, grinning. The darkness and foreign weather didn’t seem to bother him at all. Corrin looked from them to Saizo and Kagero, in their place beside Ryoma. Gunter stood not far off. The trio from Nohr, Laslow, Selena, and Odin, each looked to her with memories behind their eyes. Leo and Nyx both looked to her with unquestioning eyes. She knew they had her back and would follow regardless of what would come. And then…

Corrin met Ryoma’s eyes. He smiled warmly, confidently, and with a nod they shared, she knew what she had to do. “Now… we jump off this bridge. We have to reach the bottom of the canyon to continue.”

“Corrin, it’s the Bottomless Canyon!” Takumi balked. He cut forward, fear flashing behind his eyes. “By definition, we can’t reach the bottom! You’re asking us to– to kill ourselves!”

To hear this from Takumi, of all people, dropped her heart into her stomach. Last night he’d said he’d never leave her, kissed away her tears with such tenderness, such kindness, and now he stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. She’d never thought of continuing this without him. She needed him there, beside her, not just because he wielded one of the divine weapons they needed.

She’d never thought she’d have to fight this without him.

“You won’t find death at the bottom,” Corrin said. “I can’t explain now – not up here – but I need you to trust me.” She saw the confusion in Takumi’s eyes, the doubt, and turned her gaze from him to the rest of her allies. She met their eyes, one by one, and couldn’t help but wonder who would desert her, and who would follow. “If you only knew why I’ve been fighting… but if I say anything…” Corrin huffed. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been able to be truthful to you all.”

Azura came up beside her. “Corrin, you know you can’t say anything. If you do, the curse…”

Xander frowned, looking between the two. “What curse? What is she talking about?”

“If I speak the truth here, and not down below…” She’d never wanted to think about it, but said it now. “A curse will trigger and I’ll… vanish. I’m sorry. I know that would be the easiest way to convince you all, but I can’t. I need to finish this. With my own hands. I understand your doubt, if you won’t follow me. I won’t force you to. Anyone that wants to back out now can do so freely.” Corrin smiled as she said that, smiled through the pain that bloomed in her chest. Confusion rippled through her allies. Questions and murmurs filled the air, glances exchanged between her allies. Corrin watched them all, wondering who would leave.

Was she asking too much?

“I’ll follow you.” Ryoma stepped forward, clasped a hand to her shoulder. She looked to him, matched his smile, felt the confidence in his words.

“As will I.” Xander followed suit and nodded, before casting a glance back to their siblings. “If we had any doubt, none of us would have come here.”

“That’s right!” Elise beamed, and ran up to Corrin. “I already told you I’m going to follow you, wherever you go!”

“My darling Corrin, you didn’t think I’d leave you after all this?” Camilla cooed. She sauntered up with a smile, Selena and Beruka trailing behind.

Leo shook his head, despite the smile on his face. “You truly are an idiot. All you have to do is ask, and we’ll follow you. We’ve come this far.” Niles and Odin stepped up with him.

Corrin smiled at them now. Her siblings from Nohr, the one’s she’d betrayed, were on her side. They would follow her.

“I’m not letting you do this without me,” Takumi huffed, folding his arms defiantly. “If you want me to jump off this canyon, fine. I’m not going to be beaten by some Nohrians.” He said that last part under his breath, a hiss that the wind stole as soon as it was said.

“M-Me too!” Sakura chimed. She gripped her staff tightly, hung close to Takumi. “I trust you, Corrin. I’m coming too.”

“That’s settled, then!” Hinoka clapped Sakura and Takumi on the back as she smiled. “I guess all that’s left is to jump!”

A cheer swept through their soldiers. From Keaton and Kaden to Mozu and Hayato, all nodded, all would follow.

“Corrin, I think we should hurry,” Azura said, her eyes drawn to the depths of the Canyon. “I sense something… strange down below.”

Corrin nodded, and turned to her allies. “It’s time to go, everyone! Jump down into the canyon! This is our first step to peace!”

Without another word, without any doubt, her allies leapt into the darkness. Xander and Ryoma were first, with Azura and their retainers right behind. Elise smiled brightly to Sakura, who stammered a cheer, and they too were gone. Leo nodded to his retainers, not a shred of doubt in his eyes, and they followed. Camilla, then Hinoka… Selena, Beruka, Azama, Setsuna… Keaton and then Kaden, hooting loudly as he careened into the canyon. That made Corrin smile. Kaden always seemed to find enjoyment in everything.

Rinkah, Hayato and Mozu quickly followed. Orochi, Shura and Reina were right behind. Corrin nodded to Jakob, Kaze and Gunter, who readied themselves at the edge. Takumi caught her gaze, his retainers by his side. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t place. Not doubt, not confusion, though there were certainly lingering questions. She almost went to ask him what was wrong when he turned and leapt into the canyon. He disappeared with Hinata and Oboro close behind. Corrin stilled by the edge when Scarlet stepped up beside her.

She was fiddling with a flower, and pinned it to her chest plate. It had large white petals, a small ring of crimson around its centre.

“What’s that, Scarlet?” Corrin asked, studying the simple flower adjourning her armour.

“Oh… it’s a custom among the knights at Cheve,” Scarlet laughed. “Whenever one faces some monumental event, it’s tradition to pin on a flower.” She grinned brightly, flashing a smile. “You’re pretty special, Corrin. Getting everyone to follow you like this.” She paused, then chuckled. “But… you’re not quite as special as Ryoma!” She then leapt into the canyon with a hoot, with only Corrin left to follow. She swallowed a tight breath and forced herself off the ledge.

It wasn’t the first time Corrin found herself falling, careening down at a blinding speed, as rocks sped past close enough to touch. Though, if Corrin reached out and skimmed her fingers down the wall, she’d surely lose them.

The cliffs rose and rose and rose around her, and a voice boomed through the darkness.

“I AM THE FORGOTTEN DRAGON.”

It echoed through the air, through Corrin, reverberating through her chest and lungs. A figure was falling beside her, cloaked in shadow. Her breath caught, fear clawing at her heart.

The voice sounded again, this time right beside her. “THE BETRAYED KING. THE ENTOMBED GOD.”

Corrin was frozen, falling beside this figure, this shadow. They reached a hand out to her, and Corrin recoiled, wishing to flee, panic surging through her veins. This wasn’t right. This had never happened before. And she was trapped. Walls of cliffs surrounded her on every side. She couldn’t push off the wall, couldn’t duck or run or attack, with the figure just out of range.

“IN THE NAME OF THE KING OF VALLA. I SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH.”

There was a flash of heat, a surge of flames. They burst around Corrin, burst off her, and flung her head over feet. A scream tore from her at the heat, the burning pain. She scanned the cliffs above them, the rushing air, the figure falling above her.

“Who is that?!” Scarlet cried, craning her neck to see the figure. She was falling beside Corrin now, having been thrust downwards by the explosive burst of magic.

“I don’t know! This didn’t happen last time!”

The figure was silent, a wave for flames building in its hand. It reached out again, Corrin braced herself for the heat and pain–

“Corrin, watch out!” Scarlet yanked Corrin’s cape, jerking her behind the crimson knight, as magic coursed towards them. A flash of light brightened the canyon, blinding Corrin. White petals scattered around them, lost in the darkness as the light faded. The world surged around them, tumbling and tumbling, ears ringing, head throbbing, before everything stopped.

There was grass beneath her. Soft and lush, Corrin dug her fingers into the ground as she righted herself. Her head ached. No, her body ached. Her chest plate was singed, dark soot coating her front. She touched it lightly, then shot her head up and spied Scarlet lying beside her. Corrin scrambled over and the air died in her lungs. Scarlet’s chest plate was ripped open. Flesh burnt and tore and bleeding beneath.

“Scarlet?!” Corrin cried, pressing down on the wound with her hands. Her palms sank into the blood; it seeped through her fingers. She pressed harder. Her hands slipped over one another, over the sticky mess of blood. It wasn’t stopping. Was she not pressing hard enough? Was she doing it wrong? What could she do? Corrin wasn’t a healer. She’d never had a gift for magic, though now she wished she’d studied it more. She didn’t know what to do.

Corrin shook her head and thought hard. Pulse. She needed to find a pulse. With one hand still pressed to the wound, Corrin fumbled for Scarlets wrist. She touched the cold metal of her gauntlets, left a trail of blood behind on the already crimson armour. Not her wrist, then. Neck. She probed and felt around Scarlet’s neck, unsure what she was looking for. Her touch left streaks of blood across Scarlet’s pale skin.

She felt nothing. That was when she looked into Scarlet’s eyes. “No–” They were open. Glassy. Unblinking and unseeing. “This can’t be… Scarlet! Answer me, Scarlet!” Corrin’s hands left her throat, left the wound, and grabbed her shoulders. She gave the knight a shake. Her head rolled aimlessly. “You can’t die now…” Tears were falling. Her hands trembled. She swiped away a tear, leaving a line of blood on her cheek. “You can’t give up… Scarlet…”

Corrin’s fingers gripped the edge of Scarlet’s armour. They bit into the cold metal, tighter and tighter, as Corrin sobbed. “Oh, Scarlet…” she could barely form the words through her sobs. “What am I going to tell Ryoma…?”

It should have been me.

Corrin’s tears dripped silently onto Scarlet’s chest plate. She blinked them back, swallowed the scream welling in her throat. She raised her eyes and saw an empty field. She felt the silence descend around her. She turned and saw grass, stone ruins of what was once a building. Clouds fractured in the sky, land rising upwards at horrid angles.

There was no one in sight.

She was alone.                         

[readbookywooks]

‘Gods, that was awful,’ he said. ‘Mind you, so is this.’

Crew members scurried across the deck, cutlasses in hand. Conina tapped Rincewind on the shoulder.

‘They’ll try to take us alive,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ said Rincewind weakly. ‘Good.’

Then he remembered something else about Klatchian slavers, and his throat went dry.

‘You’ll - you’ll be the one they’ll really be after,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard about what they do-’

‘Should I know?’ said Conina. To Rincewind’s horror she didn’t appear to have found a weapon.

‘They’ll throw you in a seraglio!’

She shrugged. ‘Could be worse.’

‘But it’s got all these spikes and when they shut the door-’ hazarded Rincewind. The canoes were close enough now to see the determined expressions of the rowers.

‘That’s not a seraglio. That’s an Iron Maiden. Don’t you know what a seraglio is?’

‘Um …’

She told him. He went crimson.

‘Anyway, they’ll have to capture me first,’ said Conina primly. ‘It’s you who should be worrying.’

‘Why me?’

‘You’re the only other one who’s wearing a dress.’

Rincewind bridled. ‘It’s a robe-’

‘Robe, dress. You better hope they know the difference.’

A hand like a bunch of bananas with rings on grabbed Rincewind’s shoulder and spun him around. The captain, a Hublander built on generous bear-like lines, beamed at him through a mass of facial hair.

‘Hah!’ he said. ‘They know not that we aboard a wizard have! To create in their bellies the burning green fire! Hah?’

The dark forests of his eyebrows wrinkled as it became apparent that Rincewind wasn’t immediately ready to hurl vengeful magic at the invaders.

‘Hah?’ he insisted, making a mere single syllable do the work of a whole string of blood-congealing threats.

‘Yes, well, I’m just - I’m just girding my loins,’ said Rincewind. ‘hat’s what I’m doing. Girding them. Green fire, you want?’

‘Also to make hot lead run in their bones,’ said the captain. ‘Also their skins to blister and living scorpions without mercy to eat their brains from inside, and-’

The leading canoe came alongside and a couple of grapnels thudded into the rail. As the first of the savers appeared the captain hurried away, drawing his sword. He stopped for a moment and turned to Rincewind.

‘You gird quickly,’ he said. ‘Or no loins. Hah?’

Rincewind turned to Conina, who was leaning on the rail examining her fingernails.

‘You’d better get on with it,’ she said. ‘That’s fifty green fires and hot leads to go, with a side order for blisters and scorpions. Hold the mercy.’

‘This sort of thing is always happening to me,’ he moaned.

He peered over the rail to what he thought of as the main floor of the boat. The invaders were winning by sheer weight of numbers, using nets and ropes to tangle the struggling crew. They worked in absolute silence, clubbing and dodging, avoiding the use of swords wherever possible.

‘Musn’t damage the merchandise,’ said Conina. Rincewind watched in horror as the captain went down under a press of dark shapes, screaming, ‘Green fire! Green fire!’

Rincewind backed away. He wasn’t any good at magic, but he’d had a hundred per cent success at staying alive up to now and didn’t want to spoil the record. All he needed to do was to learn how to swim in the time it took to dive into the sea. It was worth a try.

‘What are you waiting for? Let’s go while they’re occupied,’ he said to Conina.

‘I need a sword,’ she said.

‘You’ll be spoilt for choice in a minute.’

‘One will be enough.’

Rincewind kicked the Luggage.

‘Come on,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve got a lot of floating to do.’

The Luggage extended its little legs with exaggerated nonchalance, turned slowly, and settled down beside the girl.

‘Traitor,’ said Rincewind to its hinges.

The battle already seemed to be over. Five of the raiders stalked up the ladder to the afterdeck, leaving most of their colleagues to round up the defeated crew below. The leader pulled down his mask and leered briefly and swarthily at Conina; and then he turned and leered for a slightly longer period at Rincewind.

‘This is a robe,’ said Rincewind quickly. ‘And you’d better watch out, because I’m a wizard.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lay a finger on me, and you’ll make me wish you hadn’t. I warn you.’

A wizard? Wizards don’t make good strong slaves,’ mused the leader.

‘Absolutely right,’ said Rincewind. ‘So if you’ll just see your way clear to letting me go-’

The leader turned back to Conina, and signalled to one of his companions. He jerked a tattooed thumb towards Rincewind.

‘Do not kill him too quickly. In fact-’ he paused, and treated Rincewind to a smile full of teeth. ‘Maybe … yes. And why not? Can you sing, wizard?’

‘I might be able to,’ said Rincewind, cautiously. Why?’

‘You could be just the man the Seriph needs for a job in the harem.’ A couple of slavers sniggered.

‘It could be a unique opportunity,’ the leader went on, encouraged by this audience appreciation. There was more broad-minded approval from behind him.

Rincewind backed away. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘thanks all the same. I’m not cut out for that kind of thing.’

‘Oh, but you could be,’ said the leader, his eyes bright. ‘You could be.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ muttered Conina. She glanced at the men on either side of her, and then her hands moved. The one stabbed with the scissors was possibly better off than the one she raked with the comb, given the kind of mess a steel comb can make of a face. Then she reached down, snatched up a sword dropped by one of the stricken men, and lunged at the other two.

The leader turned at the screams, and saw the Luggage behind him with its lid open. And then Rincewind cannoned into the back of him, pitching him forward into whatever oblivion lay in the multidimensional depths of the chest.

There was the start of a bellow, abruptly cut off.

Then there was a click like the shooting of the bolt on the gates of Hell.

Rincewind backed away, trembling. :A unique opportunity,’ he muttered under his breath, having just got the reference.

At least he had a unique opportunity to watch Conina fight. Not many men ever got to see it twice.

Her opponents started off grinning at the temerity of a slight young girl in attacking them, and then rapidly passed through various stages of puzzlement, doubt, concern and abject gibbering terror as they apparently became the centre of a flashing, tightening circle of steel.

She disposed of the last of the leader’s bodyguard with a couple of thrusts that made Rincewind’s eyes water and, with a sigh, vaulted the rail on the main deck. To Rincewind’s annoyance the Luggage barrelled after her, cushioning its fall by dropping heavily on to a slaver, and adding to the sudden panic of the invaders because, while it was bad enough to be attacked with deadly and ferocious accuracy by a rather pretty girl in a white dress with flowers on it, it was even worse for the male ego to be tripped up and bitten by a travel accessory; it was pretty bad for all the rest of the male, too.

Rincewind peered over the railing.

‘Showoff,’ he muttered.

A throwing knife clipped the wood near his chin and ricocheted past his ear. He raised his hand to the sudden stinging pain, and stared at in in horror before gently passing out. It wasn’t blood in general he couldn’t stand the sight of, it was just his blood in particular that was so upsetting.

The market in Sator Square, the wide expanse of cobbles outside the black gates of the University, was in full cry.

It was said that everything in Ankh-Morpork was for sale except for the beer and the women, both of which one merely hired. And most of the merchandise was available in Sator market, which over the years had grown, stall by stall, until the newcomers were up against the ancient stones of the University itself; in fact they made a handy display area for bolts of cloth and racks of charms.

No-one noticed the gates swing back. But a silence rolled out of the University, spreading out across the noisy, crowded square like the first fresh wavelets of the tide trickling over a brackish swamp. In fact it wasn’t true silence at all, but a great roar of anti-noise. Silence isn’t the opposite of sound, it is merely its absence. But this was the sound that lies on the far side of silence, anti-noise, its shadowy decibels throttling the market cries like a fall of velvet.

The crowds stared around wildly, mouthing like goldfish and with about as much effect. All heads turned towards the gates.

Something else was flowing out besides that cacophony of hush. The stalls nearest the empty gateway began to grind across the cobbles, shedding merchandise. Their owners dived out of the way as the stalls hit the row behind them and scraped relentlessly onwards, piling up until a wide avenue of clean, empty stones stretched the whole width of the square.

Ardrothy Longstaff, Purveyor of Pies Full of Personality, peered over the top of the wreckage of his stall in time to see the wizards emerge.

He knew wizards, or up until now he’d always thought he did. They were vague old boys, harmless enough in their way, dressed like ancient sofas, always ready customers for any of his merchandise that happened to be marked down on account of age and rather more personality than a prudent housewife would be prepared to put up with.

But these wizards were something new to Ardrothy. They walked out into Sator Square as if they owned it. Little blue sparks flashed around their feet. They seemed a little taller, somehow.

Or perhaps it was just the way they carried themselves.

Yes, that was it …

Ardrothy had a touch of magic in his genetic makeup, and as he watched the wizards sweep across the square it told him that the very best thing he could do for his health would be to pack his knives, and mincers in his little pack and have it away out of the city at any time in the next ten minutes.

The last wizard in the group lagged behind his colleagues and looked around the square with disdain.

‘There used to be fountains out here,’ he said. ‘You people - be off.’

The traders stared at one another. Wizards normally spoke imperiously, that was to be expected. But there was an edge to the voice that no-one had heard before. It had knuckles in it.

Ardrothy’s eyes swivelled sideways. Arising out of the ruins of his jellied starfish and clam stall like an avenging angel, dislodging various molluscs from his beard and spitting vinegar, was Miskin Koble, who was said to be able to open oysters with one hand. Years of pulling limpets off rocks and wrestling the giant cockles in Ankh Bay had given him the kind of physical development normally associated with tectonic plates. He didn’t so much stand up as unfold.

Then he thudded his way towards the wizard and pointed a trembling finger at the ruins of his stall, from which half a dozen enterprising lobsters were making a determined bid for freedom. Muscles moved around the edges of his mouth like angry eels.