#cherry's mumbling about dune

[italoniponic]

me: *sigh* okay, enough of studying. Time to read something and relax bc math is a bitch

literally Children of Dune: thought you could scape me?

[italoniponic]

pff- boys these days

jessica: my son is at that very special age where there's only one thing on his mind. stilgar: ...girls? fifteen-year-old paul, clenching his fist: A HOLY WAR SPREADING ACROSS THE UNIVERSE LIKE UNQUENCHABLE FIRE. FANATICAL LEGIONS WORSHIPPING AT THE SHRINE OF MY FATHER'S SKULL.

[phantomenby]

"Just one more"

Anonymous asked:

May I PLEASE 🙏 have some headcanons for Dwayne being absolutely whipped for the reader? Like when he holds your hand, kisses you neck...just all the ways he's dominant but in a super protective (sexy) and loving way 👁👁

why are the eye emojis so human they keep watching me while im writing this :(

It took Dwayne a while to approach you when he saw you out on the beach late at night, strolling while kicking at the sand beneath your sneakers

Your scent got to him first, savoury and rich.

Followed immediately by David trying to make a snack out of you before Dwayne yanked him back by his coat.

-

David choked as he was dragged back and away from the unsuspecting human which had wandered far out into the darkness and straight into his path.

Just as he was about to lunge at you he found his friend yanking on the collar of his coat and strangling him with the rugged cloth, turning with a growl he was expecting to be met with a good reason for the action when he was instead met with Dwayne's blown out eyes.

"Oh...OH!" Laughter erupted from the blonde as Dwayne fought to keep him quiet, slight embarrassment burning through him as David's mocking laughter grew louder and louder.

"Cut it out man they're gonna-"

The two vampires froze as they heard you pause, the chain that dangled on your belt jingling as you turned towards where they had begun wrestling on the other side of a sand dune.

When you resumed your movements Dwayne let out a sigh of relief, watching you walk back towards the road where you would be slightly safer before resuming his attack on his brother.

-

It didn't take long for him to finally suck up the courage to actually talk to you, seeing you had been one thing but oh boy, talking to you was a whole other ball park

And his packmates knew now, about you.

Thus leading to a constant barrage of teasing and playful bullying from them at every waking moment

-

"Oh, Paulie however will he cope?!" Marko fell against Paul's chest, hand pressed to his head as he swooned dramatically, "my love- please read some poetry til my mind turns to mush and I am forced to-"

"Hush my love-" Paul pressed a finger to Marko's lips, silencing him and cooing softly, "save your breath."

Across the cave Dwayne was watching on, slumped against the wall of the cave while David clapped encouragingly at the performance.

"Stop encouraging them."

David barked a laugh, waving the joint he had lit up in front of Dwaynes face, "never."

-

Three weeks later and he was taking you out to some cutesy little diner.

But you were perfect, dressed up in some flared jeans and shiny burgundy cowboy boots, with a fluffy denim jacket wrapped around you snugly.

If only Dwayne could get a fucking grip and look you in the eye.

-

It had been fifteen minutes. Fifteen long awkward minutes of fiddling with the menu while the man across from you looked around the diner like he was being held hostage.

I mean he is really cute, like really cute. But you had already dealt with him being twenty minutes late - something you would never know what due to Dwayne attempting to pussy out of the whole thing but being dragged here by Marko and David.

"Should we order?"

Dwayne's eyes flashed towards you, making you shuffle nervously in your seat.

When he didn't immediately respond you began again, chewing your lip as you mumbled out the words, "you know we don't have to do this, I can just go-"

"No!-" Dwayne cleared his throat, knowing if he had been human his skin would be cherry red with embarrassment. Looking you over he could tell how badly he must have sounded, practically shouting at you as you sat with wide eyes. "I- I just, I'm sorry I didn't mean to be such a prat I'm just not used to the whole slow dating thing..."

It was true, he wasn't. Most of the people he "dated" were either potential meals or someone to burn some energy off with. The last time he had even bothered to get close to someone was in the sixties and they ended up moving halfway across the planet after a month.

"Thats okay, I'm not great at it either," you sent him your sweetist smile, eyes shining where they could be seen peeking above the rims of your glasses, "though I doubt were gonna get graded, might as well just enjoy it." -

Your first 'date' together ended with the two of you walking around the boardwalk after sharing some fries and a milkshake.

It became a regular thing until the two of you became more comfortable with each other, finding that Dwayne preferred to come to your home or you to his when he finally revealed what he was.

With the acceptance of what he was, he became even clingier, always pressing himself to your side when you walked together, pressing his lips and nose against your skin to rub his scent in. And never ever letting you get away from him when you were in your nest together.

"Dwayne baby- Ah! Stop it!"

It was a good thing your neighbors were out of town, between the sounds of your boyfriend climbing up to your apartment and the screams of (mostly) glee that followed you sure they would have come knocking by now.

Dwayne didn't let you worry for long, pinning you to your soft couch and pressing his cool lips across your neck and shoulders roughly as his fingers teased your sides.

You tried to get him to stop, pushing against his chest and gasping out words in between breaths as your chest seized.

"Christ- have mercy!"

Laughing at your pleas he finally shifted his hands away from your plump waist, dragging one up to hold your flushed face while the other lay firmly on your soft hip.

"Given up so soon?" His mocking coo didn't help as you huffed at him, turning away from his lips as they descended upon you. Your decision was followed by a growl, as well as lips pressing to your jaw slowly.

The action made you shiver, warmth flowing through you as your cheeks heated oh so deliciously, Dwayne's eyes naturally darkening at the growing scent of your sweet blood rushing to your flesh.

"Oh, hun..."

Realising the predicament you were in you looked up at him, meeting his dark eyes with your own which widened in slight fear, encouraging him further as he descended back upon you.

[supremeuppityone]

This was created for the Klaroline Fall Bingo Event @klarolinefallbingo.

Prompt: “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

Please review here.

                         ________________________________________

           It wasn’t the worst heartbreak story Caroline had heard. But it definitely was the worst this season. The angry murder swans were an interesting plot twist though. She wiped down the bar, eyeing the clock before she announced, “Last call, everybody!”

           She turned to the adorable drunk resting his head on the wet rings the bottles and glasses had left behind. Klaus had spent the evening raking his fingers through his dirty blonde curls, double-fisting shots and Ward Eights when he wasn’t berating his ex-fiancé. “So, your ex, this...um...something that sounded like ‘tater tot’, walked down the aisle, stood at the altar with you in front of a church stuffed full of your friends and family, and announced that she’s been banging your brother for months and wants to marry him instead.”

           He squinted up at her, as though slowing piecing together her words. Letting out an unexpectedly boisterous guffaw, he said, “It was Tatia, actually. But tater tot is considerably more appropriate — often greasy, grows disappointingly cold, and an unpleasant aftertaste.” Fishing around in one pocket, he flashed her a devilish smirk that she would’ve found charming if it wasn’t for the bit of drool as he slurred his words, “Elijah’s welcome to her, but he’ll have to make it official without our grandmother’s ring.” He triumphantly slammed a beautiful antique ring on her bar, the neon lights making the diamonds and pearls twinkle.  

           Caroline let out a small gasp as she studied the delicate floral pattern the gemstones made. For some reason, she felt ridiculously pleased that Tatia didn’t get her grubby cheater’s hands on such a lovely piece of jewelry. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but morbid curiosity is winning right now. Did your other brother release the angry murder swans as a distraction just so you could steal back the ring?”

           “A happy accident, love. Kol thrives on chaos and he nipped out to the reception area to let them out of the paddock just to see what would happen. I took advantage of the riot that ensued once the swans started attacking the outlandish lace train of Tatia’s dress and swiped the ring.” His smile was more of a grimace, but at least he chuckled as he said, “I escaped before I saw the worst of it, but I’ve been told that by the time the swans were under control, Tatia was wearing shredded bits of overpriced lace and feathers, and both she and Elijah were smeared in droppings.”  

           Giggling, Caroline squeezed another half-lemon into the shaker, adding the grenadine and topping it off with orange juice before pouring it over what was left of the rye whisky in Klaus’ glass. She tossed in a few cherries and winked as she told him, “My treat.”

           He threw her what should’ve been a smoldering look, but instead his gray eyes seemed to cross slightly as he slurred, “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

           She rolled her eyes, not bothering to respond to his clumsy flirting. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she couldn’t help the way her pulse quickened. If he had this kind of effect on her now, what was he like sober? Nope, she sternly reminded herself; he’s on the gut-wrenching rebound to end all rebounds and you stopped doing one-night stands after Mr. Hair Gel seemed waaaay more into his brother and you snuck out the bathroom window once it got too squicky.

           She kept busy closing out a few more tabs, feeling the need to steamroll past the awkward silence as she cheerfully said, “So, you just hopped on a plane and decided to go on your honeymoon anyway. That’s a level of petty I can support. Mystic Shores is a tiny resort town, but you should find plenty to keep yourself busy. There’s the lighthouse, natural rock bridges, seabird sanctuary...” she trailed off when she saw how his eyes had glazed over. “Plus, lots of white sand beaches you can day drink on while watching the dolphins.”  

           “I knew I picked this place for a reason.” Klaus gulped down the rest of his drink, grimacing as he told her, “Remind me to teach you how to make a proper Ward Eight, love. It’s positively criminal the rubbish rye you’re peddling.”

           She grabbed his empty glass, putting it in the tub under the bar. Snorting, she replied, “Yeah, yeah, just add it to the rest of your complaints about my drinks. Not that it stopped you from slamming them back as fast as I poured them.”

           Klaus smirked, rising unsteadily to his feet. “A bartender should understand proper citrus techniques. Zesting citrus in advance may save time, but it dries out the fragrance and flavor you’d otherwise infuse into your drinks.”

           Normally, having her bartending skills drunkenly criticized would have Caroline covertly charging an ‘asshat tax’ when she closed out the tab, but there was something about Klaus that made her more amused than angry. She’d stealthily admired his cheekbones most of the evening, and when he occasionally stretched, the muscle definition was undeniable. He wore his classic good looks with casual indifference, but a curious melancholy hung over him despite his snarky wit. There was more than just heartbreak below his surface, and she was curious to know more. Nope. Don’t get involved. It’s not your job to fix broken people.

           As he continued to hopelessly fumble with his wallet, she gently pressed her palm to his forearm and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

           It was the first genuine smile he’d given all night, and he lurched forward, placing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. “You radiate light and beauty. I should’ve known you were are an angel, Caroline.” He stumbled out of the bar before she could speak, cheeks flushed at the way his accented voice lovingly caressed her name.

           Caroline busied herself closing up the bar, barely resisting the urge to glance out the front to see if Klaus had managed to operate his ride app correctly. Not your problem. She waved off a few of the locals who invited her to the dunes to watch the sea turtle nests. They’d be hatching soon, but a bubble bath and some bad reality TV sounded much more appealing at the moment.

           Lost in her thoughts, she nearly stumbled over Klaus as she took the trash to the dumpster. With a gasp, she knelt beside him, realizing he was snoring loudly and his pockets were turned inside out.

           Damn it, Enzo.  

           “Come on, Klaus, wake up,” she hissed, lightly smacking his cheek.

           With a groan of protest, Klaus managed to sit up against the dirty brick wall, mumbling, “Bloody wanker came at me, but I gave him a right show with this,” he cursed, triumphantly waving around a fist.

           She helped him up, muttering under her breath, “Nice work. Although it looks like he still snagged your wallet and ring.” At his crestfallen expression, she hurriedly reassured him, “But don’t worry! I’ll give Enzo a call and we’ll fix it, I promise.”

                        ________________________________________

           When she heard the loud thump followed by an impressive string of cursing, Caroline knew Klaus finally was awake. It was the first time she’d let a drunk stay on her couch who wasn’t a local, but he was far too out of it to be a threat last night. Plus, her bartending over the years had given her an almost infallible bullshit meter. Klaus wasn’t dangerous. Just dangerously sexy. She rolled her eyes at that thought.

           She’d given Enzo an earful last night for not keeping a closer watch on his crew. When he dropped off Klaus’ stuff, he gave Caroline a saucy little wink and teased, “My apologies, gorgeous. I didn’t know my mates rolled your tourist fluff.”

           “Seriously?! It’s not like that — he’s just going through a rough time with his fiancé leaving him at the altar for his brother, and he doesn’t deserve getting his stuff stolen.”

           Enzo whistled, a rare look of sympathy flashing in his dark eyes. “Bollocks. No wonder he went after Jeremy like a man possessed. Gave him one hell of a shiner too — it’s my new wallpaper on my phone.”  

           Klaus stumbled into her kitchen, looking just as adorably rumpled as he did last night. Curse her weakness for complete disasters. He squinted at the sunlight pouring in from her open windows, and winced at the cheerful whirring and hissing of her espresso machine. “Caroline?”

           She blushed to the roots of her hair, ridiculously pleased that he remembered her name. “Good morning, Klaus.” She slid the cup and saucer toward him. “It’s a double shot — I figured you could use it.”

           He blinked, taking a sip as he said gratefully, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

           “You’re welcome. Um, so you probably don’t remember much from last night, but after I found you passed out in the alley, you kept muttering you were staying at a bed and breakfast. Which isn’t helpful when there’s one on almost every corner in this town. So, I let you crash here instead.”

           Klaus gave her a small smile, rubbing his forehead as he muttered, “It’s a sad commentary on my life that I’ve been in the presence of friends and family this past week and the most kindness I’ve been shown has been from a stranger.”

           “We’re not strangers,” Caroline protested with a gentle smile. “We’re just friends who haven’t finished bonding.” As she refilled his cup, she winked, “And when it’s my turn, I’m counting on you to have a very generous pour when I get left at the altar.”

           He suddenly froze, rapidly patting at his pockets, and she quickly said, “Hey, no, it’s okay! I got your stuff back.” She reached into the drawer between them, pulling out his wallet and carefully setting his grandmother’s ring on top of it. “See? I told you I’d fix it.”

           Letting out a sigh of relief, he pocketed his belongings, telling her, “You’re amazing, love. An angel, just as I suspected.” His gaze suddenly turned shrewd as he studied her, “You know the thief.”

           “Yes. I have a friend who runs a crew that robs tourists that look like they can afford it.” At his frown, Caroline felt the absurd need to make Klaus understand. “Work here is seasonal at best for a lot of us, and Enzo kind of redistributes wealth when he can.” She held her breath, waiting for his judgement. He had swans at his almost-wedding, for fuck’s sake. His type was definitely Enzo’s favorite target.

           Klaus let out an unexpected chuckle, telling her, “We should hope your friend never meets Kol. When we were in school, he set up an underground sports betting pool with the faculty and most of the staff.” Shaking his curly head in bemusement, he added, “Kol had teachers giving him passing grades just to pay off their gambling debts.”

           She burst out laughing, wiping away tears as she imagined the crazy shenanigans Enzo and Kol would get into. That’s not going to happen. Klaus is on vacation, remember? His ruined honeymoon. Her smile was overly bright as she started pulling containers from the refrigerator, explaining, “My friend Matt runs the cafe down the road. I wasn’t sure what your go-to hangover food was, so I got you mine — butter biscuits and spicy sausage gravy, vanilla custard French toast, and orange juice.”

           “You’ve spoiled me, sweetheart. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to repay all the kindness you’ve shown me.”

           She did her best not to blush at the intensity of his gaze as he helped her set the table. They ate in companionable silence, listening to the small town slowly come to life on the street below. She waited until Old Man Gilbert’s noisy pontoon boat left the docks for the morning dolphin tour, and once the street was back to a manageable hum, she tentatively said, “Listen, I don’t know what you’re planning to do when you get back home, or if you’ve even allowed yourself to think that far ahead, but I wanted to offer you some advice.”

           When he raised an intrigued eyebrow, but didn’t comment, she blurted out, “Go crazy. This is one of those moments where you can change whatever boring, expected path you’d planned out. Invite a little chaos into your life — do something wild and unexpected.”

           The sudden press of Klaus’ lips to hers was just as thrilling as she’d imagined. He had her up against the cabinets with a resounding thud that seemed to fuel their frenzied kisses. The feel of his stubble against her neck was spicy-sweet pain that made her groan. Emboldened by her reaction, he dipped his head lower, running his tongue along her collarbone as he palmed her breast.

           Caroline reached between them, rubbing the outline of his erection with a satisfied hum. It had been far too long since someone made her skin sing. He wanted her. And yesterday he wanted someone else. That thought alone jerked her out of their pleasurable haze. Placing a palm on his chest, she gently pushed him back, her words a bit jumbled as she panted, “That was...I mean...but we shouldn’t...”

           Klaus’ cheeks were flushed as he smirked, “You advised me to do something wild and unexpected, sweetheart.”

           She snorted, “Seriously? That was totally expected.” Her tone grew serious as she told him, “Klaus, you’re going through something huge right now and I’m not looking to be someone’s detour on the way back to their life.”

           “You aren’t a detour — you’re a destination,” he replied. “But you’re probably right — I’ve had a bloody awful time of it. I need to get myself sorted.”

           The determination on his face gave her hope; Klaus would be ok.

                        ________________________________________

           Four months later, Caroline was loading up the pushcart with kegs for that evening’s tasting room event when Enzo strolled into the supply room, wearing his serious brows. She hadn’t seen those since she’d dropped Klaus off at the airport and then sulked on Enzo’s couch for days. He’d argued that she was being stubborn and should go track Klaus down. But she didn’t want to get in the middle of his left-at-the-altar-for-his-brother drama. She refused to be someone’s second choice.

           “For fuck’s sake, what is it,” she asked in exasperation, wiping the sweat at her temples with the bottom of her old t-shirt.

           Frowning, he jerked his head toward the street, telling her, “Looks like some competition has moved in, gorgeous.” At her skeptical expression, he pulled her outside, pointing to a sign that proclaimed ‘A Little Chaos’ was opening soon. It looked like a bar. Right across the street from her bar. Frowning, she quickly made her way over, blinking in disbelief as she came face-to-face with a familiar devilish smirk.

           “Caroline! I was just on my way to see you,” Klaus greeted her, that knowing smile making her blush despite her anger.

           “You’re opening a bar. Across from my bar,” she said flatly, eyeing the exquisite, hand-lettered gold leaf sign that probably cost more than her rent. “A hipster bar,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

           He chuckled as he lightly corrected her, “A speakeasy. I’ll be able to show this town how to make a proper Ward Eight.” With an impish wink, he reminded her, “Someone told me to invite a little chaos into my life. I decided to take her advice.”  

[taeyongtime]

null memoriam

genre: t.r.c* / reincarnation!au ⎮ fantasy ⎮ dimensional travel 

group & member: NCT’s Taeyong

word count: 10,805 words

a/n: second half of this fic can be found on my masterlist

“Taeyongie!”

The eleven-year-old boy turns at the high-pitched squeal of his name, smiling softly as he closes the dusted leather volume in his hands.

“Princess.”

A frown makes its way to her face immediately, the formal title not one she wished to be referred with—especially when it was with him. Her tiny arms fold to a displeased X, nose turned up.

“We’re the same age, Taeyongie. You don’t need to call me a princess.”

“But you’re the daughter of the King and Queen of Maica Country, Princess. It’s only right to call you by your appropriate title.”

“Mean.” She blows a raspberry with her tongue and the most playful of smiles creeps in as her small hands grab at the book he had in his arms. “I’m taking your book.”

“Take it. It’s about the old ruins by the western deserts.”

Grimacing at the content of the book, she hands it back and takes his free hand.

“Come with me to the garden! The cherry blossoms are in bloom and I want you to be the first one I see them with!”

“Oh… will it make you happy if I go with you to see them?”

“Of course!” she laughs, a bubble of laughter echoing through the halls as she already starts pulling him after her. “That’s why I asked!”

—

Every year, Taeyong is the first person she asks when it comes time for the cherry tree in the royal garden to blossom, the pink petals holding special meaning for the princess. A little picnic is staple of the meeting, Taeyong usually with a book on archaeology while she listens closely to his reports of new discoveries on the site of focus for the month. Not that she possessed much interest on the subject matter in the first place, but it was Taeyong’s area of interest and she liked watching him talk about the things he was passionate about. The glow in his eyes and excitement in his voice was contagious, but no matter how many times she’s expressed wanting to visit the ruins for herself, he would always refuse, insisting the desert was no place for a princess of her caliber to be in. Windy, dirty, those were only a few of the adjectives he commonly used to describe the sand dunes that he spent almost entire weeks at along with his father and other archaeologists from the royal excavation team. Ironic, no?

But today goes differently, the sight of the Crown Prince and the Priest at the site a surprise that only increases in shock factor when the Princess herself is helped down from the camels that come to a stop before the main tents set up by the archaeologists.

“Taeyong!”

At hearing his name, Taeyong turns and hurriedly dusts off his hands before bowing to the Crown Prince, a nod to the Priest and—face growing warm—soft mumbles of a hello for a smiling princess.

“Have you found anything new?” she asks, reaching for his hands and swinging them ever so.

“I… Princess, your hands.”

She pauses, glancing at her brother the Crown Prince before turning back to Taeyong. “Chanyeol doesn’t mind.”

“Kid, you’re lucky my sister likes you,” Prince Chanyeol mutters under his breath before addressing one of the archaeologists sitting by the worktable set up with artifacts from the dunes.

“You didn’t answer my question, Taeyongie.”

Taeyong fumbles with finding his words again and looks away, unusually focused on his hands and the fingers laced around his own.

“We found some things, yes.”

“Show me! I’d like to see them.”

Under her eager request, he takes her out from the tent and towards the excavation site. One lap around the camels and his colleagues greet the princess before returning to studying the ruins, large eroded structures protruding above the sand of what must have been a formidable empire before the wind and whatever minimal rain they received over the years cut it down over time. This was the largest site yet from the entire trip around the western regions, hopefully to yield bountiful results in offering a glimpse of history once at its finest.

“Amazing,” she whispers as her eyes flit around the site, “To think the remains of what used to be can still stand fairly intact.”

“Follow me, Princess. I have something to show you.”

Taking great care to correctly estimate the distance between the higher ground and below where the ruins are, Taeyong takes the first jump and lands solidly before opening his arms to her.

“I usually would never do this, but—”

His sentence goes unfinished when she follows suit immediately, the scent of her shampoo wafting into his nostrils at the jump straight into his arms. He takes a few steps back in his attempt to evenly distribute the weight, grunting as he gently sets her down onto the sands.

“Are you alright, Princess?”

“Never better,” she smiles, lifting her dress slightly and shaking out grains of sand that have stuck to the fabric. “Now, onward!”

Her energetic outburst brings a smile to his lips and he offers a hand, which she enthusiastically takes. He guides her through the nooks and crannies of broken down walls, stopping just before a slab of stone bearing symbols that resembled Egyptian hieroglyphs.

“This was discovered today,” he says in hushed whispers. “We’re not sure what it means because it’s nothing like our letters, but pictures… isn’t it astounding that our ancestors used pictographs as their earliest form of record-keeping? There’s a mystical aura to this entire slab in particular and I just wanted to share it with you.”

“A sun, star, moon…” Her finger hovers over each shape and taps onto what looked to be an hourglass, tracing over the rectangular frame of the symbol and triangular interior noting the separation of what would be the glass bulbs, one darkened to indicate sand that has yet to trickle down.

“An hourglass… time and space?”

No sooner do the words leave her mouth does a faint shimmer surround the princess, her eyes glossing over and staring blankly before her as she falls to the ground.

“Princess!”

She makes no apparent movement to show that she heard him, and Taeyong watches in horror when a faint dot begins to glow by her temple, brightening and growing larger until a stream of white starts to trickle downwards to the floor of the ruins. Unsure of what to do, he shifts her body so her head is leaning against his shoulder before using his right hand to catch what looked to be—upon closer examination—grains of white sand leaving the princess’ head. None of the grains remain in his palm, however; simply slipping out of reach, they come to a stop and the dot by her temple loses its glow, her eyes still out of focus.

“Who…” She turns her head towards him, brows crinkled in confusion.

“Who are you?”

Gritting his teeth, he helps her stand and lifts her up without warning, breaking into a run as he maneuvers out of the ruins and back to the main tent, wheezing by the time he reaches the presence of the Crown Prince and most importantly, the Priest.

“Kid, why are you holding my sister in your arms?”

“The princess, she…”

Chanyeol beckons at the priest, who studies her blank eyes and shakes his head gravely after hearing Taeyong’s story of the hourglass in the wall of symbols and white sand trickling down from her temple.

“Suho, what’s wrong with my sister?”

“Her timeline is ending,” Suho answers. “Whatever happened down at the ruins offset her time here. Memories, her experiences since birth… everything related to her will soon cease to exist.”

“The… The sand…”

“Parts of her timeline,” the priest continues, “Scattered across the wind from the desert.”

Taeyong looks down and his eyes widen even more at the state of translucence in her face, her features almost intangible as the weight in his arms begins to lighten.

“I am going to send you two to see someone who may be able to help,” Suho interrupts. “There is no way for us to fix it when our country does not specialize in time-and-space conundrums.”

The Crown Prince narrows his eyes at Taeyong, eventually breaking to a sigh as he claps a hand on the young archaeologist’s shoulder. There was no time to assign fault or responsibility when the princess’ life was at stake.

“Travel safe, kid. I know you can bring my sister back.”

A firm nod, and Taeyong follows Suho towards the camels, carefully cradling the princess as her eyes continue to stare blankly ahead.

“You’ll be fine, Princess,” he whispers into her ears, holding her even tighter while the animals become untethered for the return trip to the castle. “I’ll do everything I can to get you back in time for the cherry blossoms to bloom.”

—

Sharp knocks on the door disrupt the silence of the small fortune-telling shop, a most unpleasant of sounds when the clock barely passed 7am. Shuffling out of her room and towards the table by the bookshelf, the fortune teller lazily waves a hand and the door swings open on its own accord. The guests waiting outside enter and her sleepy eyes open a bit wider at seeing the two cloaked figures, a wardrobe style clearly not one that belonged to the residents around her neighborhood.

“What are you here for?” she asks with a yawn.

“I’m looking for an Irene,” the one in the olive cloak answers, pulling down the hood to reveal a handsome angled face. “I was sent here by the High Priest of my country to meet with her.”

“An interdimensional traveler,” she muses, lips playing around an intrigued grin. “Haven’t received one of those in a long while.

“Wait here. I’ll get Irene and make you two a pot of tea.”

◇

The offered pot of tea is given by a woman different than the one who had answered the door, a slight smile before sitting down across from Taeyong.

“Irene,” she says, extending a hand. “Welcome to the Red.”

He accepts the hand and shakes firmly. “Taeyong. And this is—”

Irene glances at the slowly fading princess, her form barely more than a few wisps.

“Your lover is losing time.”

“She is not my lover,” Taeyong refutes, face growing warm. “The princess… She is someone very important to me and I will do anything to bring her back to our country before our cherry tree blooms this year.”

“How sweet of you!”

He turns around and two more women of uncanny resemblance to Irene join her on her side of the couch, one being the greeter at the door and another swooning as she places down a plate of biscuits to go with the tea.

“Irene, don’t you think he’s the sweetest?”

“Wendy, as one of the Reds, don’t you think you should be a bit more… objective in your first impressions of a guest seeking our services?”

“You have to help them, Irene. Seulgi, tell Irene these two are worth helping.”

“She’s right, Irene,” the so-called Red chimes in. “Suho sent them here all the way from his dimension, you have to help them.”

In his confused state at watching their bickering, Taeyong remains perpetually lost when the softest touch grazes against his hand, a transparent finger resting lightly on his knobbed knuckles.

“Princess?”

Her mouth moves but what she says is barely audible, and she rests her head against Taeyong’s shoulder with a heavy sigh when she goes unheard.

“Your princess is scared,” Seulgi says quietly. “Her time is coming to an end and she is scared that she won’t ever see you again.”

“I won’t let that happen.” He lifts his head and meets Irene square in the eyes, the intensity of his gaze smothering. “I mean it when I say I’ll do anything to get her… her time back. Whatever it is she needs I will get it.”

“You have a drive that I don’t seen in many guests,” Irene murmurs. An empty hourglass materializes from thin air and she hands it to Taeyong.

“When this hourglass is full, turn it over and time will rewind back to before your princess lost her timeline.”

“There’s no sand,” he points out.

“You must collect the scattered sands of her memory and experiences from different worlds to fill it up and bring her back to existence. The more she remembers, the more sand will collect in the hourglass.”

“But I don’t know how to travel between dimensions.”

Irene glances at Wendy and the latter makes her leave, returning momentarily with a mahogany box in her arms.

“Turn the dial on the side three times towards you and a portal to another dimension will open,” Irene explains as Wendy hands the box over to Taeyong. “I saved it just for this occasion when Suho first contacted me about you.”

Taeyong thanks the Reds for their help, about to leave when three firm hands stop him.

“You haven’t given us payment yet.”

“I…” Taeyong bites his lips nervously. “I wasn’t told there would be payment involved.”

“We require something of meaningful value in exchange for our services,” Irene explains. “Something as trivial as money has no value to you. Not like…”

Her gaze flits towards the fading princess and he follows the beeline to the wispy form at his side. Barely there, the princess’ eyes look up at Taeyong. The faintest spark of anguished hope lingers before fading out, a shake of her head before her eyes gloss over again.

“You wish to have the princess,” he begins slowly.

“Not her physical being,” Seulgi corrects him, “What you value is your relationship with her, and that is what your payment shall be in exchange for the ability to travel interdimensionally.”

“I… I suppose that will be acceptable in exchange.”

“You do realize this means she will never remember her previous relationship with you even after you’ve collected all her sands of time? Memories, shared experiences, she will forget all that pertains to you.”

“Even so, I am willing to accept your terms.” He swallows nervously, glancing at the wispy princess. “Nothing is more important than the princess.”

A snap of her fingers and Irene nods, sealing the deal as the wisps of the princess begins to fade before Taeyong’s eyes, his hands furiously grabbing at empty air.

“What—What did you do to her?”

“Whatever remains of her has joined the rest of her timeline across an infinite number of parallel dimensions. Now marks the true start of your journey, time traveler.”

“Would you at least like a card reading before you go?” Wendy speaks up, much to Irene’s disapproval. A deck of tarot cards appears before her, cutting itself and splitting into three separate piles.

“Pick a pile. Fortune-telling is one of our specialties.”

Taeyong’s finger hovers over the middle and chooses three individual cards from the subset, after which Wendy extends a hand towards Irene.

“Nope,” the latter says, shaking her head. “You offered to read him free of charge, you do it without using the eye.”

“What is—oh.” Taeyong closes his mouth shut at the gaping hole on Wendy’s right-side, the eye socket daunting as she closes her one good eye while tapping on each of the three cards.

“I cannot see in your future,” she says after a minute of silence. “It’s all murky, as if even the Gods are unsure how this will all play out.”

“Then I must start as soon as I can to ensure that I still have a future,” Taeyong quips, shaking off the image of the empty eye socket. “My sincere thanks for the extra reading, Miss Red. The tea and biscuits were delicious.”

“Come again,” the three chime simultaneously. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

—

[dimension I: Zhang Dynasty]

The chirp of the early bird twiddles a sweet tune through the small window carved into the walls of the inner chambers of the Imperial Palace, bringing her back from a night of sound slumber and into a sunny new morning. Yawning softly, she sits up and finds the soft slippers that warm her feet as she steps into them and stretches her arms high above her head. Not that she was tired from fatigue, but she had quite the active dream the night before. Fleeting recollections of a man calling her name, his voice carrying hints of anguished hope while holding her close with a promise to bring her to a place where they can see the cherry blossoms one more time. Half of her wanted to dismiss it as simply her imagination at work, but the other half lingered of the remnants of the dream, certain that it had happened before. It did not make sense; the only males she spoke to daily were the Emperor, his advisor, and other servants of the palace. Who was the mysterious man occupying her dreams, then?

Stomach growling to be fed, the thought of breakfast replaces the dream and she steps out of her bedchamber, startled at the presence standing by the entrance.

“How long have you been standing there, Doyoung?”

Her tutor bows, lips pursed. “You missed your calligraphy lesson already and will soon fall behind in geography if this keeps up, Your Highness.”

“I do not understand why geography is something I need to learn when the Emperor still has plenty of years before him.” She begins her walk to the kitchens and Doyoung follows. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Your Highness, it is almost time for the servants to eat their midday meals. Of course, I have.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, she continues walking, poking her head into the doorway of the kitchens once she reaches the bustling quarters where chefs and their kitchen assistants were working hard to prepare food to feed all the inhabitants of the Imperial Palace.

“Is there something I can eat?”

Her question goes unheard, the stoked fires and hissing oil in the large woks taking precedence in attention as delicious scents of herbs, vegetables, and cooking meat fill the enclosed space. One of the kitchen boys notices her presence and quickly stammers a greeting, back bent stiffly while his hands hold onto a large bag of what must be kitchen scraps and other bits that needed to be taken out rather than kept inside.

“Your Highness,” Doyoung breaks in, “It is stuffy and the smell is getting into your clothes. I suggest—”

Beckoning at the kitchen boy, she whispers into his ear the request for breakfast foods in the middle of the day, one that when entering the head chef’s ears brings a raised hand in reprimanding for such a ridiculous question when there was a schedule to uphold in the kitchens.

“B-But Sir…”

The boy nervously gestures to the doorway and the chef’s eyes widen in surprise. The ladle in his hand falls onto the floor, a clattering noise that brings everyone’s attention away from their present task and to the beeline of focus for the royal standing inquisitively by the entrance.  

Doyoung steps inside and pulls the princess behind him. “Her Highness would like to have whatever there is remaining from breakfast.”

“We…” Hustling and rummaging of the kitchen emerges in a hesitant response to the tutor. “We only have the steamed meat buns that us kitchen staff had for breakfast, Sir.”

“Oh, I like those! It’s perfect!”

At the snap of Doyoung’s fingers, the kitchen boy presents a platter of four steamed buns, reheated and held by the tutor as the princess gives her most sincere thanks before leaving the premises to let them return to their work before her untimely interruption. Her arms reach at the buns waiting above her head, but the tall stature of her tutor provides to be a formidable obstacle in obtaining them. He easily takes the lead in walking her straight to his quarters, using his free hand to pull out a chair before the wide mahogany desk staple to the daily tutoring sessions.

“You may eat once I finish covering the geography lesson you missed this morning,” he says with a knowing nod, pushing the tray far out of reach. “As the wise saying goes, ‘the early bird catches the worm’.”

“I am not a bird,” she retorts. “I am a human being who is hungry and wants her breakfast!”

“Then I suppose these meat buns will be a snack to go along with my afternoon tea.”

Knocking on the desk, he pushes over a leather-bound volume and instructs her to flip to the green tabbed page. Geographic maps of the Zhang Empire greet her in structured lines and shades of brown and green, painting exact locations of the borders that spelled the expansive land that belonged to her family’s name.

“Today we were supposed to cover the Eastern Front and go over our history of overseas trade and oceanic warfare.”

“May I please eat first?” she mumbles under her breath, grumpily flipping through the pages in a restless manner. “I’m hungry.”

A disapproving click of tongue and half of a meat bun is offered, the delightful scent wafting into her nose as she immediately takes the offering and makes her first bite.

“You may have the other half once you get through the first chapter,” Doyoung says firmly, standing his ground. “Then one more bun for another chapter of reading, and so forth.”

“Okay…”

“I shall make a pot of tea while you read,” he concludes with a smile. “I recall jasmine is your favorite, Your Highness?”

“Yes…”

Two chapters later are redeemed for two of the meat buns obtained from the kitchens, an exchange that leaves the princess more disgruntled than satisfied. She was the Princess of Zhang Empire, for goodness sake. To be subject to the whims of a mere tutor when she was the next heir to an entire empire… unheard of.

“I am done for today,” she says without even looking at the third chapter. “And I will take the rest of the buns, Doyoung.”

“Princess, you cannot miss another—”

“Warfare should be discussed with the Head General, not me.” Holding a bun in each hand, she excuses herself from her tutor’s desk and quickly runs out, quick as the wind as she weaves around paths and slips into the first open door she sees when the footsteps behind her falter after seeing a blank before him.

“Where did she go now?” comes the disgruntled voice while the princess quietly closes the ajar gap, holding still until the shadow looming over the paper screen leaves to continue his hunt elsewhere. Once determining that her tutor’s long gone, she starts to get up from the floor but pauses, the subtle tingling in her calves rendering her unable to stand.

“Oh no.”

A looming shadow returns to the door and she looks up at the entering visitor, momentarily mesmerized by the large dark eyes that seems to hold abysmal depth.

He’s beautiful.

“What are you doing in my room?”

Coherent speech fails to leave her mouth and he grunts, not buying her story of running away from the ’tyrant of knowledge’ that had unleashed the power of geography on her unprepared mind.

“You should know better than to barge into other people’s private quarters.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. “But can you help me up?”

The abrupt question catches him by surprise and whether it was out of pity or genuine concern is left for the gods to answer as he extends a hand, barely batting an eyelid when she hauls herself back on her feet.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, keeping her head down in shame at having to be helped up. “I… I probably should leave now.”

“Goodbye, Your Highness.”

Not lingering on how he knew she was the princess, she nods and quickly takes her leave, pausing briefly at the dog sitting by the entrance to the man’s private quarters before making her way back into the inner chambers of the palace.

—

You and her meet at last.

Taeyong glances at the Saluki sitting by the side of his desk. “How do you know she’s the one I’m looking for?”

Your eyes got softer. They’ve never softened like that before.

“You’re not wrong.” A raw chuckle and an empty hourglass is placed on the surface of the table, void of sand that he should be collecting for her sake. “I need to go about this carefully.”

You’ve started, for starters. She knows how you look like now.

“But she won’t remember me. And it’s going to take a miracle for a newly accepted soldier to become familiar acquaintances with this empire’s one-and-only princess.”

—

Abandoning her efforts in keeping up with her studies certainly had its consequences, for her tutor had reported the issue to none other than Emperor himself, the highest power of the land and likely the only authoritative force that had the capability of reining in the princess in her impulsive streak. After hearing Doyoung’s report on her tendency to skip lessons, Emperor Zhang made a point to assign a personal bodyguard to keep watch over her, escorting her to her lessons while simultaneously monitoring her safety and wellbeing. The proclamation was strictly enforced, but he allowed her the liberty to choose her own guard, which is why in turn she stated it was imperative to choose from only the best of the best. The line snaking around the area by the military training grounds only grew in length as the day carried on, plenty wishing to receive the honor of serving under the Princess, heir presumptive to succeeding the throne should the Empress or some other concubine fail to produce a son that can—in due time—replace the Emperor. The opportunity was a good one compared to the notion of entering the battlefield and risk it being your last with each declaration of war with a new country. Also, way less work than the daily training routine under the Lead General when all one had to do was escort the Princess to her studies with her tutor.

“Your Highness, there must be somebody here who is capable in your eyes.”

She looks up from inspecting her nails, eyes boring into the General’s. “General Han, I cannot possibly choose when there has yet been anyone who can shoot an arrow directly into the bullseye on our navy flag.”

“You are speaking of a firing an arrow onto a tiny red dot drawn in the middle of a smaller-than-usual triangular blue flag flying on top of a pole that seven meters, Your Highness. Not to mention you specifically chose the windiest day of the week to host such a test… it is an impossible task.”

“Make the impossible possible, and that is how you win, General. Imagine if an enemy is lurking by a bush ahead of you and one of your archers manages to graze the upper arm instead of the heart. Next thing you know, the enemy scout has a dagger hovering millimeters above your heart on his uninjured arm because you failed to kill him when you had the advantage of terrain and optimal range for the kill.”

“Your Highness, you are—”

She claps her hands, effectively shutting him up. “The average flag pole that we use is approximately nine meters, General. Seven meters is a very flexible height that should pose as no trouble for a worthy solider turned personal guard.”  

The accompanying snort at her criteria brings a scowl to the General’s face and she sneaks a glance at her tutor, the latter subtly raising a thumb up before turning to the next hopeful applicant.

“Your name, please?”

“Lee Taeyong.”

Her mouth drops in surprise at seeing the dark-eyed man whose quarters she had stumbled into upon escaping her tutor a few days prior. He had been anything but pleased at seeing her; why would he apply to become her personal guard if the distaste was evident?

She fidgets in her chair, interest clear as day while Doyoung informs this Taeyong of the test to become her guard. The gargantuan pole does not faze the solider, nor does the Saluki at his feet show any form of anxiety for its master as it sits quietly before her eyes, wind blowing at its fur and ears.

“I’ve never seen a dog so beautiful,” she murmurs, gaze traveling to the cream-colored creature with its beautifully ruffled ears. “Especially when the typical soldier is only allowed either the red Akita Inu or black Kintamani through mandate of the Emperor.”

“Watch,” Doyoung chastises her as an assistant hands Taeyong a quiver and bow. “Depending on the state of things, you might want to keep a close eye so you can decide whether he’s the one or not.”

Taeyong straps the quiver of arrows onto his back and makes a gesture at his dog, who runs off and returns with a bundle in its mouth. Dropping the package by its owner’s feet, it shuffles back to his heel and he reaches down to open the tied bundle of cloth.

“What does he have there?”

“He… He’s lighting his arrow on fire!” The General stands up, hairs on his arms raised as the archer dips the arrow into what must be alcohol. The spark of the alit match next to the alcohol-dipped arrow brings the pointed weapon into an orange blaze that burns a hole into the flag once fired. Wisps of burnt cloth rain down from the proposed height and the soldier turns to the three judges of his performance, face expressionless as he awaits the final verdict. Shouts of foul play grow in volume but none of it even stirs the slightest of discomfort in Taeyong, a problem now for the General, the Princess, and her tutor to configure after he had finished his portion of the bargain with additional props.

“Settle down, you ruffians!” the General’s loud voice booms across the venue. “One more squeak and everyone is disqualified.”

“Your Highness,” Doyoung speaks up. “Thoughts on the soldier’s performance?”

The princess taps a finger against her cheek, recollecting her thoughts on the spectacle before her.

“So he set the entire flag on fire rather than pierce through the hole drawn in the center as I requested…”

“Not exactly what you had in mind, Your Highness,” the General adds. “How can a potential guard not follow orders?”

“It was very clever.” An amused smile dances along her lips and she clasps her hands together, satisfied with what she had seen. “Please bring my new guard forward so I may meet him.”

“Your Highness!”

Doyoung stands up from his seat and makes the announcement that the princess has already chosen her new guard, crushing the hearts of hopefuls who had yet to showcase their hidden potential to the princess. Her fingers drum across the table as her tutor steps down from the elevated judges’ table and approaches the soldier, watching their brief conversation with renewed interest until they return.

“You are my new guard?”

Taeyong bows, back bent with a hand over his heart. “I swear my utmost loyalty to protecting you, Your Highness.”

“You may rise, and please…” Her brows furrow. “Please drop the formalities. Somehow it seems very unnatural to be referred by an official title from you.”

—

Something about Taeyong was very familiar.

Granted the princess had never met him prior to his application to become her personal guard, but there was something to him that felt very close. Like the feeling of knowing the back of her hand, the sensation of all five fingers and the tiny scars from young mishaps as a little girl running amok around the Imperial Palace. Small things. Simple things. But her new guard felt like anything but; it felt as if she had known him forever even though he had only been on duty for barely a month since she appointed him to the position.

True to his word, he made sure she was safe, most importantly punctual to her daily lessons.  Arriving at least one hour beforehand was typical, knocking to make sure she was getting ready and not sulking like she did on his first week of duty. Sometimes he’d join her for breakfast but often he stood off to the side with his Saluki, guard and dog alert to keep watch for signs of danger while the princess ate and was escorted to her tutor’s office every morning and late afternoon. News of the princess’ attractive new guard spread across the palace as quickly as the shouts of foul play for his antics in front of her tutor and the Head General, hushed whispers and quiet giggles of admiration not uncommon as he followed behind the princess. He didn’t mind, and she relished in the looks of awe at her new guard, pleased at her sound judgment in choosing him over her impossible task during the recruitment period.

“What is your dog’s name?”

Taeyong looks up, arms still crossed as they always were when he was on guard duty.

“Ruby.”

“How did you have her approved when soldiers are only allowed to pick from the two designated breeds?”

A knowing glint glows in his dark eyes and he uncrosses his arms, fingertips brushing against the Saluki’s head.

“That’s my privacy you are probing into, Your Highness.”

She pouts and takes the puff pastry from the tray of teatime desserts, peeling off bits to throw into the koi pond to feed the fish.

“I just wanted to know more about you, Taeyong.”

“But you know everything already.”

“Hmm?” Not hearing the last part, her fingers loosen and the entire half of the pastry drops straight into the pond, the softest plunk into the water as koi of bright orange and splotched whites with black begin to swarm around the new object in their home. Their gaping mouths nibble at the dropped dessert, and she watches from the bench of the small pavilion with a soft grumble as it begins to disappear before her very eyes.

“Here.” A dark slab is placed in her hands. “Try this instead.”

“What is it?”

“Break it off and try for yourself.”

Curious, her fingers break off a bit of the slab and Taeyong encourages her to eat it, promising that it will taste good as she slowly does as he asks.

Her eyes widen at the bitter yet pleasing taste. “What is it? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Chocolate.”

She repeats the word and breaks off another piece, enjoying the taste more and more.

“I really like it, Taeyong.”

“You always did.”

“Huh?”

The guard shakes his head and returns to his post, keeping distance from the princess.

“Enjoy the rest of your tea, Your Highness.”

The formality leaving a strange aftertaste on her tongue, she finishes her desserts and servants from who knows where appear to clear the dishes, bowing to the princess and her guard before leaving. She gets up and starts to walk, the set of footsteps behind her following her every step as she meanders around the palace. Not knowing if he was aware of her attempt to bring him for a mindless loop around the palace grounds or not, she turns at every other corner she sees and picks up her pace. Light as a dancer who is quick on her feet, nimble and agile while skipping gracefully through the walls she called home, the walls she’s known since she was born.

“And…. Stop.” She turns around, expecting to see the same stern frown glaring back at her but surprisingly meet with an absence of her guard, his brooding stature and accompanying Saluki nowhere to be seen.

“Where did they go?”

“Right here.”

The deep voice startles her and she feels herself leaning back, bracing for the impact against solid ground when a firm hand grabs her wrist, pulling her up and into a firm chest.

Taeyong sighs and studies her face. “Are you hurt?”

“N-No.” The princess shuffles closer, hands shaking as they tug at his black shirt. “I-I’m okay.”

He allows her to remain her hold on him for another minute before gently prying her hands off him, the softest hint of a smile dancing along his lips.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Princess.”

“Yes, I…” A slightest of pauses and her eyes narrow, confusion settling in the chocolate brown orbs. “Have we met before?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I…” Wincing, she stumbles back and clutches the sides of her head, not understanding the sudden jolts of pain searing through her scalp. “I feel… like we’ve met… before.”

“Princess, are you—” His hands find her shoulders and grab hold, eagerly tightening their grip on her. “Are you remembering something?”

“I…” The pain intensifies, bolt after bolt of intensity that only worsens her ability to remain standing, knees buckling underneath as tears trickle from her eyes.

“You… Us…”

“Do you remember me, Princess?”

“I… Aren’t you…”

—

She remembered.

Taeyong glances at the Saluki by his heels. After the Princess had fainted, he had picked her up and carried her all the way to the Royal Infirmary, where one of the higher-ranked physicians was currently tending to her.

“Chocolate has been her favorite sweet since I brought back a sample of it from an excavation trip to the eastern region of our neighboring Europa. Chocolate, butter pastries, dainty macarons so exquisite that she couldn’t stand to even open the box I had gotten her, opting to only eat one during special occasions such as our birthdays. I thought I could trigger a memory with the chocolate but it looks like it didn’t work.”

But the sand is filling up.

Taeyong tugs at the chain around his neck and studies the thin line of sand at the bottom of the glass. “I suppose you aren’t wrong there, Ruby. But just as the Reds said, any memories with me are non-existent. It seems I may have underestimated the true risk I was taking when I sacrificed our relationship for the ability to travel across dimensions.”

I shall report to the Priest, who will then inform the Crown Prince.

“Yes. But first…” Double-checking that there is no one around, he pulls out an ornate music box, hand resting on the dial at its side. “I don’t think I can stay here in this dimension much longer. Her curiosity will only spark similar conversations like today’s and…. It’s not good for her health.”

Even across dimensions you are still putting her first.

“You may just be a familiar sent over from Suho to assist me, but I’m sure you’ll eventually understand. You’re going to love the princess once you get to meet her in person.”

The Saluki tilts its head to the left. Is this rendition of her not like your princess at all?

“It is a part of her but not nearly enough to define her whole being.” Twisting the dial three times, the lid to the box pops open and a rather cheerful tune twinkles into the air. “Once I fill up this hourglass with the sands of her time, then she will come back and I will introduce you officially when the time is right.”

“Mister Lee.”

The sudden call startles him and Taeyong quickly closes the lid to the music box, tucking it far away into the depths of his olive cloak before turning to the physician who had called his name.

“Yes?”

“Her Highness is calling for you.”

Pushing past the physician, he enters the Infirmary and spots the bedridden princess, doing his best to maintain a stoic face as he approaches her bed.

“Your Highness.”

She inches herself to sit up, eyebrows furrowed when a cough escapes her mouth.

“T-Taeyong.”

“Are you alright?”

“My head…” She reaches a hand to her temple and rubs. “It hurts.”

“Still?”

“Well, not as much now. But at first…”

Taeyong waits for her to finish, but she never does, opting to turn to him with a weary smile instead.

“Are you alright?”

“Me?” he echoes.

“You seemed off today. I was wondering about asking but it appears my head only caused more trouble for you.”

“No, it wasn’t troublesome at all.” Taeyong shakes his head and bows. “I am only sorry I did not notice sooner you were unwell.”

“My head is not very cooperative right now but the pain should subside soon.” Easing herself off the bed, she takes the offered hand by the guard and together they walk to the door, the waiting Saluki by the steps wagging its tail at seeing its trainer.

“Should I inform the Emperor that you will not be attending the banquet tonight, Your Highness?”

“I think I can attend tonight,” she refutes, closing her eyes again. “If you can get Doyoung to drop the calligraphy lesson later that will be lovely.”

His face remains ever as passive as he nods and escorts her safely to her chambers before heading to the tutor, dutifully informing him of the princess feeling quite under the weather while simultaneously ignoring the latter’s scowls at the feeble attempt to skip out on her lesson once again.

—

[dimension II: Wonderland]

She opens her eyes to find herself in a strange place, the atmosphere dark and gray clouds covering the dim glimpses of whatever little sun made it through such a seemingly dreary morning. The tree stump she had been sleeping against is cold to the touch as she arches her head up, the branches bare when it was still in full foliage before her eyes closed.

“How did I end up in such a place?”

Standing up, she yawns and stretches out her limbs, black slippers tentatively stepping down a worn path that takes her away from the park. Deeper and deeper she goes, unfamiliar with the surroundings as her head swivels left and right to take in the sights before her. Confusion and concern at making it home before sunset only grows along the spectrum, her blue dress slightly raising as her pace quickens, feet breaking to a growing run. Where on Earth was the right path home?

“Are you lost?”

Her head whips around, eyes frantically searching for the speaker who had startled her out of her wits.

The question comes again and out from the trees steps a boy with strawberry pink hair, large eyes staring curiously at her while keeping his distance. He asks a third time, stepping closer until he’s within arm’s reach, no longer as wary as he waits for her to reply.

“I… I don’t seem to be going the right way,” she says at last, tearing her gaze away from the marbles that glinted with a cautious curiosity. “I’m trying to get back to my home but…”

“Home is where the heart is,” he murmurs, fiddling with the end of the pink tie around the collar of the crisp white shirt underneath a cropped burgundy jacket. “You must be far away from your home if you don’t know where it is.”

“Can you… Can you help me get back home?” she asks.

The strawberry boy eventually nods and gestures for her to follow him. “Quickly. Before the sun sets and the Red Queen’s cards start prowling about.”

—

“How did you get here?”

“I don’t know,” she admits as she follows the boy. “I was sleeping and then found myself here when I woke up.”

He mumbles something she cannot hear and continues walking, the sky gradually darkening the further they traveled down the path. What remains of the sun sinks into the horizon and moonlight replaces the bright rays of morning, shedding a faint glow around her and her pink guide.

He stops abruptly, startling her as she quickly skids to a halt before bumping into him.

“The cards.”

Before she can open her mouth to speak, he pulls her into the bushes and places a finger over his lips. Dark shadows grow in length and footsteps trot down the same cobblestone path they had just been on, oddly rectangular in form.

“They know you’re here.” Poking his head out, he makes sure the coast is clear before helping her out of the bushes, brushing off loose leaves off her dress. “Quickly, we should at least get to the Hatter’s before the night is over.”

“The… Hatter?”

Without answering her question, he grabs her hand and begins to run, making it difficult for her to keep up at the insanely fast speed he was going at. The trees give way to a pier with little sailboats tied to the docks, animals of all shapes and sizes floating in the waters. Past the vast blue sea are more bushes, flowers of every color that—if she was not mistaken—stared curiously at her as she ran past (one of the daffodils even winked at her before returning to mind its own business). Legs growing weary, she would’ve collapsed onto the ground sooner had not for the sudden stop before a strange wooden door by the base of a massive oak tree, so out of place that it couldn’t possibly be the destination until he knocked twice, pressing an ear against the door before turning the knob.

“In, Alice. Quickly.”

“My name isn’t Ali—”

Soft hands rest on her shoulders and nudge her in, all light from the ajar door diminishing at once when the frame swings shut. Forward is the only option, the narrow tunnel opening to a much wider hollow where a long table is placed at the center.  Cups mark placements along with a respective chair—a total of at least twelve.

“Look what the fox dragged in,” comes a giggle from the left side. “An Alice from the outside!”

“Where is the Hatter, lion cub?”

The lion giggles again and reaches for a lemon tart off the stand next to the teapot.

“Playing with Cards!”

As the giggles subside, rustling from the other side of the hollow produces two more guests to the table, a pinstripe-suited gentleman along with a top-hatted fellow. The wide grin is inextinguishable as the latter approaches the strawberry guide and his Alice, delighted at two more filled seats for his table.

“Taeyong, you brought her in!” Taking a step forward, the Hatter takes off the top hat atop his head and bows, pulling open the chair next to the lion for her to sit.

“Please sit, Alice.”

“I told you, my name isn’t—”

“Here in Wonderland, all outsiders of your garb are collectively referred as Alice. Many Alices have passed by once, but this is my first time actually having one at my table!”

Taking a seat next to the lion, she mumbles soft thanks at the offered teacup and watches as her guide—the fox—chooses to sit at the Hatter’s right, said man himself at the head of the seats while the third undisclosed takes his pick by the other side of the fox. Tea makes its way around and the Hatter taps his spoon against the side of his cup, garnering the attention of all seated.

“The February Hare is running errands for the Red Queen, so he will be present at tomorrow’s tea. The only words I shall offer are dig in, fill up your cups, and entertain this new Alice to the best of your abilities.”

“I would like it to be possible for her to stay here for tonight, Yuta,” the fox speaks up, eyes fixed on the chocolate macarons. “Mark says you were dealing with the Cards and she… she just wants to go home. She doesn’t mean to stay for long.”

“Why, of course!” The Hatter sends a wink her way before sitting back down on his chair. “She will be protected from tonight’s Cards, rest assured.”

—

The Hatter and his crew make sure to provide ample provisions for her and the strawberry fox when they depart in the morning, stuffing tea packets and sweets for the road in the knapsacks given via the ever-giggly lion. She offers to carry the packs but the strawberry boy beats her to it, wordlessly shifting the weight onto his shoulders so she walked hands-free. Occasional stops are made to enjoy the tea and cakes, sweet energizing sugar and honey lemon that filled the stomach and soothed the throat as their journey continued.

“How… How much longer, Taeyong?” she wheezes, legs slightly sore from the long duration of walking. “And please don’t tell me we have to go up this hill.”

“The Looking Glass is not far from now.” Extending a hand, he doesn’t wait for her to take it before reaching for her himself, grasping tightly as he takes a step up the slope of the hill. “And how do you know my name?”

“The Hatter… he called you that at teatime.”

“I see. We’ll be there soon, I promise.”

The words stir a sense of familiarity in her brain, but it quickly subsides at the gradual ascent upwards. Step after step replaces the temporary nostalgia with fatigue that threatens to turn her tired body into rubble if not for the hand that keeps its tight hold as she walks up. Once they reach the top of the hill, what greets them is a well, looking very much like an ordinary well until she feels the slackened grip on her hand.

Taeyong proceeds to reach for the loop of rope by the side, pulling and pulling until a bucket rises to the surface.

“Quickly, Alice.”

She approaches and under his encouragement, reaches for the shard of glass at the bottom of the bucket. Although sharp at the edges, her fingers feel safe as she twists the six-inch long item around her hands.

“Look,” he urges. “What do you see?”

“Only my own reflection…”

As her gaze prolongs its attention on the shard, the narrowest of squints produces a new image, a moving one at that.

“Wait.”

She brings the glass closer and the details come into focus, an olive-green cloak enveloping a lean figure with soft brown hair, his dark eyes locking in on her from the other side of the glass. His face blurs and the entire image flickers, afterimages of pink and slim fingers resembling none other than—

“This is you, Taeyong,” she concludes, turning to her guide with a frown. “But not really you. I see someone who looks like you looking back at me and…”

“And?” he echoes, the slightest hint of desperation laced around the question. “What else?”

“Um…” She looks again, this time her own reflection staring back. “Me.”

“Just you? Look again, look again.”

“Really,” she insists, “Just my… own…”

Her words fade as the image changes once more. This reflection staring back carries a slight resemblance to her, but faint differences can be picked out. Longer hair that reached past the shoulders, slightly narrower jaw, higher cheekbones, the entire face carrying an air of regality that only accentuated what looked to be a crown on top of her head. This reflection could have been her in another universe as a princess of some sort.

“My own…”

Warm hands clasp around her own, a feeling that brings surprisingly comfortable warmth. “You're seeing yourself, aren’t you?”

“Is… Is that really me?” she echoes. “I don’t…”

“The Looking Glass shows the truth and how to obtain the truth,” he whispers. “Look again, Princess Alice.”

Her eyes gloss over the reflection of the mirrored princess, studying the face that is both not hers but like hers. A face that, initially passive, morphs into wisps of fog that transition into an image of a white castle, one that she does not know of until she shows it to the awaiting fox.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “You need to go see the Red Queen.”

—

The Red Queen was apparently the ruler of Wonderland, one who ruled with an iron fist and was even harder to meet when they were turned away at the gates by one of her Cards upon arrival.

“How are we supposed to get in, then?” she asks him. “What if I can’t ever get home?”

“I think… I can pull a few strings. Wait here.”

He bows to the Card guarding the gates and loops around back, directing her to hide in one of the rosebushes while he sought out a “very important person”, the silence eerie as she sits alone amongst the red blossoms. Plucking one from the bush, she studies the flower and winces when the tip of her finger splits open. A bead of blood trickles down the stem and drips onto the white apron over her blue dress.

“That hurt.”

Rustling overhead startles her and she drops the rose, squeezing herself into an even tighter ball when soft reassurances coax her out and into the presence of the strawberry fox and a suited fellow holding a gold pocket watch in his hands.

The owner of the pocket watch snaps it shut with a disbelieving snort at noticing her. “You want me to help you sneak an Alice into the Queen’s castle?”

“She needs to get home, Doyoung,” Taeyong insists, tugging on this Doyoung’s sleeve. “The Looking Glass said she had to see the Queen.”

“The Looking Glass!” More snorts and heavy sighs follow before Doyoung grunts in agreement, Taeyong smiling in delight as he takes her hand.

“We’re going to see the Queen, Alice.”

She nods and Doyoung announces himself to the Card by the back gate, vouching for his two plus-ones as new kitchen staff, promises of upcoming decadence in dessert-making after they’ve studied under the Royal Pastry Chef herself. Entry granted almost immediately, Doyoung ushers them to the kitchens and locates the pastry chef, a rather pudgy woman whose smile radiated as much warmth as fresh butter rolls straight out the oven.

“Who are these sweet things, Sir Hare?”

“Prospective students for you, my dear baker. A fox and an Alice. I trust they’ll prove to earn their keep as you train them under your wing.”

“Certainly.”

A bow and Doyoung leaves, leaving the fox and her alone with the pastry chef.

“Well then, sugarplums, let’s get you two some uniforms and shown around the castle.”

Uniforms obtained and dismissed after a quick tour of the castle grounds, conversation resumes once the chef is out of sight, Taeyong sensing her unease immediately.

“You are worried.” He locks the door to the room they shared in the servants’ wing. “What are you worried about?”

“I don’t know how to bake,” she admits. “What if I can’t pick it up and get kicked out of the castle? I wasn’t expecting to actually play the part.”

“I believe you can do it.” Curiosity dances in the marbles that were his eyes. “So… what’s the home you’re trying to go back to like?”

“Freedom to do whatever I pleased. My parents were very busy, so I didn’t see them often, but when I did they were very nice.” A dull ringing starts in her head and she sits down on her bed.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“My head… It hurts.”

“I think you need some sleep.” Ushering her to lie down, he tucks her in and pulls up a chair to sit by her side, closing the curtains and dimming the oil lamp so only the faintest wisp of flame flickered amongst the four walls.

“Everything will be fine once you get a good sleep.”

Her eyes begin to close, and she shifts as slim fingers envelope her right hand.

“Will you still be here?” she asks in a drowsy murmur, already giving in to the impending wave of unconsciousness into dreamland.

“Yes,” he says quietly, gently squeezing her hand before extinguishing the flame. “Just like I always have.”

—

Cooking is an art, but baking is a science. The science of exact measurements to the nearest particle of ingredient, the basics mixed into a bowl to create a masterpiece from seemingly meaningless items alone. With precision as the utmost standard to uphold in the royal kitchens, it became a regular thing for Taeyong to help her with producing the requested pastries when the head pastry chef wasn’t looking. An extra pinch of sugar, switching spices when she gets the wrong bottle from the spice rack, even trading pieces for the weekly assessments so she would get a pass while he had to remake and simultaneously prepare the new dish for the upcoming week. She didn’t know why he was going to such an extent to help her, but was grateful nonetheless and he seemed happy enough with her thanks for letting him help.

“The Red Queen is hosting a banquet this Friday night,” he informs her early in the morning, pink hair glistening in the sunlight seeping in from the windows of their shared room. “This is a chance for you to approach her for a way home.”

“I’ve already stayed for so long,” she muses, tightening the apron over her blue dress and tying back her hair with a black ribbon. “What if… What if I just stayed here with you instead?”

He pauses, eyes widening as he looks away almost immediately.

“…That is not ideal.”

“I’m beginning to like it here. It’s not too difficult to bake, and I know you’re beginning to branch off into working with the cooks more than the pastry chefs, but…” Her voice lowers and she glances at him.

“I like being together with you.”

“We must get ready,” he blurts, face growing a shade of pink akin to his hair. “I’ll get ready first.”

◇

Taeyong gave her the same feeling as home, a most warm yet strange feeling as she makes her way from the kitchens to the Red Queen’s inner chambers. Her Majesty wanted a sample of the after-dinner desserts and this was the last item to finish the fifteen-course banquet held in honor of the fifteen years since she’s had the crown: chocolate macarons baked to perfect and individually dipped in a thick layer of ganache before stacked high into a tower fitting to be presented for the ruling monarch of Wonderland. It was hard enough to see with a tall chocolate tower obstructing her view, but the thoughts of Taeyong occupying her brain do little to aid the situation as the tray wobbles when she narrowly misses the corner of the turnabout into the main staircase.

“Oh, that was a close one.”

Angling her way around, safe travels only last a mere five minutes when something dashes by, knocking down the tray and leaving globs of brown on the floor, the dish completely unpresentable to the Queen unless she had a liking for crumbs (which was by no means a truth).

“Oh, no. Oh no, oh no oh no.”

Bending down, she does her best to pick up the fallen macarons but it is too late. Ganache leaves a sticky residue on her fingers and even the more intact pieces refuse to stick when she tries to stack them high again. Tears welling up in her eyes at the sight of the fallen pastries. The Queen was expecting a tower, not debris from a fall, and Taeyong wasn’t around to save her this time.

“I still want to keep my head, oh no…”

—

Maybe things could have gone differently if he had listened to her.

The Red Queen was furious at seeing only fourteen courses present for sampling, threatening to chop Alice’s head clean off her neck until he came rushing in with a new platter of chocolate macarons. It nearly passed the test until one bite from the Queen’s most trusted advisor sent him spitting in confused disapproval, the inferior taste nothing like those made from the royal kitchens. Stealing from the Hatter’s tea party was troublesome enough, but the severity of the fox’s actions only grew in magnitude when the Queen sent her Card guards to bring forth the Hatter, imprisoning the poor, unaware soul in the dungeons for accepting such abominations of a dessert at his table. Casting a curse on their party to serving inconsistent tea and freezing the guests to endure the same round of tea over and over without stopping, her wrath knew no end until Alice herself rushed into the throne room, interrupting the Queen to beg for forgiveness and revealing herself as the true culprit behind the missing macarons. In doing so, the Alice shielded the fox from harm, revealing her feelings for him in the process of convincing the Queen to let him go when fault was not his to begin with. She loved him, this Alice, and she hoped the Red Queen would show mercy when he was only trying to help.

Not even the fox was prepared for what happened next, the anguish in his face unlike any other as the monarch called forth her executioner, Alice’s head lopped off in one clean sweep while the pink-haired boy’s misery echoed across the entirety of Her Majesty’s throne room.

—

“I killed her.”

The translucent figure closes its eyes in grievance. There are other dimensions where you can find her.

“But I lost her in this one.” He buries his face in his hands, the head of pink hair glowing against walls of gray and bars of steel. “I should’ve listened to her and let her stay rather than push her to meet with the Red Queen. I’m the one who thought it would work to steal and try to fool the Queen with another batch of—”

Footsteps echo down the hallway towards his cell, and Taeyong stills as the bars are unlocked.

“Y-Your Majesty,” he stutters. “I... I…”

The Red Queen clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You failed, time traveler.”

“W-What are you…” His eyes widen at the wisps of his familiar floating towards her, disappearing as a music box appears in her hands.

“H-How…”

“Do you not recognize me?”

Upon studying her face, a name comes to mind and she smiles while shaking her head.

“It takes a lot of energy to open a portal to a dimension where there very much exists another me. While I am who you call Irene, the ‘Irene’ you know and made the deal with is not exactly ‘me’ either.”

Confused, he does not say much more and she continues.

“Your princess, or the part of her that was in this dimension, was not supposed to die at the hands of my counterpart.”

“Then…” He reaches for the silver chain hanging from his neck. “The sand...?”

“No more. But that is not the main reason why I ripped open a hole in time-space to seek an audience with you.”

She returns the music box to him, one finger resting thoughtfully on her cheek.

“Under normal circumstances, this is completely against protocol. The other Reds would have my head if they knew I was directly contacting you.

“But I suppose I was so moved by your intent that I couldn’t help but want you to succeed, so a fair word of advice: Do keep in mind that every move you make counts. For better or for worse, each action you make will either benefit or hinder your progress in retrieving your princess’ lost time, and truthfully… you’re running out of time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You opened the music box once but didn’t enter the portal.”

Memories of his days as a guard for the princess of Zhang Dynasty return in a flash and Irene nods.

“You closed the lid when she called for you. That portal was left open, and while it made it easier for me to reach you, the unchecked portal started to warp and interfere with the timelines of the other dimensions. Soon they will become convoluted and by then… too late.”

“There must be something I can do,” he insists. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

“You will need more time. Enough time to rewind your princess’ timeline and outrun the merging of all the parallel selves that make you ‘you’. I can give you more time, but as you know, it comes with a price.”

“Anything. I will give you anything.”

Sensing the desperation in his voice, the Red nods and the music box opens of its own accord, twinkling a delightful tune before swallowing him into a new dimension.    

“Let’s hope his time doesn’t run out,” Irene frets, eyes glinting in the dimly lit cell of Wonderland’s dungeons. “All of this is a lot of weight on his shoulders and it will be a shame if he has to start exchanging his own time for more of her own.”

—

[to be continued...]

[reverei]

The Tower of Unasked Answers

I walk among the abyss as I rise a pathway into existence. The road would be made of worn out stones, as if a myriads of distant travelers and desperate merchants had used it for eons in their perilous journeys, and the tower shall be made of similar substance. The path curves uphill before me, even though the hill itself is still nonexistent. None the less, the tower ascended with a glorious rumble atop of this nonexistent geological formation.

                       The path leading to the destination was like a drunken serpent, swirling back and forth, up and up. It seemed like the trip would take hours, but what was time to a creator? The writer has other ways, ways to turn even years to a mere change of sentences. And so as I reached the top, I was greeted by a pair of doors. The wood of it, and the hinges and handles made of sinister steel, had seemingly stood the test of time for centuries. And so they had, for I willed so.

                       I stood at the door, eyeing the tower. It was a cylinder, made out of large, crudely carved pieces of stone. The gaps and cracks between the stones were overgrown with moss. I could spy a couple of twisted branches too, of some unfortunate saplings that had made their home to the walls. A bird's nest, too. But it had been long from the time it had been used as a one.

                       I turned on my heels. The abyss was still an abyss, with a sole road leading into the horizon. Perhaps an desert would be fitting companion for it? Although, just a desert would be lacking anything of interest. It wouldn't be a lazy option, just a dull one. It needed something else to accompany it with. History. A back story. Something that the dunes alone couldn't sing of. Might as well give a go; and so the abyss was no more, for it was filled with sand from this moment. Like an enormous sandbox, a well fitting metaphor in this case, it needed some toys. Toys of long gone civilizations, toys of war. The bare land filled with rumbled castles, sand swept fortresses, and rusty, gigantic, but mostly ominous remnants of machines, half sunken in sand. All that was left after some long gone battle between foes whose names were lost in time.

                       I was about to face the door yet again, but I didn't. I wasn't satisfied with my work yet. As in, the scenery was not bad, just not fitting to the atmosphere I was going after. I tried adding a mountain range to the distance, a nice touch, like a cherry on a cake, but finishing details don't help much when the base feel is completely off. I was looking for more of a tabula rasa kind of feel, an empty slate, something more neutral, for a soothing back ground for creation. Not a one with this much.. noise.

                       Ah well, one could always rewrite. I took a last glimpse of what I had done, maybe to be taken use of on some other story. Then, I snapped my fingers. Out with the cranky robots, in with some pines. I could have, of course, just done the change without the need for cliché gestures, but to me, it was visually more appealing than just standing still. This was a show in the end, a show for me, by me, and I could create with all the unnecessary maneuvers I saw necessary. And so, I continued with dance.

                       They say that forest is where mind rests, and so I waved more trees into being. A wave of trees, taller trees, older trees. The highest ruins of the battlements still loomed over the forest. I grasped that they had too much history in them for my intentions to begin with, so I crumbled them a bit more, to almost unrecognizable forms. I gazed upon the results for a moment. Still too much. As a reaction to my conclusion, my other hand rose high to the now blue sky. And with it rose the mountains, and the remnants fell before them.

                       The road now disappeared beneath the trees where it met the forest. The hill of the Tower was still bare, so it was colored with the shades of green. Grass popped up, and started to dance with the wind. Some deer, perhaps, would have been a fitting addition to the scene, but the Forest had no animals. As of yet.

                       I finished with the clouds. The tone of the sight had been a bit too cheery for my liking, but a spoonful of gloomy skies ought to bring a solution. Finally I'd brought the mood to a level I could say I was satisfied with. It's good enough. I hastily turned back to the entryway, before I would grow unsatisfied once more with my work. I hadn't come here just to play a landscaper. I had came here for advise, to begin my work.

                       I mumbled out something obscure for the door. Normally it would have been just meaningless nonsense, but here, it wasn't. The door waited graciously for a moment. And after it was sure I had finished, it answered with a creak and a nudge. And then halted. I opened my mouth to mumble more mumbo-jumbo, but the door decided that it hadn't finished yet. It began to open, slowly. It moved with a snail's pace, and with a scream of an out-of-tune vulture. According behavior for a entryway as old as this, I suppose.

                       As they open, the doors clear out excess cobwebs and dirt from their path, leaving a curved v -shape mound of filth between the opening. I rolled my eyes as I sighed. I was not in the mood of walking on shit. I recognized my mistake to bring the tower to the world as old and abandoned as it was, but the problem was fixable. This one didn't even need a rewrite; I simply danced the Dance of the Winds, and a violent gush of air blew the surfaces clean. Luckily the one who controls the winds can choose to be unaffected by them, for if not, I would have flown in with the rest. With the last step little sparks flew out of my fingers, racing along the hallway with the wind. The sparks managed to land on the torches waiting along the walls, and so I began my march inwards.

                       The tower was way larger from the inside. And much brighter as well. The latter astonished even me, since I had not seen any windows from the outside that could bring this much natural-like light in. I craned my neck backwards. And found the answer. The roof was not there. The tower had no roof, but somehow, the sky above wasn't the same as the one outside. The walls were different, too; the higher he looked, the more light they reflected, like big, bulky diamonds.

                       I brought my eyes back to the ground. The room, blown clean of the redundant, had only one thing left. A piece of furniture, with something shaggy on it. But the question wasn't what the thing was. It was who.

                       I closed the gap between us. He, presumed from the huge, withered beard, was sitting on a throne of sorts. And had been for a while, assuming from the amount of cobwebs covering his wizard-like rags. Funny. And illogical, because the webs should have been blown out through the roof with the rest. But to be honest, the webs sort of felt like a part of him, so I let it pass this time. Anyways, I leaned in on him.

                       Is he sleeping, I heard asking myself. I slowly brought my hand to his face, which was covered by the wizard-like hat. I kept it in front of his face. I waved it around, calling out to him. Not until I poked him at the forehead did the hat fall off, revealing the mummified skull beneath. I reeled back, although not of surprise.

                     Fine, but you being dead is just a minor setback. But nothing unfixable. I stepped back a step more, and cleared my voice. Wake up!

                     The mummy sat still.

                     No, it needs to be something more.. classy. I cleared my voice again, louder and deeper this time.

                     Arise.

                     The mummy's bony hand jerked.

                     I continued: Awoken from your slumber, oh the Great Old One!

And the rotten skeleton continued as well; new flesh grew out from the old, the beard regained its color, the clothes, well, they remained raggish, but the man had been brought to life once more!

                     As I finished my ramblings, and the former mummy, now an old but yet-alive magician settled, he gave out a laugh. A sinister laugh.

                     He opened his eyes. Those gray, cold eyes. They found me, and they began to follow me just below the brows. His mouth, it opened, and out came something I didn't expect.

                     "What makes you think I wish for the company of the living?" he creaked, followed with a even more ominous smile.

                     Yikes. Judging from the tone, it looks like the necromancer style reanimation had brought too creepy ingredients to my subconscious than intended. As in, it sounded as if he had the intent to eat me alive. Or that at least that there was an epic magic battle brewing about, but that wasn't what I had came for. Not this time.

                       He suddenly stood up, with eyes eerily wide open. Fuck this. I pointed my Finger of Reimagining at him before this creep show went on any further. Something more docile would be to my liking, and something along those lines I got. The elders color scheme became something warmer, bodily features to less bony and a way, way more plumper. His face gained a little red on the cheeks, and his eyes switched from murderous grayness to the more amiable brownish color, with a hint of rainbows sparkling about. A pair of magical eyes.

                       These eyes looked confused for a moment, until the wizard realized my presence. They, along with the rest of the face, proceeded to mold into an en expression that expressed one's kindness. Or of gullibility, depending of the perspective.

                     He had remained still during the transformation, but finally he started walking to me. "Oh the Great Creator!" He announced. Ugh. Slightly too pretentious. Let's try again.

                     "All hail the Lord of Pen and Paper!"

Still, too much. Also, he should have known that he was written to life with a keyboard.

                     "You have been awaited long and dearly, the Master of Imagination!"

I spin the finger around to wind him back once more.

                       As I set him to walk normally forward, he stays quiet. He just walks. Towards me. I'm almost put off once more, but he stops just in time. And speaks. "God -"

                       Jesus. The old man had had his chances, but all comes to an end eventually. Including my patience. Something way more modest would have sufficied.

                     As if he had heard my unsung wish, the old man stepped back. He still had this irritatingly cheery face, but all at once, it changed. The now-tiresome expression altered into something more wise and patient. This version fortunately lacked the pompous greetings; for him, a simple nod sufficed.

                       "The One-Who-Writes."

Finally. I laid back a little.

                     "The Great, uhm, Advisor. I have travelled far and long, approximately four pages with the font size I use, to come and speak with you."

                     His smile radiated wisdom. "And I would be glad to do so. So few travelers come by nowadays. But let us have a seat while we do so, shall we?" Just then I noticed the small, diligently crafted tea table, with matching little stools next to us. The ornaments and decorations on the pieces of furniture brought to my mind something marine-like. And as I was admiring the craftsmanship, I had failed to notice the interior of the tower had transformed into somewhat oriental style.

                       "Yes, I see that the patterns and decorations of the furniture seem to perplex you," the wizard, whose wizard-hat had just taken a more turban-ish form, commented my wonderings. "I can tell you all you want to hear about them, but first, would you like some -" he snapped his fingers and a tea set appeared on the table "- some tea?"

                     I courteously declined the offer, explaining that I don't drink tea.

                     "Oh, but why?"

                     "I have tasted many, but haven't found one which's taste I would like."

                     The mystery man stared at me, blinked, and gave out a warm laugh.

                     "Ho, ho, hoo! But this is magic tea, a kind that actually tastes good!"

                     That, or the look on those mystical eyes persuaded me to give it a try. And he didn't lie, the substance was actually drinkable.

                       The Advisor began his little story about the origins of the table by explaining the Tower's lack of visitors of late. For before, there had been many who came to seek his advice. And in those times, the barren wasteland now called the Land of the Ocean That Had Once Been - the wizard seemed to somehow be stuck with the first version of the outsides of the Tower - had still been called Ocean That Is. But after the terrible war, known as The Dance of the Colossal War Machines, the Ocean had been drained as a disastrous side effect. Only the Tower of Unasked Answers had -

                       "Yes, I already know all of that," I lied, "but I didn't come here for lore or made-up history of this world, or any other, I'm perfectly fine coming up with that on my own, but.."

                     The Advisor smiled gently, but his voice had now a hint of something colder in it. "The Events I speak of are no fiction. They are facts."

                       My eyes made a wild spin. "My mistake. But even as interesting this history is, I am here for something else. I want to learn to write."

                     Advisor smiled, and the warmness returned to his voice. "An odd desire. An odd desire indeed, taking into account that this is what you are doing at the moment. What do you want, for me to help you revise the alphabet?"

                       "No," I interrupt his ho ho hos, "and well, while, yes, I am writing this, but I'm not writing. It's kind of different to tell the difference between the two, since English language doesn't really have a word for the thing I'm looking for."

                       The Advisor settled down. I looked for the right words.

                       "Well, I want to become a better writer? At the moment, everything just comes out as a thin shadow of what I want to write. And it takes like, forever to build a sentence. In fact, getting to this point has taken me over three real hours."

                       The Advisor sat patiently.

                       "What do you want, a way to travel in time in the real world as you can in the written one? As in: I began writing. And so the masterpiece was completed?"

                       "No, no. I know only way to get better at writing would be just to start writing. I know that. I am just not able to bring myself to it. I don't know where, or when to find time for it. To gain the experience to get to the level when the text just flows on the paper. Or screen. Kind of like walking, for example."

                       The Advisor listened, and gave a reply.

                       "Are you just waiting for the perfect moment then? For I can tell you; there won't be one. You will have to bring yourself to the moment to write, not to wait for it to come to you, for it is an elusive bastard. But what do you mean when you refer writing to walking?"

                       I ruminated on his words for a moment. "Walking, in a way that once you can do it well, you don't have to think about it. And that is the level I want to get to with writing. But at the moment I just feel like stumbling with every step. I would want to express myself without the form of expression getting in the way. I want to be able to tell the stories within me. To sing with words. But mostly, bring out the ideas out of me as they are, as to be understood in a way I hope to understand myself one day."

                       The Advisor sat, pondering on the words I had just given him. He took a long sip of tea with eyes closed, and opened his mouth before them.

                     "You know what I'm going to say. You knew it before I was going to say it. You even said it partly yourself, ho ho. But there's no magic to it. Well, the process of writing itself can be magic, but not the way you get there. It doesn't happen in a way that when you concentrate enough of your time and willpower into your work, you'll suddenly create literary gold. That's not the way it happens, there isn't a solitary aha -moment that transforms you from a writer to a Writer."

                     "Firstly, you must accept the undeniable. Your work will be shit. You will hate it, it won't be the way you had it in your head. You can mold it, or add fancy details to it, but in the end, it will still be just a glorified piece of crap. The thing is, you need to keep making more of it. Not just mindlessly. Put your mind into it. Think what you're doing, analyze it, whatever works for you. Think of what you want the piece to look like, and think of ways to make it happen. In time, you'll start to notice the stuff you put out begins to look a little more the way you intended. It will still probably be shit, but at least it will be better shit than that you made in the beginning."

                       "It will be filthy business. What isn't if your aim is to get good at it? But after countless rewrites and edits, you will refine diamonds out of that shit."

                     I was unsure what to reply to this. That was what I kind of expected to hear, or rather, read from him. Should I just write 'I sat in silence, reflecting on the words of the Advisor'?

                       The wizard in question helped me off that hook. "Of course, even if you follow these advices to the point I can't guarantee you success nor satisfaction. Nobody can. If someone does, they're either lying or speaking from ignorance."

                       He paused long enough for me to have him take a sip out of his tea, to break up and pace the conversation. Or, to be more precise, the monologue. But he didn't. Instead, he continued with something else. Something far too familiar to me.

                       "I can only promise one thing that will increase the odds of getting you closer to the kind of writer you want to be: making the effort for it."

                       He closed his eyes, and took a last sip. When the cup was empty, he opened his eyes, looking straight into me from beneath his brows, with the impending question.

 "Do you have the will for it?"

[ambiguouslyliterate-blog]

Respawn Point Ch. 5: A Desert of Dangerous Dinguses

I thought I’d be used to single player by now, but loooking back at the pillar of smoke rising from the cherry blossoms of the forest, my heart still stung.

Sand whispered under our feet as we paced across the arid expanse, clouds of sand sliding across the ground like a thick fog, our only companions the occasional cactus or dying piece of brush. We'd started walking to get away from the forest, the sounds of the woods feeding our paranoia—any crunching leaf becoming the snap of a bowstring, any rustling grass becoming a wandering member of a mob, ready to signal the others—but before long, we were walking in the middle of a sandy void with the forest only a short green line on the horizon. Though I guess with San and Slenda’s home burned to the ground and the three of us chased out of the server’s walls, we didn’t have anything left to do but wander. But I suppose wandering’s what the three of us were good at.

I looked ahead to San, marching forward through the dunes, hoodie tied around her waist, a penumbra of sweat forming just below her neckline. She’d shout something encouraging to the two of us every so often during her marches, her eyes trained on Slenda’s expression. Occasionally the creeper girl would flash a weary smile, and Slenda would give her back a thumbs-up. A silent conversation that I understood, but never really joined.

The former admin was silent as we walked, the only sound from her being the sand sifting under her feet. Her eyes were fragile behind her broken glasses and sweat trickled in streams around her face, fogging the cracked lenses. I tied my jacket around my waist, imitating San, and put my scarf into my pocket, stashing it away in my inventory. I wondered why Slenda hadn’t done the same, still wearing the baggy sweater from Weebtown. “Hey… Isn’t that hot?” I asked, breaking the short silence between San’s outbursts.

Slenda flashed a pair of frightened eyes towards me, the rhythm of her steps shaken for a few moments before proceeding. “Oh, I um…” She seemed lost in thought, and less than willing to strike up a conversation, mumbling something under her breath that I couldn’t quite make out. I decided to persist.

“Huh?” I asked.

“I said I’m…” It was subtle, but I could see Slenda blush behind the twisted line of her spectacles, “I’m not wearing anything under this sweater…”

I heard San stumble ahead of us in the sand, giggling. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I went back to looking ahead, hoping to not add a death of embarrassment on top of Slenda’s already long list of problems. “I’m sorry, n- never mind, that really sucks.

Slenda’s footsteps quickened, an irritated snort leaving her lips as she shook her head, coming to meet my pace. “Yeah, and you wanna know what else sucks, Cyrus? Everything. Literally EVERYTHING that’s happened to me these past few days.”

I pulled into myself, my mouth pursed in a stunned silence. San turned back towards us, an arm lifted slightly towards her friend, her fingers curling. It felt like she was waiting for the tension to leave, for an easy moment to jump in and spread her quirky positivity, but it didn’t feel like it was coming. I could feel Slenda’s eyes digging into me, each like a purple blade, “My closest friend—someone I’ve known since I spawned—betrayed me, I lost the trust of hundreds of players at once that I’ve been working to gain tirelessly for months, my spawn’s been destroyed and I’ve been chased out of the closest place to home I’ve ever had, and in top of that; on top of EVERYTHING that's happened, we're walking straight into the Thieves' Desert RP server! Before you know it, we'll be surrounded by traps and vagabonds itching to jump us and steal everything we have while they leave us to die in the desert. AND ON TOP OF THAT, I die, it means I have to back to Goldenworks, a where I, I--!”

Heavy, round droplets began to fall from Slenda’s eyes, darkening where they fell in the sand below. San dashed over to wrap the former admin in a close embrace, Slenda squeezing her back just as tightly, if not more. Slenda took off her broken glasses and pushed an arm between her and San to wipe her eyes.

“I’m just… So tired…” She sighed. Looking at her made my heart ache, but I couldn’t help but find a strange comfort in her fear, in her distress. Maybe because it felt like a mirror.

“There must be some place we can rest here.” I said, hoping to peel away some of the melancholy that had fallen over us, or at the very least give us some direction, Slenda glaring at me through her broken glasses. I’d heard of this desert and the server that occupied most of its land. It was a roleplay, or “RP” server, meaning it was full of people in roles and costumes, taking on fantasies through mask and cape. However, while some enjoyed purely skipping around the desert, delivering quirky lines and experiences to travelers, others reveled in the socially-acceptable chance to become a thief or a marauder, and being able to slip out of the persona at the end of the day without consequence. A game played with life and death. It was a fine place to be for an RPer, someone who was consenting to this whole bizarre system, but to us, it was a death trap.

“It’s a server full of crazy RPers, yeah, but they’re all players, right? They get tired. There’s got to be a rest stop or a neutral zone somewhere…”

San turned to us, arm shooting into the air, waving like an eager student. I stared, baffled for a moment, before pointing to her, her face lighting up. The creeper girl put her extended arm back around Slenda, smiling brightly through the tension that still gripped Slenda and I. I wish I could know how she did it.

“There’s the Sandy Speakeasy!” She grinned, her feat stomping excitedly in the sand, “It’s one of those neutral whatevers and I haven’t been there in ages!! It’d be perfect!”

Slenda couldn’t help but look at San with cloudy doubt, her brows pulled together. I had no idea that San had lived here at one point, but did Slenda not know either? The former admin tried to erase the expression, looking towards the sun. I followed her eyes. The bright square was beginning to fall below the line of the horizon, nightfall more than imminent. We watched with a creeping dread as more and more of its light began to retract, the shadows of the cacti and dunes around us growing long like the night’s hungry claws.

Rolling my shoulders, I tried to straighten my back, standing strong against the dimly lit sand that surrounded us, trying to stay brave or at least put up my best act. I hated seeing people scared, whether they were being threatened by a power-hungry modder or just terrified of the world around them, and I felt it was my job to restore their confidence. With a flick of my wrist and a twist of my fingers, I activated my mod, calling out the last weapon I copied back in Weebtown. “I’m sure we can make it,” I smirked, feeling my power surge into both hands. It felt stranger than the other times. Before I felt a chill, like steel, but my hands felt strangely warm, like my hands were hovering over a fireplace, “After all, we’ve got these, don’t we?”

San and Slenda looked at me wide-eyed, Slenda’s mouth pulling to the side, crooked, San’s grin extending ear to ear as her eyes glowed. Neither were the expression I was expecting. After all, they were just the same swords I’d copied when I fought that swordswoman in Weebtown, I’d fought with them for some while now, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But San spoke out, her eyes glimmering with the excitement of a fangirl.

“You copied Roxxie’s mod?!”

I stepped back, bringing my hands forward, flames trickling up around the corners of my vision. WHAT THE—I flailed, acting on reflex, my body kicking and flailing to escape the fire that was pouring from the palms of my hands and crawling up my elbows, chasing me to the sand as I crashed to the ground in a beige cloud. I sat up, the fire still warm in my hands, but not hot, nor painful. My eyes went from hand to hand, watching the flames as they trickled up harmlessly around me. I relaxed my body, the flames quickly dying on their own, even the ones that’d found their way onto my clothes. The only thing burnt was the desert floor beneath me, soft brown scorches left in the sand. I looked up at San and Slenda, the former holding back a fresh deluge of laughter, while the latter pressed her palm against her face, her glasses held in her other hand. Her mouth was crinkled, somewhere between nausea and disgust. Some confidence you bring, Cyrus. You could be a superhero.

I didn’t remember copying Roxxie’s mod back in Weebtown, but I did touch it, and I guess that was enough. I hadn’t encountered enough modders to really test it, so unfortunately, I just had to roll with whatever it decided to do. Did it overwrite the swords? I thought, turning my hand, watching the fire crawl through my fingers like an upside-down trickle of water. Come to think of it, I hadn’t called out the drill I copied in a while. I stared, perplexed at the flame. “Do I not have the swords anymore?”

“You don’t know?” Slenda interrogated, her eyes piercing, even through her cracked lenses. I shook my head. “Mods don’t really come with instruction manuals…” I said, churning the heat in my hand, shaping it. It both obeyed me and followed its own path, it was more like herding an animal than a power I had control over, “I think I can only copy one mod at once, but I’m not sure… I haven’t really tried it.”

Roxxie’s fire lit up the sand around us, our shadows stretching long, the circle of light crawling slowly across the desert surface. Something didn't seem right about the way the light's glow. Our shadows seemed too long, and felt like they were moving, but I wrote it off as just a trick of the light. San stood admiring the flame in my palm, her eyes a little too lost in it as Slenda looked everywhere but, her mouth a broken grimace.

"Should I put it out?" I asked Slenda, her eyes turning up for a second before looking back at the ground. She shook her head. "We'll need it. It's starting to get dark out, and it might be useful against the bandits."

She ran her hands along her arms, then placed one on her neck, both hands directionless, chasing a shiver that wouldn't soon go away. "It just… Makes me think about Roxxie… What we’ll do if we run into her out here, or if she runs into us…"

San squeezed the frantic ex-admin tightly, grinning the wide grin I assumed at times was just tattooed onto her face, “Roxxie got banned, and we killed her, which means she got sent back to your guys’ old server. If anything, we should probably worry about getting to the neutral zone right now.”

A silence quickly fell over the three of us, Slenda and I looking at each other. Slenda’s expression was cold, angry, a shade she never seemed to show around San, but the bite quickly faded from her expression. She placed her hand in San’s, nodding reluctantly. “You’re right,” She sighed, San nuzzling her to free the smile that was starting to form, “We should get going. Any place is better than this desert at night.”

“Besides,” San smiled, “You’ve both been avoiding the traps pretty well so far.”

The creeper girl walked on, a pop in her step as she moved across the small dunes.   I looked over to see that the former admin shared my expression of disbelief, her eyes wide-eyed and silent. I could practically hear the “WHAT” echoing inside her head. We looked the creeper girl up and down, trying to find some kind of zipper or seam in her expression, a cue to laugh. But we couldn’t find any. Slenda stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her, squinting at San, "Did, did you just say… Traps...?"

San laughed incredulously, placing a hand on her hip, "You… You can't see the obvious patterns on the ground…?” Slenda gawked in disbelief. "N- No," I interjected, "You're just messing with us, right? One of your pranks? Some morbid creeper humor?"

The creeper girl bent down, her face about half a block off the desert floor. She exhaled, blowing hard across the ground, peeling a layer of sand from the ground and revealing a wooden pressure plate beneath, bits of redstone powder sticking out from its corners. I shined Roxxie’s fire towards it, illuminating what I could tell was a pressure plate trigger for some kind of trap. My heart sank. This was the first I’d noticed… How did San…She looked at us with half-lidded eyes. I felt like I was being scolded.

"Hey, what are you doing!” A voice snapped, me and Slenda straightening to a sudden attention. San turned her head; her back still slumped over the trigger of the apparently unimpressive trap, her eyes flat. Sand crunched from a dune to the side of us and a figure stepped out, their face strained in an irritated look and smeared in red paint. They were clad in heavy steal armor, strapped with leather and spiked in various places, their androgynous face peaking in a mohawk that looked slightly burnt. What in the Nether went on in this server? The road warrior glared at us, their lips pursed to the side like an irritated customer.

“I set up a perfectly good trap in the middle of this wasteland, wait for days for someone to come across it, and you don’t fall into it? And on top of that, you insult it?! The nerve!”

The RPer stuck out their finger at San, prodding the air as they scolded her. San cocked an eyebrow, her expression bare of her usual amusement. She looked more disappointed than anything. San raised her foot, her arms crossed. The leather-clad rebel instantly began stammering, trying to force an apology out as San brought her foot down, stomping the pressure plate into the sandstone below

Arrows shot from hidden dispensers in the sand around us, piercing the rogue from all angles, and quickly reducing them to a bloody heap. They fell to their knees, their expression glossy as San drove her iron sword through their chest. Their body changed into smoke and disappeared into the dry air, their eyes rolling back as they disappeared into the cloud. San regained some of her smirk, her hands on her hips. “Maybe you’ll learn to do some R&D next time, punk! Seriously, pressure plates?”

Slenda and I stood stunned, San’s composure, her knowledge of traps, everything coming out of the blue and hitting us like a thousand pounds. Just as the smoke cleared from the marauder’s corpse however, we heard the sand move again, and I pointed my arm towards the darkness like a torch. Another thief, dressed as a pirate, leapt up from behind the sand mound just beyond the road warrior’s, a wild-eyed grin on his face. Why are they all so close together?! This is a booby-trapped desert, not a street market!

"YAHARG! I KNEW THAT FOOL MADHAX79 WOUDLN'T BE ABLE TO CAPTURE YOU!! I’VE COME TO REAP THEIR SPOILS, BEWARE THE WRATH OF CAPTAIN EUAAHHGHH--!"

I flicked my arm in the swash-buckler’s direction, a ball of flame smashing into him like a cannonball, both the captain and the flames that engulfed him falling quickly behind the mound of sand. “Yeah, yeah,” I sighed, watching the black smoke fade and the grey smoke of his despawn rise over the sandy barrier, “We’re trying to get somewhere, do ya mind?”

As the smoke cleared, I saw the darkened horizon more clearly, including the shapes beginning to rise from the sand. Hostile mobs… I sighed, Just what we needed. Slenda took out a stone shovel, clutching it close to her chest, a contorted expression of fear on her face. San rose to her feet and placed a hand on her shoulder, Slenda shaking at her touch. I moved closer, hoping to offer something to calm Slenda down. San’s blue eyes shined at me but the other pair slid to me like cold amethysts, a glare silently cursing my next three generations. Needless to say, I stepped back, changing direction. As I turned, I saw shapes moving on the horizon, hostile mobs crawling from the darkness.

My feet moved mindlessly as I started walking where San had been pointing us, creating a ball of flame in my hand to guide us as we went, "Great, well, let's get going. I just want to--" A hand burst from the ground, clamping my ankle and tripping me. My mind barely registered it, my body falling forward like a ragdoll into the sand. I tried to pull away, only to pull the hand's owner further out of the sand, a face with one wild eye and a mane of crimson hair gazing hungrily through me. She lifted her other arm, a dagger whipping into her palm, "GIMME ALL YOUR RUBIES!!"

WHAT IN THE NETHER?! I tried to wriggle free, the eye-patched thief managing to drive the blade into my leg before I could blast her with Roxxie's fire. Pained and terrified, my body toppled into the sand, my hands clutching my leg. San and Slenda tried to run towards me but were each held back, San tripping over a husk as it emerged from the earth and Slenda activating a pressure plate, her body disappearing into the sound amidst the sound of pistons. Shadows around us began to move, eyes glinting from behind cactuses and rising from mounds of sandy camouflage. I felt a body try to grab me, hands working up under my arms. Instinctively, I tried slipping out, only to see San above me, a crooked smirk on her face. She almost looked like she was having fun. "Come on Cyrus! Fun time is over, we gotta get going!”

I wasn’t aware fun time had started.

San dragged me to my feet and started picking up speed, pulling me along with my wrist held tightly in her hand. Slenda struggled to pull herself out of the pit she'd fallen into, carving the side of the hole with her shovel, which she then used to beat off a skeleton that was crawling from the ground beside her. She let out a grunt, kicking out from the edge of the artificial crater, her eyes frantically searching the world around her, every side filled with danger. All around us the ground was shaking; arms, heads, and swords were pushing up from the sand, everyone desperate to test their mettle against the powerful travelers. After all, they assumed we were in on it, that we were willful participants in this bizarre game of death. Slenda ran to catch up with us, narrowly avoiding another pit and the grasping hands of an angry ninja to arrive by our side, batting off any adversaries that came close with her shovel. San ran at the front, carving our way forward with her sword while I ran at their side, taking out whoever and whatever I could with Roxxie’s fire. But it felt like the entire desert was alive, the very ground itself sending antibodies to devour us, and I didn’t think that a few fireballs (and terribly inaccurate ones at that) were going to protect us.

San pushed onward, crying out with a passion that seemed fueled by the chaos, unlike ours, "Come on guys, it's just over that hill! Probably!"

"PROBABLY?! YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT SURE?!" I cried, tossing a fireball at a skeleton, knocking it back only for its arrow to firmly plant itself in my shoulder.

“I have a mental map!” San chimed, shrugging, “But those are statistically the worst kind of map, so--!” The pain throbbed in my wounds, my arm and leg both shrieking at me as I ran, San’s shape ahead of me like a beacon. She seemed to glow, her body dark but the sky around her illuminated like a halo, the horizon beaming at her. I rubbed my eyes on my shirt, trying to get out the sweat, sand, or whatever it was messing with my vision, only for the glow to persist. It wasn’t San’s light though, it was the light of torches.

San dashed towards the light of the neutral zone, her body disappearing over the horizon, Slenda and I hustling behind, struggling to catch up. I looked back to see thieves among the masses throw down their weapons, cursing the night sky as we neared safety. Others fought against the mobs that had changed targets, the mob of dangers convulsing, attacking itself. Distance between us began to grow and for a moment, the world finally growing as the sand rose up around us.

Except the sand wasn’t rising; we were falling.

The sand below us dropped out into a low basin where a town was dug out, the ground coming up at me like a swift kick. My body battered as I rolled down the sand, every inch of the slope finding a part of my body to smash into before I finally came to rest on the cold sandstone tiles below. Slenda had already fallen in a heap by my side, San towering over the two of us. Of course, she knew the drop was coming.

"Come on guys! Don’t die now, we’re practically in the speakeasy!"

Her face beamed, her body covered in sweat, dripping down her shoulders and into the front collar of her tank top. Sore, I lifted my head, my eyes tracing the fragile outline of the neutral zone. Under the wall of the sand, the sandstone buildings wavered on their foundations, the decimated structures like the rising dead. Slenda began to push herself up, digging her shovel into the ground and using it to bring herself to her knees. She surveyed the broken buildings of the town before us, a familiar look of dismay in her eyes.

“What… Happened to the town…?” She gulped, shakily rising to her feet, she trudged up to the ruins, searching for a flash of movement, anything that we could consider a sign of life. There were only enough torches to create a dull glow, and a few testificates wandering in the distant streets. They were a docile non-player race that squatted in destroyed towns, but they weren’t the hospitality I was expecting. Slenda's hands tightened on the shovel in her arms, wringing it, “Were we too late…?”

San tilted her head.　

"Nah, I don't think he'd be closed yet." She responded simply.

Slenda looked back at her, a worried look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, San. I don't know when this happened but... Maybe we can rest in these ruins...”

San chuckled and shook herself free of Slenda's gaze, tapping up the cracked sandstone staircase of a nearby building. Slenda and I followed suit, stepping into the ruined room. Slenda looked at me uneasily. The creeper girl smirked, pressing against a broken wall with her elbow. The floor beside her slid open, pulled by an unseen piston. From within there was the warm glow of torchlight, the hole below the sandstone lined with wood planks.

"It’s a speakeasy, guys. Of course it has a hidden entrance.” San smirked at us, “You guys can sleep out on the sandstone and broken glass all you want, but I’m going inside and getting a drink.”

San slipped naturally into the warm glow of the hole below, the piston stamping the floor back into place behind her. We heard the soft thumping of boots on wood as she slid down the ladder, zipping away. Slenda and I stood in a temporary silence; the special kind of silence that filled a room once San left; the emptiness left by the absence of her energy. Slenda broke the silence with a giggle, her hand quickly cupping her mouth. She tried to hide the shy smile that had broken across her face. “Notch, is that two times today that we’ve been scolded by San?”

A sudden burst of laughter cracked the flat expression my face had settled into, Slenda looking at me with eyes that flickered in dull purple embers. Her eyes were still red and swollen from crying, but now they were pushed up by an endearing grin. She was just as tired as I was, but she was more than happy. I guess San just tended to do that to her.

“I guess you’re right.” I admitted in amused disbelief. Slenda sighed, shaking her head as she tapped the button and stepped down into the entryway. She put her foot on the first rung, then the next, descending slowly.  Her eyes looked forward longingly as she fell out of view, “She sure is something, huh.”

“San?” I asked, starting my own descent. I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Sounds began to trickle up from below us. The sounds of banter, laughter, the clinking of glass. The dull roar of hospitality beckoning us. The piston shut back into place behind us, the sky disappearing, and with it the hostile, arid breath of the desert. “Yeah. She’s definitely something.”

[italoniponic]

someone tell me why it took me the entire Dune: Part 2 runtime + the dinner after the movie to notice that Thufir Hawat simply disappeared? NO SERIOUSLY LOL

book Hawat @ Baron / movie Hawat