#gojo the people’s odette

[cheshire-chronicles]

Swan Song | Gojo Satoru

✧ A/N: I adore ballet, which you may know from my past pieces, and Swan Lake is a personal favourite. This fic was an opportunity to delve into that concept with Gojo — the people's white swan lol

✧ Synopsis: You find yourself in an area of the forest you've never explored before — one that's a touch more mystical than most. But the eye of your crossbow finds itself locked not on waterfowl, but something far more beautiful. Who is this half-man, half-swan creature? And why does he beckon the huntress into prey?

You first see him descend in a moonlit clearing, deep within the blue forest. Originally, you’d assumed he was merely a swan. Prey to be pierced by your arrow.

But in the eye of your crossbow, you see him unfold. Snowy white feathers molting into pale flesh, periwinkle-blue against the lake’s glittering albedo. Lean, sinewy muscle, tender skin and bone, crafting themselves from a bird into the shape of a man.

He rolls his shoulder loosely, as though stretching. Glances back at you as though he’d known you were there all along, a knowingness to his strangely luminescent eyes. They reflect light rather than capture it; animal-like, almost.

Shape-shifter, you think. Monster, old fairytales whisper in your mind.

But there’s nothing monstrous about his beauty, which strikes you in sharp absolution. He is beautiful. It’s an indisputable fact. Beautiful like the ripples in the lake under the willow tree’s tresses. Beautiful like the stars above the forest canopy. Beautiful like a sly smile on a strange swan-man’s face.

“Are you only going to stare?” he says, turning away, baring his back and nothing more. “I thought you intended to take your shot.”

You did. You had. But how can you? The crossbow wavers until you finally lower it completely.

“What are you?” you breathe, afraid to step out of the tree cover and into the moonlight where he so calmly bathes.

“That’s presumptuous,” he teases, still without facing you. His broad, unblemished back, porcelain white, remains bare like a target. “I’m a man, of course.”

“Well — who, then. Who are you?”

He laughs softly, and it’s a rich sound like water lilies in blooming season. “You’re terribly curious. Will knowing the answer change much?”

“I’ve never seen anything — anyone, like you before.” You tentatively take a step into the clearing. You see him tense, muscles stiffening, though he still doesn’t turn to face you. “Won’t you tell me?”

“What will you give me if I do?”

“What?”

“Hunter out in a forest, you’ve stolen more than you’re entitled to, I’m sure.” The water trembles around his waist as he wades further into the lake. “I’d like something in return, if you’re going to entitle yourself to my name, too.”

You’re slightly affronted by his words. “Now who’s presumptuous? I’m not a thief. These are my lands.”

“You own the earth, then? The storms that shake your estate? The underground springs that fill your wells? The roots that grow into sycamores that outlast your family name?”

You fall silent. Abashed, and yet, somehow, all the more beguiled. Is he a warlock? A forest spirit? A product of lucid dreams? You can only stare.

Finally, he turns to face you. And you see it. A long jagged scar across his torso, a gaping battle mark that disrupts the otherwise smooth skin of his chest and abdomen. You inhale sharply, feeling as though you, yourself, are wounded by such a grotesque injury.

“Satoru,” he says.

“What?”

“My name.” The enchanting swan-man smiles slightly, a flash of white teeth in the romantic lake twilight. “It’s Satoru.”

“Satoru,” you repeat softly. “What happened to you, Satoru?”

“This, you mean?” He gestures to the scar cavalierly. “Old news. Can hardly feel it anymore, to be honest.”

“It looks painful.”

“It was.” His smile gleams in the dark. Wading deeper into the lake, he raises an eyebrow while setting a lidded gaze upon you. “Won’t you come in?”

“What?” You lift your eyes from his scarred chest up to his face in surprise.

“The water is wonderful this time of day.” He holds up his hand to catch the evening light. Droplets trickle down his wrist, his forearm, spilling back into the lake. “Come in.”

“You sound like some sort of water devil,” you say lightly, feeling out the delicate mood. “A siren luring sailors to drown.”

“Oh, I’m not nearly so coy when I intend to kill someone.”

You laugh slightly, taken aback yet not truly perturbed. “Is that meant to be reassuring?”

“I don’t know.” He tilts his head, his mouth curving. “Do you feel reassured?”

You shake your head. Regardless, remembering the beguiling way he’d transformed from swan to man, you’re enchanted enough to take a few steps into the shallow end of the lake. The water is indeed an ideal temperature, neither too cold nor unpleasantly warm. A tender coolness, fresh, rippling around your calves.

Satoru watches you with those clear-glass eyes, brighter than any sky. “Do you come out here often?”

“The forest? Never this deep before. I hunt — well.” You pause in hindsight and look down, palming the water. “I usually stay at the periphery. That’s why I was so surprised to see you. Someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He takes your hand delicately within his, guiding you deeper into the water.

“A swan who turned into a man.”

“Ah.”

“Why did you?”

“That’s a long story.” The willow tree tresses fall like a curtain around you both; you stare at Satoru’s fingers twining between yours, the water cool as it drips between your skin. Palm to palm.

“I’ve got time,” you say, meeting his gaze.

He hums.