#i really said let's do lighting and foreshortening and let's do it in an hour and a half

[crystalline-sanders]

"I was trying to help, but it didn't quite work out the way it was supposed to. So I had to... Improvise."

okay yeah these are just unironically fun to draw lmao. he would never do anything wrong ever you guys what are you talking about

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (20)

A/N: BIG YEEHAW HOURS TODAY Y’ALL ITS BALL TIME!!!!!!! AND WE CAN���T HAVE A BALL WITHOUT A PRINCE *stars bawling*

costumes will come in another post bc i. got really excited and then drew them all like, last month (most of them, some were finished last night y e e et)

WARNINGS: remus mention, heist details, wound descriptions, sword mention, scar descriptions, threats of violence, thoughts of dying — alright, im pretty sure that's it, but this chapter has thicc details so if i missed anything pls pls pls lmk

Words: 4550

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 ,3 <3 

Deceit really was right, Patton thought while he looked around at the town. His arm was linked around Logan’s as they walked down one of the town’s side streets, from Dr. Picani’s office, and he was taking the time to admire how intricate all of the architecture had gotten. It was intricate and worn and every building seemed unique now, something that he hadn’t realized was missing during their first pass through. 

There were arch ways, bridges between doors on the third floors of buildings. There were seemingly hand-woven canvases shielding some of the streets from the sun and, if Patton squinted hard enough, he could see actual detailed stitching and some stains of age. They passed buildings that had scratches and chisel marks, and Patton could clearly see that it was made from stone bricks that had been painted over. Twice, actually. Once with a very old and faded blue, then with a lighter cream that still let the blue show through in spots where the paint was gone. 

He wondered a little what had caused those spots. Was it because you weren’t supposed to layer house paint? The spots were different sizes — how many memories were made here? 

Patton stumbled, tripping over his thoughts and heels, and leaned more into Logan’s side.

Logan tugged at his arm. “Don’t ponder too hard, Patton,” his voice was soft, hushed to not draw attention.

They’d figured that the best thing to do was to not think about the world around them. Thinking too much about the world and specifically the things that they would affect about it made their focus wander onto fixing those things. Logan would get a headache, Patton would space out, and Deceit would….well, okay, Deceit hadn’t disclosed how and if he’d been affected. But Patton noticed he’d been sweating like a sinner in church, and how his fist would clench every so often, so it was clear that something was happening with Deceit. He didn’t want to force him to talk; honesty wasn’t Deceit’s strong suit.

The four Romans had agreed that that was the smartest decision; none of them nor all of them together were able to limit the Imagination enough. The Playwright had argued that, had Dragon and Damsel known that it was hurting the other Sides, then they would probably all have a unified thought enough to close up the unused worlds. But that would require discussing the entire matter with them, which, as the Thief pointed out, is “pretty fucking useless where they are now.” 

So the focus thing was their current strategy. Patton grinned at Logan. “Thanks for the reminder, Octo-cutie-pie,” he smiled wider as Logan blushed. 

“I–I’m–Octopi is the plural for octopus and there is only one of me,” Logan bit his lip, then patted Patton’s hand gently, “Thank you.”

Patton giggled, snuggling against Logan’s side briefly as they kept walking. They hadn’t actually talked about the whole love thing, hadn’t really established boundaries, but that seemed like a problem for tomorrow. 

Right now, they were all going across town, invitations in hand, to the ball. And, at the very specific right now, Patton was admiring the Playwright and the Artist’s handiwork. They’d worked together to make everyone’s outfits and he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t handsome and beautiful.

Patton himself was themed after a cat — a grey cat, but a cat nonetheless! His dress had a long train for a tail, made of shimmering silver tulle, the same as his poofy sleeves. The skirt went from his waist to the ground, with a built in flair in his corset at the waist. Like, all of it was sparkling, all three tiers of his skirt, which went from grey to black with an inner layer gradient of blue to grey. His favorite part were his gloves, though. Silver for the most part, but with soft circles on his palms and the tips of all his fingers. His own lil’ toe beans! 

Logan’s outfit was one of Patton’s favorites. His was themed after an octopus (“Known for their intelligence,” the Playwright had explained, face bright red as he tied Logan’s necktie into an Eldritch knot) with a dark blue blazer and slacks. He wore a vest that shimmered royal blue, with a white button down underneath. There was a piece of coral in his lapel where a flower would usually go, and his coat tails seemed to spiral in shapes that resembled an octopus’ arms. There were even rhinestone bubble decals on his shoulders, or suckers, if you wanted to interpret it that way. The Artist and the Playwright had a small argument about that.

He was dashing, in summation. Patton leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Who knew the town was so big!” he said. 

“That’s actually on purpose,” the Playwright said from behind them, “It’s actually not so big as the castle is small, using the same foreshortening techniques used at the Disney theme parks to make Cinderella’s castle, or Sleeping Beauty’s castle depending on which park you’re at—”

“I think he means how far Picani’s office is from the castle, God Mod,” the Thief responded.

The Thief and Deceit were walking in front, swords drawn on the chance that they ran into any guards, and so that the Thief could critique Deceit’s sword fighting skills. Surprisingly, he’d taken to the weapon, something about it being good to have at his disposal while dealing with the Others. The Thief offered to make him one once this escapade was over. 

Or maybe it was an excuse for the Thief to keep touching Deceit’s hand. Because that was happening every so often. A lot more often than would be considered normal. 

It wasn’t like Deceit was complaining about the touching. It was more the other way around. The yearning for physical contact was frustrating, but neither of them were going to admit that they wanted to hold hands. Even though they’d confessed to at least caring about each other. 

“Oh,” the Playwright hummed.

“Cheer up, butter cup, I love hearin’ bout the forced perspective! The Disney parks are so~o~o fun,” the Bard sang out. “When’s the next time we get to go to California? Are we making a trip down to Anaheim? Can we PLEASE take a trip down to Anaheim!”

One of his arms was looped around the Playwright’s, while the other was looped around the Artist’s. They had settled on outfits that complemented each other’s, pulling from the same red and black color palette.

The Artist was the only of the trio in a suit, though his outfit could be considered the loudest. Buttoned down the middle with a high collar, half of his shirt was a solid black, while the other half was a diamond checkered pattern. All of the accents were gold, and his pants were half solid red and half checkered as well. Tonight, the Artist would be a jester. 

An improvement on his self-esteem, the Bard had thought. The Artist had said so, too, saying he’d be dressing like a joke. It...was nice to hear.

The Playwright had also gone with a more light-hearted outfit, pun completely intended. He was dressed as the queen of hearts, with an A-line skirt that skimmed the ground and was almost entirely a replica of the skirt worn by the Queen of Hearts in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland animated movie. His corset had a low scoop neckline with a long heart that stretched down from the neckline to the bottom of the waist. His sleeves were poofy, black with red stripes between. 

It was a deck of cards theme between the three of them. Honestly, they took a bit of solace in their three Musketeers situation. The Bard was dressed like a harlequin in a ball-dancing dress. His entire dress was checkered, a stiff corset traded for a looser fit bodice that was sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart clip. Bits of tulle were attached to his wrists, ideal for dancing in, which was perfect for the plan. He and the Playwright had matching heart chokers, too. 

As he’d said earlier, “We cute.”

Neither the Artist nor the Playwright had argued, and they had yet to pull away from him holding their arms. Maybe they didn’t hate him. 

They didn’t! They were moving beyond all that! 

Because they had to get the Child back, and Virgil back, and save the Damsel and they had a plan. Actually, they should run through the plan again, because the Bard had already forgotten most of it. 

“Thief?” he called ahead. 

“Mhm?” 

“Can we run through the, uh,” they had a code word for it, shoot, what was it? Oh! Oh, right, “The waltz again?”

“Great Mona Lisa, Bard, how the fuck did you forget how to waltz?” the Artist groaned. “We’re going to a ball.”

“No, no, no, THE waltz,” the Bard nudged the Artist’s side with his elbow. 

The Artist shot him a small confused glare, but realization struck his face quick after. “Oh. Oh, that waltz. Yeah, uh,” he turned to the Playwright, who also seemed confused, then to the front again, “Before we get in, we should go over the waltz again.” 

The Thief and Deceit both stopped as well, fingers brushing once again. The Bard saw the motion and chuckled to himself. Sweet Chopin, they needed to just hold hands already. He could envision the love birds flying around their heads. 

He felt a smidge bad, though. After all, he was the lucky Roman who got to kiss Patton. 

Logan and Patton both turned back to them. Patton let go of Logan, then looked around. They weren’t quite at the castle yet; a side alley, wide enough for all of them to stand in and with ample trees, barrels, and an open door beside it would provide good cover. 

“Let’s go over there,” Patton grabbed Logan’s arm again and led them all into the alley. 

They grouped up into a small but tight circle, the Thief pulling them together. He was in a suit, and an ironic one at that. Originally his costume was intended for Deceit, but he suggested switching them, so that the Dragon would think he were Deceit while being less suspicious. He was themed after a snake, though the theming was less noticeable than the color palette; there were yellow sequins arranged in scale patterns across his black blazer’s forearms, and his vest was black as well, undershirt yellow, and bowtie black. It looked a little like a snazzed-up version of Deceit’s lawyer suit and, though he’d tell no one, the Thief loved the look.

Deceit had said it looked nice on him, too. The bowtie, specifically, but also the entire outfit, and also the Thief simply looked good — yeah, they were both kind of messes. Gone was the ability to seamlessly flirt, apparently.

Still, it was nice to see Deceit in something other than yellow for a change, too. He was dressed as a peacock, with no blazer but a side-cape that shimmered iridescent purple and green. Part of it had blue and green rhinestones inching up the shoulder, and his vest beneath was teal, while his undershirt was mint green. There were bands on his upper arms, keeping his shirt bunched back, that were dark blue. Even his ascot was an iridescent purple and blue. 

They leaned against each other in the huddle. Brown eyes trailed all around the group, meeting similar expressions of steely determination. 

They could do this. 

“Alright,” the Thief started, “For the first hour, we’re gonna scope out the room and surrounding rooms. Meet wherever the snacks are in pairs, alternating pairs, and spread details. Patton and I will go twice.”

“Because you and I are gonna peel off after the first hour to go get Virgil and the Child,” Patton said, meeting the Thief’s eyes.

The Thief nodded. He looked around at everyone — Deceit and the Bard had both been fairly defensive about that choice, but he argued that they needed people who were good at causing distractions on the floor. Patton would be the best at comforting both Virgil and the Child, and the Thief was the only one who had any inkling of what the inside of the castle looked like. 

He continued. “Right. We’re gonna try to get out and—”

“Say, what d’ya think that’d make us?” Patton asked, a tiny grin on his face. 

“Oh, no,” Logan groaned, “Not—”

“Cat burglars!” Patton exclaimed with a giggle. 

The Bard immediately broke out into a fit of giggles, leaning into Deceit a little as he did so. Deceit just rolled his eyes and patted the Bard’s back, letting him cling to his side. 

The Artist stifled some chuckles of his own, and the Playwright grinned. Oh. Oh, no, not the idea grin. 

“I think Dragon will be hard pressed to find flaws in our purr-fect plan,” he said, eyes shining as Patton laughed as well. “We’re just gonna have to distract him with our adorable kitty-Pat.”

Logan groaned again, in good humor this time. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Playwright,” he grumbled. 

The Playwright immediately sobered up, mouth pressing into a line. “Ah, Logan, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, but,” the Bard raised a finger at the Playwright, smile wide and mischievous, “If he catches wind of anything, you, Artist, and I can pull a wild card and deck him.”

That got the Artist and Patton to both laugh aloud, and even Logan smiled a tiny bit at the Playwright, if only to reassure him that his frustration was not directed at him.  

The Thief seemed actually annoyed, though. He snapped his fingers in the center of the circle. “C’mon, focus here. Patton and I are going to get Virgil and the Child, then we’re going to come back up to the ball room at the second hour. At that point, Deceit—”

“I’ll be dancing with Dragon and, once you’re back, I’ll be distracting him enough for you to get out,” Deceit waved his hand, also slightly exasperated. He wanted Virgil back immediately and, as the time to pull off their hest approached, he grew more nervous.

“Right. Then, Playwright will take you backstage once everyone else has filed out,” the Playwright nodded to the Thief regarding his involvement, and the Thief looked around the group once more, “All of that sound good? Everyone else, be on the look out for Damsel. We don’t know where he’s gonna be. If he’s out on the ball floor, Logan, you—”

“I will approach him and explain that we are here to get him out,” Logan grimaced, “If he is not on the ball floor….”

“Then I’ll be on standby to head into the dungeons,” the Artist said, smile deflated, brow furrowed in thought.

“Good,” the Thief patted his shoulder, gripping reassuringly, “And if Remus is there, then Bard is going into the dungeons with Patton and I’m staying in the ball room to kick his ass.”

“This all sounds like a plan, Thief,” the Bard said, smiling at him, “Logan, thoughts?”

Logan huffed, frowning at the ground. He’d rolled the details over in his mind a few times, so he’d already worked out some of the issues, such as the irrationality of the original plan’s “jump out the dungeon’s windows, really, how large are the windows, and how do we know it’s not underground.” For right now, it seemed as though the plan were efficacious, but they couldn’t be certain until it was enacted. 

But at that point, it’d be too late to change the plan to any degree of impeccability. They would have to wing it. And Logan wasn’t a fan of that. 

But what choice did they have?

“It is as detailed and as faultless as we can arrange for it to be currently,” he said.

The Thief’s mouth twitched into a slight grimace, but he nodded all the same. That was as optimistic as he would be. “Once this is all over, we meet at the tree as fast as we all can get there,” the Thief said, casting one more look around, “If we pull this off right, no one’ll be leaving alone. If your partner gets injured, you carry them to the tree.”

“I don’t think….” the Artist said, frowning a tiny bit as his voice trailed off. 

The possibility of injury was very high, actually. Death for the Romans, at least. And they didn’t know if the Dragon had injured Virgil or the Child. To be honest, they didn’t know if the Child was alive. Oh, goodness, what if Dragon had killed him? 

“It’s gonna work,” the Bard said, “It’s gonna.” 

He squeezed the Artist’s arm and gave him a nod. It was going to be okay. Roman was optimistic by nature, and the Artist did crave that sort of positivity. 

“It must,” Deceit affirmed none too positively. 

“It will,” Patton said, smiling at them all again before clapping, “And break!”

Everyone stood up on instinct. Then, they all shared slight laughs, small smiles.

The Bard leaned over and hugged Deceit with an arm, reciprocated a little. Patton leaned against the Artist, who didn’t hug back, but also didn’t flinch finally. 

They were getting somewhere. It was going to be okay. 

It was going to be okay. 

….Without Virgil, they all felt as though their optimism was naively placed. But that was why they were going to get him back! 

Once he was back, Deceit thought, he was never letting go again. If he was back. No, no, once he was back. He was coming back soon. 

“Let’s go,” the Thief pulled his mask out from his coat, a black half-face mask covered in yellow sequins arranged like scales.

Everyone shared looks, nodding to each other as they slid on their own masks. Logan, Patton, the Artist, and the Playwright all had special masks that mimicked their glasses prescriptions so they wouldn’t need contacts, too. With faces obscured, they nodded once more, squeezing arms in reassurance and patting backs and giving smiles, and hurried out of the alley. 

The Playwright walked at the front of the group, the only one not paired to any Side. He looked up at the sky. A storm had grown, clouds angry and grey above the castle, which was only a few blocks away now. Perhaps it would thunder during the ball. 

He wondered vaguely what had caused the sudden shift in weather. During their week alone, it was all sunny skies. 

Was it….

No. No, no part of Roman was that desperate, to have gone to Remus. Right? He’d been telling himself that ever since they’d begun this game, but the darker their future seemed, the more he worried about the Duke’s involvement. 

The Thief seemed to think it was very real, enough to have a back-up written into the plan. C’est la vie. Such was life, he thought, the show must go on.

They walked quietly for only a few minutes. The closer they got to the castle, the more Imagination inhabitants they saw walking around them, some in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Everyone was in costume, most intricate. Good. This would be good, for coverage. The Thief had been a little worried that the ball would be sparsely attended, but this was good. 

It was going to be okay. 

They approached the drawbridge. Patton leaned against the Artist, gripping his arm tighter as the wind picked up. The Thief and Deceit were stoic behind them, and Logan and the Bard were simply quiet, though their hands were interlaced tight. It was going to be okay.

A line had formed on the bridge, in front of one man in a suit, perhaps the medieval equivalent of a bouncer. The group shuffled into the line, looking around at the castle, at the moat (“I think it’s filled with alligators,” the Bard murmured to Logan, who shook his head and was about to respond that that didn’t make sense, until an alligator’s maw jumped up and snatched a low-flying bird) and at the sky. 

Angry, angry clouds. 

It took an excruciatingly long eleven minutes for the Playwright to finally reach the front of the line, but when he did, he immediately grinned. He had to hand it to the Dragon. 

“May I see your invitation?” Zac Efron asked, dressed in a black butler’s outfit.

Bless the Imagination’s castings. The Playwright handed over his invitation, and Zac looked over a list in his other hand before handing back the invitation and checking off a name. “You may enter to the ball room,” he motioned to the door. 

The Playwright curtsied and hurried in. Behind him was the Artist and Patton, both of whom gasped a little, becau se holy shit, it’s Zac Efron. 

The Dragon was really out here casting Thomas’ celebrity crushes as butlers. It was the first thing that the Artist had wholly agreed with the Dragon on, actually. Once they were Roman, they were going to have to look into that as a possibility. 

One by one, each entered, walking down a grand hall with a ceiling so high and so vaulted that there seemed to be a sky inside. But, then again, there probably was. This was the Imagination. It looked somewhat like the Great Hall from the Harry Potter movies, this time shining with stars and constellations. 

Logan could identify Aries and Pieces. That was actually accurate for the season and hour, so he gave a mental kudos to Roman for his design, then considered if it were his knowledge that had been used to perfect the stars. Well. That was inconsequential, I guess?

The hall was also lined with suits of armor, and bannisters adorned with Roman’s full crest. Though, Deceit noticed while he walked through, the entire crest was outlined in gold and the castle in the center was colored with grey and brown and black. He thought the Dragon was only supposed to be the outer tower and walls. If the Dragon called all of the shots around here, then why was the center tower also colored?

The walk was long, heels clacking against the stone. They turned with the carpet to the left and entered through a pair of double doors that had to be at least two floors high. 

Inside was life. The room was massive, stretching almost the size of a football field. There was a stage near the entrance door where there were musicians (with undetailed faces, Deceit noticed) were playing loud enough to echo across the room. The dance floor seemed to take up about half the room. 

Farther away from the entrance were some circle tables, arranged around with some citizens already sitting down. Further back were some long tables, food stacked atop them, and even further….

The throne was elevated so the Dragon could see across the hall to the dance floor. The Thief’s fists clenched immediately upon seeing him wearing the Prince’s attire, white uniform a stark contrast to the black he was typically adorned with. It was a jarring difference. 

He was taunting them. By Doc Holliday’s pistol, they were gonna take him down.

Beside his throne was a large Ottoman seat, where there was another figure. The Damsel, most likely, though his face was obscured by a sheer red veil and distance. He was wearing a large dress, which had a triple-tiered skirt that seemed to flare out orange, then red, then black. His corset was decorated with red and orange and yellow rhinestones, and raised behind his head. It almost looked like flames. 

Burned. The Damsel’s scars were also entirely visible, scabs on his arms angry and red, clearly not fully healed. They weren’t openly bleeding, but the Playwright could tell that they would start bleeding at some point in the night. 

His nose scrunched as he examined the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, the Damsel leaning against the throne’s side and not moving, the Dragon stroking his chin and looking across the hall absently. He had a sword sheathed beside the throne, too, with its handle sticking up in an easily accessible manner. 

He was waiting for them, he realized. Of course he was, this was a trap, you fool. You knew this. You’d planned. It was going to be okay.

The Playwright turned back to the group just as the last pair, Logan and the Bard, entered. 

“Okay. I am going to move toward the snack table,” he nodded toward the thrones, “Octopus, would you like to join me?”

Logan let go of the Bard, who curtsied and stepped back, and then offered a hand to the Playwright. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, “How about we acquire a table, Hearts?”

The Playwright nodded, then shot the Thief a look. “Snake,” he said, a promise, a warning, “Let’s waltz.” 

“Let’s,” the Thief responded, squeezing Deceit’s arm. 

The Bard and Patton had already taken each other onto the dance floor, hoping to not be conspicuously waiting in a group by the door way, and the Artist was meandering around — nope, no, he just asked an Imagination citizen to dance. Blending in well. 

Operation save Virgil and the Child was a go. 

Virgil could hear the faint music from above. He squinted up, then closed his eyes and exhaled. What’d that matter? 

His side was throbbing. It seemed that just wrapping a bandage around a wound did fuck all to stop it from hurting, or bleeding, especially if it was just wrapped once and around the front. Virgil would have to remember that for the next time he got stabbed by an evil Dragon, he thought snidely. 

He and the Child had relocated themselves to the bed. Pretending to not be panicking was tiring, but luckily for him, the Child had fallen asleep. 

He sniffed quietly, rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm. For the past half an hour, ever sine the Child fell asleep, Virgil had been silently crying. And there was no Damsel to conjure him a glass of water or tell him it’d be okay. Because he knew it wasn’t going to be okay. 

Even if he didn’t die in the Imagination, he’d be exiting it alone. And that was fine! 

The Child snuggled closer to his chest, tiny arms wrapped around him. Virgil sniffed again and hugged him tight. 

If he did nothing else, he’d at least protect this Roman. 

He wished he’d at least told Roman how he felt. 

Maybe he’d never get the chance. 

Gosh, this was really fatalistic, even for him. It wasn’t like he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

Virgil shielded his eyes with an arm and, as illogical as it was, wished that he could use that one arm motion to block out the sounds of the ball going on above. Shit, he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

….Usually that’d freak him out a bit more. Maybe he’d bled out to the point where he was too tired to be worried. And, maybe it was childish, but he really did want to dance with Roman. 

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

[moonlightobrien]

You’re My Home // Stiles Stilinski AU Part Two.

Prompt-  “How am I supposed to decide this? How can I possibly stay without mom and dad? How can I leave without Winston? Or Stiles? This is too much. I don’t even understand how it all works, why I’m here in the state that I’m in or how to get out of it if I wanted to. If I were to say, I want to wake up, would I wake up right now?”

Relationship- Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Words-  3919

Warnings- angst and fluff.

Song Choice- Give it to me from If I stay/Sparks by Cold Play.

A/N- it's finally here, part two is finally here, I can honestly say that I haven't been more proud of this chapter. I was literally at the computer for hours just writing up a storm! I couldn't stop, I was out of control. Hope you all enjoy and go & read @minhosmeanhoe​ IN MY VEINS SERIES, IT IS SO BEAUTIFUL! Hope you all enjoy and part three will up very soon! Italics  means past and original means present.

My life was perfect, everything was going my way - my future was almost coming in my fingers, I had a amazing family who loves me and supports me in anything, even though I wasn’t a somebody like Stiles, I still had everything I needed until that one day, that one day changed everything for me completely. I awaken from a sleep but it wasn’t me, it was the ghost of me, I can feel the cold of the snow from my body and as I stood up, I exhale a breath of oxygen through my lungs into my mouth, I looked around to see everything that was in front of my eyes, “Get some cribbing in there. Support those columns. We need a full spinal immobilization.” All I saw was ambulances and paramedics scrambling to their feet to see what was going on, “Hello?” I spoke. “Our resources are good right now.” I ran to a paramedic person trying to figure out what is happening and where are my parents and Winston. “Excuse me? Sir, excuse me? Hello?” I tried to speak to him but for some reason he couldn’t hear me, why couldn’t he hear me? “Mom! Winston! Dad!” I looked around trying to find them, trying to see if they were okay. We have foreshortening in this left leg. EMT 22 Yeah. Do you wanna get a tube in her now?”

“Just grab the Ambu bag for now.” I started to walk over until my eyes was wide open, my jaw was open with shock right before me, it was me - the actual me right there in front of me, my body lifeless. Tears started to well up in my eyes, “No!” My hands on my head trying so hard to tell my actual self to wake up, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” I shut my eyes trying to believe and trying so hard with all of might inside of me to wake up from this bad nightmare, but the thing is..It wasn’t a nightmare, it was real - all of this was real. “Go, one, two, three.” The paramedics put my real body on a stretcher rolling near the ambulance, “Let’s move, her glasgow coma is at a seven.”

“Tell Portland to have a trauma team ready than ever,” Y/N was behind them trying to figure out what what that means and why she needs it, “Glasgow coma? Why do I need a trauma team?” Y/N was getting confused more and more, her brain was playing circles in her head trying to put the missing pieces together, but she couldn’t - her heart was pounding in my ribcage, everything was spinning, everything was happening at a fast pace all at once, “One female, late teens, critical, en route lo Portland now. One 8-year-old male, conscious.” Where were my parents? Where was Winston? “Mom! Dad! Winston!” Y/N shouted hoping that her parents and little brother can hear her, but they couldn’t. But all that matters is that she wakes up hopefully to see her parents and Winston. “Let’s go Demetri.” Y/N jumped in the ambulance with her real body on the stretcher, “Hang in there baby, we will be in Portland soon.” The paramedics shut the ambulance while Y/N looks back looking at the horrible moment that happened in her life.

__

Y/N was looking at her mirror trying to pick out a perfect outfit for her first ever date she ever went on, her brother Winston was on her bed playing on his PS4, her mother looks in the crack of her door, “You okay?” she said, if anything Y/N wasn’t okay, “No.” her shoulders was tensed up with anxiety, her heart was racing, her brain was spinning, she felt sick to her stomach. “You wanna hit my closet?” she enters her room seeing the way her daughter was, “Your closet is terrifying, I don’t even want to go, I mean what if he doesn’t like me, what if I make a complete fool of myself and everyone knows about the next day at school and then...ugh!!” Y/N groaned, she was right, in high school, word does go around pretty fast and super easy. “Come on Y/N. He is just a guy,” my mother totally doesn’t understand, “Mom, this isn’t just a guy, this is Stiles Stilinski and if I don’t make this right then I will never get to speak to him again or even look at him. Plus this is my first date I’ve ever gone on a maybe date and I don’t even know whenever to wear date clothes or casual clothes or…” Y/N sigh in frustration and nerves, she really really wants this day to be perfect, for her and for him. “Just wear whatever you feel comfortable and if this Stiles dude doesn’t see how amazing and beautiful you are then he is a total..”

“Shithead.” Winston finished her sentence, even though he was right, “Yeah,”

 “I think i’m gonna be puke.” Y/N’s stomach was in knots, her hands were getting sweaty, her heart was pounding inside of her chest like it was going to jump out of her body, Y/N’s mother picked her light blue trash can holding it towards her, “Better before than during.” then the sound to all of my fears, the doorbell, Y/N started to panic but luckily her mother had the perfect outfit for her to wear. Downstairs, Y/N’s father opened up the door seeing the boy Y/N was talking about, “You must be Stiles.” Stiles was wearing a grey tee along with a blue flannel with light blue jeans and white striped adidas shoes. “Uh, yeah. I am, yeah.” the boy was clearly nervous, he is standing near my father so any guy would be nervous, “Nice trends. Come on in.” Stiles stepped into Y/N’s house trying to slow down his heart at the rate it was going, “I’m the old man Denny.”

“I know, you were in Nasty Riots right?” he questions. “Wow, you’re impressing me already.” Y/N’s father smiled, he never thought that teens would actually listen to HIS music but apparently it’s for everybody, “Well, I have one of your CDS.” Stiles smiles, “You’re the one, they make great coasters, come on. Stiles is here!” He shouted which means that’s my cue. Stiles looks around until he saw Y/N’s younger self in a picture frame of her and her mother at her dad’s concert, “Is that Y/N?”

“Yeah, that’s our little rock and roll - she was Nasty Riots little original groupie.” Stiles gives a light chuckle, “Oh no, is he telling you old war stories?” Stiles turns around and he couldn’t believe how Y/N was so beautiful, the way her hair matches the outfit, those gorgeous dazzling eyes, those perfect pink lips, it was like she was looking at a angel from heaven above him, she was just so beautiful that you couldn’t stop looking at her, she was wearing a black and white striped top along with a black floral skirt - he tried to go back to reality, but it was so hard for him to not to since he couldn’t stop looking at her. “Hey, we should probably go.” Stiles finally snapped out of it and went back to reality, “Okay.”

“Okay, you kids be careful, I hear it gets pretty wild at the symphony.” Y/N’s mother said and smiled at her daughter, “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Y/N’s parents both said, the two of them started heading to the front door - Y/N opens it and both of them stepped outside feeling the nice, cold crisp breeze on their skins, “Your parents seemed really cool.” Stiles said and smiled, “So they tell me.” she chuckled a little which made Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. At the symphony, there was this pianist who was really getting into it, it was like all of her emotions was just draining away from her body and onto the piano. It was incredible how musicians get so depth into emotion with music, it was a symbol of relief or just the joy and alive feeling of playing that one particular instrument that you can’t get enough of. Y/N was too busy listening to the beautiful sounds of the piano, Stiles’s hand started to move near hers then their fingers intertwine with each other, she looks down - their heartbeats were beating out of control, Y/N never had a guy held her hand before, she exhale a calming breath while Stiles smiled yet nervous as a wreck inside, both of them finished listening to the pianist, Stiles admires how deep Y/N was into piano work, he admires the way she loves it so much and the way she expresses her thoughts about the piano, how it makes her feel especially that alive feeling.

“Seriously, I respect any musician that puts it all on the stage like that.” Y/N always loved how Stiles gets into music, it was like the music was everything he ever wanted and fought for. “She was incredible, I always cherish musicians who gives it 100 percent putting their heart and soul into the music, like it was possessions.” Stiles showed a sincere smile to Y/N, “I thought you were a little bored in the beginning.”

 “Of course and only because the old lady that was snoring was interrupting those gorgeously sounds other than that, it was just magical, I loved every minute of it.” Stiles can listen to her all day, he loves hearing her voice, he never thought that he will meet someone who loves and so in passion of music as he does. “Alright Y/L/N, what’s your story? How does parents like yours have a child like you”

 “Well I have this certainly bred that I was made to be a rocker like my parents. But I have this theory that I was switched birth.” Stiles chuckles a little, “Well that explains it.” Y/N laughed a little bit, “No, but seriously, I don’t know I feel like I’m just this martain in my family, I don’t look like my parents. My mother was a rocker chick and my father is all outgoing and I chose Beethoven and the piano..I don’t know..what about you Stilinski? What’s your story?” he loves when she teases him, a sight chuckle escaped his lips, “When I was eight, I saw this old video of the Ramones playing ‘I Wanna Be Sedated.’ And it felt like my head exploded. And I was like, "I have to learn to play the drums." So, my uncle hooked me up with this old Fender. Yeah, that thing saved my life.” Y/N never realized that Stiles’s life was going somewhere that she couldn’t even begin to imagine. “You didn't really get those tickets from a family friend, did you?”

 “That was two weeks of pizza delivery tips.” Y/N couldn’t even understand why Stiles will chose her over a billion of girls that they fangirl over, “Why? Why me?” she started to get lost into his golden orbs, they were sparkly gorgeous that you can’t help yourself but stare. “Because I like to watch you play. You go to another place. And you're beautiful. You get this crease in your forehead right there.” his fingers touch her forehead, sparks were going sky high but all she could do is smile at the most perfect boy she ever got the pleasure to know. “Why do I have a feeling you’re about to mess up my entire life?” her heart was speeding faster and faster with beats that you can’t even describe. “A little mess never hurt anybody.” her breath was short, it felt like there isn’t anything left inside of her, they both started seeing themselves in each other, they were both frozen in the moment, Stiles’s lips were pressed against hers, the kiss was soft and long, she can feel everything was losing up - she was relaxing into the kiss, her first kiss was so magical and so unreal - it felt like she was in a dream, she never felt like about anyone like this before and Stiles made her feel more of herself, he made her feel like a somebody, he made her feel like she can do anything unless it was her and him together.

 __

 A week later, Stiles invited Y/N to see his band play, it was never like I ever seen before, everything was just chaotic and fast, the music was so loud that you can’t even hear yourself think, the girls was dressed as something I never thought I could see myself wearing ; there was so many people that you can probably get lost, it was just Stiles and I until a girl with orange hair came to us. “Liz, Y/N. Y/N, Liz.”

“Ah, i’m going to change the tube on the amp, I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” Y/N’s eyes squinted with confusion, she had no idea what she was talking about, it didn’t matter anyways. Stiles’s band was getting ready on stage, “I guess that’s your cue.” Y/N smiled. “Yeah, I’ll see you when I get back okay?” Y/N nodded and he replied with a kiss on her cheek and left getting ready to play his drums. Y/N started to go to the way back of the crowd near the entrance, “Hey everybody, welcome to the show and enjoy,” the crowd of people started to cheer, Stiles started spinning his drum stick around his finger. Y/N thought it was cute. “One, two, three, four!” the music started to play, “Whoo!” the crowd said. The leader started to strum his guitar which causes Stiles to come up with a drum beat, “I wasn't looking' for something to sink my teeth into. I didn't know what I wanted, I never do,” Y/N was admiring how Stiles was getting into the music so much, all of the combinations of every instruments makes all worth it, the leader named Adam and Liz started to sing in the microphone together, “I want what you have, I want what you have now. Give it to me, Do you make it look so good 'cause you know what's up? Do you know exactly what to do? I want what you have. I want you have now.Give it to me, I want what you have, I want you have now. Give it to me.” The crowd was cheering so loud that it was crazy how much Nasty Riots have so many popularity, “Thank you and goodnight.” Y/N smiles at the cute yet hot boy that was starting to fall in love with, Stiles went down to the stage, Y/N meets him halfway, “That was so incredible, you guys killed it!” Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck feeling his body close to hers, feeling his touch was electricity to endless wires connecting them together.

Later on in the night, Y/N was sitting on the couch with a red cup in her hands trying to not make things awkward even though she is in awkward position, she was surrounded by rocker chicks she never met or seen before, “So what other bands you are into?” This blonde chick asked her, “Um..classical mostly.” her voice was soft but not that soft. “Right on, I dig classical rock.” Y/N had enough, she was ready to go home and get away from all of this chaos, she leaves the chicks and was heading to the exit, “Y/N!” Stiles shouted. She turned around facing the beautiful boy that was in front of her, “Are you okay?” he said worried. “Kinda miss communicating with people per the usual.”

“Yo, Stiles. After party at Adam’s. You in?” His member of the band asked, “Yeah, yeah. We’re in, yeah.” Stiles and the guy high-fived each other, he looks at me, “You in Y/N?”

 “I have a curfew.” as much as she wants to spend time with him, she definitely don’t want to stay here with all of these chaotic people, “Curfew?” he questions. “Yeah.” she exhale a deep breath inside trying to make this perfect night into a total disaster. “Okay, well I can take you home.”

 “Okay,” with that the both of them left the gig and went back to Y/N’s house. Back at her house, Stiles and Y/N exit out of Adam’s car walking to Y/N’s front porch. They were both looking into their eyes getting lost into each other reflections ; “Thanks for slumming it with us tonight.”

 “Yeah, no problem. You were really awesome up there,” a chuckle escaped his lips, “Yeah..thanks.” they both smile at each other, the tension in the air was calm also a little awkward. “Yo, Stiles. Just kiss her already, come on man - let’s go.” Stiles smiled, “So are we cool? You know me and you?”

 “Yeah, we’re cool.” her voice was a little soft and quiet, her heart was starting to finally calm down ; “Hey, you finally got to meet Liz.” Y/N didn’t see anything wrong with Liz, it was just that moment of confusion, she was cool I guess. “Yeah, you two have a lot in common, you two ever hooked or anything..” Jealously was filling inside of her body. “Actually, I’m glad that you brought that up, for instance we are both into girls. She’s with Astrid.” Y/N looked back and see the two girls kissing in the Adam’s car, “Oh wow, go Astrid.” she never thought that Liz will be lesbian but it’s whatever. “Now we got that out of the way, i’m bummed that you can’t stay with us for tonight.” Stiles facial expression was down, Y/N can tell that he really wanted her to stay but she can’t take the chaotic people and everything happening at fast pace, everything was perfect when it was her and him - everything was calm and just magical, “Yeah, I know.” Y/N looked down for a second and then back up at him, he swallowed a breath keeping his composure together. The air was silent, neither of them didn’t know what to say. “Y/N, just go. Have fun.” her mother said, “Mom?” Y/N can’t believe that her parents were listening to their conversation and spying on them. “Kat, get away from the window.” Her father said. “Dad?”

 “Hey, if your parents were cool with you staying out..or if you don’t want to..” Stiles doesn’t understand what it’s like to be a girl like me, she isn’t used to any of this, she never experienced before, this is just all too much for her, she looks away from him going near the door. “I..I think I’m coming down with something..” her fingertips gripping the door handle hoping that he will understands. “Right, well I will see you around and give me a shout when you get over it.” Get over what? Get the fact that I can’t stand the chaotic life that I just went through and doesn’t want to go through again. “Hey, Stiles..” What is my mother doing?? “Mom, get back inside.”

 “We always do these stragglers dinners on Sunday, you should come by some time.” Is she kidding me? Anger was inside of my body like an endless tunnel, “Thanks, maybe I’ll check it out. Goodnight.” Stiles waved goodbye to Y/N and her family walking back to Adam’s car. Once he left, Y/N turns to her mother angry at her that she will do that to her, didn’t she listen to what happened between us? “You know that was wrong on so many levels,” Y/N shakes her head going inside filled with anger and up to her room, her father looks at her mother, “What? She shouldn’t be scared of those guys, they are us.”

 “Exactly.”

“Okay, bring her out.” The ambulance reached the hospital, I started to try and follow the paramedics with my real body, “Behind. No palpable deformities at this time.” Y/N’s heart was pounding filled with so much terror that she doesn’t even know what else there is, “Go. Go. Go.” The hospital staff all surrounded around my real body scrambling to get in a hospital room to save my life, “Okay, what do we have here?” One of the staff said. “Collapsed lung, broken ribs. Looks like three abrasions to the legs, face. Brain contusions, full extent unknown. And an internal bleed. Rest of the family's on the way in. Ultrasound, X-ray, 12-chem, type and crossmatch.”

“Let's get the R down here, please. On my count. One, two, three.” like clockwork, they all ran to the nearest room, Y/N was trying to go in there but a blue curtain shut before her eyes, she turns around to the front desk, “Hey, excuse me, I need to check on my family. It's Kathleen Hall, Dennis Hall and Winston Hall?” she couldn’t hear me, and it sucks that nobody can hear you when you aren’t even alive. “Good to go.”

“Hello?” The nurse went over and grabbed the clipboard, “Hey, I was trying to look at that.” she said panicking and worrying about her family hoping to god that they are going to be okay. “Ruptured spleen, we need to move' We're taking Y/N Hall into operating room one. DOCTOR 22 All right, let's get her in there. We got to remove the spleen, drain the lung and figure out what's causing the bleed. If she wants to live, she better start fighting.”

“Start fighting? How am I supposed to start fighting? Can someone just talk to me, someone please just help me!” She shouted with so much worry in her voice, in the surgery room, surgeons started working on my body to stop the bleeding, “  Okay, let's go, folks. Her sutures. Arterial line set. Okay, let's get it cleaned up. Your cut-down tray's almost prepped. Let's go, let's go. Thank you.NURSE 12 GCS still looks high.” Y/N enters the room seeing everything happening and seeing everything that is going wrong for her, “Am I dying? Is that what this is?” she never expected her life to turn around like this, like everything was going to go crashing down for her. The nurse started to whisper something to me, “Here’s a secret baby, you can control this entire thing if you live or if you die, it’s all up to you so whatever fight you have, you have to pull it out now.” But how can I? How can I start to fight? Should I even fight? “Call the blood bank. I need two units of O neg. Keep two on hold. DOCTOR 22 I think we're gonna need a lot more than that. Let's see if we can track down her relatives, please.”

“Right away, sir.One of her parents is on their way to OR four now.” Y/N went up to the window to see her defeated father on a stretcher, one of his eyes was patched up and he was in a neck brace, “Dad?” Tears started to gloss in my eyes, I have to be strong for my family. “We just have to relieve the swelling. For a guy who was in such a bad car wreck, he really lucked out.”

[thelensfemmes]

Set 1 - Photographer: Perrie Taylor (Melbourne)

Image of Perrie by Chayla Taylor

Location: The Moon Café (Perth, Western Australia)

Date: February 20th, 2017

Camera: Pentax MZ-5N

Stock: Hillvale Sunny 16 400, pushed two stops

My name is Perrie Taylor and I’m a film photography hobbyist, originally from Perth but now residing in Melbourne. I pitched the idea of babes shooting babes to three Perth based photographers, whose work I had admired both in front of and behind the camera. They said yes, our friends at The Moon Café said yes, and so with the stars and moon aligned, we set about this project. Lens Femmes is a non-exclusive gang for anyone who wants to be one (we’re still working on getting patches made), and is all about celebrating the craft of photography, direction, modelling, and the strength of friendship and femmeship!

I love shooting on film. I ditched my digital SLR in favour of the magic of film. Am I romanticising this clunky, inefficient, outdated art form? Absolutely. Should I learn more digital techniques? Maybe. Is film dead? Heck to the no. Film teaches you to be frugal with your frames, film is a chemical reaction that gives images an eternal quality, film just has this… feel. With that, let me present to you my first set of images from Lens Femmes: Volume 1

Model: Chayla Taylor

Chayla is absolute porcelain. Her skin is perfect, which is ideal because my image editing skills are very poor. This was my first time shooting her, but I’ve modelled for her several times previously as she’s a very well regarded photographer amongst the Perth (and beyond) burlesque scene! She glowed in the natural light and I loved capturing her like a laissez-faire pulp queen amongst the glorious divey textures provided by our location. I don’t usually like my subjects to stare down the barrel of the camera, I imagine they’ve got far more important things on their mind.

Model: Kat Wild

Kat is well known as both a photographer and model and is incredibly prolific with her work. She has an incredible way of looking calm and casual and also like she has the ability to throw daggers out of her eyeballs. So I’m glad we’re in the same girl gang. It was a treat to capture her in a really eclectic and bohemian setting.

But look at that death stare though.

Model: Marijke Loosjes

So by now you’ve guessed that none of us are really into spending time outdoors during daylight hours. Marijke is an established visual artist and performer, and incredible to photograph. The laws of foreshortening do not apply to her limbs! I have such respect for her as a creator, so to collaborate in this way was really lovely. Here she is serving you Margot Tenenbaum realness with Wes Anderson inspired framing.

Thanks for reading/viewing, we’re aiming to update weekly with new images from each photographer featured here (and would love to feature any other lens femme gangs out there too!)

xx

[allofthisnonsenseplease]

Nightrunner fic: The Light Prince

A/N: This is hugely self-indulgent and Seregi is ooc all the way through. To be fair, there’s a reason for that last, but still.

Fusion with The Light Princess by George MacDonald.

It got to be too weird having a finished fic unposted, but I can’t really say this is any good, so I’m going to compromise and not put it in the tags.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Lynn Flewelling’s Nightrunner series and do not belong to me.

1. An Inauspicious Christening

Once upon a time, in a land so cluttered with kingdoms and queendoms that it was nearly impossible to throw a rock without hitting a palace, there lived a King and Queen in the country of Bôkthersa. They were as happy a couple as could be found, save for one thing. Although his dear wife, Queen Illia, had given him four daughters, King Korit yearned for a son. After years of trying, his wish was finally granted, but the cost was far higher than he had expected. His beloved wife died in childbirth, leaving him behind with their four daughters and a squalling infant son.

Stricken with grief and remorse, the King nevertheless meant to honor the customs of his people. In the midst of the month of mourning, he arranged for the christening of his son, whereupon the boy would be given his name. Invitations were sent out to kings and queens, princes and princesses in all corners of the land. In his sorrow, however, there was one person who he forgot to invite. In the normal course of events, such an oversight would be a minor embarrassment, but nothing terribly troubling. Unfortunately, in this case, the person the King had forgotten to invite was none other than Princess Phoria of Skala, a proud and cunning woman with little love for his people and a long memory for grudges.

When Phoria realized that she had been excluded, though her mother and both sisters and even her twin brother had been invited, she was incensed. No practitioner of the magical arts herself, she found a wizard willing to brew up a curse which she would then be able to activate with the simple application of a few herbs and a short incantation. Thus armed, she contrived to attend the christening, pretending that she had not noticed the slight, while the King remained unaware that he had even forgotten her.

In the milling confusion before the guests took their places for the ceremony, Phoria emptied into the font a packet of fine powder that had been mixed up for her by her wizard. Then, she had only to wait until the infant was sprinkled with the water and christened with his name. When she heard the King pronounce the name of his son—Seregil—she knew the moment was ripe and spoke the spell under her breath.

"Light of spirit, by my charms, Light of body, every part, Never weary human arms— Only crush thy father's heart!"

In an instant, the reverent silence was broken by a squeal of laughter from the infant Prince. The sound of it masked the gasp of Princess Adzriel, his oldest sister, who happened to be holding him. Although no one saw that anything was amiss as she clutched her brother tightly, in an instant, she had felt all the weight go out of his tiny body.

Prince Seregil's laughter continued unabated in shrills and gurgles of joy. Thinking that the magic she had purchased had failed, Phoria spent the remainder of the ceremony in an even worse temper than she had been in when she had initially been slighted. It was only toward the end of the evening that she noticed the first sign that all was not well. Adzriel was drawing the King away, speaking low and urgently to him and holding out his son to him.

When King Korit took the boy, his face betrayed his shock. He hefted the baby, but his grip must not have been sure. At the height of his lift, Seregil floated free, cooing happily, and came to rest against the ceiling. He hovered there quite contentedly and with no apparent inclination to drift back down, while gasps and cries of alarm came from the crowd below.

By all accounts a difficult woman to please, Phoria's lips pressed thin in a dissatisfied line as she watched and wondered if her revenge had truly been served.

2. The Gravity of the Situation

The curse—which must never have been properly explained to Phoria, as she would merely have scoffed at the idea and found a different wizard—robbed Prince Seregil of his gravity. Never again did the baby cry or wail. Instead, squeals and shrieks of laughter issued from him in response to any stimulus. And although such a cheerful baby was almost universally loved despite the unfortunate circumstances of his birth, his condition did give rise to certain unusual and awkward situations.

A nurse, bouncing the infant one day, let her grip relax too much and, before she knew it, Seregil was laughing his baby laugh while looking down at her from the ceiling. The same mistake was made by the King and two of the Prince's sisters. One evening as they sat at table, Seregil was accidentally let go up into the lofty ceiling of the dining hall. A ladder had to be sent for and placed carefully on the long table over the platter of venison. Even then, the servant sent to fetch the Prince down could not reach him. In the end, the baby had to be handed down after being snagged by a pair of tongs.

Special care had to be taken even when the Prince was laid in his cradle. A mishap one afternoon involving open windows and a mischievous breeze left the castle all in an uproar when it was discovered that Seregil had been whisked away out of the palace. He was eventually found in the garden, having been blown into a hedge of roses. His skin was scratched from the thorns, but no lasting harm was done, and from then on, it was always made certain that a dozen silk cords secured his clothing to the sides of his crib.

King Korit was devastated. His wish for a son had cost his queen her life, and had left him besides with a child that was in no way the boy he had wanted. Seregil was not a child he could teach to ride and hunt and fight as he had long dreamed of.

“Don't despair, Father,” Princess Adzriel said to him. “Perhaps he needs only to grow out of it.”

“Perhaps a cure will be found,” suggested Princess Mydri.

The Princesses Shala and Illina were of the mind that their brother ought to be sent away to someplace where he could be forgotten, so as not to bring further shame upon their family.

The King refused to send his son away, but the loss of his wife had stolen his ability to hope. His heart remained heavy as stone, as if it had taken on all the gravity that Seregil so sorely lacked.

Although the King lamented both his loss and his son's fate, Princess Adzriel doted on the child, and Prince Seregil was the darling of the servants. There was nothing they could do that didn't please the infant, and he was coddled and bounced and played with all the hours of the day. One of the games they loved best to play with him was ball, and Seregil enjoyed it no less for actually being the ball himself. Peals of laughter rang out as he was tossed from one pair of hands to another and, although they had to be careful not to toss him into a hearth or allow him to get tangled in a chandelier, at least there was no danger in dropping him.

As the years passed, Prince Seregil grew into as fine, handsome, and healthy a young man as anyone could have asked for. The only flaw in his constitution was his continuing lack of gravity. He had learned to make his way by taking up large rocks in either hand, and these had the effect of weighing him back down to earth between his bounding steps, but nothing worn on his person would do. Indeed, anything from his heavy winter cloaks to his fine golden crown would lose its own gravity as soon as he put it on. After one too many close calls where Seregil had accidentally dropped his ballast, King Korit finally decreed that he was not to be allowed out without an escort of half a dozen men holding lengths of silken cord tied to his clothes, along with as many mounted riders—just in case he should slip his leashes. Adzriel also insisted that he always carry on his person a small grappling hook on a length of rope in case of emergencies.

Outings with Seregil were always merry, as the Prince laughed at everything, and took no offense when his strange gait encouraged laughter in others. One step would send him up into the air, feet moving as if he could still propel himself forward, while his direction was at the mercy of any breeze that chose to blow past. His ballast would see him brought back down to earth until another step kicked him off again and then up he would go.

Inspired by these foreshortened flights, Seregil had on more than one occasion confided in fits of giggles that he should like nothing more than to be tied to a very, very long cord and flown like a kite. If his father's heart had not long since been broken, that particular bit of silliness might have been the final blow to it.

Given his unusual method of locomotion, it was hardly uncommon for him to be blown off course and into one of the courtiers or servants that surrounded him constantly. In fact, Seregil had claimed his first kiss in just such a manner. Rushing to greet his sister Adzriel one day, an ill-timed puff of air had caught him mid-stride—that is, a few feet off the ground as he began his descent—and sent him directly into the path of a young man not much older than he named Ilar. Lips already puckered to kiss his sister's cheek, Seregil collided head on with Ilar, who was only too happy about the misplaced affection. His happiness did not last overlong, however. Although Ilar fancied the Prince, Seregil could not take him seriously at all, and the laughter that remained the constant response to Ilar's overtures in all their future exchanges eventually changed his infatuation to bitterness. Seregil didn't even notice when Ilar left the court to return to his own home.

Seregil's treatment of Ilar was but one example of how his comportment remained as unaltered by time as his exemption to the natural law of gravity. Nothing could be said to him that he would not laugh at, and nothing could happen that he did not find humorous. There was, however, a strange quality to the Prince's laughter, a sort of lack or hollowness at the center. At times, his laugh could sound quite brittle, but it went on all the same. It was his sister, Adzriel, who loved him best of all, who noticed that although her brother might be easily set off into fits of laughter, it did not reach his eyes. He rarely smiled.

He never cried, not even a single tear of mirth.

3. Try Everything—Something's Got To Work

Adzriel never gave up hope that the curse on her brother could be broken. She wrote to wizards, magicians, fortune tellers, oracles, physicians, and philosophers. She invited them all to Bôkthersa to examine Seregil, and visited those who could not or would not come. She was inundated with suggestions, both solicited and freely offered, and found that she discarded more of these potential cures than she tried, as many of them were ridiculous at best and dangerous at worst.

Thero í Procepios, a wizard of Orëska House, believed that something had gone wrong with the soul inhabiting her brother's body.

“Two souls, seeking out their appropriate habitations, must have somehow met, rebounded off each other, and lodged in the wrong bodies. It is no wonder the Prince is not subject to any natural influence—his soul belongs to another sphere. He must therefore be grounded in this world. Fill him with its history of every variety: animal, vegetable, mineral, social, moral, political, scientific, literary, artistic, musical, magical, and metaphysical. Fill him with the weight of the world he must dwell in.”

Adzriel had her doubts about the efficacy of this cure, but reasoned that knowledge never hurt anyone and saw to it that her beloved brother had the finest tutors.

Charis Yhakobin, an alchemist from Plenimar, paid a visit and proposed a more physical solution.

“It is his heart that's the problem. I believe that somehow the motion of it has been entirely reversed, drawing the blood in where it should be forced out, and forcing the blood out where it should be drawn in. In this manner, blood suffuses the body through his veins and returns through the arteries. With such an extraordinary reversal at work, it's really no wonder that other natural forces do not affect him as they would a normal person.”

It was at that point that he outlined his plan to correct the problem, a plan that involved draining the Prince's blood until he was at death's door, then re-setting the flow of new blood through his body through the use of ligatures around the left ankle and right wrist, and air-pumps over the right ankle and left wrist.

The alchemist was thanked politely for his time and expertise, and sent away without his experiment being carried out.

Another Plenimaran, a necromancer by the name of Vargûl Ashnazai, hypothesized that the Prince needed to be properly grounded, and should be buried alive for three years. Adzriel shuddered and burned his letter.

One of the ideas put forth time and again from various sources was that the Prince's gravity would be restored if he could be made to cry. To this end, Seregil was told that his favorite uncle had died (though in fact, he had not), was presented with the sorriest tale of woe from the kingdom's most unfortunate beggar, was made to listen to the most heart-rending ballads ever composed, and was even whipped quite soundly. Nothing had the desired effect, although his laughter during that last measure sounded unsettlingly close to screams.

It was even suggested at one point that perhaps the best thing for the Prince would be for him to fall in love...though how that would occur in a heart so strangely untouched by the larger spectrum of human emotion was a mystery.

Adzriel continued her efforts on her brother's behalf, refusing to lose hope despite the growing number of failed, nonsensical, and impossible cures she was presented with.

4. A Refreshing Dip in the Lake

As it turned out, there was one thing, discovered quite by accident, that mitigated the effects of the curse. The palace was located on the shore of a beautiful, deep, blue lake. One lovely summer day, as the court enjoyed itself on a fleet of small pleasure boats, Seregil took it into his head that he wished to visit with his friend, Kheeta, who was in one of the other boats. Given Seregil's unique nature, it would be easy enough to arrange the transfer. As the boats passed each other, Adzriel lifted up her weightless brother, laughing along with him, and went to toss him into Kheeta's arms. However, it so happened that a mischievous wave upset the motion of the boat just as the Princess stepped forward, causing her to trip. She let go of her brother as she went down, but her momentum had carried over to him, and down he went as well, past the railing and directly into the water where he promptly sank out of sight.

There was a general outcry. Accustomed as they were to their Prince's wayward habits of movement, none of them had ever seen him propelled downward in such a way. He had never sunk. Kheeta was into the lake in a flash, followed by several other members of the boating party. They searched frantically for Seregil, until a whoop and a splash drew their attention clear across the lake to where the Prince had surfaced. The entire party set out to retrieve him, but no entreaty would draw him out of the water. He stayed in until darkness fell, and returned at first light the next day.

Seregil dove and swam as if born to the water, quick and lively as an otter, and from then on, there was nothing and no one in the world that he loved so much as the lake. He spent most of his days swimming, even into winter, although he could not stay in quite so long once the water grew cold enough for ice to form on its surface. The water of the lake was the very same that had filled the font at his christening, been dosed with the magical powder, and sprinkled upon him. Whether through some flaw in the curse or by some other mechanism, it was within that water that Seregil regained something of what had been lost to him ever since that day.

So it was that Seregil grew to be a young man of seventeen, flighty and lighthearted, beloved by those who surrounded him at all times on land, but happiest when he could slip away alone into the lake.

5. Falling In

It happened one late spring day that a young woodsman named Alec made his way into the thick woods that skirted the mountains north of Bôkthersa and shaded one side of the lake. Unaware that he had stumbled into the royal forest, Alec explored the woods, captivated by the serenity and emerald beauty, by the lushness of the forest and the ready game it provided.

Eventually, on a warm evening when the moon was rising full and bright, he came to the shore of the lake. It captured the moon's brilliance in a million silvered wavelets, making it seems as if the stars had fallen to dance upon the earth. The scene was drenched in evening blue, and every branch, every leaf, every blade of grass was limned in silver. The air was cool and sweet, and fireflies winked on and off in the shadows. To his right, the land rose sharply into a small cliff crowned by trees and overhanging the deepest part of the lake. To his left, a sandy bank curved around the wide edge of the water toward the palace which was now just visible by its twinkling lights far in the distance. Realizing for the first time that his presence might be considered trespassing, he was about to turn around and leave the way he'd come when a sudden sound halted him in his tracks.

He thought he'd heard a shriek, though there was something odd about the sound. After a moment, he most certainly heard a splash. Looking out over the water, he spotted a pale form floundering not too far from where he stood. Thinking that it must be someone in need of aid, he waded in and swam to the rescue. There was some struggling, some panic, some considerable effort put into keeping both their heads above water, but Alec made it back to shore with the man he'd ostensibly saved, only to be treated to an enormous shock as the weight in his arms vanished as soon as he was lifted from the water.

Not knowing any better, Alec hefted his spluttering burden without making sure to hold on. The result was that Seregil found himself not only dragged out of his beloved lake, but heaved unceremoniously up into the air.

“You little scoundrel!” He shouted. “You villain! How dare you pull me down out of the water and throw me to the bottom of the air!” Never before had anything succeeded in putting Seregil into a passion, but then, no one had ever dragged him without warning out of the water.

“I beg your pardon?”

Heedless of the squelching of his waterlogged boots, Alec hurried after him as he drifted toward the trees. So amazed was he by the sight of the young man floating up into the air, that he only belatedly noticed the rather complete lack of clothing upon his airborne person. Blushing hotly, but finding it hard to look away, he watched in bewilderment as the floating man snatched desperately at a branch as he passed, pulling himself close enough to grab the one below it, then the one below that, hauling himself toward the ground as if climbing a ladder upside down.

“Well?” Seregil demanded once he was more or less righted. With no stones to hand, he relied on his grip on the lowest tree branch to be sure the wind didn't carry him off again. “What's your excuse for pulling me from my lake, boy?”

“I pulled you out because I thought you were drowning.” Being somewhat more concerned with modesty than the man whose life he had just tried to save, Alec very carefully kept his eyes averted.

“Drowning?” Seregil fell over laughing at the idea, rolling around in midair. “How could I possibly drown, you silly boy? If I could have my way I would become a merman and live in that lake!”

“You seem more bird than fish to me. How is it that you can fly?”

“I can't.” He laughed again at the suggestion, realized that he was drifting off like a bit of dandelion fluff, and caught at another tree. “Everyone says that I lack gravity. But do you know what? Sometimes I feel as if I am the only one in the whole world with any sense!” Delighted by his own revelation, Seregil was off again in a fit of laughter.

Alec followed along after him as he floated deeper into the trees, borne up by the wind. “Aren't you afraid that you'll float away?”

“All the time!” Seregil called back, and though he laughed as if this was the funniest thing of all, still it was true. Deep down, he had a fear of the air much like many people had a fear of heights. But while most people could avoid heights, it was impossible, without remaining always cooped up indoors, to avoid any sudden breeze that might whip up and carry him off.

The wind changed direction in the woods, driving up against the hill and pushing Seregil along before it as he was too weak with laughter to keep hold of any branch for long. Alec followed after him, amazed and curious and more than a little embarrassed by the unavoidable glimpses of certain bits of personal anatomy, until they neared the top of the cliff.

“You're running out of trees,” he warned. Then, remembering the scolding he'd gotten earlier, he asked: “Do you need any help?”

“What's your name?”

“Alec. And yours?”

“Seregil.” He reached out a hand, and Alec clasped it, reeling him in away from the empty air that threatened over the very top of the cliff. Seregil wrapped his arms around Alec's neck, pleased by the way the boy's deep blue eyes widened in surprise at his weightlessness, as well as by the charming blush dark enough to be apparent in the moonlight.

“Alec. As it so happens, I do need help. As you were the one who took me out of my lake, I want you to put me back in.”

“Easy enough.” Seregil was no burden at all, and the walk back down was a short one. As he turned however, he was interrupted by a laughing protest.

“Where are you going, silly boy? The lake is that way.” Seregil pointed to the top of the cliff, and Alec frowned at him.

“I'm sixteen. I've been on my own for almost a year now. I'm not a boy.”

“But you are silly, going the wrong way like that.”

Hesitantly, Alec walked them up to the top of the cliff, stopping a few steps back from the edge. “Look, I can't put you in the lake from up here. What if the wind catches you and blows you away again?”

Alec's hands were shaking, though not from holding Seregil up, as his weightlessness prevented strain. The cause was emotional, rather than physical. Just that very moment, he had discovered a rather powerful fear of heights. As he started to take a step back, Seregil jerked suddenly forward for a better look. Weightless he might be, but his grip around Alec's shoulders was sure, and suddenly Alec found himself off balance and stumbling forward. His foot came down on the very edge of the cliff, and for one heart-stopping moment, he thought he was safe. Then, the ground crumbled out from beneath him. His own wholly natural relationship with gravity took over and he found himself falling.

It was lucky for them both that the cliff face was concave so that there was nothing solid between them and the water. Still, the fall was terrifying for Alec, and he screamed and clutched at Seregil. Having never experienced anything quite like it before, Seregil gave one great shout of exhilaration before they plunged beneath the surface.

Alec shot back up in a moment, gasping and feeling as if his heart was about to beat right out of his chest. He spun, looking for Seregil, but it was several long seconds before he surfaced some yards distant. They swam toward each other, Seregil wide-eyed with wonder and Alec just as mad as the Prince had been when he'd pulled him from the lake.

“You idiot!” Alec shouted, whipping his hand through the water to splash Seregil. “You made us fall in!”

“That was falling in?” He ignored the angry splashing aside from raising one arm in halfhearted self-defense. “How wonderful! I've never fallen in before! Let's do it again!”

“Not on your life!”

“Everyone else obliges me.”

“Well, let everyone else dunk you in your damned lake, then.” Alec struck out toward shore, but Seregil followed him.

“No! This is my place! They follow me everywhere else, but not here. I want to fall in with you.”

“Absolutely not,” muttered Alec, whose heartbeat had still not returned to normal.

Seregil easily outpaced him in the water, swimming around to block his way and catch his hands. “At least come swim with me for a while.” He was amused by Alec, who treated him so differently from everyone else.

“No. I need to get out and dry off. I've got to get moving tomorrow.”

“Why?” Seregil played with him, letting Alec slip around to the side in order to get past, then diving so that he could surface in front of him once more. Slowly, slowly, he herded him away from the near shore.

“Because I don't think I'm supposed to be here. I wandered in by mistake.”

“Do you like our forest?”

For the first time, Alec paused, simply treading water to remain afloat. “I do. These woods are beautiful.”

“I can grant you permission to stay a while. If you'll agree to fall in with me each evening.”

Alec stared at him. “To do that, you'd have to be....” His eyes widened. Hadn't he overheard some talk a few weeks back? He'd gone into a village to trade for a few supplies, and heard the most ridiculous story about a prince who had to be tethered to his retainers lest he float away.

Seregil grinned at him. “Do we have a deal?”

The shock faded quickly, and Alec turned himself around in the water, scanning the shoreline of the lake. “Only if we can find someplace a bit less high up to jump from.”

6. What a Silly Thing to Be!

From the tail end of spring and on into the maw of a fiercely hot summer, Alec remained living in the woods near the lake. By day, he hunted and set his snares, skinned his catches and stretched out hides to dry, trimmed and fletched arrows, and occasionally ventured into the market to trade for bread or cheese or supplies he couldn't make himself. By night, he swam with Seregil: holding the Prince in his arms and jumping off rocks that stood the height of a man above the lake's surface, diving and splashing, racing through the water, or floating serenely upon the surface to count the stars and talk.

One of Alec's favorite things was when they swam down, down into the depths until they could look up and see the moon shining huge upon the surface, broken only by the occasional blue ripple, then they would shoot up through the water, bursting through that bright reflection, and stare up, gasping for air as the moon shone in the blue night as if from the bottom of the vast pool of the heavens. The breathtaking sight sometimes left Alec feeling dizzy, and he always knew when he looked particularly dazed because Seregil never failed to tease him about it.

Seregil teased him about a great many things.

On the second night that they met, Alec sat upon the bank, waiting for the last of the boating party that had accompanied the Prince in the waters near the castle to row back to shore. As the stars came out and the courtiers returned to the palace, he began to sing softly to himself. It was a simple hymn to Dalna the Maker, one of the few songs he knew, but presently, he heard a soft splashing and saw that Seregil had come into the shallows to sit only half-submerged, listening.

“You have a passable voice,” the Prince said when Alec fell silent. Pent up laughter made his voice thick, and in the next moment, he was doubled over with it, shoulders shaking, as he forced out: “I should have guessed you were a Dalnan! What a silly thing to be!”

“Why is that silly?”

“Why did you blush so prettily yesterday?”

Remembering Seregil's state of undress and supposing it would certainly be the same tonight, Alec felt heat rise to color his cheeks. “I'm not used to seeing others naked,” he muttered.

“Not used to seeing your own skin, either, if the way you smelled last night was anything to go by. Does Dalnan modesty prohibit disrobing for bathing, as well?”

Face burning, Alec stood up to leave. He paused only to scowl as Seregil started laughing again.

“Oh, come now, don't be like that! Why must everyone always be so serious?”

“I would suppose it's in our nature,” Alec said stiffly, wondering what had caused such an odd lack in Seregil's.

“If you're just going to be as tiresome as the rest, then I won't bother speaking with you.”

He turned away and swam off without a look back, leaving Alec, who had spent the entire day roaming the royal forest with Seregil's conditional permission, feeling increasingly guilty over not holding up his end of the bargain. It didn't seem as if that had been Seregil's intention, or that the Prince was playing coy. As far as Alec could tell, Seregil truly no longer had any interest in him. He sat back down on the bank, watching the play of silver light on the surface of the lake and tracking Seregil's movements, though he lost him for long moments whenever the Prince would dive beneath the surface.

Presently, Alec began to sing again. When that failed to get Seregil's attention, he got up and stripped down to his tunic, then walked the edge of the lake until he came to the cluster of rocks he had found that would do for jumping into the water. He climbed up onto them, then waited for Seregil to swim past.

“Would you like to jump in with me?” Alec called to him. “Or do I still stink?”

“A good swim will fix that!” Seregil called back, now hurrying eagerly toward him.

If he'd had any hard feelings over their earlier exchange, Alec couldn't tell. It would be a while longer yet before he would start to wonder if Seregil was even capable of such feelings.

That evening set the pattern for their meetings. Seregil would search him out once all the others had gone in, and Alec would spend time lifting his new friend out of the water and holding Seregil in his arms to jump back in, over and over again. It was always Alec who tired of falling in first, but Seregil never complained too strenuously about remaining in the water. They spent hours every night swimming together, talking, racing, competing to see who could dive deepest.

Seregil seemed to know at least a little bit about every subject in the world. His knowledge astonished Alec, who hadn't taken him for an attentive pupil. Alec's mistake was in supposing that the inability to take anything seriously meant that Seregil had no interest. On the contrary, everything was of interest to him, if only for how absurd it appeared from his point of view. Seregil had an excellent memory for details, and Alec found himself soaking up knowledge secondhand with a powerful thirst as Seregil's endless chatter covered all possible topics, from politics and history to fashion and gossip.

Aside from being intelligent, Seregil easily won all of their contests. Rather than being put off by the fact that he was slower in the water, Alec pushed himself to keep up until he was just as quick and could dive just as far and hold his breath just as long. Seregil barely seemed to notice. Win, lose, or draw, he only ever laughed at the end of their contests.

He did tease, however, quite mercilessly, although there was no malice in him. Once Alec had grown more accustomed to his friend's ways, he took no more offense than he would over a spot of inclement weather. And, despite the fact that Seregil laughed about everything—which was not, as Alec soon realized, the same as being happy about everything—he felt that maybe Seregil was just a little extra fond of him. He couldn't help but hope so, at any rate. Sometimes his friend would even say something that would nearly be enough for Alec to believe that.

“Perhaps I like you so much because your eyes look almost as blue as the depths of my lake,” Seregil told him one warm night in early summer.

He'd been very close, enough that their legs brushed beneath the surface while treading water. Alec hadn't known what to make of the words, not when Seregil looked almost serious as he said them, and not when he was comparing Alec to the one thing he could truly be said to love. Alec felt his face heat up under the scrutiny of those unusually serene gray eyes, and the awareness of the blush creeping up his neck and over his cheeks only made him all the more embarrassed. The moment was shattered quite suddenly as Seregil laughed. Before Alec could think up a response, the Prince had spun and disappeared beneath the surface, off to enjoy himself alone. Left treading water by himself, the words suddenly felt like a joke, and Alec's heart sank.

He wasn't entirely sure what the warm, anxious feeling was that filled him up whenever he saw Seregil, but he worried quietly that he might be falling in love.

7. A Leak in the Lake

Summer drew slowly to a close, hot days lingering into autumn even as the evenings pulled chilling winds across the lake and made Alec all the more reluctant to leave the water each night. He and Seregil were playing around, tussling near the shore: tackling each other into the water, squirming free, and swimming back around to counterattack. Alec had by this time grown accustomed to Seregil's preference for swimming au naturale. Seregil had yanked Alec down under the water, then darted away grinning. Intent on revenge, Alec had come up behind him where he'd surfaced, treading water near the boulders they so often used as a jumping off point. Something about the set of Seregil's shoulders gave him pause, however. Rather than dunking his friend, Alec moved to get a better look at his face. Lit only by pale moonlight, Seregil looked pensive, an expression so enormously unlike him that a shiver of dread coursed through Alec's body.

“Seregil?”

The Prince didn't respond, only stared a moment longer at the rock beneath his hand. Then, without a word, without even a glance at Alec, he shot off through the water. Alec trailed him, watching Seregil flit from point to point along the shores of the lake, looking at something only he could see, and growing visibly more troubled as he went. No matter how many times Alec called his name, his concentration never wavered. Finally, as Seregil swam back around to the shadowed pool beneath the balcony to his bedroom, Alec caught his arm.

“Seregil, what's wrong?” He had never seen his friend like this, and was nearly in a panic himself.

Though Seregil's eyes met his, his gaze was troubled and unfocused. “I need to go,” he murmured. “Give me a boost.”

“Tell me what's going on,” Alec demanded.

Seregil only shook his head. With a sigh, Alec lifted him free of the water and heaved him gently upward. He watched his friend rise through the air until he could catch hold of the railing of his balcony and pull himself inside. Immediately, Seregil drew the curtains.

With a heavy heart, Alec started on his way back across the lake. From the onset of his confusing feelings for Seregil, he had tried to remind himself that anything more than friendly affection wouldn't be returned. Seregil's curse made it impossible. Hope was not so easy to kill, however, and it had insinuated itself a little deeper into the nooks and crannies of Alec's heart with every evening they had spent together. Now, suspecting that Seregil had noticed something wrong with the lake, Alec was left deflated by the painful reminder that his friend harbored no special feelings for him. Far from it.

Before leaving the water that evening, he examined all the same places that Seregil had looked at earlier, trying to fix their appearance in his mind's eye. Maybe whatever his friend had noticed would turn out to be nothing after all. If not, Alec wanted to be able to offer whatever help he could.

The very next morning, Seregil was out at the lake at first light. He swam completely around it, studying the water level in certain places and ordering that marks be painted at each one. His unheard of seriousness had stunned the servants that followed him, and it didn't help anyone's state of mind when he voluntarily left the lake as soon as he was done and shut himself up in his room.

Alec had slept through the entire spectacle, but he was awake when Seregil returned just before sunset to make another inspection of the lake. With a retinue trailing his friend, Alec stayed out of sight in the woods, but even from a distance, he saw Seregil's distress. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest as he watched Seregil abandon the lake after one swim around its edge, and he waited impatiently for everyone to leave before shedding his boots and breeches and wading in.

It took Alec no time at all to spot the marks painted that morning. Seeing them two handspans above the surface, the same dread certainly that affected Seregil now occurred to him.

The lake was sinking.

For the next several nights, Alec checked the marks regularly, but there was no denying the fact that the water level was dropping inexplicably quickly. The grasses and reeds growing along its shore began to dry up, and rock formations formerly hidden by depth were becoming visible just beneath the surface. After a few days, there was no longer any need to actually swim the circumference of the lake to tell that it was shrinking—the difference was plain to see from any vantage point.

To make matters worse, Seregil was more than simply upset by the discovery. Whatever power the water held over him was tied more strongly than anyone could have guessed. As the lake shrank, dying by inches, Seregil's strength began to fade. He kept to his room with the curtains drawn against the sight of the dwindling lake. He spoke less and less. His laughter died away to silence.

Even so, he still never cried.

Fearing for her brother's life, Adzriel redoubled her efforts to find someone who might be of use in restoring the lake. No one had any solution to offer, and no one could account for the sudden change. Day by day, the water continued to disappear, and Seregil's condition continued to worsen.

Forgotten, and terribly afraid for his friend, Alec felt alone and helpless, and grew increasingly more frustrated.

The only person to rejoice at the news was Princess Phoria. Having heard what joy Seregil took in his lake and how it eased the hearts of those who loved him, she had summoned the wizard who had first created the curse, and demanded that something be done to assure her revenge was not subverted. This time, the wizard went himself to see to the casting, the spell not being something that he could prepare in advance and leave to an ordinary person to cast.

Hidden on the steepest slope of the tallest mountain that cradled the palace of Bôkthersa was a narrow opening only just barely big enough for a slender man to squeeze through. The wizard made his way to that crevice and crept along it in darkness until he came to the very heart of the mountain. Here, the walls fell back to create a small cave with an ancient, iron-banded oak door locked fast opposite the entrance.

The wizard called up light, then a wooden tub, then water to fill the tub. He pulled a bit of dried snakeskin from his robes, and tossed it into the water. Adding a magical powder, he stirred the water with his arm until a snake as white as new-fallen snow lifted its head from the tub to regard him with its milky eyes. The wizard allowed the snake to drape its coils along his arm and around his shoulders, then pulled out an iron ring that held a hundred iron keys. Taking the first key in hand, he opened the wooden door, stepped through, and locked it behind him. A few stone steps led him down, then he encountered a second door. He unlocked this with the second key, stepped through, locked it back behind himself, and went a few more steps down to the third door. So he continued, unlocking and locking, progressing a few steps, and pausing at another door until he had gotten through all one hundred doors leading down into the bowels of the earth.

A vast chamber lay beyond the hundredth door, with stone pillars as big as trees holding up the ceiling. The wizard lifted his hand, and the snake uncoiled, stretching up toward the ceiling of the cavern, head swaying from side to side as if seeking a scent on the rock. Muttering spells, the wizard walked a circuit around the cavern, gradually spiraling inwards as he went around and around until he reached the very center. There, the snake suddenly lunged, sinking its fangs into the stone.

For three days and three nights, the wizard sat and spoke the words of his spell. After the third night, the snake shriveled away once more. All was still for a long moment, then a drop of water condensed where the serpent had worked at the stone, grew fat and heavy, and fell to the floor of the chamber with an echoing splash.

With all haste, the wizard fled the cavern, unlocking each of the hundred stout doors and locking them back behind himself as he fled. As he went, the sound of rushing water gradually rose to fill the passageway.

The very last thing the wizard did before leaving Bôkthersa to report back to Princess Phoria was to walk the land surrounding the lake. At every river and waterfall he encountered, he threw in a pinch of his magic powder. Every source of water dried up. Not a spring, creek, or rill remained to replenish the lake. In time, it would go completely dry, and the task set him by the Princess would be complete.

8. There is Always a Price to be Paid

The dwindling lake left the residents of the palace beside themselves with worry. Adzriel continued to follow every path of inquiry opened to her. Mydri spent much of her time at Seregil's bedside, nursing him and trying to coax him to eat, though he would take no nourishment but lake water. His condition continued to deteriorate so that there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he wouldn't survive the death of his beloved lake. King Korit took the news gravely, retreating into the heartache that had never quite left him after his wife's death.

The palace fell into a mourning quiet, made all the more apparent by the fact that for the first time in seventeen years, Seregil's laughter did not ring through the halls. Outside, the lake steadily drained away, leaving bare, glistening banks strewn with all manner of refuse and dead creatures. The muck baked in the sun and stank of rot, and still the waters receded. Alec retreated further into the forest during the day to escape the stench, but he still returned to the lake shore every evening with the dwindling hope of seeing his friend. He sang his Dalnan hymns and racked his brain for anything he could do that might be of use.

The lake was almost completely dry before a solution presented itself.

One day, a group of children scavenging along the lakebed came upon a golden shield. Inscribed upon it was a simple verse that no one could make heads or tails of.

"Death alone from death can save. Love is death, and so is brave— Love can fill the deepest grave. Love loves on beneath the wave."

The shield was brought to the temple of the Ruhi'auros in the hopes that one of them could make sense of it. Soon enough, the mystics came back with an answer.

There was but one way to restore the lake and save the life of the dying Prince Seregil. The hole through which the water was draining away must be found and plugged, but it could not simply be stopped up by normal means. A willing sacrifice must agree to block the hole, giving up their life as the lake filled in over their head. This was the price for restoring the lake and the rivers that nourished the valley, and for saving the Prince in the process.

Shaken by such a revelation, Adzriel still wasted no time in issuing a proclamation. Word of the curse and the cure was spread throughout the city and the surrounding villages, but no one stepped forward to volunteer. Days passed as the lake grew dangerously dry. Adzriel was considering taking on the burden herself, and leaving one of her sisters to become their father's heir in her stead, when Alec, having finally left the woods long enough to hear the proclamation, announced himself at the palace gates.

One mention of needing to speak with Princess Adzriel about volunteering to plug the hole in the lake was enough to grant Alec an audience with the royal family. Having only ever met Seregil, and never when the Prince was clothed, Alec felt small and grubby standing before the finely dressed King and his four daughters. He had asked only for Princess Adzriel, having gathered from listening to Seregil that she loved him best out of all his family, and had therefore not been prepared for such an audience. Reminding himself that he was doing this to save his friend, Alec stood straight and spoke with more confidence than he felt.

“I'm here to restore the lake.”

King Korit looked him over with tired, old eyes, then gestured toward the door. “Put him in,” he said, and guards started forward.

“Wait!” The guards paid him no attention, and Alec shouted desperately as they took hold of him. “I have a request!”

It was Adzriel who stayed the guards. She stood and stepped away from her throne, coming forward to speak with Alec on equal footing, affording him that respect as a show of thanks on her brother's behalf.

“What is your request?” she asked him kindly.

“I want....” He licked his lips, nervous and afraid, but committed. “I believe that it might take a long time for the lake to fill up. Sere— Prince Seregil and I are.... We've swum together in the lake. And talked. I'd like for him to stay with me. If I get hungry, or need someone to talk to, then I'd like for him to be there to keep me company.”

Adzriel smiled sadly, having no trouble seeing the love that Alec felt for her brother. She touched his cheek, brushing back a thick lock of his blond hair.

“That is not an unreasonable request.” Looking back over her shoulder, she addressed the King. “Father?”

“So be it.” King Korit seemed to care no more about this than he had when Alec had first volunteered. “Adzriel, have everything arranged.”

9. Love Loves On

Within the hour, Alec had been brought to the hole in the lakebed. There was only a small puddle around it now, the last of the water in the lake. Seregil was borne to his side aboard a small boat. He lay as if dead among cushions beneath a silk awning, but Alec saw with relief that his chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths.

“It's been a while,” Alec said quietly, once the others had left them alone. “You look awful.”

Seregil's eyes fluttered open just long enough to catch a glimpse of him. “They told me someone had volunteered to save my lake.”

“Yes. Everything will be back to normal soon.”

“It's very kind of you,” Seregil murmured.

“I'd have hated to watch you die.”

Seregil said nothing in response, and Alec soon realized that he had fallen asleep. There was nothing else for it but to go ahead and get it all over with.

The hole in the lake was a small, triangular opening. It took Alec a few minutes to work out that the only way to cover it completely was to sit down with his legs through the opening, then lean forward to cover the rest with his hands. It was an uncomfortable position, and the sun beat down mercilessly upon him. With Seregil asleep and nothing much else he could do, he sang quietly, beginning with the first hymn Seregil had ever heard from him.

Presently, a small wave flowed over the stone, lapping against Alec's knees. Encouraged, he continued singing, praying that the water would rise quickly before his fear could undo his resolve. Perhaps an hour passed before he heard Seregil stir, and his heart lifted. Craning his neck to peer into the boat, he thought he could see a bit more color in his friend's cheeks. He sang one more song, but his throat was growing painfully dry, and a numbing cold was creeping up his limbs, leeching away his strength. He fell silent when the hymn came to an end, and did not begin another.

“Keep singing, if you would,” Seregil murmured. “It's so very boring just lying here.”

“My throat is too dry. Give me a sip of water.”

Seregil sat up, his movements sluggish and hesitant. “They left me with chilled wine, rather than water,” he said.

“Some of that, then. Please.”

Looking as if he would rather have lain back down, Seregil shrugged and poured some wine into a goblet. He offered it over the side to Alec.

“You'll have to hold the goblet.” He nodded toward the muddy pool around them. “I can't move my hands.”

“Oh.” Seregil stretched forward, carefully tipping the goblet to allow Alec to drink. A few sips were all he could manage.

As Seregil sat back, Alec fancied that there was a hint of concern in his expression. He comforted himself with the thought that his friend's heart wasn't entirely closed to him, despite the curse, and settled into the silence that wrapped around them. Alec was no stranger to silence, and often welcomed it. He held his peace as Seregil dozed. An hour passed. Two, then three. It was only when he realized that he was in danger of nodding off that Alec thought to call out. Even as he spoke Seregil's name, however, his friend was coming awake, sitting up to look over the side of his small boat.

“I'm afloat!” the Prince cried.

Sure enough, the water had risen high enough to lift the small boat out of the muck. Beaming, Seregil looked up to meet Alec's eyes.

“Look, Alec! Soon we'll be able to go swimming together again! You must fall in with me just as soon as the water is deep enough.”

Alec managed a smile for him, although he was beginning to feel quite lightheaded. The water had risen over his stomach.

“I'm sorry, but you'll have to find someone else to fall in with.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. I'd forgotten.”

Seregil stared at the water once more, but the joy was gone from his expression, leaving only a small, troubled frown behind. He met Alec's eyes again quickly.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Just a bit.”

Although he wasn't actually hungry, he was feeling faint. It wouldn't do to pass out before he had completed his task. Seregil pulled a honeyed oatcake from the basket packed in beside him. He broke off bits and fed them slowly to Alec.

“Your lips are chapped.” He drew a thumb across Alec's lower lip, then pulled his hand away. A moment later, and he was offering a goblet of wine. As before, a few sips were all Alec could manage before he turned his head away.

“Talk to me,” Alec said.

“What would you have me talk about?”

“Anything. Just make sure I stay awake.”

“All right, then.”

Seregil settled back amongst the pillows, but he made sure this time to prop himself up so that he could see Alec. He talked haltingly at first, flitting from subject to subject, but soon was sounding more like his old self. Alec listened as the sun disappeared below the horizon and the water rose and the numbness turned to a painfully icy chill that crept in toward his heart. He didn't notice at first when Seregil stopped talking, and jumped as fingers brushed his cheek.

“You don't look very well at all,” Seregil said. His gray eyes were inches away from Alec's own.

“You didn't look so well either, this morning.”

“Alec...are you sure you don't mind this?” The warmth of his palm and the tenderness in his voice were Alec's undoing.

“I don't mind except for one thing. I'd hate to die without....” He was sure he must be blushing, although he could barely feel it. “Seregil, will you kiss me?”

“Certainly.”

He leaned just a bit further over the side of the boat, setting it rocking upon the water that had risen up to Alec's neck. His lips were soft and warm. Alec's eyes had slid shut reflexively, and he hesitated to open them after Seregil pulled away.

“Thank you.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He tried to blink them away, and looked around at the surface of the rising lake, silvered by the low-hanging moon. It truly was a beautiful place. He was glad to think that Seregil would be happy in it once again, even if Alec wouldn't be around to enjoy it with him.

Seregil offered him more of the oatcakes, but Alec couldn't stand the thought of food. He could barely manage the smallest sip of wine. The lake rose to his chin, but Seregil, instead of regaining his old levity, seemed only to become more agitated.

“Alec, surely there's someone else who could do this.”

“No one else volunteered, and it was made clear that no one could be forced.”

“But...I want to fall in with you again.”

“Someone else—”

“I don't want to fall in with someone else!”

Words were becoming a struggle. Alec smiled, and reached for what little strength he had left.

“You'll be all right. Your lake—”

“Yes, but...!”

“It's okay, Seregil.” I love you, so it's okay.

Neither spoke for some time. Alec let his eyes fall shut. It was only Seregil who watched the water as it rose to wet his bottom lip, as wavelets splashed at the seam of his mouth, as Alec tilted his head back, breathing raggedly, shallowly through his nose. Seregil's heart was racing in his chest as he watched Alec die by inches. The lake was his life, his love, the only place he was whole. He watched as it rose high enough to close over Alec's face. Bubbles drifted to the surface: his friend's last breath. They dispersed and popped and were gone, and something in Seregil broke. With a shout, he leapt over the side of the boat into the water.

Frantically, he tugged at Alec's legs where they were wedged into the hole. Although he had gained back some of his strength as the lake slowly filled, he was still weak. His breath ran out before he succeeded in pulling Alec free, and he surfaced, gasping for breath and wild with panic for his friend. He dove again, yanking and pulling, until at last one of Alec's legs came free, and then the other. Seregil heaved him out of the water and into the small boat and crawled in after him. He set off rowing toward the shore, hauling on the oars and hollering for help.

A crowd was waiting for him on the dock, helping hands reaching to to lift him from the boat and pull up Alec's limp form after him.

“A doctor! Get him a doctor!” Seregil shouted.

“But Your Highness! What about the lake?”

“Go drown yourself in it!” Seregil snapped, and it was good for the speaker that Seregil hadn't identified him in the crowd, for he certainly would have punched the man.

Adzriel stepped to the fore and swiftly imposed order. Alec and Seregil both were brought up to the Prince's room where Alec was laid out on the bed. Mydri took charge of him, and Seregil collapsed by the bedside with one of Alec's hands held tight in his. The Princess worked through the night to pump the water from Alec's lungs and draw the chill of death from his body. She feared that it would be too late after all, but just as she was preparing to give up, the sun crested the horizon, and Alec sucked in a shuddering breath and opened his eyes.

Still kneeling next to him, Seregil grabbed Alec's face, kissed him roughly, then burst into tears.

10. A Fine And Proper Happy Ending

Seregil wept for hours, loosing all the pent up tears of his life in one torrential flood. He refused to be separated from Alec, and climbed into bed to sit against the bolster and hold him close as he cried. For his part, having died for his love and been returned to life, Alec wasn't interested in being parted from Seregil, either. Shivering beneath the blanket Adzriel had wrapped around their shoulders, he stroked Seregil's hair and helped him drink the water Mydri ordered for him to replace that of the tears he was shedding.

Outside, an unseasonably heavy rain was falling, restoring the dried up rivers and streams, refilling the lake, and even flooding the underground cavern. The rain kept up long after Seregil's tears had finally dried, and the sound of it outside was as comforting as the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the overjoyed smiles of his sisters and the warmth of Alec held snugly in his arms.

“I feel so heavy,” Seregil marveled.

“You've got your gravity back,” Adzriel said, blinking back tears of joy. She had needed to help Seregil stand up and climb into bed, for he hadn't been able to manage it by himself, not having ever had weight before. A thought occurred to her and she laughed. “You'll have to learn to walk all over again!”

“Alec can teach me,” Seregil declared. He kissed the top of Alec's hair, and chuckled to see him blush. “I promise to learn quickly. The sooner I come to terms with this gravity I've been missing, the sooner we can be married.”

Alec gaped at him, and Seregil lost himself for a moment in his eyes. He wondered how he could ever have compared their blue to that of the lake and found Alec wanting.

“You mean it?” Alec asked.

Seregil watched the shock on his face change to delight, and found that he couldn't resist the urge to kiss him once more. New sensations flooded him head to toe as he melted into the kiss. Oh, yes. He had a great deal to learn, all of it with Alec at his side. Joy too pure for laughter swelled within his heart as fresh tears welled in his eyes. Wondering if Alec felt the same, he broke the kiss to meet his eyes and saw love shining there, clear for all the world to see. For the first time in his life, Seregil felt that he was truly happy.