#kara's best fanfichsun

[winterywitch]

https://toyhou.se/~literature/10470.hello i wrote smth about fancharacters i made in like 9th grade for a newgrounds game ^_^ i put a lot of love into this, its sort of a thing that leads into an oc AU my partners + i are doing so if ppl can, ppl reading this + telling me what they think would mean a lot to me

[winterywitch]

one of my partners made a random oc ship generator and it gave a kind of interesting result so i wrote a fic of it

[CW: pedophilia mention, abuse mention, suicide mention]

Desiderius did technically give him all the time in the world to try and dry off by the door, but because the Mermaid King had already started walking down the hall to one of many dens in the castle that was now nearly a stranger to him, Nana felt obligated to not take a second longer than he absolutely had to without worrying that he’d slip and fall on the hard floors.

That’d leave another unsightly mess to clean up, and in the past 40 years, Nana had found he was no longer the kind of man who left his messes around for other people to take care of. And he found it unforgivable that he ever was in the first place.

So what this meant was that the cruelly soft, warm chair Desiderius had led him to was now getting wet, and it was another thing Nana felt sorry for. After all this time, he didn’t know if he remembered Desiderius as a man fastidious and concerned with the appearance and wellbeing of his furniture, or as a man too tired to care about the newest stain in this or that sofa. The fact that Desiderius wasn’t saying a word about it did not point to either theory being truer than the other, and that was frightening.

But Nana, no longer a king but a mere wandering knight, learned that it was best to keep quiet when something was troubling him. And between the small talk that was traded between the two and what Desiderius had just said, Nana wasn’t sure which was more troubling.

“… You let me. You let me take the blame. Remember that?”

With downcast eyes, Desiderius spoke thus. Desiderius spoke as a man who had only just learned it was alright to talk about such things, who had only just learned it was alright to cry out when he was struck.

How unfair that it had taken this long.

Of course, Nana knew exactly what he meant. He remembered Desiderius’ ‘confession’ to this day very well.

He knew you all would have done the same if you had the chance.

He knew it was wrong, but.

He wasn’t even sure if he was sorry at this point.

(How sorry could he be when he hadn’t done it in the first place?)

… All Nana could do was nod, and see what Desiderius would say next.

And next indeed, Desiderius said “You didn’t make me do it,” in a conspiratorial tone that could have only suggested that he’s thought about this, turned it over quite a bit in his head since then, “You just… Didn’t stop me.” Laughing softly to himself, he added, “You seemed so caught up in how you felt that you just weren’t thinking about it, but… I wonder if there was really something else going on there.”

. . .

Then he looked Nana straight in the eyes, and asked, “Do you even have anything to say for yourself?” He was smiling, but it wasn’t right at all.

. . .

Desiderius couldn’t have wanted an apology. What good was ‘sorry’ by this point? That sounds just like something Nana would have said all those years ago. Just a ‘sorry’, as he cowered into his chair, unsure if he was more afraid of hurting someone’s feelings or of getting caught.

And answering that age-old question aloud, Nana said, “I didn’t know what I would do if everyone knew I did such a horrible thing. I wouldn’t have said it was wrong then, but I believe I knew. On some level, I want to say I knew it was wrong, and I thought it was just too late to stop. Or maybe I just didn’t care, I remember feeling that I knew best – better than society as a whole.”

Judging by the look on Desiderius’ face, he wasn’t expecting an answer like that.

“I have very little that I can say for myself,” Nana continued, “I can’t defend the indefensible. There’s only one thing I can do.”

Loath to take such a seemingly learned response at face value, Desiderius leaned back in his own chair across from Nana, taking that statement for the challenge he thought it was.

“And what would that one thing be, O… King Nana of the Stars?” Asked the Mermaid King, hardly bothering to hide his contempt with one elbow on his armrest and that hand lazily folded over the sneer on his face.

What Desiderius heard was sanctimonious bullshit, to put it delicately. He heard ‘I’m good now! Please believe me!’ And he’d be damned if he was going to believe another word out of this old snake’s mouth after all he’d been through.

“… I can answer the question of ‘Why did you do that?’, and that is all. The past is far beyond my reach, but perhaps I can give you some… Sense of closure if that’s what you desire. Some—sign that yes, your perception of the events unfolded was correct. It was just…” He paused a moment, eyes darting away, “It was just me. Not letting you know that.”

With a scoff, Desiderius fired right back with an “Alright, He-Who-Has-Been-Redeemed – who was Nana of the Stars, if you are so sure you aren’t him?”

Of course, Nana never claimed to be separate from his past sins. But he could see why Desiderius would have gotten such an idea, and he didn’t dare debate that.

“I would call myself a child, but that would only muddy the nature of what was so wrong,” he said, “A man did these things. Not a boy. I would call myself foolish, but that wouldn’t exactly be true—I was quite intelligent. What I lacked was wisdom, but I thought I had acquired plenty of it, and so it was everyone else around me who paid the price for that lacking. I thought I could—do no wrong, I truly believed I had all the answers. Nana of the Stars was—I was a manipulator who can only promise that he loved himself.”

“So he never loved Arya Kurosawa, then?” Desiderius asked, eyes heavy as he smiled, “I suppose that sounds about right. That wasn’t real love, you’ll tell me.”

Nana knew Desiderius well enough to know when he was laying a trap. So he stepped aside.

“He loved Arya Kurosawa, yes,” Nana said, feeling rather outside of his own body. This, above all other things, was always the hardest memory for him to make sense of. “And that was certainly love. I—I cannot change the definitions of words to tailor this scenario in just this or that way – But it was wrong. And he knew it was wrong—but—not in the way I would—suppose he—I would.”

Desiderius slowly quirked one eyebrow.

“He knew it was a social—it was a taboo in some way. He even knew there was probably a reason for that taboo to exist. He was just—” Nana gave a brief sigh, clearing his throat and trying to seem as calm as possible, “I was convinced my way was right. I was so sure I was right, that age was such a negligible block in the road, that any argument to the contrary would have fallen on these deaf ears.”

To that, Desiderius had no clever retort. It certainly wasn’t that he was convinced, it was rather – he heard something he liked, and decided he ought press further, with more caution.

So next he asked, “Who was Hachi of the Clouds?”

“A monster of my own design,” Nana said. And he said it very quickly, like he knew that answer front and back. “If I were out of the picture, I know for a fact he would not have felt half as empowered in his…” Nana grimaced. ‘Antics’ wasn’t the right word. “His actions. Yes.”

“Really?” Asked Desiderius, tone flat as he started tapping his nails against his lips. A nervous habit? Nana couldn’t tell for sure.

“Yes. Really. Hachi quite openly took me as inspiration for what he ought do or not do, so I—can’t help but feel responsible for. All of it. For Annie’s leg, for Kyuun’s…” Nana found he was speechless suddenly, but he fought himself valiantly. “Wasn’t there a mortal man he—”

“Yes, Augustine Kaur was his name. Committed suicide thirty years ago.”

Nana grew pale. “… How do you—know so much abou—”

“You aren’t the only one who feels responsible for Hachi’s mess, Your Highness,” Desiderius said through grit teeth. “You remember very well how the both of you roped me into all that, against poor Kyuun no less when he needed a friend most.”

“… Yes,” Nana said, relaxing again – more for Desiderius’ sake than his own – “I do. The both of us ganged up on you in situations like that. And I think my audacity fanned the flames of his as well. We, ah… Fed each other in a number of. Despicable ways.”

Desiderius paused again, his face still cold and stern. But he nodded. Seemed something about that satisfied him.

“Who was Kyuun of the Woods, Sir Knight?” He asked, crossing one leg over the other.

This one took a little more thought.

“A poor boy I should have left alone,” Nana said, hands growing tight at his armrests, “I… Thought I was fixing him of his asocial habits, but even then I. I must have known, the only pleasure in brutal honesty goes to the honest man. I told myself I was performing some act of charity, though I knew I was only molding him in my image – as if my image was a proper mold for everyone. I knew he wasn’t hurting anyone simply being who he was. He wasn’t hurting me. But his shyness annoyed me.”

“That’s very honest,” chuckled Desiderius. “I didn’t think you’d be opening yourself quite this much.”

“It’s only the truth,” Nana said, looking a bit pained, “And it’s an awful truth to confess. But the truth is always to be confessed, regardless of the confessor’s ‘feelings’. Kyuun of the Woods was… He was a harmless man simply living as he knew how to, and instead of encouraging him to treat himself well, I bullied him further and further into his shell. And because I did, Hachi did as well. And he—he took it further than I thought he would. And still, I defended him, and still I made you stand by him right alongside me.”

Nana figured he knew what was coming next.

“Who was Yukai-toki, Nana?” Desiderius asked, looking as though he might burst into tears any moment.

“… He was.” Gods, was Nana beginning to forget? That couldn’t be true. “He was… He was. The man who should have been in my place from the very beginning.”

For a moment Desiderius looked horrified. Was he suggesting Yukai-toki should have been Arya’s lover?

“Let—Let me explain myself a moment,” Nana stammered, sensing this in Desiderius, “He should have been the one who had that much influence in Arya’s life. He should have been Arya’s king and caretaker, he would have been the father—older brother—what have you—that I always should have been. And I should have.

I should have been the one to be sealed away for my rebellion.”

Desiderius looked no less floored.

“Because I—I would have been jealous of him. Cruelly jealous, I would have told myself he was infantilizing the poor boy—and he was only jealous of me because I was abusing Arya’s innocence, and yet Arya loved me still. He – he only wanted to give Arya what he deserved, Desiderius—a family that cared for him whether or not he succeeded or failed, a family that didn’t… Make him think he was so mature and precocious that anyone would—”

Nana stopped there, and could go no further. But he felt Desiderius deserved an explanation for that stopping.

“… I. I disgust myself so deeply I can hardly stand it. And that is my burden to bear. Not yours, not anyone else’s.” And he said nothing more on that, not trusting himself to stay put-together.

Desiderius had been looking into the fireplace for a while now. He looked weary, but no matter how Nana searched his face for some trace of annoyance or hatred, he couldn’t quite find it.

He thought maybe he wasn’t looking hard enough.

After a few seconds, Desiderius sighed through his nose and said “I see. In that case, I have one more question for you.”

“Yes. Anything.”

Who was Desiderius of the Sea? Nana knew that was coming next. And he was prepared. Desiderius of the Sea was a saint—

“Why did you leave?” Desiderius asked, voice crumpling up into a whimper he couldn’t control.

. . .

“I… I’m sorry?” Nana asked, unsure he heard Desiderius right.

Desiderius hid his face, ashamed of the tears soaking up his sleeves. “When Arya left, you just. Ran away. How can you sit there, acting like you were so brave and noble to do all this soul-searching when all you did was run away from the people who needed all this honesty DECADES ago?”

Nana didn’t claim to be brave. He certainly didn’t claim to be noble either. But again, he did not argue with Desiderius. His truth didn’t matter right now.

… Or. Well.

“I am not brave or noble at all, my king,” Nana said, feeling his own throat tighten a bit too as he heard Desiderius give a sob right after he was referred to with such reverence, “All I can say I am is learning and trying. You’re—you’re right, when you say I ran away. I…”

… He did truly realize that just now. It seemed his cowardice ran more recent than he thought.

“I supposed the best I could do for you, Kyuun – anyone left in this castle with some sense of decency – was disappear. I couldn’t imagine you would have wanted me to stay and explain myself.”

“I waited—YEARS for you,” Desiderius gasped, voice ragged as he cried, “I thought you were never coming back, that you’d never make all this right again, and now forty years later—here you are! YOU made me wait all this time, and you just. You just. Showed up.”

He stopped making sense right about there, and in his frustration, he could only hunch over and cry.

Nana and his poison skin sat right where they were, knowing better than to reach out to Desiderius. And he had to pause and breathe, to be sure he wouldn’t join Desiderius in those tears. Desiderius didn’t deserve such a display of weakness at a time like this.

“WHY WON’T YOU EVEN LOOK AT ME?!” Desiderius cried, and Nana then became aware that Desiderius was watching him through those long sleeves. “WHY WON’T YOU COME CLOSER?! COMFORT ME! WHEN DID YOU—” Hiccupping, his voice lowered again, “When did you become so incompetent?”

All those years ago, Nana would have come closer, he would have dragged his chair right over to Desiderius and held him, stroking his hair, cooing in his ear, letting him let out everything he needed to let out.

That’s right, he was a very affectionate friend back then, wasn’t he?

But Nana was a different man now.

So instead of dragging his chair over there, he simply stood up, walked over to Desiderius’ chair and kneeled before it.

Genuflected, his head lowered. He was in the presence of a king, after all.

… It seemed Desiderius had stopped watching him, because it took him a couple seconds to make another sound or budge an inch. “You’re—You’re—”

Once Desiderius fell into silence again, Nana spoke, his voice deep and soft.

“Desiderius of the Sea was a colleague of mine. He was kind, intelligent – a genius when it came to other people – who… Rose proud, tall, out of a past that tried to break him. I—I am sad, because he never knew this about himself. He never knew his own worth, because the men around him only ever used him like a toy, or bullied him into submission. So he was so tired and sad himself, that he often couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. He must have… Thought there was no point. He must have thought no matter what, he would never be able to change his fate as a mere chess piece of men greater than him.”

Desiderius sniffled.

“But that wasn’t right. Those—those men were not greater than him. They were lowly, cowardly worms—they only thought they were greater than him because they’d figured out how to keep him uncertain of himself. And there was nothing right about that. He, as a thinker, a friend, a king, a man… Ran circles around all of them, and he did so with such ease, without even trying, that they thought he was foolish. Easy to manipulate and use.”

By this point, Desiderius was curled up in his chair, hugging himself as he so desperately wished on every star he could name, against all logic, that Nana would do.

“… If he were in our places—if, he had as much influence and clout in this kingdom as we did… It would have been a much kinder place.” Looking up at the despondent Desiderius, he said, “I stood in your way. I was the one who should have been so unsure of myself, so scared—That would have been fair for someone like myself. I-I can only apologize that nothing was particularly fair then, and that was my fault. I am to blame, not you, nor the silence we forced upon you, nor… Anything on your end. This I can swear, on every holy thing I know.”

Not thinking much of it, he added, “And you are a king I would be proud to serve, had I the pleasure of doing so.”

It was at this point that Desiderius gave up wishing, knowing the stars to have no interest in making him happy. He sat up in his chair again, then stood, and knelt to Nana’s level.

“No,” he murmured, eyes red and puffy, “Don’t put yourself below me. Please. I can’t handle that kind of power over other people. I-I don’t want you to be my servant.”

“Right—Of course, I didn’t quite mean it that way, I will go at the soonest moment I possibly can—”

“No—Nana, please,” Desiderius stammered, breathless, “Not that either. Don’t leave.”

… That was probably the first time in years Nana had heard anyone say that to him.

“… Then I. Will not leave,” Nana said, taken aback and trying to let his brain catch up to his mouth. “If that is what you ask of me.”

Desiderius nodded. He nodded for a couple seconds, very fervently, praying that he got across the point that that was precisely what he was asking, and he didn’t think his heart could take it if the stars refused that request, too. Sensing that, Nana felt he couldn’t just snub Desiderius’ begging for physical touch any further. It was painful and odd, but… His arms found their way around Desiderius one way or another.

“Please don’t go,” Desiderius whimpered, “Not again. Don’t run away this time.”

“I won’t. I won’t.”

There was an unfortunate side of Nana that seemed to wake up with Desiderius in his arms. It was warmer, it was comforting and it was desperately trying to make up for all these lost years and gods it was so helpless to Desiderius in that moment. All it wanted was to make this man smile again, and it would do anything to make that happen.

As it turned out, what that needed was a good half hour of just sitting there on the floor, cuddling by the fire. It was horribly unlike anything Nana thought he would be doing in this castle that used to belong to him, but when Desiderius stopped crying and started smiling, he didn’t think too hard about it. His smile was enough.

“… Please. Just. Stay for a couple days,” Desiderius said, now stable enough to speak sturdily, “That’s all I ask for. Just a couple days.”

“I will. I—I’ll stay as long as you ask, I don’t want to hurt you again,” Nana replied, looking sheepish. “And. If it ever does happen that I… Have to go, for some period of time—”

“Come back to me.”

Nana blinked.

“Yes—yes, that’s what I was going to say. I will come back to you. I promise.”

… Desiderius really was certain of what he wanted.

[winterywitch]

21, plague knight

21.) Conversations with the crows

I remember I was leaning against the bookshelf when I asked, because I wanted to look just as cool and unaffected as I felt on the inside.

“So… What, do you just, like, wear that mask to sleep?”

That made him turn to me a little too fast, and something like a songbird’s warble peeked out of his throat. He laughed that ridiculous, kinda annoying laugh of his and replied with another question, “Sorry - come again?”

But I kept smiling, I rolled my eyes a little and said, “No, I mean, I just never see you with the mask off. Has anyone ever seen your face?”

Plague Knight skipped a beat, I noticed, but recovered without wasting another second.

“Mona, Mona, Mona… Can’t you see the many benefits to keeping my face concealed? Minimizes the risk of facial damage or burns, prevents my foes from being able to recognize me without it in a crowd–”

“But you never go without it,” I cut in, quirking one brow.

And he cut back in, saying “True. Very true. But it gives me the option to blend in should I need it. I think of it somewhat as a disguise, hee hee!”

“What, your mask or your actual face?” I was gonna mention that at his stature, I don’t think he’s too hard to pick out in a crowd, but I held my tongue. Some blows are a little too low. Just like he’s a little too low to the floor. Hehe. God– Okay, I’ll stop. Anyway.

“My actual face, of course!” He said, seeming oddly proud of himself. “It’s something I can throw on if I ever need it, that’s all. Plus, you’re going to tell me it DOESN’T look cool?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I laughed, my eyes immediately rolling - affectionately, did he know it was affectionately? “But… I dunno, I was just curious. Like, why I’ve never seen your face, is all. I thought maybe you had some kind of, like, deep-seated insecurity over it or some kind of freaky disfigurement situation going on, and you just didn’t want people to know, but I guess all that makes sense.”

He paused long enough to blink, and giggled along with me. “Don’t be absurd. There’s always the risk of hurting myself with my work, but that’s why I wear this mask! I’ve gone unscathed by chemicals yet, I don’t plan on letting that change any time soon!”

I paused, too. And my smile faded.

“And– I mean,” he stammered, “It’s not like that other thing is true either! Hee–hee hee, you don’t need to worry so much about me. People will get the wrong idea about us, won’t they?”

I knew he was kidding, but my heart fluttered so violently I felt myself jolt. God, I really hope he didn’t see that look on my face. I didn’t see it either, no mirrors around or anything - but I felt it. And– this sounds stupid, but it felt like love.

Or terror. Same thing. Yeah– see, if he saw that expression on my face, he’d probably think I was worried by the notion. Somebody actually thinking Plague Knight and I were an item? Egads, what a nightmare.

… Yeah.

Whatever, like, the moment didn’t last that long, I shot back within the socially acceptable second or two you’re allowed when someone says something like that, something like “Well, if you’re so sure,” and a shrug.

… And then I said, “But, you know, you might want someone who recognizes you by your face. Y’know, with the whole ‘disguise’ thing, right? You’ll want somebody to check in with about whatever’s going on, and you know I can always hide you. So… I’m just saying, if there was anyone to show that face to… It would be me.”

I swear to God, I think I saw his legs tremble where he stood. I couldn’t tell for sure, but that’s what it sure looked like for a second. Not like, spasming or anything, just… Little jittering. Don’t ask why I was staring at his legs.

“Hee… You know, you’re right! I’ll have to think about that,” he said, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was grinning way too hard under that bird skull on his head. “Eh– maybe not right this second. You see, I have a very important date with our blue friend!”

And then he said, “Maybe another time!” as he dashed out the door. And somehow I could tell he meant ‘Maybe never.’

… Is it something wrong with me?

[winterywitch]

18, 21

18.) Unearthed bones

Before I lift the curtains on this desolate and worm-eaten stage, I will say this much.

Excavation is a dirty process.

No. We can start even smaller. We can take a few steps back from the turgid and scorching bowels of the dying Earth. Not only far too dramatic, but far too dangerous. We could get burned if we get too close.

Thus, let’s turn this into a discussion anyone could understand. Let’s talk about housekeeping.

Spring cleaning as a concept is associated not with the feeling of dust in your lungs or that ever-present sensation of spiders (is it deadly? or will it only hurt a whole lot?) on your arm.

It evokes cleanliness, airing out rooms you left to rot in the dusty, dirty dark. A new start. Purging. Rebirth.

That is to say, yes, while it comes with a laundry list of troubles, it is redeemed for the positives that result from it.

It is somewhat different for me and mine.

To put things in simple terms, I would like you to imagine with me the typical attic. Only the light of the sun graces this dark, colorless room, too blinding, too glorious to look at directly. A thin film of dust and… Something else that is decidedly not dust, but you have not decided precisely what it is, covers your valuables, you have no interest in touching them without some sort of protection.

I would like you to imagine me as a poor man, and place rotting, dying wood under my feet that well could snap and drop me at any given moment. The same sloppily-applied wallpaper that has been here ever since my mother was born is still here, and where it is peeling off, I believe I can see mold. I already need a worn-down, thin-threaded cloth to my mouth, but you and I both know I am going to fall ill anyway just by breathing in its presence.

I would like you to imagine me as a lonely man, and place nary but a little crow under those groaning floorboards. Hopping madly across the ground floor below, unpredictably. Blissfully ignorant of the fact that I stand towering above him, and I am heavier than steel. Heavier than bone.

Nay. Less lonely than I at first imagined, someone is rearranging my belongings. Someone has misplaced my beloved locket, my precious letters from my sister and cousin delivered from above the dark, black soil. Where is it all? I pace the floor, the entire attic moaning in protest.

Should the will of this wood bend to the will of time and the horrible weight of a living body, my little friend is crushed. He is helpless to the strength of gravity, and no amount of hopping away will save his broken heart - and spine.

I would like you to imagine me as a kind man, if restrained.

Why does he not fly away in the first place? Who has clipped his wings? Imagine him then as a fool to make his nest anywhere near mine.

…

I would like you to imagine me as a paranoid man, a forgetful man, and place perfectly functional floorboards under my feet that were hammered in to replace the old ones last winter. Who is here to remind me time and time again that my little crow is in no danger of being crushed to death by any potential misstep of mine?

I think, in those rare moments of clarity in between the hot flashes, therefore I am.

Yet here I stand on the sturdiest-looking board, holding onto one of the rafters above my head in case of disaster. Imagine me then as a careful man, a selfless man, a man stiller than any night, a man gripping the leash of a nonexistent beast.

It eats little songbirds like you.

Still as the dead, I fill my lungs with mold.

[winterywitch]

21!

21.) Conversations with the crows

I remember she was leaning against the bookshelf when she asked, looking bitterly cool and unaffected.

“So… What, do you just, like, wear that mask to sleep?”

Ohhhhohoho, boy. I knew what was coming. No matter how much that other voice in my head tried to tell me “Stop it, she’s not asking because she wants to see YOUR ugly mug,” I knew what she was really trying to say.

I turned around to face her at as natural a pace my tiny, excitable little body could manage, unable to choke back a shrill little squawk - but it was fine, little losses are only to be expected alongside victories! I stood a little taller, and a nervous giggle pushed through my closed throat, resulting in some kind of hideous choking noise. “Sorry,” I said, apologizing like I do far too many times around her, “Come again?”

She rolled her eyes at me. That much I could see. I was already mucking up this hundredth impression, I could tell by the way she spoke, “No, I mean, I just never see you with the mask off. Has anyone ever seen your face?”

I don’t know what to say! I could see it coming, but that really caught me off guard. It took me a second to figure out exactly how I was going to dig my way out of this (eventually, I always do), but as soon as I found a believable excuse I clung to it.

I shook my head slowly, saying“Mona, Mona, Mona… Can’t you see the many benefits to keeping my face concealed? Minimizes the risk of facial damage or burns, prevents my foes from being able to recognize me without it in a crowd–”

“But you never go without it,” She said, interrupting me with an incredibly skeptical look on her face. Shit.

Well, you’ve gotta admit when you’ve lost. But you don’t have to show any more of your hand than your opponent’s already seen, right?

... Why was I thinking of her as my opponent at that moment? She was my partner in crime, wasn’t she?

“True. Very true,” I said, nodding, “But it gives me the option to blend in should I need it. I think of it somewhat as a disguise, hee hee!”

“What, your mask or your actual face?”

I had never seen Mona look so bored in all my life.

“My actual face, of course!” I replied, letting my chest puff out a bit, “It’s something I can throw on if I ever need it, that’s all. Plus, you’re going to tell me it DOESN’T look cool?”

Maybe if I just brewed confidence like I brew my potions, she would be convinced.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she laughed, rolling her eyes in a way that told me she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at a dork like me, “But… I dunno, I was just curious. Like, why I’ve never seen your face, is all. I thought maybe you had some kind of, like, deep-seated insecurity over it or some kind of freaky disfigurement situation going on, and you just didn’t want people to know, but I guess all that makes sense.”

Something about that spiel hit me hard. Not hard enough to knock me down, but I definitely felt like I was wobbling. What was I supposed to say to that? Of course I don’t want her to see my face, I know I’m not a handsome-looking guy. My face is all pudgy, my nose looks weird and bulbous like a malignant growth, I’ve always got these dark bags under my eyes, it’s... It’s not a pretty sight. She doesn’t need to see that. Of all things, that would probably be the last nail in the coffin of her ever being able to maybe love me.

“Don’t be absurd,” I said, recovering with a little bit of gloating. “Hee hee... There’s always the risk of hurting myself with my work, but that’s why I wear this mask! I’ve gone unscathed by chemicals yet, I don’t plan on letting that change any time soon!”

That seemed to work just fine, because it was true! I wasn’t some amateur nerd who didn’t know what he was doing! Even if it is ugly, my face, unlike my pallid, dried-out corpse hands and arms, is wholly unscarred.

... So why was she making that face like I just said something hurtful? I wasn’t-- trying to hurt her, did I make her feel like she was my inferior in some way! She-- she should know she isn’t, right? Hhhrrn...

Was she... Worried about me?

God. No. That’s stupid.

... But... Just in case she was...

“And hey, I mean it’s not like that other thing is true either! Hee hee hee, you don’t need to worry so much about me.”

I swear, I have no idea how this came out. But what I said next was:

“People will get the wrong idea about us, won’t they?”

Ohhhhh boy. Okay. Abort mission. Abort, abort, abort. That look on her face was positively horrified - disgusted, even. That comment was inappropriate. Oh God. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Please forgive me. I can be better.

I can’t imagine a worse insult to a woman like Mona than to imply she would ever be interested in a hideous wretch like me.

She graced me with a shrug and a nonchalant “Well, if you’re so sure.”

… And in another moment, she added “But, you know, you might want someone who recognizes you by your face. Y’know, with the whole ‘disguise’ thing, right?”

Yes. There were air-quotes. God, I felt like I was gonna die.

“You’ll want somebody to check in with about whatever’s going on, and you know I can always hide you. So… I’m just saying, if there was anyone to show that face to… It would be me.”

I.

Wh.

Why? Why would that be her? What was she trying to say? She couldn’t see it, but I went even paler under the safety of my mask. Why her? Why would she be the one who would have to put up with this face?

Haven’t I burdened her enough today?

I couldn’t stop shaking. I hope she didn’t see, but I’m sure she did.

So I... Did the only thing I knew I could do right every time.

I cut my losses and I ran away.

“Hee… You know, you’re right! I’ll have to think about that,” I said, grinning so hard my face hurt. I knew she couldn’t see it. But if I was smiling, maybe I was alright. “Eh– maybe not right this second. You see, I have a very important date with our blue friend!”

Technically, that wasn’t a lie. Technically, I told the truth. I did figure I would run into Shovel Knight at some point in the next few days, it was inevitable given we were traveling the same path.

To seem personable and polite, I added, “Maybe another time!”

And I ran out the door at a healthy jogging pace-- Ah, who am I kidding? I really did run away. Noticeably, I ran.

Because what I really meant was ‘Maybe never.’ What I really meant was ‘No, you really don’t want that. You think you do, but you don’t know what you’re getting into.’

What I really meant was ‘God, think about this. Please, think long and hard about this. You’ll come to the right conclusion eventually, that you really don’t need to give yourself such revolting nightmares by looking straight into my colorless, black, bloodshot eyes.’

What I really meant was ‘Please. Please let me protect you from me. You’ll thank me, you just don’t realize it yet.’

... I don’t even know where to begin. Why are there so many things wrong with me?

[winterywitch]

hi guys!! if you like my writing+ocs then you might wanna try giving this a read :D

my boyfriend @hauntpark and i rped a fate accelerated game based on the horror game nevermind + populated it with ocs (and will most definitely be doing this several more times with different sets of ocs) over the course of a few days and what resulted, ive been told, is REALLY good and emotionally intense and a good read

its like. super super long [50 pages] but its all in short paragraphs + largely in chat format for a lot of it, and it also took a very long time to compile in a google docs file so people could read it

if folks could read this, like + reblog and/or comment if they like it that would mean a lottttt to us

[winterywitch]

i was asked by DM folks to post this on tumblr so here we go! here’s quite a bit of nan backstory lore [tw: death/mortality, creepy manipulative suitors, child sexual abuse/child abuse in general, incest, gore]

eid was a saint while he was alive though in DM he was scaling the tower because haptica fascinated him like the tower itself was interesting enough to this little farm boy [he wasnt a boy he was a college-aged man but yknow he was a farmboy, an Agricultural Lad In Early Japan] but like now theres this TALKING GUY , holy SHIT eid practically can't leave now! and the more the god showed his personality through his actions [eid was EXTREMELY empathetic too, he was able to figure out a lot just from his actions and speech], eid was just absolutely fucking enthralled he wanted to know everything and he wanted to see if anything could be shaped differently and thats the sad part is while he was alive he was actually doing a pretty good job of getting the god back on the wagon of Not Being An Abominable Hermit but yknow, the whole "wanting to die a natural death instead of being immortal" thing he was just tired by the time he went, he was happy with his life and he was done. he didn't need more. The god didn't understand that. of course he was devastated but he didn't force eid to live forever he wasnt THAT evil he as a nature god especially understood the natural course of mortal life he just didnt. understand how a sentient being, given the choice to be immortal once who SAID it LOVED HIM could just. refuse. like that. eid's teachings didn't exactly just go away, like he didnt REVERT exactly he just he was left with the pain of knowing better and the guilt of knowing how utterly wrong he was, and he had the loneliness back too it just sort of broke his heart, there wasnt much he had the energy to do anymore after that nan very much became the parent in a weird way like ofc the god had the authority of the parent but really he didnt provide or do anything he wasnt trying to be malicious he just literally could not which again, given things about nan's other dad, that was just more ammo for his self-loathing and it just made it worse knowing how completely useless he really was that was the problem was his depression became so severe it became an additional disability he could deal with not being able to walk, he had ways of getting around that efficiently enough but with the depression added on he was pretty much rendered completely helpless it wasnt like he would die, he was technically fine. but. Yknow! goodness, was nan's other father a charmer, though there was... something off about him, almost like a sense of desperation or too much persistence, but he never crossed any line. technically, it was everything a neglected god would want. someone who saw him for the powerful, terrifying and heartbreakingly beautiful muse he was the sheer number of gifts this - he wasn't mortal, whatever he was - man, construct? this construct would give, also made the god a little uncomfortable. but maybe that was just because he forgot what it was like to be adored this much? maybe it was normal maybe it was just in his head. he would suppose, you don't ask a lot of questions in situations like this. it was flattering, and he thought maybe if he had an opportunity to get to know this suitor, maybe he'd come to love him. it was. always a sense of "maybe someday," though, wasn't it "maybe under these circumstances, maybe if i'm given, time," in some way he knew time wasn't being given freely, but he wasn't seeing clearly. and then the child was born. born is a sort of odd word, it sort of just appeared one day. it didn't seem human. it looked human, but the god could tell. sometimes it looked like something that was certainly trying to be a human, in human skin but didn't know what it was doing. for example, it didn't know that giving eye contact is proper and polite. it didn't know what to do when the god offered his hand to it. and the way it shook when it realized the god was onto it, was... uncanny, the god thought maybe it had the bones of something different the god supposed maybe the child's skin was made of a different material than that of a human, because it couldn't stand to be touched - it recoiled, as if in pain. the god knows that frogs hate to be touched, because their skin is much, much easier to hurt. but the suitor would give the child a look, and the god could see the life draining out of its eyes. he couldn't make much sense of that. one thing he felt was a little strange, was how properly developed the child was. it couldn't have been older than seven or so, that's at least how old its body looked - but it had such long hair, its limbs weren't awkward and stocky like that of children. is that what children look like, actually? he didn't remember. the child never spoke unless spoken to, either, but he noticed the suitor encouraging the child to talk. it was less like the child was forced not to speak, but that it didn't want to. it looked precisely like a smaller man, now that he remembers, it was... ... ... but, no. not quite like that. take a (cis) man, squeeze his waist, pull out his hips so perhaps he can have a child. give him the soft, irresistible skin of a (cis) woman. (clarifying bc the god isn't exactly on the up-and-up about trans identities) ... sort of. it was hard to explain. it was hard to look at. so it was hard to really take it in. you know what it was really like? it was like a doll. it was like he was looking at a doll. the child was perfect. and that's what distressed him the god, with his messy and tangled hair, with his muscular arms and chest, and his imperfect legs, was... so, so, confounded by this child. what the purpose of such a child could be. it turned out that a child was a work of art. tribute. like the european renaissance painters, who would paint their pieces of christ on the cross in such a way that they were intended to be viewed from down on one's knees. it was a work of art, honoring the god's beauty. the god didn't understand. if this was truly, truly a tribute to the god's beauty, to his power, why was the child so terribly meek? this helpless child, how could it represent his might? his fearlessness? his superiority over mankind? all it really seemed to represent was beauty. perfect, stainless, untainted, unmarred beauty. beauty that didn't exist in nature. so, because it didn't exist in nature, it was more uncanny than anything. its eyes were so big and doe-ish, he couldn't understand. ... ...my, wouldn't it be strange if... ... no. that's preposterous. just a morbid thought. ... what did the suitor think of his god? if this child was supposed to represent or honor the god in some way, then... what did the suitor really think? the god began to grow offended by the child's existence. he grew bitter towards it. it was more an insult than anything else, at this point. and he nearly blamed it more than he blamed the suitor. at least the suitor could be spoken to. ... somewhat. he found more and more difficulty in that, too. more transgressions. more insults. at a certain point, it seemed that this suitor's idea of the god was VERY DIFFERENT from how the god saw himself. what would such an ugly, pathetic, desperate monster be doing, being held off this long? being led on this long? ... well, the god supposed he wasn't alone. at least he had the child. the abominable, strange child. . . . the god's own lungs defied him, and even though he would not die if they failed, the pain was maddening. the perfect, beautiful doll who could not speak, who was always curled in on itself, who flinched away from touch and hands and eyes, who was made in the god's perfect vision. it had been so, so long. the child was made so long ago. and all that time, he, so, so stupidly, was INSULTED by that child's desperate staring, that only lasted until the gaze was returned. he was OFFENDED by that perfect body, he was so very UNIMPRESSED by that child's social ineptitudes and weaknesses. that soft, perfect, the god choked on his own tongue. where did the suitor come from? where did he live? did the god ever even ask? did he ever want to know? did he ever think to question anything? you're not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, so... ... this may as well have been his doing. the damned, vain fool. was the child ever art? or was it always a toy for which the suitor to act out his frustrations over the course of this long, long courtship? what else, did he lie about? the god remembers, how the suitor began, and how he ended began in admiration and fear and worship, ended in insulting, belittling, coarse, piggish transgressions did the suitor tell the truth even once? the god began to think, what else could the suitor have lied about? and he had so much time to think. and think. and think. and marinate. and drown in his own regrets, because it was several days before the suitor and the toy showed up again. the horror! what would anyone feel? the answer is undoubtedly "horror"! the depravity! by the time the suitor came, the god was still out of breath. four long days of breathlessness his hand balled up into a fist against his chest, teeth bared, voice failing him, all he could do was stare. his fury was cold. it bit at his own insides, emptying his stomach from the inside out just the look on his face itself could have levelled a city. and the excellent part about it, was the suitor had an alibi and a half. he'd prepared for this. the god knew the suitor had prepared for this, but he didn't prepare enough. the god clutched at the wall, pulling his own body up, giving a terrible roar as he forced his own body into a standing position with nothing but the strength of his arms. he was so, so much taller than the suitor. he forgot that. the exertion was unlike anything he'd felt in years. he'd begun to sweat already, his palms digging into bricks behind his back. lightning was a little too kind for this one. maybe the saws. maybe the gold. too kind. from the grass on this floor grew a stalk. the stalk split into several little vines, barely as thick as a stick of lead. so the stalk fed the suitor its arms, each little vine slithered inside his mouth, down his throat, ignoring the gurgling protests as they poked outside of his esophagus, coiling around his insides. the details don't really matter, that's all the god knew was happening. so the insides of this suitor were squeezed to death from the inside out, complete with all the blood and fluid and acid one would find in such a humanoid body. the god could barely hear the screams, which was a little regrettable, they were deafened by all the plantlife filling his throat as even more slithered in. the only option for the suitor's body was rupture! it was logical, it was natural. his throat, his arms, his chest, his stomach, his legs, his head, it all seemed to pull apart so cleanly, like wet papier-mache. did he know why this was happening? the god would never know. they had spoken, accusations were laid out, but did he know? did he even know he did something wrong? the child was his own creation, it was hardly even a person. was that so wrong? that must have been what he was thinking at a time like this, when the ability to think was slowly being stolen from him what the god remembers most vividly of the aftermath are three things. 1.) the suitor's body simply disappeared. there were no remains, and this ties into the next point. 2.) the child did not seem to believe that its creator was dead. calmly, it explained to the god that its creator was going to come and retrieve it sometime very soon. this made the god truly wonder, was the suitor actually dead? did he just retreat to whatever plane he came from? this troubled him, given how calm the child was about all this. it didn't seem particularly shocked. it took months until the child started to realize that it belonged to the god now, it belonged to someone who saw him as a person and not as a toy to be used and re-used. this troubled the child, which troubled the god, but he was strong. there were tears and anger and paranoid delusions and locked doors, until there... weren't. 3.) from time to time, the child's demeanor would change dramatically. sometimes it was calm as it was on that day, sometimes it would refuse to speak altogether and would respond violently if prodded too much, and, most upsettingly, sometimes it was very, very friendly. sometimes it was much too friendly. much too generous. it was all too much to see in one child. the child... so drastically changed over the course of just a couple years in the god's care, the god wondered if the child blocked out everything that happened prior. he certainly wouldn't ask. he certainly wouldn't trigger those memories to come back. so he never mentioned it again. the child never asked either. but eventually, the god's indignation, his rage, died and cooled into... an approximation of fatherly love. the best that such an abominable god could do. and that cooled even further into the depression that rendered him non-functioning. everything that happened was too much for even the mind of a god to process. so it just stopped processing. but. but he couldn't let anyone else have the child. certainly no mysterious men visiting the tower promising happiness. no one else could have it. it was his. no one could have it. the child was forbidden to leave the tower under any circumstances. the child was forbidden to speak to anyone outside of the tower. the child was forbidden to leave. the child was forbidden life. he supposes, really, that he doesn't know how he didn't see it coming. that last explosive argument, the screaming and the yelling and seeing the child curl up on itself again as it had so many many years ago, and suddenly. black. and more pain than he had ever felt. it was covering its ears. it was looking down. that's what he remembers. but it's hard to remember much of anything these days. he is in so, so much pain and it never stopped hurting it never hurt any less he never got used to it his mind just stopped processing again. he isn't in his happy place, he's nowhere. the god, as of now, has ceased to exist. not dead. but. locked away. you're all very upset to see what nan is hiding his face, whimpering and shaking his head for when you reach the top of the deadly tower. all you see is a normal bedroom, pillows all over the floor, some papers here and there, looks like a couple pieces of furniture upturned, and. a briar patch, very small briar patch, by the window. you're all very upset as you approach it, to see a pale, pale, ever so pale, hand hanging out of the upper right side of the patch.

[winterywitch]

toc made a DM fanfic generator for us like, a couple months ago i think and its HILARIOUS but it gave us a real gem tonight, i had to drabble

Alvan/The Widow King

PG-13

A strange way to say sorry

In a torture chamber

[CW: ableist slurs, gore, torture, abuse mention]

"I don't know who you are," growled Alvan Strict as he struggled against the ropes binding him to the cold plastic chair with its cold steel legs, "I don't know who you think I am. I've never heard of anyone named 'Daffodil' in my life. Are you happy? Good. Now let me go. I've got an awful lot of wasting away to do, and I'd rather do it within the comfort of my own home rather than be kept by a psychopath with a vendetta."

The Widow King's eyes nearly bulged with the laughter he couldn't help but cough up, his voice high and keening, his body bending over to catch the wind that had been knocked out of it. Alvan stared, and decided to keep that little 'I'm so glad I amused you' thought to himself.

"Not so fast, old man. Now I know you're Daffodil, you know much too much about me to be a stranger." The smile on his face was so bitter it made Alvan shiver. And Alvan couldn't take his eyes off the table behind the Widow King, the table too high for him to see exactly what was on it. The faint red lamp hanging from the ceiling caught a silver glitter off the table, and I would say that made Alvan very nervous, but for some reason, the part of his brain that could process anxiety seemed to be asleep at the moment. It'd been asleep... For a while, actually. He wouldn't be able to tell you where it went.

The Widow King took something silver and glittering off his black table, about the length and thickness of a pencil. He ran it down his own finger, and Alvan could see the thin slit of red it left in the man's skin. And the man didn't even flinch. He just shivered and laughed, both reactions Alvan couldn't chalk up to anything but genuine pleasure. Now, that was a little confusing. He asked, "You really expect me to believe you just don't remember me? What you did to me?"

"I haven't done a thing to you," Alvan drawled. His jaw was slack, his eyes almost sleepy, "I do know you've taken me from my home and made me your prisoner for just about no reason, and you've still got the god-damned gall to say I done something to you, don't you, boy?" Alvan's eyebrows raised slightly, and he paid attention to the way the Widow King shuddered again, the way he hunched over, the way his arms wrapped around himself.

"You've always--" He paused, not able to stop his own breathless hiccup, "You've always been a liar. You've always-- always lied to me about everything. You couldn't-- you couldn't go a day without making me feel like I was losing my fucking mind, could you, Daffodil?" He laughed again, wheezy. "Nothing I ever did was good enough for you. The parties I chose to go to, the people I went with, the meals I made, the things I liked, the things I said, it was all just that exact kind of juvenile, uncultured, common plebeian shit you hate so much, wasn't it?"

Alvan Strict had no idea what this man was talking about.

"Oh, but no, I'm the unstable one," laughed the Widow King, throwing his hands up, "Sabotage all my fucking friendships like I wasn't giving you enough 'attention', break my shit,  break our furniture, never tell me what you actually fucking WANT from me before you start punishing me like I've-- I've been 'BAD', like you're my DAD and my fucking SON at the same time-- HAHAha -- and at the end of the day act all fucking sulky like I should be the one apologizing to you. But no, I'm the asshole. I'm the bad guy, I'm the one who abused you. Haha. I'm an abuser! Fucking-- just say it."

"Wh--what?" Alvan shook his head, realizing he spaced out a bit there, lost in that huge list of nonsense he just didn't care about or have time for.

A white-hot pain erupted in Alvan's shoulder and out his throat in the form of a guttural cry, bubbling over faintly and staining his coat a deeper brown, a deeper red than it was. He felt something thin and cold and silver and glittering against his stubbled, scab-ridden neck, but he couldn't see the scalpel buried somewhere in the meat between his clavicle and - scapula? He didn't remember 7th grade anatomy.

He thought the Widow King would explain himself, but... For a good, long few seconds, he just didn't. He just had his other hand on Alvan's shoulder, not even necessarily unkind in its firmness, pushing it down so he could stand stably. His lips just a couple inches from Alvan's ear, breathing in and out shakily. Stopping in between a breath here and there like he had something to say, but nothing was said.

The Widow King pushed down harder on Alvan's shoulders, both with his scalpel and his free hand - earning what sounded like a whimper from the man, which sounded absolutely fucking delicious to His Majesty's violated ears - and lowered himself onto Alvan's lap. Side-saddle. Leaving the scalpel exactly where it was, he wrapped his arms around Alvan's neck and brought his lips close to his ear again.

"Daffodil," he whispered so softly, so sweetly that Alvan shuddered all over, "I know you're in there somewhere."

Only making things all the more perplexing, he kissed Alvan's ear. Bit his earlobe in a way that couldn't even really be called painful. And kissed it again.

"You hurt me... So badly that it changed everything about me. You hurt me so badly, I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust anyone like I trusted you again. I don't know if I can love someone as wholly as I loved you, as... Fearlessly." He chuckled lowly, and Alvan was almost starting to find his voice alluring. "Maybe that's what you wanted all this time. Maybe you wanted to fuck me up so bad, I'd never love anyone else... And I'd come crawling back to you."

The Widow King gave a thoughtful sigh. "I wouldn't put it past you." And he pulled down on the handle of the scalpel in Alvan's shoulder, twisting it but not pulling it out, and Alvan yelped. His head even threw back. God. That's heavenly.

"But that's okay. Cause now... I'm going to hurt you," he breathed in Alvan's ear, his free hand stroking up the older man's heaving chest. "I'm going to hurt you real bad."

[winterywitch]

hoo! !! ! ! ok i’m done with my creative writing final project, which was a revision of one of our pieces we wrote over the course of the semester. please read it and tell me what you think if you’re able! fundamentally it’s the same story just - i fixed what i could and kinda trimmed it so it made a little more sense (hopefully)

note: this is not necessarily the FULL story, this is what i could fit in the maximum amount of pages allowed for this project.

[tw for any new readers: suicide ideation, descriptions of suicide by hanging, child death, blood/gore description]

Once upon a time not in the distant past or future, in a land far closer to ours than we'd want to admit, there was a little girl named Alyssa. She did not have a middle or last name. Neither did any of the other children on her side of the snowy dirt path, those children so few that she knew all their names by heart. Pepper. Penelo. Victor. And little Gracie who wasted away in her mother's home years ago on the coldest day of the month, and whose mother she was ordered not to give any trouble for a while. But just like many little girls we know, she had a father, but no mother. But that was okay, she only needed one parent. One true friend.

He was a kind father who shone with a faint yellow too soft to be touched. Bright orange, sheer paper wrapped around his silver bones, vivid blue and green and yellow paint adorned him in simplistic flowers that Alyssa figured did not exist in reality. He floated in the air like a balloon and his fins trailed behind him as he tapped a delicate dance in the air. On particularly black, frozen nights, her father would glow for her. He glowed nearly every night until she turned 10 years old, when she let him know that she was no longer afraid of the dark. Of course, sometimes she was, but the concept of growing up was hemmed with forgivable fibs.

The truth of Alyssa's life was that her father was the only thing she found beautiful in this world. Nothing else made her feel safe and secure, nothing made her crack even the smallest smile. Well. She supposed that was being over-dramatic. Books were pleasant, too. But outside of her father, her only true friend, it seemed that everything wonderful in life only existed within the pages of fiction. They didn't exist.

In this flat glistening wasteland, a country of black toothpick trees and numb brown eyesores, Alyssa knew down to the depths of her being that what surrounded her world was absolutely nothing. Nothing but more woods, thousands of miles in every direction. Woods enough for someone to disappear in and never to be found again. Nowhere to go, nothing new to see, no one new to meet.

Alyssa planned to hang herself by the neck on one of those toothpick trees before she turned 13 years old.

It was as wintry a day as ever, the day that Alyssa encountered Pepper, Penelo and Victor. There was nothing particularly special about either of those details. It was always cold. It was always snowing. Pepper and his gang, who Alyssa believed were similar forces of nature, were always there.

“Good morning, Lissie,” said Pepper, the boy who stood taller than Penelo and shorter than Victor. The three boys did not surround her, but they crowded around her and towered above her. Even Penelo, who was two years younger than she, was taller.

Pepper was a pale, freckled boy with bright red hair and piercing blue eyes. Currently, his hands were on his hips, as if he learned to stand that way when speaking to his inferiors. He wasn't wearing gloves, a coat, or even a long-sleeved shirt. How he got away with that with his mother watching confused Alyssa into even further numbness.

She adjusted the sagging hat on her head, her own hands clumsy under her thick brown mittens, and muttered under her breath, “That's not my name.”

As always, her resistance made the boys laugh. Well, to be specific, Pepper laughed, Penelo mimed his laugh, and Victor gave the briefest snort.

“Pepper can calls you whatever he wants to call you, Lissie!” Chimed in Penelo, stepping forward beside his older brother. Not in front. Never in front. Penelo was about a head shorter than his older brother, with that same pale, freckled skin, that same red hair, and those same blue eyes. He just had the common sense to bring his fleece green jacket and earmuffs out in this weather. Little did Alyssa know, Penelo was ashamed of this common sense, and coveted the stupidity of his brother.

Hearing that sugary nickname twice in a row sent a shiver down Alyssa's spine. How she hated being condescended to like this. And as always, she had no idea why these boys were so pleased to mildly annoy her. Giving a sigh so hot and heavy that she could see her own opaque white breath, Alyssa finally asked that burning question. “What do you want?”

Pepper sniffed hard, rubbing one finger under his nose, grinning through the cold biting his cheeks fingers. “So glad you asked!” he announced, straightening his back, “We've decided you're joining us today. On an epic journey to the edge of the world itself! We're gonna go deep in the woods today and we're gonna see what's out there. My baby brother here thinks we're gonna get lost.”

He paused his speech of utmost importance to roll his eyes precisely in his flinching little brother's direction. Alyssa felt something approaching pity for Penelo. “But who cares? Isn't that exciting?! Hell – they never let us wander into the woods! It's like there's something waiting out there for us, just beyond the trees! And I'm not gonna let them keep me from whatever treasures await. So. Anyway, you're coming with us.”

Ah, yes. Alyssa loved decisions made without her knowledge or consent. Seemed Pepper's gang were fond of them as well, considering how many similar decisions they'd made in the past. So many decisions, so many that she'd gone along with in the past, that the boiling disgust in her gut registered as anxiety. Fear of what would happen to her if she strayed from the plans they'd made for her – even if the greatest punishment she could receive would the exact thing she tried to convince herself she wanted: to be left alone.

“ I'd recommend for your sake that you don't go tell your dad ,” said Victor, his own bare hands stuffed sensibly in his pockets. There was something kinder about this boy – or perhaps, this young man – than the other two, in spite of the menacing figure he cut. He grimaced at the words that just came out of his mouth, finding them altogether too threatening. But Alyssa didn't much appreciate his gentleness given the fact that he never scolded his meaner friends. “That is – they're just going to worry about you. I mean, we didn't tell our parents, it would have been a hassle.”

Victor, the tallest boy of the bunch, was also the oldest. He was 16 years old, two years older than Pepper. He was only slightly less pale than his ginger friends, and his hair was a darker brown than Alyssa's. He never smiled. His face was hard with a strange sort of maturity, wisdom that Pepper and Penelo could never hope to gain – with chocolatey brown eyes, much more pleasant to get lost in than Alyssa's mousey almost-black eyes. His voice had even dropped. How marvelous for him. The boys seemed very impressed with him for that. His black coat was held together by a taut gold chain with two red gems for cuffs, and it was thin, so it didn't do him much good as it flapped about like a skirt in the icy wind. But at least it made him look cool. Sometimes Alyssa wondered, was that all that mattered to these boys?

Alyssa bit her lip. These boys were already acting like she was just going to come along with them, because they told her to. Defiant yells echoed through her mind so loudly she had to shut her eyes and reorient herself. Enough of that, she wordlessly told herself, no need to make a fuss. This is business as usual.

“... When are we leaving?” She finally asked, a defeated scowl settling on her face. Pepper let out a breathless cackle, punching Victor in the arm.

“I KNEW she'd come along!” He wheezed so hard he started coughing. Apparently someone was enjoying himself. Alyssa couldn't help but roll her eyes. Partly at Pepper's theatrics, partly at the way she noticed Victor winced an entire second after Pepper's fist bounced off his arm, like he rehearsed it, and partly because of something she knew deep down in her heart.

Pepper was annoying, but he was a dreamer, she would give him that much. But dreaming isn't smart past the age of five or so. It almost hurt Alyssa's feelings imagining how disappointed Pepper would be when they got to the edge of the forest and saw that the world itself ended. That there was nothing beyond these woods waiting for the boys or for Alyssa. That this town was all they had in life.

That life was essentially over. Oh, well. The boys all had to grow up someday.

“Be ready in a few hours. Penelo wants to pack a couple snacks so we don't get too hungry,” said Victor, eyeing the younger brother with a stiff, practiced, compulsory frigidity. But Penelo just smiled back at him.

“Where the hell did she go?!”

The sounds of Pepper and his gang bickering grew softer and softer as Alyssa's feet pounded into the snow, carrying her farther and farther away from their argument. She was so, so stupid to agree to come along with them. Now that she, once again, showed the boys that they could walk all over her if they were so inclined, they'd know they was their eternal doormat.

The little adventuring party had made it about ten minutes out of town, encountering the same dead black trees they'd seen all their lives, and that snow that never seemed to melt no matter how bright it was outside. And, with all due respect to his majesty, King Pepper, there were only so many minutes of that familiar, bleak nothingness that Alyssa could take before wanting to  shave a few more years off her life expectancy.  The gang said they only wanted to be out here for a short while, and she gave them their short while. She had no reason to stick around them any longer. She didn't owe them anything.

'I shouldn't feel guilty,' Alyssa said to herself again and again, wordlessly, through the searing pain in her lungs.

At first it was staying out of the boys' peripheral vision. Just a clever turn behind a tree when Pepper wasn't looking. And when they'd become accustomed to her keeping her distance from them, that's when she bolted off, from tree to tree, too quickly to be seen.

Alyssa knew she had to stop running eventually. She couldn't hear Pepper's shouts anymore, they were far behind her. Her chest hurt so badly she couldn't breathe anymore. And she had to come to terms with the worst part of all of this.

She hadn't paid attention to the road. She was lost.

The exact moment her knees hit the icy ground was the moment she heard it.

“Hey!”

Alyssa lifted her head, half-expecting one of the boys to be standing before her. But to her surprise, no one was there.

“Hey! Seems you're lost, little rabbit,” said a voice so friendly it almost sounded goofy. Alyssa's eyes grew wide as she realized her legs were too heavy to start running again. It spoke again, and it said “From here, you've just gotta turn back the way you came to get back to town!”

“I don't know how,” Alyssa said, her voice very small. And the voice – it was coming from up in the trees, she just couldn't see its owner – gave a robust chuckle.  Her mind filled with images of her father, and she began to feel a bit safer. Yes, she had to get back home to him very soon.

“These woods are awful deep and mysterious... Maybe you don't remember the way you came. Well, from this exact position, you've gotta head behind you a good 5000 paces. But you'll probably be able to see the edge of town much sooner than that, you won't need much more advice than that.”

Alyssa stared at the general direction of the voice, lips parted. Tongue dry.

“... Thank y--”

“So THERE you are, Lissie!” announced Pepper. Alyssa turned to face him so quickly her neck felt sore. There he was, leaning against one of the many dead trees behind her, and so there Penelo and Victor were, covering his left and right flanks as always.

Alyssa didn't have the strength to move as he approached her, but ended up leaning on the tree she'd been talking with these past couple minutes. “Talking to your imaginary friends again?” He asked, not noticing the palm-sized silver cube tumbling out of its branches, into the snow. Turning a smug eye up at Victor, he added, “Told you she should be getting her nose out of those dumb books,”

Only keeping the cube in the corner of her eye, she answered him in a low, quaking voice. “Thought I heard someone nearby.” The cube itself had a hexagon's worth of black holes on one of its faces, and she only noticed the tiny red light under the holes because it had blinked a couple times and promptly died.

“Man,” said Pepper, when they continued back on their way... Or what was probably their way, since Pepper didn't even try to make it back to where they were when Alyssa ran off, “When did we leave today?”

“Late afternoon. Something like that. Why do you ask?” Victor was stretching his neck to one side, and then the other.

“Isn't it kinda... Supposed to get dark sometime soon?”

Victor furrowed his brows, pursing his lips, like Pepper had asked a ridiculous question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean – there's a point at which the sky turns dark, you can tell cause you can't see out your windows! Kinda just happens all at once with this loud bang! Bang! Bang! I mean, you're all there, you hear it. I just thought it usually... Happened around this time.”

Victor glanced down at the underside of his wrist, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves and trying to look unconcerned. “You don't know how long we've been out here, Pepper. It's best not to worry about it.”

Alyssa's eyes bulged. She didn't want to tell them that she saw the black boards that were nailed to the windows every day around this exact time.

The sky was as bright and blue as ever.

And the sky was right in their hands. Victor ran his long, pale fingers down the sky that was right in front of their faces. The sky was heavy, smooth, and reflected a white light.

His lips shook as he muttered a curse under his breath.

Penelo cowered behind Pepper, whose crossed arms and puzzled face told Alyssa that he and Victor were most certainly not on the same page. And Alyssa simply stood, numbly staring at Victor's hand. That was probably the most real thing she could focus on right now.

“Wh-what is it?” asked Penelo, “Why's-- why's there a big curtain out here?”

Alyssa looked behind her. The line where the dead, black toothpick trees ended was neat. Perfectly neat. Not a splinter ahead or behind the rest.

“It's not a CURTAIN, Penelo,” Pepper said as he rolled his eyes. “If it was a curtain, where would they hang it from?”

Where from, indeed? In this monochrome world where everything was the same, where there were no fresh beginnings, no next-stages to reach – and thus, surely, no heaven or God... Where?

Victor's hand drew back from the curtain, and it clasped over his mouth. His other hand followed suit, as he stared deep into the soil. “I don't think it's hanging from anywhere,” he said, voice trembling under the weight of a reality only he and Alyssa understood.

Pepper's lips quirked to one side, and he gave a scoff. “Okay, now you're just wigging out, and I don't know what for. Maybe it's a wall! People build walls all the time! Hey – in this one story I read, this made-up world called 'Germany' was divided by a wall for a long time. Maybe our town is the same, somebody doesn't want us getting in and out for some reason! Well, you know what? I say, to hell with'em! We can go wherever we want, right, guys?!”

Alyssa gagged, feeling her heart shot up into her own throat as she saw Victor's hand reach out to the curtain again. “Wait,” she coughed, and all the boys looked to her.

If this was a curtain like Penelo said it was, or a wall like Pepper theorized, then a number of concepts had to be considered and processed. One, a curtain can be opened, a wall can be knocked down. Two, when opened or knocked down, a curtain or wall can be passed through.

Three.

There is always something waiting on the other side of a curtain or wall.

Alyssa backed away from the boys' eyes, her back leaning up against the perfect wall of trees. If there was something waiting on the other side of this curtain, or wall, or whatever it was... Then she was wrong. She was wrong about everything. Then her isolated, dreary, sad little town was not all she had to live for. Her father, regardless of how much she adored him and he adored her, was not her only reason for grinning through the terrible burden of being alive. Could it be said that fresh beginnings did exist? Could it be said that this was the next stage of existence? There could very well be something out there. No – there was something out there. And there was a chance all the books she read as a little girl were inspired by something out there.

A terrible thrill filled Alyssa, an awful, irrational joy. For the first time since she was a very little girl, her face was wriggling against itself. Her lips were tight, pushed right up against each other, and there was something wonderful building up inside her stomach.

But she didn't want to let the boys see her smile. How embarrassed would she be if there was nothing to be excited about?

Before she buckled under her own immense anticipation, she told Victor, “Okay, do it.”

Victor parted the sky with one arm, but it was a heavy burden for just one man. To his surprise, Pepper was there right beside him, lifting the curtain as far as it needed to open for Penelo and Alyssa to step outside. Before Alyssa got one foot out of her snowy wasteland, Penelo gasped.

The new sky facing them was orange. And pink. And purple, with splotches of fluffy grey. A wonderful canvas on which the warm shades of what we know is a sunset were lovingly painted. In the center of this mind-blowing interplay of fire, smoke and petals was a great yellow orb. None of the children could stare straight out it without their eyes beginning to water and sting, but they couldn't help it. They stared straight at the light as long as they could until they felt their vision begin to blur – and decided that there were other things they wanted to see before they went blind.

So their vision turned to the ground. Not a speck of snow to be found here, the ground was dry, warm, and filled with soft strokes of green. Just ahead of them was a road that turned downward (was that even possible?), leading into a maze of yellow flowers with brown faces, all facing the yellow orb as it sunk in the sky, as if in worship of its glory. Even farther out there, in this grand new world, the children could see tall black buildings standing on tall, thin black legs, appearing to exist for nothing other than the pleasure of climbing up inside them and enjoying the view.

Alyssa was the first to run.

Before Pepper could snatch the back of her coat, Alyssa ran downhill, straight for the sunflowers. “You can't catch me!” She cried out, “You'll never catch me, I don't have to do anything you tell me anymore! I am free, and there is nothing you can do to stop--”

A great and mighty bang echoed through the valley, louder than anything the boys had ever heard.  Alyssa was face-first on the ground, twitching pitifully in the dirt.

The boys noticed right away, the splash of red that now tainted the stalks of sun-worshipping flowers that so cruelly turned away from Alyssa's body. But Penelo was the only one who didn't seem to see the way Alyssa's head wasn't brown-black anymore, but rather a sort of – soft, pillowy pink that scattered in with her hair and along the grass. What he swears to this day that he saw was a flower crown on her head.

And so the red spread.

“Get back inside,” said Victor.

Pepper and Penelo didn't move a muscle.

“Get back INSIDE, we are LEAVING,” said Victor, pushing the curtain up to his own head, filled with a sort of strength he'd never had anymore.

Penelo wordlessly hurried back inside, eyes glued to the ground. Pepper didn't move a muscle.

“Pepper, we are LEAVING, RIGHT NOW!” Victor yelled from his gut, reaching out and yanking Pepper back inside the snowy world by his collar.

And so, the curtain closed. As far as Victor was concerned, it never opened.

[winterywitch]

OK OK SCRIPT QUESTIONS do you have a cast list that you left off when posting it because those are SUPER useful especially for keeping character descriptions from sitting in the middle of stage directions - also even tho she's unknown to the pirate at time of her introduction, putting victoria's name as ? for that bit i'd discourage; since it makes it harder for a potential actor to parse their lines and that's a Big Deal about craft in scripts. i luv the actual content of the piece

i dont because i felt like that would kinda take up too much space and because this isnt actually going to be performed, so it felt like there’d be no point - should i have a cast list? personally idk if i should, the descriptions are interwoven in stage directions and it feels like that isn’t dragging it down too much.

however - i changed ??? to victoria like you suggested, that’s a good call

ok im just gonna use this ask to say - i edited it some, feel free to give it a read and tell me if it’s any better or not @hauntpark i didnt rehaul the entire thing but . lets see if it’s improved any. there are little changes all throughout and i changed a scene or two a lot

Thestory (or this isolated chapter of it) begins in the marvelous,shining ball room of the Rosamund Manor. The year is 1789, and in thesplendorous white and yellow light of the dance hall, not a soul cantell it is past midnight outside. Away from the center of the actionand the twirling gowns, in through the crowd sneaks a man born of theglory of Mayan gods with hair brown as espresso and skin brown asnatural wood – he is constructed of life itself, it seems, and hisnatural, loose posture almost looks suspect in his stiff blue coat.You will not be allowed to know him as anything else but THE PIRATE.He is most certainly not on the guest list of this party, but thereare so many people it mustn't matter. He is smiling and clappingalong to the rhythm of the jaunty strings tune to which the guests ofthis grand party turn, but it seems he is interested in somethingelse in this affair.

Wiltingunder the attention of the giggling girls around him is the son ofthe master of the house – a terribly pale, skinny boy of 16, maybe17. Though he doesn't have the presence of one just yet, this boy issomeone you will know as THE LORD. And THE LORD has no clue THEPIRATE is here – that's good, that's exactly what THE PIRATE iscounting on. THE PIRATE has been told ever so many things about THELORD and his family's manor. They're vampires. They're witches.They're ghosts. That is, nothing truly informational. He is not herefor money, he is here for a story.

Hedoesn't notice an elderly man, THE LORD's GRANDFATHER, standing rightbeside him.

GRANDFATHER: Haha. Lovely party, isn't it? My wife orchestrated thewhole thing – she can't rest knowing she's not in control ofsomething.

THE PIRATE [Chuckling, good-natured, speaking with a notableVenezuelan accent]: Truly the fairer sex.

GRANDFATHER: I must ask, though... You are young, why not join thefestivities?

THE PIRATE [Pausing, as if he wasn't paying attention and istrying to figure out what was just said] … I'm sorry?

GRANDFATHER: There's no need to be shy, son – I recognize that lookon your face anywhere.

THE PIRATE: Do you.

GRANDFATHER: Oh, now – I was your age at one point, you know. Iremember what it's like being young, unsure... I can tell, a girl'scaught your eye. [laughing and wheezing softly, nudging THEPIRATE's arm with his elbow]

THE PIRATE [Furrows his brows, still watching the back of THELORD's head – and deciding to go along with the absurdity of thissituation]: You could say that, señor.

GRANDFATHER: Well, boy, you learn some things when you get to be asold as I am. I believe the wisdom best suited to this situation is...You've got to jump in and make the first move!

THE PIRATE: Really. Is that so?

GRANDFATHER: Oh, most certainly. You see, boy – women, they wantyou to come to them. 'T'wouldn't be ladylike if they were to comerunning after you, would it?

THELORD slowly turns his head behind him deeper in the center of theball room, but THE PIRATE ducks behind the hors-d'oeuvres tablebefore the two's eyes meet.

GRANDFATHER: HEAVENS, boy! You're not going to win any hearts actinglike that! Oh – come on, get ahold of yourself, lad, get up. [bendshis knees slightly, slowly, giving a labored little grunt, to helpTHE PIRATE back onto his feet]

THE PIRATE [Visibly embarrassed by his panicky move, takingGRANDFATHER'S hand and pulling himself up]: Thank you. You see...There's a reason why I'm not sure I can take your advice.

GRANDFATHER: Well, what is it, son?

THE PIRATE: I... I can't dance.

GRANDFATHER [Snorting dismissively]: Everyone can dance. Maybenot well, but everyone can dance.

THE PIRATE: No, I truly mean it! I can't dance. [leaning on hisright foot] Do you remember the Silk War, señor?

GRANDFATHER: How could I forget? My own sonserved.

THE PIRATE: Really.Such a small world, isn't it? [grinning]So did I. 5thPrincess Charlotte's Dragoon Guards.

GRANDFATHER: Princess Charlotte's– that's quite the honor, lad! My boy, Charles – He was a lancer.

THE PIRATE: All soldiers are honorable.However... During my service, something quite unfortunate happened tome.

GRANDFATHER: What was that?

THE PIRATE: I was shot – right in the foot.The bullet bore so deep into me, got – tangled up in whatever wasin there, I'll spare you the details – that the doctors were afraidof taking it out. Thought it'd do more harm than good.

GRANDFATHER: More harm than good?! Why, whatkind of life is hobbling around on a bad foot like that?

THE PIRATE: It's much better than hobblingaround on no foot. Seems that's what they thought the alternative mayhave been.

GRANDFATHER: Well... You must remember – oneday you'll get older and meet an older woman. The standards startlowering right about then. [slaps THEPIRATE's back, laughing to himself]Speaking of that, I've got to go check on my wife, this party'slasting rather late into the night and she doesn't like staying upfor too long. [stage whisper]She gets awful cranky when she's made to stay up past her bed-time.

THE PIRATE: I understand. Go, attend to yourlady, señor.I'll find my courage, I thank you for your wise words.

GRANDFATHERwalks briskly off-stage, calling out “Lorena!”, searching for hiswife who is probably quite cranky by now. The girls on THE LORD'sarms are laughing so loudly THE PIRATE can hear it from over here,over the music. They are joined by an older woman in a dusty pinkgown whose bony hand is clamped tightly on THE LORD's shoulder.

THEPIRATE can no longer see.

VICTORIA: Boo.

THE PIRATE [calmly,not moving a muscle]: Ah. And who isthis?

VICTORIA [removingher hand from THE PIRATE's face]:Good evening, stranger. How nice to see an unfamiliar face. It getsdreadful, always seeing the same people at every party I attend.

Standing beside THE PIRATE is a young womanwhose height reaches about his shoulder. She is pale, with bright redhair – a familiar sight. She is wearing a ball gown with a top fartoo plunging for a girl of perhaps-19 summers, and she holds ahalf-empty wine glass.

THE PIRATE: You, young miss... You're family,aren't you?

VICTORIA: Aye. Family of the people of thehouse, I live here – I am the young lord's cousin.

THE PIRATE [peeringat the girls surrounding THE LORD again]It seems the young lord has many cousins.

VICTORIA [giggling]:That's true. But I am his special cousin, Victoria.

THE PIRATE: Really. And what makes you special,Victoria?

VICTORIA: … [looksleft and right] … I am the holderof a terrible secret, stranger. [yetshe smirks] One that would destroyour family name if it reached the rest of the world... Maybe. Younever know what other people will think.

THE PIRATE: Let me guess. He wet the bed as achild.

VICTORIA [justabout cackles, and then speaks sarcastically]:How did you know, stranger?

THE PIRATE [smiling]:Just a hunch.

VICTORIA [rubbingher fingers in circles around the mouth of her glass. She seemsalmost-drunk]: … It's a terribledisease. One passed from me... [tiltsher head back, emptying the glass down her throat]… To him.

THE PIRATE: To the Lord?

VICTORIA: Preeeecisely... It's something in ourblood.

THE PIRATE: A blood-borne disease, then? Ruinthe family name indeed, there'll be none of you left one day! But –if I may... Just how would that pass from cousin to cousin?

VICTORIA [herface is weary, like she's going to fall asleep any second]:… You think so deeply about these things.

Andso VICTORIA leaves THE PIRATE with that to dwell on. He offers thestrange girl a tight-lipped, awkward smile as she heads on her merryway. He looks back, straight ahead, to the object of his interest –THE LORD-- Oh. Perhaps not.

Apair of familiar green eyes is staring, boring right into his own.

GRANDFATHER: What did she tell you?

THE PIRATE: Ex...cuse me?

ThePirate backs away slowly, gently bumping into the hors-d'oeuvrestable he previously attempted to use as camouflage. Two girls nearbyare closing in on his sides. Their stare is wide-open, to compare itto the eyes of a doll would be disingenuous.

GIRL #1 [Closing her arms around THEPIRATE's arm]: What did she tell you?

GIRL #2 [Cupping THE PIRATE's cheeks in hersoft, gloved hands]: What did she tell you?

THE PIRATE [Chuckling nervously, but knowingbetter than to panic in his situation]: Ladies – No entiendo, Idon't even know who 'she' is.

GRANDFATHER: Victoria.

GIRL #1: Victoria.

GIRL #2: Victoria.

Thepeople of the splendorous ballroom of Rosamund Manor have all seemedto stop their twirling, their laughing, their drinking, as well.Every single pair of eyes in the room is on THE PIRATE. Even themusicians on their pedestal have dropped their violins and woodwindsto the floor unceremoniously, their burning arms limp at their sides.

Andso the muttering starts. One by one, the people of the splendorousballroom of Rosamund Manor approach THE PIRATE.And now he begins to panic.

GRANDFATHER [Grabbing one of the many winebottles off of the hors-doeuvres table, smashing it against the tableedge]: What did she tell you?

GIRL #1 [Digging her nails deep into THEPIRATE's arm]: What did she tell you?

GIRL #2 [Tightening THE PIRATE's cravatalmost painfully]: What did she tell you?

THE PIRATE: Get off of me.

Everysingle party guest, every man and woman in the bright and beautifuldance hall is now surrounding THE PIRATE – and all of them arerepeating the same question. “What did she tell you?” Thougheveryone's voices are soft, the clamor is unbearably loud. A MAN muchtaller than THE PIRATE slips behind him, grabbing his hair andyanking his head back in one hand. The MAN twists THE PIRATE's armbehind him ruthlessly, earning a strangled cry out of him. GIRL #2rips his cravat off by pulling the knot out, spreading the collar ofhis coat open and exposing his Adam's apple. THE PIRATE is now veryanxious about the sharp, wine-dripped edges of the broken bottleGRANDFATHER is holding, but his struggling against the MAN behind himis much too tall, much too strong – and the space he has to breatheis growing smaller and smaller by the second as the party guests stepin front of GRANDFATHER to get closer.

THELORD is staring straight at THE PIRATE now, through the crowd. Hisarms are not at his sides, but rather they are bent behind him in arather regal manner.

THE PIRATE [Muttering, almost hissing]:Shit!

THELORD walks straight towards THE PIRATE. The guests politely part forhim like the Red Sea parted for Moses. THE PIRATE catches himshooting a disgusted look to his right somewhere down the line at anelderly woman in a dusty pink gown.

THELORD, reaching THE PIRATE, scans slowly up THE PIRATE's chest withhis eyes until he reaches his face. There's quite a difference inheight between them, THE LORD is at least a head shorter than THEPIRATE.

THE LORD [Asking softly]: What did shetell you?

THE PIRATE: Señor– Sh-she didn't tell me anything, I swear. [Raises his hands,trying to show he means no harm, and even lowering to his knees]We were just having a conversation, she said she was your cousin andshe told me some sort of disease ran in your family and—

Ashiver very visibly runs down THE LORD's spine, which lets THE PIRATEknow that now is the time to shut up. He grits his teeth, like he'strying to keep his own bile where it belongs.

THE LORD: … A disease, traveler? [Gives abrief, mirthless laugh] That's – that's what she called it?

THEPIRATE keeps his head low.

THE LORD [Shivering again, giving adisgusted groan]: A disease. A disease. A disease. [breathesslowly in and out through his nose] … I believe it's time foryou to leave.

THE PIRATE: I— What?

THE LORD [Turning away from THE PIRATE,showing his back]: You heard me. You have to go. You are nolonger welcome in this room. Go somewhere else. Go home. Kindlyforget everything the locals told you about this house, everything –everything they've said, it's all lies.

THE PIRATE [Desperately]: EdgarLeopold Wilhelm!

THE LORD pauses, and so does his heart.He turns on his heels, facing THE PIRATE again, as soon as heremembers how to. A murderous look decorates the young noble's eyes.

THE PIRATE: I... I can help you! Please.Please, let me stay just a minute longer, there's so much I don'tunderstand.

THE LORD: You know... My name? How do you knowmy name?

THE PIRATE: I bothered to look past the rumorsand ghost stories, that's how! I'm here – because somethinghappened here. Something very wrong happened here, and I intend tofind out what that was.

THELORD backs away... There is also something frightened, somethingdirty in the core of his chest. The lights are fading in this room,and every guest is muttering to one another.

THE PIRATE: … Whatever happened here – it'snot a disease. I know that much. There's some reason you're stillhere. There's some reason you're letting me see all this. You areawfully shy, but I know for a fact that there's something you want meto figure out here. If there wasn't, you would have kicked me out bynow. Maybe you would have killed me.

Hands,one by one, tear through the wallpaper from behind the set, reachingaround frantically on the walls. THE LORD reaches behind him, takingthe broken wine bottle out of GRANDFATHER's pale hand. GRANDFATHERoffers no resistance.

THE PIRATE [Eyes wide]: Edgar. Let's.Let's be reasonable.

THELORD approaches THE PIRATE without a word, bottle clutched at theneck against his chest. Only breathing, laboredly, like trying to getsomething out of his throat.

THE PIRATE: Edgar. You don't have to do this.I'm trying to help you, I—

THELORD grabs THE PIRATE by the collar with strength much unlike that ofa teenage boy, readying the wine bottle like a dagger behind him –and plunges it. Somewhere.

Thestage has gone pitch black, and a scream much louder than the clamorbefore rings out, carrying too many voices to belong to any oneperson.

THE PIRATE awakens just outside thedilapidated, aged ballroom of the Rosamund Manor. The year is 1809and he sits up and rubs his neck which is mysteriously free of anyshards of glass or even a scar. He gets to his feet right away andtries the door latch – it doesn't budge an inch. He leans againstthe door, giving a defeated sigh.

THE PIRATE [Speaking aloud, though no one isthere]: Though you've opened another room for me... Haven't you,my lord? You know me by now, don't you? You know I'm not here for...[wiggles fingers] Spooky ghost stories. You know I'm not herefor a spectacle. [pauses, considering something] Well. Maybe Iwas at first. But certainly not now. Not anymore. I'm here for you. Iwant to understand you, if you'll let me try. [stands for a fewmoments in silence] … I won't laugh. Why would I? I promise, Iwon't laugh.

Just across the hall, the sound of a lockclicking – unlocking – can be heard.

THE PIRATE: So polite. [to the audience]Isn't it funny, how locks work? They don't open for just anybody, youknow. [and offstage he goes]

[winterywitch]

OK im done with my 10 minute play! definitely read if you can and tell me what you think, feedback is absolutely vital to my creative writing assignments

[CW: surreal, implied neck trauma]

@hauntpark i think you wanted to see this when it was done

The story (or this isolated chapter of it) begins in the marvelous, shining ball room of the Rosamund Manor. The year is 1789, and in the splendorous white and yellow light of the dance hall, not a soul can tell it is past midnight outside. Away from the center of the action and the twirling gowns stands a man born of the glory of Mayan gods with hair brown as espresso and skin brown as natural wood – he is constructed of life itself, it seems, and his natural, loose posture almost looks suspect in his stiff blue coat. You will not be allowed to know him as anything else but THE PIRATE. He is smiling and clapping along to the rhythm of the jaunty strings tune to which the guests of this grand party turn, but it seems he is interested in something else in this affair. The chandelier glistens, seeming to sway.

Wilting under the attention of the giggling girls around him is the son of the master of the house – a terribly pale, skinny boy of 16, maybe 17. Though he doesn't have the presence of one just yet, this boy is someone you will know as THE LORD. And THE LORD has no clue THE PIRATE is here – that's good, that's exactly what THE PIRATE is counting on. What dastardly plot could possibly be laid here?

And so the boy's grandfather, a man with hair white and magnificent atop his head and adorning his cheeks and chin, approaches the scene.

GRANDFATHER: Haha. Lovely party, isn't it? My wife orchestrated the whole thing – she can't rest knowing she's not in control of something.

THE PIRATE [Chuckling, good-natured, speaking with a notable Venezuelan accent]: Truly the fairer sex.

GRANDFATHER: I must ask, though... [gestures towards the dancers, nodding] You are young, why not join the festivities?

THE PIRATE [Pausing, as if he wasn't paying attention and is trying to figure out what was just said] … I'm sorry?

GRANDFATHER: There's no need to be shy, son – I recognize that look on your face anywhere.

THE PIRATE: Do you.

GRANDFATHER: Oh, now – I was your age at one point, you know. I remember what it's like being young, unsure... I can tell, a girl's caught your eye. [laughing and wheezing softly, nudging THE PIRATE's arm with his elbow]

THE PIRATE [Furrows his brows, still watching the back of THE LORD's head – and deciding to go along with the absurdity of this situation]: You could say that, señor.

GRANDFATHER: Well, boy, you learn some things when you get to be as old as I am. I believe the wisdom best suited to this situation is... You've got to jump in and make the first move!

THE PIRATE: Really. Is that so?

GRANDFATHER: Oh, most certainly. You see, boy – women, they want you to come to them. 'T'wouldn't be ladylike if they were to come running after you, would it? You look like the kind of man who likes the pretty little sorts, the shy ones – and those kinds especially need you to move first.

THE LORD slowly turns his head behind him deeper in the center of the ball room, but THE PIRATE ducks behind the hors-d'oeuvres table before the two's eyes meet.

GRANDFATHER: HEAVENS, boy! You're not gonna win any hearts acting like that! Oh – come on, get ahold of yourself, lad, get up. [bends his knees slightly, slowly, giving a labored little grunt, to help THE PIRATE back onto his feet]

THE PIRATE [Visibly embarrassed by his panicky move, taking GRANDFATHER'S hand and pulling himself up]: Thank you. You see... There's something else.

GRANDFATHER: Well, what is it, son?

THE PIRATE: I... I can't dance.

GRANDFATHER [Snorting dismissively]: Everyone can dance. Maybe not well, but everyone can dance.

THE PIRATE: No, I truly mean it! I can't dance. [leaning on his right foot] Do you remember the Silk War, señor?

GRANDFATHER: How could I forget? My own son served.

THE PIRATE: Really. Such a small world, isn't it? [grinning] So did I. 5th Princess Charlotte's Dragoon Guards.

GRANDFATHER: Princess Charlotte's – that's quite the honor, lad! My boy, Charles – He was a lancer.

THE PIRATE: All soldiers are honorable. However... During my service, something quite unfortunate happened to me.

GRANDFATHER: What was that?

THE PIRATE: I was shot – right in the foot. The bullet bore so deep into me, got – tangled up in whatever was in there, I'll spare you the details – that the doctors were afraid of taking it out. Thought it'd do more harm than good.

GRANDFATHER: More harm than good?! Why, what kind of life is hobbling around on a bad foot like that?

THE PIRATE: It's much better than hobbling around on no foot. Seems that's what they thought the alternative may have been.

GRANDFATHER: What foot was it?

THE PIRATE: My right.

GRANDFATHER slowly scans down THE PIRATE's legs.

THE PIRATE: … Something the matter?

GRANDFATHER: Your right, you said, boy?

THE PIRATE: Yes. [smoothly shifts his weight to his left foot, too far into his lie to show any panic] My right. I'm – I'm used to most of the pain by now. However, being on it for too long – especially with things like dancing – can get unbearable. Do you know any girl who would be impressed by that?

GRANDFATHER: Well... I suppose not off the top of my head. But hey, you've got this waiting for you – one day you'll get older and meet an older woman. The standards start lowering right about then. [slaps THE PIRATE's back, laughing to himself] Speaking of that, I've got to go check on my wife, this party's lasting rather late into the night and she doesn't like staying up for too long. [stage whisper] She gets awful cranky when she's made to stay up past her bed-time.

THE PIRATE: I understand. Go, attend to your lady, señor. I'll find my courage, I thank you for your wise words.

GRANDFATHER walks briskly off-stage, calling out “Lorena!”, searching for his wife who is probably quite cranky by now. The girls on THE LORD's arms are laughing so loudly THE PIRATE can hear it from over here, over the music. Did they say something about – a consort?

THE PIRATE can no longer see.

???: Boo.

THE PIRATE [calmly, not moving a muscle]: Ah. And who is this?

??? [removing her hand from THE PIRATE's face]: Good evening, stranger. How nice to see an unfamiliar face. It gets dreadful, always seeing the same people at every party I attend.

Standing beside THE PIRATE is a young woman whose height reaches about his shoulder. She is pale, with big and frizzy hair just like THE LORD, and perhaps just like GRANDFATHER was in his youth. She is wearing a ball gown with a top far too plunging for a girl of perhaps-19 summers, and she holds a half-empty wine glass.

THE PIRATE: You, young miss... You're family, aren't you?

???: Aye. Family of the people of the house, I live here – I am the young lord's cousin.

THE PIRATE [peering at the girls surrounding THE LORD again, and how strangely sullen he seems] It seems the young lord has many cousins.

??? [giggling]: That's true. But I am his special cousin, Victoria.

THE PIRATE: Really. And what makes you special, Victoria?

VICTORIA: … [looks left and right] … I am the holder of a terrible secret, stranger. [yet she smirks] One that would destroy our family name if it reached the rest of the world... Maybe. You never know what other people will think.

THE PIRATE: Let me guess. He wet the bed as a child.

VICTORIA [just about cackles, and then speaks sarcastically]: How did you know, stranger?

THE PIRATE [smiling]: Just a hunch.

VICTORIA [rubbing her fingers in circles around the mouth of her glass. She seems almost-drunk]: … It's a terrible disease. One passed from me... [tilts her head back, emptying the glass down her throat] … To him.

THE PIRATE: To the Lord?

VICTORIA: Preeeecisely... It's something in our blood.

THE PIRATE: A blood-borne disease, then? Ruin the family name indeed, there'll be none of you left one day! But – if I may... Just how would that pass from cousin to cousin?

VICTORIA [her face is weary, like she's going to fall asleep any second]: … You think so deeply about these things.

And so VICTORIA leaves THE PIRATE with that to dwell on. He offers the strange girl a tight-lipped, awkward smile as she heads on her merry way. He looks back, straight ahead, to the object of his interest – THE LORD-- Oh. Perhaps not.

A pair of familiar green eyes is staring, boring right into his own.

GRANDFATHER: What did she tell you?

THE PIRATE: Ex...cuse me?

The Pirate backs away slowly, gently bumping into the hors-d'oeuvres table he previously attempted to use as camouflage. Two girls nearby, who were laughing and spinning hand-in-hand with honest boys, are closing in on his sides. Their stare is wide-open, to compare it to the eyes of a doll would be disingenuous.

GIRL #1 [Closing her arms around THE PIRATE's arm]: What did she tell you?

GIRL #2 [Cupping THE PIRATE's cheeks in her soft, gloved hands]: What did she tell you?

THE PIRATE [Chuckling nervously, but knowing better than to panic in his situation]: Ladies – No entiendo, I don't even know who 'she' is.

GRANDFATHER: Victoria.

GIRL #1: Victoria.

GIRL #2: Victoria.

The people of the splendorous ballroom of Rosamund Manor have all seemed to stop their twirling, their laughing, their drinking, as well. Every single pair of eyes in the room is on THE PIRATE. Even the musicians on their pedestal have dropped their violins and woodwinds to the floor unceremoniously, their burning arms limp at their sides.

And so the muttering starts. One by one, the people of the splendorous ballroom of Rosamund Manor approach THE PIRATE. And now he begins to panic.

GRANDFATHER [Grabbing one of the many wine bottles off of the hors-doeuvres table, smashing it against the table edge]: What did she tell you?

GIRL #1 [Digging her nails deep into THE PIRATE's arm]: What did she tell you?

GIRL #2 [Tightening THE PIRATE's cravat almost painfully]: What did she tell you?

THE PIRATE: Get off of me.

Every single party guest, every man and woman in the bright and beautiful dance hall is now surrounding THE PIRATE – and all of them are repeating the same question. “What did she tell you?” Though everyone's voices are soft, the clamor is unbearably loud. A MAN much taller than THE PIRATE slips behind him, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back in one hand. The MAN twists THE PIRATE's arm behind him ruthlessly, earning a strangled cry out of him. GIRL #2 rips his cravat off by pulling the knot out, spreading the collar of his coat open and exposing his Adam's apple. THE PIRATE is now very anxious about the sharp, wine-dripped edges of the broken bottle GRANDFATHER is holding, but his struggling against the MAN behind him is much too tall, much too strong – and the space he has to breathe is growing smaller and smaller by the second as the party guests step in front of GRANDFATHER to get closer.

But THE PIRATE notices something terribly odd. Not every party guest is accounted for in this mob. He manages to look up over GRANDFATHER's head, and he sees a wavy shock of bright red hair framing a pale white face. He can't see the freckles, but he knows for certain this boy has them.

THE LORD, staring straight at him now. His arms are not at his sides, but rather they are bent behind him in a rather regal manner. It's much like, now that he is given space to breathe, he can act much more like himself And his face. Is horribly stern.

THE PIRATE [Muttering, almost hissing]: Shit!

THE LORD walks straight towards THE PIRATE, not seeming to mind all the guests in his way. He doesn't have to, they politely part for him like the Red Sea parted for Moses. THE PIRATE catches him shooting a disgusted look to his right somewhere down the line – at who? At an elderly woman in a dusty pink gown. Might be Lorena, THE PIRATE thinks to himself, trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his own chest.

THE LORD, reaching THE PIRATE, scans slowly up THE PIRATE's chest with his eyes until he reaches his face. There's quite a difference in height between them, THE LORD is at least a head shorter than THE PIRATE.

THE LORD [Asking softly, like he wants an explanation for this utter foolishness]: What did she tell you?

THE PIRATE: Señor – Sh-she didn't tell me anything, I swear. [Raises his hands, trying to show he means no harm, and even lowering to his knees] We were just having a conversation, she said she was your cousin and she told me some sort of disease ran in your family and—

A shiver very visibly runs down THE LORD's spine, which lets THE PIRATE know that now is the time to shut up. He grits his teeth, like he's trying to keep his own bile where it belongs.

THE LORD: … A disease, traveler? [Gives a brief, mirthless laugh] That's – that's what she called it?

THE PIRATE: Si. A blood-borne. Disease.

THE PIRATE keeps his head low.

THE LORD [Shivering again, giving a disgusted groan]: A disease. A disease. A disease.

THE LORD lifts one hand to his mouth, breathing slowly in through his nose... And out.

THE LORD: Get out. You need to go now.

THE PIRATE: I— What?

THE LORD [Turning away from THE PIRATE, showing his back]: You heard me. You have to go. You are no longer welcome in this room. Go somewhere else. Go home.

THE PIRATE [Desperately]: Edgar Leopold Wilhelm!

THE LORD pauses, and so does his heart. He turns on his heels, facing THE PIRATE again, as soon as he remembers how to. A murderous look decorates the young noble's eyes.

THE PIRATE: I... I can help you! Please. Please, let me stay just a minute longer, there's so much I don't understand.

THE LORD backs away... There is also something frightened, something dirty in the core of his chest.

THE PIRATE: … Edgar?

THE LORD reaches behind him, taking the broken wine bottle out of GRANDFATHER's pale hand. GRANDFATHER offers no resistance.

THE PIRATE [Eyes wide]: Edgar. You don't have to do this.

THE LORD approaches THE PIRATE without a word, bottle clutched at the neck against his chest. Only breathing, laboredly, like trying to get something out of his throat.

THE PIRATE: Edgar. Edgar. Don't.

THE LORD grabs THE PIRATE by the collar with strength much unlike that of a teenage boy, readying the wine bottle like a dagger behind him – and plunges it. Somewhere.

The stage has gone pitch black, and a scream much louder than the clamor before rings out, carrying too many voices to belong to any one person. Too loud, so loud it hurts your ears and makes your heart jump in its chest like you're falling.

THE PIRATE awakens in the dilapidated, aged ballroom of the Rosamund Manor. The year is 1809, and the first thing he can see is a portrait hanging on the wall above him. He sits up to investigate. It depicts a man of about 35, with a shock of bright red hair framing his pale, freckled face.

[winterywitch]

ok im done working for now im tired

im about halfway through my 10 minute play

The story (or this isolated chapter of it) begins in the marvelous, shining ball room of the Rosamund Manor. The year is 1789, and in the splendorous white and yellow light of the dance hall, not a soul could tell it is past midnight outside. Away from the center of the action and the twirling gowns stands a man born of the glory of Mayan gods with hair brown as espresso and skin brown as natural wood – he is constructed of life itself, it seems, and his natural, loose posture almost looks suspect in his stiff blue coat. You will not be allowed to know him as anything else but THE PIRATE. He is smiling and clapping along to the rhythm of the jaunty strings tune to which the guests of this grand party turn, but it seems he is interested in something else in this affair. The chandelier glistens, seeming to sway.

Wilting under the attention of the giggling girls around him is the son of the master of the house – a terribly pale, skinny boy of 16, maybe 17. Though he doesn't have the presence of one just yet, this boy is someone you will know as THE LORD. And THE LORD has no clue THE PIRATE is here – that's good, that's exactly what THE PIRATE is counting on. What dastardly plot could possibly be laid here?

And so the boy's grandfather, a man with hair white and magnificent atop his head and adorning his cheeks and chin, approaches the scene.

GRANDFATHER: Haha. Lovely party, isn't it? My wife orchestrated the whole thing – she can't rest knowing she's not in control of something.

THE PIRATE [Chuckling, good-natured, speaking with a notable Venezuelan accent]: Truly the fairer sex.

GRANDFATHER: I must ask, though... [gestures towards the dancers, nodding] You are young, why not join the festivities?

THE PIRATE [Pausing, as if he wasn't paying attention and is trying to figure out what was just said] … I'm sorry?

GRANDFATHER: There's no need to be shy, son – I recognize that look on your face anywhere.

THE PIRATE: Do you.

GRANDFATHER: Oh, now – I was your age at one point, you know. I remember what it's like being young, unsure... I can tell, a girl's caught your mind. [laughing and wheezing softly, nudging THE PIRATE's arm with his elbow]

THE PIRATE [Furrows his brows, still watching the back of THE LORD's head – and deciding to go along with the absurdity of this situation]: You could say that, señor.

GRANDFATHER: Well, boy, you learn some things when you get to be as old as I am. I believe the wisdom best suited to this situation is... You've got to jump in and make the first move!

THE PIRATE: Really. Is that so?

GRANDFATHER: Oh, most certainly. You see, boy – women, they want you to come to them. 'T'wouldn't be ladylike if they were to come running after you, would it? You look like the kind of man who likes the pretty little sorts, the shy ones – and those kinds especially need you to move first.

THE LORD slowly turns his head behind him deeper in the center of the ball room, but THE PIRATE ducks behind the hors-d'oeuvres table before the two's eyes meet.

GRANDFATHER: HEAVENS, boy! You're not gonna win any hearts acting like that! Oh – come on, get ahold of yourself, lad, get up. [bends his knees slightly, slowly, giving a labored little grunt, to help THE PIRATE back onto his feet]

THE PIRATE [Visibly embarrassed by his panicky move, taking GRANDFATHER'S hand and pulling himself up]: Thank you. You see... There's something else.

GRANDFATHER: Well, what is it, son?

THE PIRATE: I... I can't dance.

GRANDFATHER [Snorting dismissively]: Everyone can dance. Maybe not well, but everyone can dance.

THE PIRATE: No, I truly mean it! I can't dance. [leaning on his right foot] Do you remember the Silk War, señor?

GRANDFATHER: How could I forget? My own son served.

THE PIRATE: Really. Such a small world, isn't it? [grinning] So did I. 5th Princess Charlotte's Dragoon Guards.

GRANDFATHER: Princess Charlotte's – that's quite the honor, lad! My boy, Charles – He was a lancer.

THE PIRATE: All soldiers are honorable. However... During my service, something quite unfortunate happened to me.

GRANDFATHER: What was that?

THE PIRATE: I was shot – right in the foot. The bullet bore so deep into me, got – tangled up in whatever was in there, I'll spare you the details – that the doctors were afraid of taking it out. Thought it'd do more harm than good.

GRANDFATHER: More harm than good?! Why, what kind of life is hobbling around on a bad foot like that?

THE PIRATE: It's much better than hobbling around on no foot. Seems that's what they thought the alternative may have been.

GRANDFATHER: What foot was it?

THE PIRATE: My right.

GRANDFATHER slowly scans down THE PIRATE's legs.

THE PIRATE: … Something the matter?

GRANDFATHER: Your right, you said, boy?

THE PIRATE: Yes. [smoothly shifts his weight to his left foot, too far into his lie to show any panic] My right. I'm – I'm used to most of the pain by now. However, being on it for too long – especially with things like dancing – can get unbearable. Do you know any girl who would be impressed by that?

GRANDFATHER: Well... I suppose not off the top of my head. But hey, you've got this waiting for you – one day you'll get older and meet an older woman. The standards start lowering right about then. [slaps THE PIRATE's back, laughing to himself] Speaking of that, I've got to go check on my wife, this party's lasting rather late into the night and she doesn't like staying up for too long. [stage whisper] She gets awful cranky when she's made to stay up past her bed-time.

THE PIRATE: I understand. Go, attend to your lady, señor. I'll find my courage, I thank you for your wise words.

GRANDFATHER walks briskly off-stage, calling out “Lorena!”, searching for his wife who is probably quite cranky by now. The girls on THE LORD's arms are laughing so loudly THE PIRATE can hear it from over here, over the music. Did they say something about – a consort?

THE PIRATE can no longer see.

???: Boo.

THE PIRATE [calmly, not moving a muscle]: Ah. And who is this?

??? [removing her hand from THE PIRATE's face]: Good evening, stranger. How nice to see an unfamiliar face. It gets dreadful, always seeing the same people at every party I attend.

Standing beside THE PIRATE is a young woman whose height reaches about his shoulder. She is pale, with big and frizzy hair just like THE LORD, and perhaps just like GRANDFATHER was in his youth. She is wearing a ball gown with a top far too plunging for a girl of perhaps-19 summers, and she holds a half-empty wine glass.

THE PIRATE: You, young miss... You're family, aren't you?

???: Aye. Family of the people of the house, I live here – I am the young lord's cousin.

THE PIRATE [peering at the girls surrounding THE LORD again, and how strangely sullen he seems] It seems the young lord has many cousins.

??? [giggling]: That's true. But I am his special cousin, Victoria.

THE PIRATE: Really. And what makes you special, Victoria?

VICTORIA: … [looks left and right] … I am the holder of a terrible secret, stranger. [yet she smirks] One that would destroy our family name if it reached the rest of the world... Maybe. You never know what other people will think.

THE PIRATE: Let me guess. He wet the bed as a child.

VICTORIA [just about cackles, and then speaks sarcastically]: How did you know, stranger?

THE PIRATE [smiling]: Just a hunch.

VICTORIA [rubbing her fingers in circles around the mouth of her glass. She seems almost-drunk]: … It's a terrible disease. One passed from me... [tilts her head back, emptying the glass down her throat] … To him.

THE PIRATE: To the Lord?

VICTORIA: Preeeecisely... It's something in our blood.

THE PIRATE: A blood-borne disease, then? Ruin the family name indeed, there'll be none of you left one day! But – if I may... Just how would that pass from cousin to cousin?

VICTORIA [her face is weary, like she's going to fall asleep any second]: … You think so deeply about these things.

And so VICTORIA leaves THE PIRATE with that to dwell on.

[winterywitch]

37. Morganala.

“you’re a nerd. but my favorite nerd.”

Marianela only gave Morganite enough time to squeak aloud, but not enough to form a coherent thought through the sudden overdrive her body was running through.

“Now - Don’t take that too personally, Azúcar. I’m just saying.” The bird girl practically shrugged. “Because it’s true. So many nerds in this circo, but only one keeps my attention for more than five seconds.”

Morganite now had enough time to do more than stand there, frozen - and she used that time to pat at her own cheeks. Was this really happening? Was she awake. “Th-th-... Ththhh.... Tthhthth!!”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself!” Marianela laughed, giving Morganite a rough slap on the back.

This only threw Morganite further out of sorts, pushing her lungs to cough up the rest of the air that’d been knocked out of her.The gembot finally whimpered in response, quivering: “ThankyouMarianela.”

[winterywitch]

27, Sodium and Inferna

“c-can I hold your hand?..”

Soda wasn’t certain she heard Inferna correctly. After all, Inferna had just shown up to her cottage a few minutes ago, looking like she hadn’t slept or bathed in days.

Come to think of it, days was the exact amount of time they spent apart.

She did not think to ask Inferna to repeat herself, but simply tilted her head in that woman’s direction.

“Miss Storybook, I...” Stammered the little dragon. Her lips trembled, her long, black hair stringy and out of sorts. “I would like to. Hold your hand. Please.”

At first, Soda had to fight off a pout, all sorts of thoughts filling her head. What is this - some kind of trick again? Wouldn’t she rather hold HIS hand? Am I her second choice, I wonder... What more use do I have for her?

But then Inferna spoke again.

“... You don’t. We don’t have to. B-but I just wanted you to know. You’re. You’re the closest thing to safety I’ve ever known.” Her teeth grit together, and she growled through them. “Please. Please. I was looking - everywhere but where I should have been looking in the first place, everywhere but to you. Let me make that up to you.”

Soda gave her a long look. And then her gaze turned up to the moon, high in the sky. And back again.

“We have much to talk about,” grumbled the inventor, holding her hand out.

[winterywitch]

50 for naname

“ah, you’re up. how’d you sleep?”

“Admittedly - there’s a bit of a kink in my neck.”

Ayame laughed at the way Nan grunted, trying to work said kink out. “From sleeping in a futon?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he chuckled, “I am a fake Japanese man. I can hardly remember the last time I was anywhere near one... There’s just not enough support for my head.”

The smile carried on Ayame’s face wordlessly, and she snuggled up closer to her new friend. She wondered how in the world they could have rolled away from each other...

For a moment, Ayame could have sworn she felt Nan tense up under her head. But the moment, whatever it was, had passed, when he sighed softly, holding her head to him.

“Good morning, child.”