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clad-in-sunshine · 5 years ago

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Annie of Anglesey

My submission for @arowrimo I hoped to get this in earlier - as it is I’m a day late for the week 2 prompt of self-love. It’s based on the song ‘The Bonny Lass of Anglesey’, and ended up far longer than I intended. The main character is aplatonic and aromantic.

Title: Annie of Anglesey Word count: 4,676 Language: English Genre: Historical fiction/folk tale (I guess? Idk) Theme: Subverting romantic tropes Prompt: Self-love CWs: Past marriage, Unwanted romantic interest, Public proposal, Grief

Summary: Annie is living quite happily alone in the mountains, when the king comes to her for aid in a competition. Hoping to get something for herself out of the situation, she agrees to help him.

The castle grounds were awash with a hubbub of excitement and jubilation. It unnerved the king. He stood atop one of his watchtowers, following the procession of nobles through the festivities with rattled nerves and shaking hands.

“They can’t win- won’t win. Will they?” he asked, not tearing his eyes from the approaching men. “Will they, guard?”

“No sire. Absolutely not, sire.” An unseen salute, and he returned to position.

“Of course. Of course...” The king mumbled mostly to himself, before straightening and turning. “Well, I must greet the newcomers...”

Arriving like a tidal wave, groups of men dressed up in extravagant finery swept up to the castle gates. The air around them filled with a jumble of expensive and rare perfumes, and exotic spices.

And then the gates were opened, letting them pour out into the huge ornate entry hall; their perfumes colliding with the delicious smells of food to create a chaos for the senses as tray after tray was rushed through into the dining hall.

The floor of the entrance was a deathly smooth marble that shone their faces back at them, and the walls were lined with huge and detailed tapestries: the most recent of which depicting the king’s marriage to the late queen Penelope. The king’s likeness stood tall and confident beside him as he descended the stairs with small and wavering steps. He stopped where the two halves of the staircase joined, and lifted himself to his full height.

“Welcome!” he cried in one breath, “Welcome... “ Another pause. “Welcome one and all! We all know why you’re here, and we will get to that this evening. But for now at least, my servants are laying out the very best food and drink we have to offer - so let us feast!”

The silence was quickly overwritten by an eruption of cheering from the men, who bundled themselves into the well laid out hall, to seat themselves around the table of epic proportions. Across the surface were pastries, fine cheeses, fruit, preserves, breads, cakes, wines, jellies, cider and nuts. A spread that could put most others to shame. The nobles, now seated, dismissed their servants as they relaxed into their chairs for the evening.

Ruddy faced and jovial, the gathering ate with a lack of elegance and poise that only the very wealthy could afford. Very few words of substance were passed between them; instead bowls of food and bottles of wine were constantly moved from one to another, not from noble hand to noble hand but by the dedicated effort of the king’s own servants. As the food began to dwindle, and fire petered out, an anticipation built. It grew in drips, until the final fork clattered to the table and it spilled over; bringing all eyes up to the king, who swallowed and pushed his chair back to stand.

“My Steward, if you will?” With a hand, he beckoned forward a small and unassuming man who had been standing unnoticed in the doorway for some time.

The Steward hurried beside him at the head of the table, unfurling a scroll and clearing his throat. “In the matter of the upcoming competition, the event has been decided. It is to be…” He looked around the room, all eyes looking back. “Dance.”

A silence as everyone looked around in turn.

Then a fist hit the table and there was an explosion of noise.

----

Leagues away from the castle, nestled between the hills at the foot of a mountain, lay a small cottage surrounded by blooming May trees. Within it, Annie looked up from her book to watch the pinpricks of light that flickered about the castle grounds through a gap in the thorn and flower-strewn branches. The evening sun had long since hidden its face behind the mountain that sheltered her, and the lights of celebration were rendered as bright in the darkness as any of the stars in the sky above.

There was no finer place to enjoy the view than that; sat on the sil with a fire to warm her, and with no company but the chatterings and murmurings of the animals that shared these hills. She sipped from an open bottle of elderflower wine, brewed by herself from fresh flowers she’d picked the previous summer. It drew a smile meant for no one but herself.

She had almost everything she could want.

Almost.

After a short time of watching the lights, a sound pulled Annie from her daze. She’d long had a tendency to pick up on noises before someone else might, aided here by the amplification from the mountains, and she could soon make out the distinctive rhythm of hoof-beats approaching.

It was easy enough to deduce that anyone entering the area was coming to visit her, being the only one to live on the mountain. It was uncommon for her to have visitors however, and she wasn’t keen for strangers to find her house, so she prepared to leave and meet them: pulling on her white cloak, and beckoning Fiore to her from the forest.

Fiore swiftly appeared before her door, huffing huge clouds of breath that hung visible in the cold spring air. She was wondrously ghostly; a large white hind that cut an imposing figure in the silver moonlight. She’d been Annie’s friend since she’d rescued her as no more than a foal, having been orphaned by hunters. Nowadays she lived in the woods nearby, visiting occasionally to offer, or ask for, assistance or companionship.

After a quick and kindly greeting, Annie threw a leg over Fiore’s sturdy torso and directed them to a hilltop closer to the approaching horses.

Seated on the elusive animal with the white cloak billowing out behind her, she could be easily taken for a ghost or one of the fair folk. Just how she liked it.

They stood astride the crest of the hill, easily within sight of the oncoming strangers when they came close enough.

Finally a score of horses emerged through the valley, bearing well armoured knights that wore knotted strips of the castle’s colours. At the head rode a young man with the self-important stature typical of nobles. As they emerged, his face turned up to see her and he stopped dead. Behind him, all horses followed suit.

“Are you the bonny lass who is rumoured to live in these here mountains?” he called. His voice was carried further in the enclosed valley, so he didn’t need to shout to be heard; even so, he sounded quiet.

“More than rumoured, as I’m sure you know. I take it you are someone of importance - what use have you for me that you travel here?”

“Are you so ignorant as to not know your own king?”

“You hardly knew my own name, nor whether I exist or not. It seems fair that I do not know yours. Last I remember we had a queen, and few bother to keep me updated on the comings and goings of monarchs. Either way, it is you who’s come to me, so I ask again: what do you want?”

The king stepped down from his horse, puffing up to his full height, seemingly unaware how little difference it made to Annie above him.

“I have need for your skills. I am in the position to fight for my own status, and there are many who would seek to deprive me. I hear that you have skills that exceed most in many things, and I hoped that you may represent me.”

“What kind of fight?”

“A dance of sorts. The last one standing is to claim the throne and its wealth, but I feel it’s hardly becoming of a king to engage in such a competition.”

“I see.”

“We would compensate you generously, of course. I could grant you a stretch of land - a farm - and servants to work it of course.”

“Land?”

The king appeared concerned suddenly, and looked about before following up with:

“And-” The king looked to his men uncertainly, before looking back at her. “And the chance to marry the fairest noble in my court - I’m sure a woman such as yourself would enjoy the opportunity to marry. And into status and money, no less!”

She considered his offer; perhaps she could make this work for her.

“Very well,” she said, “I’ll represent you as you wish. Will there be stabling for my hind? She will not share with horses, and will need a space away from people. And I expect gold as compensation too.”

She mounted on Fiore quickly, bolting down the side of the mountain ahead of the men before the king could reply. “Shall we?”

The journey back took less than four hours, though it felt longer in the company of those with so little to say, and they were soon settling her into her chambers in the castle. She was filled in on the details on the way: the competition would be in five days, she would be expected to remain silent about her position, and she would remain out of sight as much as possible in the lead up.

It was quickly evident by the next afternoon, however, that the last would be impossible. Word had quickly spread of the king’s female guest, who was kept quiet and hidden in the upper floors of the castle; those rooms usually reserved for royalty themselves. The rumour spread quickly. The king had been alone since the passing of Queen Pen a year prior - despite this, many women had tried and failed to gain his favour, making his romantic life a regular topic of idle conversation.

To Annie, it had become apparent very early on that while the rumours might not have followed the truth, they did seem to predict it. The king was gaining a fondness for her.

Somehow he would find himself in all the places she explored, waiting for her and making himself as appealing as possible.

On the second afternoon she spent there, he was once again waiting when she visited his sizeable yet bare music room. He was dressed up in his finest casual wear and sitting at the piano; a sad smile frozen on his face, and his fingers producing yet sadder music.

“It reminds me of Pen,” he stated forlornly as she entered. “I always used to play this for her… I have been wondering if I’d ever have such a thing again.”

Annie sighed, weary and disappointed that she wouldn’t have time in the room to herself. “I’m sure you will find someone,” she said reluctantly, perching on a stool and trying, for the sake of pity, to sound reassuring. He turned back to the piano with a look of disappointment, before disappearing back into his music. The playing was impressive at the very least, and enjoyable for what it was, so she remained there to listen for a time. It was interesting to note the places where his high class upbringing coloured his music; formal and so different from her own. Intriguing as it could be at times, she was feeling bored of the palace’s extravagant finery. By the end of the second day, she desperately longed to return to her little cottage and the beautiful wilds. She managed to convince the guards to let her visit Fiore on the morning of the third day, and she happily breathed in the forest smells that lingered in her fur as they embraced.

“I’m sorry about this Fi, we won’t be here too much longer. Just two more days.”

With an acknowledging huff, Fiore lay down in the warm straw. Annie followed quickly to lay down and curl against her warm side; she felt more at home in that stable, rocked by Fi’s gentle breaths, than at any point in those few days. She was drawn into a relaxed and shallow sleep; her mind painting pictures on the backs of her eyelids before a stablehand came and prodded her awake.

“Wow,” they said, gawping, as she stood up “It won’t even let me near it... is it yours?”

“She doesn’t trust strangers. I’m Annie, and this is Fiore. We help each other out. And who are you?” Annie asked.

“I’m-” They stepped back uncertainly. “I’m sorry, are you the girl who’s been staying in the castle...?” A shake of their head before they apparently remembered their manners. “Oh, uh, I’m Ren.”

“Ren. Yes, I am the ‘girl’ who’s been staying in the castle.”

“Are you really going to marry the king?”

“Marry?!” She spluttered, quickly descending into great convulsions of laughter that roused the sleeping Fiore into a startled headbutt; throwing Annie forwards and doubling her over further.

Ren jumped back at Fi’s actions, to awkwardly shuffle from foot to foot as she regained her composure.

“Sorry. Sorry. Just- never mind. No, I am not marrying the king... Are you?” she challenged.

“Er- No. I’m just a stablehand ma’am.”

“A fine stablehand that would refer to their guest as ‘it’,” she accused, “But don’t let that stop you! I’m just a wild woman from the mountains, and apparently I’m eligible,” she continued with good humour, enjoying this chance to speak with someone from outside the castle walls.

“That’s you?”

“Didn’t Fi here clue you in a little?”

“Heard you were one of the fair folk. ‘S all I heard, actually.”

“I wish! The rumours keep unwanted guests away though. Mostly,” she said, “Anyway, I was raised in a little village east of here - Durside.” Annie sat against Fiore’s side, and beckoned Ren to sit beside her. “How about you?”

“I’m from here; father’s responsible for these stables, and mam works as a seamstress for the king.”

“I suppose you hear a lot then. I know there’s a competition coming up soon - would you tell me about it?”

Time passed quickly as Ren explained the sad and unusual story of the king’s reign:

He had been Queen Penelope’s second husband, after the first had plotted her death to claim the crown for himself. Having been caught in time, the first was imprisoned, and hung for treason shortly thereafter. So when the Queen married again she’d established a will; one that said that, should she be survived by the king and have no children suited to the crown, then he would reign as ruler for a year while the people came to a decision. Then, in a manner chosen by the common people, nobles and those chosen by the king to compete would fight for the crown and its connected riches. The winner would rule until any heirs came of age - or permanently where no heirs are present - dependent on approval by the people. According to Ren, the marriage had lasted 5 years before Pen fell ill and died. Many suggested she was still bearing the wounds of her first marriage, which even the present king couldn’t heal.

Afterwards, they went on to discuss a little about their own lives - differences and similarities. She had to dodge their questions as to her reasons for being there , but compared to any conversation with the king, or the few noble’s she’d managed to speak to, she could breathe a lot easier. While she loved to be alone, and friends were not her style, it was nice to have an opportunity to talk to someone and catch up on the goings on for the folk she’d left behind.

-----

The next day she surprised herself by managing to feel something for the king, in a smaller and less planned moment than their previous ones. He sat at one of the high arched windows off the tower stairs, looking out nervously on the grounds; a guard stood by him, and while he addressed the guard, he spoke more to himself.

“... and I miss having real conversations. Penelope was someone I could talk to - all these people are after my wealth or status. Or fearful of my wrath. Even you, guard, can be nothing but what you are.” He leaned his head against the window, breath fogging it slightly. “I envy you common people sometimes.”

Annie kept herself out of sight as she listened. She too had found the sharp edge of being cut off from others, as much as she cultivated it for herself. It was the cost of freedom, so far, and it was worth it. But many things were lost to her thanks to it.

Rather than outstay her welcome and hear more than she’d like, she stepped away to spend more time in the library that she’d made her second home. While the king might be a somewhat sympathetic figure, she knew from Ren that he’d been enclosing common land and taxing the poor to pay for his extravagant feasting. Not the best of behaviours for one who’d want friends among their subjects, and she had no interest in soothing his troubled soul.

The library never failed to make her breath catch, and her head whirl; the light pouring in through stained glass and coating the shelves and shelves of books in stunning rainbow hues. The impossibility of reading all of the text in the place was incredible, and she ran a hand along the neat rows before slipping an intriguing one from its shelf, and removing it to a quiet alcove to slip inside its world for a time.

-----

The remaining days passed much like the previous ones had, with the king finding more excuses to see her, and by the evening of the competition she was in low spirits and desiring more than ever to simply return home. Earlier that day, the king had surprised her with a bottle of “the best wine in the palace” - When she revealed that it had, in fact, been made by herself, she couldn’t tell which was redder: the wine, or the king.

It was truly emblematic of the king’s distance from the food and drink he so gratuitously served and supped on that he never thought to ask of the source of it. She had accepted the wine regardless, but been left nothing but homesick and disappointed, as it tasted nothing like it had when she was sat, alone, in her own space.

She was very ready for the competition to be over, before it had even begun.

Nobles began to file in past where she sat at the king’s right side. They moved to stand proud and tall around the edge of the wooden flooring she assumed would be the stage; some with a knight by their side, and others dressed in more practical garments, presumably to compete themselves. There were fifteen nobles lined up by the time they finished, before common folk began to file in around the edges. They blended into a great mass of faces, so energised and excited that it was hard to pick out any one face from the others. A few fingers were thrown forward to point at where Annie sat, and suddenly the sea of faces was still and talking in hushed whispers.

The steward made use of the proximity to silence to announce the competition, which Annie listened to keenly. “The dance shall begin shortly. The challenger, or their representative, and the king, or his representative, will each have a kerchief knotted to his or her wrist. The first to acquire the other’s shall be declared winner. Should either cease to dance, then they shall forfeit the challenge. “Those who are successful must challenge all other contenders until they are beaten. The first to defeat all challengers shall be declared the new king or queen, and receive two thirds of the king’s wealth and lands along with that offered by the contestants.

“Let the first willing challenger step forward!”

After a moment of discussion a knight with a blue cloth stepped forwards, not even bothering to remove his sword.

“Elric, representing Lord Randall of Tyne. Annie of Durside shall represent the king.”

The musicians began a waltz from behind, led by a strong drumbeat. Annie rose and stepped to him, and the audience let out a collective gasp. Annie silently bowed and reached out a hand.

“Shall we dance?” she asked, taking his.

Dancing with someone was not where her experience lay; she tended to dance alone. However, her thirst for learning had driven her to learn every dance she could - and not just that, but both parts of them.

Once she began, she let the rhythm carry her, like a leaf tossed every which way by a raging sea. By the time Elric fell into her way of dancing, she’d change it again; often switching to dance the man’s part and throwing him off. When the music itself changed to a jig, she caught his sword and brought him crashing to the ground. As his chin hit the floor, the steward declared him defeated.

The next nine went similarly; the knights themselves were all decent dancers with reasonable stamina, but they were weighed down by their heavy attire. They’d arrived prepared for a fight, not a dance, and not one knew how to react to her flexibility. Many times they attempted to approach from behind, only to be let down by the rattle of their swords and Annie’s keen hearing.

Then the lords stepped up one after another; dancing more subtly and skillfully. They proved the harder challengers, though far more deficient in stamina. Annie danced with them, avoiding their frustrated attempts at her wrist until they tired; sweating and panting as she finally tripped them or tugged the silk from their trembling wrist.

By the time her fourteenth dance partner was left frustrated and hopeless, the sun had long set, and they were bathed, instead, by the cold moonlight. He fell to the ground with a cry of frustration, and left her proudly holding up his strip of yellow silk. She tossed it back to him dismissively, and turned to the last remaining man.

The knight, who until then had simply held back and watched, strode forwards. His body held the tension of a coil ready to snap, and his face was carved into an image of fury. He threw his sword to the ground, and stripped of his belt and coat, until he was wearing nothing but his cotton tunic, breeches, and the pink fabric at his right wrist.

He bowed wordlessly, and she did the same.

Much of the audience had thinned out by this point. When they both stepped up to dance, the rhythm of their feet played a perfect percussion for the hornpipe ringing out behind them.

It might have been a competition, but it felt great to dance with someone who knew what he was doing.

She smiled and laughed, as he cursed in between beats.

The broader her grin grew, the more it seemed to take from him, and the heavier his steps. Neither approached the other for this hornpipe, nor the reel that followed. And not for many after that. They simply watched, and danced.

By the time the sun began to show itself again, staining the sky a brilliant pink, Annie’s heavy and aching feet pushed her to put an end to it. She still had the strength to go on, however; she took it from the mountain she called home, where the air was weaker, and the terrain far more punishing. She jumped and tapped in time to the jig as she approached him; where his face grew grim, and feet raised slower from the ground.

With little effort, she grabbed his wrist and tugged the sweat drenched fabric free. She raised it high so the steward might see, and coaxed a small amount of applause from the stragglers of the crowd.

“The king wins!” he cried, waking up the now peacefully dozing king as the music played on.

Startling out of his sleep, the king jumped up and ran towards Annie with words of appreciation and praise falling from his lips.

The king removed one of his ornate rings in haste, and spoke softly with trembling breaths. “Everything I promised you is yours…. But in the matter of marriage, I think you could do better than a noble.” He held it out, as the audience looked on in a stunned silence.

Annie smiled.

“Do you take me…” She left a pause, in which she delighted as the king’s face lit up a little brighter. “For a fool?”

“What?” the king asked in shock and confusion, “why?”

“No man shall have me as a wife; now or ever. I could take the land you’ve offered me, that you have no right to own. Or I could beat you and take it all.” She took his hand and tied the pink kerchief to his wrist. “Dance with me. I will be your queen, but you shall not be beside me.”

The steward looked anxiously between her and the king, stiffening when he caught her gaze.

“Steward - she can’t do this!” he exclaimed, looking between him and his wrist. “Can she?”

“I’m afraid, sire, that she can.”

“But why?” the king entreated, turning to Annie.

“You have been taking the people’s land for your own, as something to give or take as you pleased. While people struggle to feed themselves, you host feasts far beyond any of our means. You are not my king.”

The king froze.

“So dance then, if you wish to hold onto your crown.”

The music changed to a waltz again, and Annie held out a hand. Hesitantly, the king took it. He stepped forwards; moved in time with the music and with her. Every step, the king kept up, but she was soon able to slip a hand down his unguarded arm to loosen the band.

Then a swift retreat, as his hand searched for her own cloth, and back to the dance. She led the two of them back and forth, constantly pushing where the king tried to pull. Then the music changed and threw him off; they split from each other to shift into an energetic percussive rhythm, where the king’s feet fell a second out of time.

One unbalanced moment for him, and she skipped up to him with an outstretched hand.

The ribbon pulled free, leaving his fingers to grasp at it hopelessly. She pulled it away in a smooth motion, and held it in the air triumphantly; her own cloth was still tied tight.

The small crowd burst into applause, turned to silhouettes by the sun behind them. The sound drew yet more of them to the borders, and there was the indistinct sound of many excited conversations.

The lights of celebration burned brighter, and music louder, that night. Annie was surrounded on all sides by people who excitedly questioned, and thanked, and asked favors of her. The lords, meanwhile, left exhausted and beaten, with far less to their name than they arrived with.

-----

It took days for her to return private land to common, and ensure everyone had the right to work it as they had done; spreading the word through messengers to other towns. It took yet longer to find someone else who could competently rule in her stead: her place was not as a leader, after all.

Fiore bore her back home then, before giving a quick farewell before racing back into the woods where she belonged. Annie also returned to her cottage. Where she truly belonged.

For now she needed days filled with nothing but the sounds of the wilds, and the thoughts of none but herself and those whose voices were bound in leather.

Eventually she would return to the town and take advantage of the many offers she’d received: to be taken as an apprentice in music and wood carving; to join in on dances and festivities; to share food, drink, and song. To do and share those things she could not do alone, while beholden to none but herself.

She smiled, sitting on her sil again, and drinking her wine that tasted as it should.

She had everything she could want.

#AroWriMo Writing #Arowrimo #Aromantic #Aro #Aromanticism #Original fiction

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sweetlangdon · 6 years ago

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From Eden: Chapter 2

Notes: Michael Langdon x Reader/OC. Evil Power Couple fic. It’s difficult to write a summary for this one, because I don’t want to give away the twists. (It’ll also include canon rewrite/divergence for the later half of the season.) It has plenty of angst and fluff, and a bit of character study.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, murder, graphic violence.

This fic is currently in progress.

Chapter One Also Available on AO3

She’d been listening to the steady drip of water hitting the tiles for at least a half hour now, though time didn’t matter much anymore to her, not here. The haze of steam that had filled the room and wrapped her body in its warmth had long since disappeared. She sat on the floor of the shower, her back pressed to the freezing tile, her arms hugging her knees, as the air chilled and goosebumps rose along her skin. Droplets rolled down her back from the strands of wet hair plastered to her shoulders, and she shivered absently, half aware of the cold but too distant to do anything to remedy it.

It’s always been a part of you.

…it will find you eventually.

And you’d do anything to make sure you’re not abandoned. Not again.

Langdon’s voice filled up her thoughts, haunting her hours and hours later. She couldn’t shake him from her mind, couldn’t stop pulling apart what he’d said to her on a relentless loop. Eighteen months and he’d been the first person in this godforsaken bunker to see her. Maybe part of that had been her fault—she’d kept everyone else at arm’s length in an act of self-preservation, but something about him had compelled her to confess, to bear fragments of herself that she’d tried to ignore. What was it? How could a stranger make the words fall from her tongue so easily? It surprised her, even now, that she’d kept her own fear restrained enough to speak with him like that. Langdon—or maybe the impression of him; brooding, emotionless—had scared the shit out of her. She didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of him digging through her soul, chipping away pieces where he saw fit.

But there was still that infuriating part of her that regarded him with a strange reverence. And she couldn’t explain it, not yet. The weight of Langdon’s presence, standing in front of him, it had been unlike anything she’d felt before. It was terrifying. It thrilled her, too, though she wasn’t ready to concede that. It was like he’d made something come alive in her veins with a mere glance, a tilt of his head. They hadn’t even touched—she hadn’t dared to get close enough for that—but she still felt him on her skin, in her blood, breathing deep into the shadows of her soul.

Langdon had stared right into her and found something familiar.

And what he’d said couldn’t have possibly been obtained from whatever paperwork The Cooperative had on her.

A loud, persistent knocking wrenched her from her thoughts. Someone called her name from the other side of the door.

“We keep a schedule for a reason,” Ms. Venable said. Her exasperation permeated the room. “You know I don’t tolerate lateness.”

She exhaled. “Sorry,” she called back, “I had a headache. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

“Don’t make this a habit,” Ms. Venable warned.

“I won’t.”

Once she heard the slow drumbeat of Venable’s cane fade and the door to her suite click shut, she dragged herself up from the floor of the shower. She knew Venable kept her neurotic schedule and all of her strict rules to maintain order. To give them a life—though that seemed too generous a term for what they had here—full of structure leftover from the old world. It helped some more than others; it’d helped her once or twice when the isolation became too much to handle. It gave the illusion of normalcy. And illusion was all the mind needed sometimes. But now, over a year later, it had started to wear on them in varying degrees.

She was sure that Emily and Tim’s poorly kept secret romance would backfire sooner rather than later. The amount of bickering among the group had escalated to critical levels within the past few weeks, at least by her own estimation. How much more of this could they possibly take? She didn’t know if whatever Langdon offered was true or just a ruse, but at this point she’d consider anything else just to get the fuck away from most of these people. She couldn’t tolerate another afternoon of idle chatter, another dinner spent watching them tear at each other’s throats and obliterating Venable’s fine china and crystal glasses.

A bitter gust of air doused her skin the moment she stepped out of the bathroom. She left a trail of water behind her, not bothering to towel off, hoping the cold that stung her bare body would smack some kind of sense back into her. Or at the very least, help steel her for the night ahead. She dressed as quickly as she could, acutely aware of Venable’s lack of patience for disrupting order.

The nineteenth century-inspired dress she chose for tonight was blissfully free from the abundant lace that plagued most of her wardrobe. A gorgeous shade of lavender, it had full layers of cascading ball gown skirts and an off-the-shoulder neckline. A tiny pattern of crystals adorned the bodice, sparkling under the light of the candles in her room.

Her hair was still damp when she joined the table for dinner, but she’d at least pinned it up into an adequate style, though she was sure Gallant would say otherwise. She wilted a bit under the gaze of Venable and Mead and the rest of the outpost residents, guilty for being the one to hold up their meal. Not that it was anything to look forward to, especially with rations dwindling by the week. She didn’t think the Purples were irritated with her, per se, but she’d become so accustomed to flying under their radar. She shifted in her chair, rearranging her napkin and utensils, waiting for their attention to drift away from her. Thankfully, it didn’t last long; the hum of conversation picked up again, plates and forks scraping as they forced down yet another tasteless cube.

Venable’s unflinching gaze caught her like a helpless insect in a spider’s web from the opposite end of the table. She looked away first, scooping up her fork.

“Are you okay?” Emily whispered from her right, leaning closer. She lifted an eyebrow. “Venable looks like she wants to murder you.”

She poked at the beige cube in the center of her plate. “I’ll live,” she answered. “If only out of spite.”

Emily suppressed a giggle, turning her face into her shoulder to avoid Venable’s hawk-like eyes. She stabbed the gelatinous cube with her fork. “Did Langdon say anything to you yet?”

“No,” she answered. “Not yet.”

The rest of the evening passed as it usually did, the group of them gathered in the library ruminating over their current situation, trading stories about the way things used to be. There was a hush of nervous energy among them all, a quiet worry about the newest occupant of Outpost 3 and what it would mean for their continued survival. Like everyone else, she didn’t know what her chances were. During their brief encounter, Langdon hadn’t given any hints one way or another, only regarding her with the sort of amusement that she couldn’t exactly read.

Gallant and his grandmother provided the evening’s entertainment in dramatic fashion as only the two of them knew how. She shrunk into the corner of the couch, exchanging furtive glances between Emily and Andre while Gallant sparred against Evie, the flurry of quick-witted barbs charging the room with an awkward tension. She could nearly feel the explosion of rage crackling in the air like the wind before a thunderstorm. When at last the aftershocks of their shouting match started to weaken—Evie wearing a haughty expression as if it were a piece of lavish jewelry, an art so refined from her days of Hollywood glamour that it was almost impressive—they moseyed on back to their private rooms for the night.

The rest of the Purples wandered off at intervals after that. Emily and Tim laced their fingers together the moment they crossed into the hallway, as if no one would notice. Coco left in a huff muttering about her own soul-crushing boredom, Mallory obediently at her heels. Andre and Dinah were the last to go, yawning and stretching, bidding her goodnight before their voices drifted down the corridor. She sighed and unclenched her teeth, finally able to release the tension that had worked itself into her jaw from the Gallant incident.

Her skirts rustled around her ankles as she approached the bookshelves. Fingertips skirting along the titles that glittered on the spines, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in consideration. She’d finished the book from last night before she’d showered, amazed at her own level of focus. She’d made notes, too; scribbles across notebook paper that were now relics from the old world only because she had some of her college belongings when the alarm went off.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Langdon’s slow, lilting voice mused from somewhere behind her back. “A creature of habit, even now at the end of the world.”

She hadn’t heard his footsteps this time.

“Can’t help it, I guess,” she answered, still inspecting the titles. “It keeps me busy—keeps me from getting depressed about the old world, if I try hard enough. Anything’s better than listening to Coco whine about how much she misses sushi.”

That earned her a low, wry laugh, which made something flutter in the pit of her stomach.

She abandoned the thought of choosing a book and turned on her heel to find him. Langdon stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, half of his face bathed in golden light. The long black coat lined with buttons had disappeared, but he was still dressed in elegant black from neck to foot. He cut an imposing figure in his tailored clothes: slender, tall, and not a single hair out of place. She kind of hated herself for how captivated she was, how the fear that had gripped her before was beginning to fade.

“You were a college student—an English major,” he recalled.

She nodded. “Would’ve earned my degree if the world hadn’t been nuked.”

“With highest honors,” Langdon said, lifting his chin. “You were an exceptional scholar…not that anyone cared enough to notice. Apart from your professors, of course. Do you miss it?”

She studied the shadows on the floor, thrown by the way he spoke about her life in the old world. Langdon knew intimate details—her feelings, her insecurities—that would have never been of any interest to The Cooperative’s files. At least, she thought so.

“I don’t know,” she breathed. Slow, calculated footsteps brought him closer to her. “Maybe some of it. I enjoyed the learning part of college, not so much the stress and cramming for finals and term papers. It’s a shitty thing to say, but I’m relieved.”

Langdon narrowed his gaze. “In what way?”

“I don’t have to participate in a lifestyle that was never going to make me happy, or satisfy me,” she admitted. “There’s nothing left of that world now…and yeah, there’s always going to be parts of it I’ll miss, but I’m not exactly opposed to a clean slate. Provided your assessment of me goes well.”

She thought she saw that smirk again, just for the briefest of moments. Langdon brought one of his hands up and swiped his thumb along his chin. “Your parents,” he said evenly. “Does it upset you that they aren’t here to share this…new beginning?”

It felt like a stone had dropped into her stomach, a lead weight crushing her chest. The words dried up on her tongue.

“They sacrificed everything for me,” she answered, though her voice wavered. “Their lives, their money. I’m only here because they aren’t.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Langdon countered. His voice rose a little, demanding more from her. She swore the temperature in the room plummeted a few degrees. “Does the guilt of their deaths eat away at you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie,” he warned. The command pierced like the edge of a knife. “I know you’re not being honest with me.”

She felt the emotion welling up inside her, burning the back of her throat and prickling behind her eyes. She forced it to stay where it was, but her vision still blurred as the tears came dangerously close to sliding down her cheeks. The hardcover spines on the bookshelf pressed into the small of her back through layers of fabric, and she braced her hands on the wooden shelves just to have something to hold onto. Langdon covered the remaining distance between them until his boots brushed against her skirts. The warmth from his body enveloped her own—she figured his touch would be cold like the undercurrent of his voice, but instead he radiated heat.

“They’re my parents,” she reasoned.

She bit into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and tasted blood on her tongue. Langdon cocked his head to the side, inhaling as if he could smell it. One long finger reached out to trace down her bottom lip before he took her chin in a surprisingly delicate hold. His hands were much softer than she imagined. Clear blue eyes searched her own; unlike the solid presence of his body in front of her, they were pure ice.

“It’s a very convincing story you’ve sold these people,” he said. “A loving daughter tormented by the guilt of her self-sacrificing parents, who built an empire only to destroy it all to save their only child.” He let go of her chin, but kept two fingers hovering beneath her jaw.

“A noble end for two of the least deserving people on this godforsaken Earth. You were far too kind to their memory,” he continued. “I can see the truth—I have a certain talent for it: staring right into the darkest parts of you that you can’t run from. There’s no reason to lie anymore.” He grinned, and his eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “It wasn’t guilt you felt when they died and you survived. You were relieved. They got what they deserved, didn’t they?”

Her voice broke. “…Yes.”

Langdon’s grin widened, pleased. “You were nothing but a mere afterthought in their lives. An accident they didn’t plan for—of course they never dared to say that in front of you. No…but somehow…you already knew.”

When a sob finally broke free from her throat, he brushed his knuckles across her cheek, then cradled her face in his hand. She shivered at his touch but found herself leaning closer into the warmth of his insistent hold.

“They were selfish, neglectful, and it only got worse once they had enough money to stop worrying. You hated them. All of that fucking rage burned in your veins for so long, tearing you apart until you figured out what to do with it.”

She closed her eyes. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, but he wiped them away with his thumb. The gesture, a simple, fleeting thing, surprised her.

“Your parents didn’t die when the bombs went off.” Langdon’s face was now inches from hers, his breath tickling her collarbone, his voice just barely above a whisper. “I know the truth, I just want to hear you say it.”

She exhaled a ragged breath. “I killed them.”

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @mr-langdonn @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @softlangdvn @ritualmichael

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #ahs fic #ahs imagine #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #fic: from eden

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tetrakys · 6 years ago

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Trois Allumettes - Chapter 1

What if Lysander never attended Sweet Amoris and he and Candy met for the first time in college? Starts between Episode 3 and 4 and will rewrite each MCL UL episode with Lysander as the main route.

“Ugh! This tuna sandwich sucks!”

It was just another Tuesday afternoon. Rosa, Chani ed I were having lunch in the dining hall.

“We both know you are going to eat it anyway” I laughed.

“You know what, Candy?” Rosa said pensively while biting into her sandwich “You look really tired. Is everything okay?”

One of my friend’s most charming qualities, she never beats around the bush.

“Everything is f-fine.” I said yawning “Yesterday I stayed up late watching a horror movie.”

“Oooohhh which one?” asked Chani, eyes shining with interest.

“Just a crappy one about a haunted mansion I found on Netflix. It was really bad but I was hooked and had to know how it ended. It freaked me out though.”

“I know that one” said Chani “it isn’t scary at all.”

“Of course you would say that.”

“It really isn’t” she added passionately “haunted mansions are not scary, they are really fascinating, all that mystery and the amazing ancient architecture… you would know it if you came urbexing with me. Tonight I am going back to that amazing place I told you about.”

“Uhm… no thanks.”

“Also” she added “that movie is very inaccurate, ghosts are not evil. They are just lost.”

“I can see how being lost for a few hundred years could make anyone grumpy” I said smiling.

“Oh crap!” we both turned to see Rosa looking at her watch “The keys! Sorry girls I have to run, I’m so late. I have to meet with…” she stuffed two sandwiches in her mouth and mumbled something we couldn’t understand while running towards the door.

For a few moments we both stared silently at the door where she had just disappeared, then Chani turned in her chair and said “You know what would be really scary? Being late for Mr Lebarde’s class.”

We both rushed to finish our meal.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was a cold windy night, I was coming back from the gym after one of my sporadic and exhausting work out sessions and, thanks to Kim’s drill sergeant ways, I was feeling sore everywhere. I couldn’t wait to have the shortest shower ever and jump into bed with a box of cookies, effectively nullifying all my hard work.

I was just about to open the dorm door when I heard a strange noise from the right side of the building. I looked around. Like any weekday night, the campus was basically desert. It had rained earlier that evening and a eerie mist surrounded the large open area. I really don’t like this… I thought. Last time I had heard a strange noise out there it was just Nath with a girl. Trying not to focus my thoughts on that scene, which was still quite upsetting, I headed back towards the door.

I heard it again. All of a sudden my conversation with Chani from the a few days ago came back to mind. Ghosts are not evil, they are just lost… No! Ghosts do not exist! I blamed my freakout on the stupid movie I had watched the other day, never again I was going to watch horror movies late at night.

To prove myself brave I headed towards the source of the noise, it seemed to originate from that little black door that lead to a basement at the back of the art department. With steady steps and led only by the moonlight, I made my way to the building. I was just about to grab the handle when I heard the noise again, louder than ever. The door suddenly opened with a bang and a tall dark shadow emerged on the doorway.

I ran to my room without looking back.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“OMG that’s just too funny!”

Sometimes Alexy could be really annoying.

“Quit it! I’m not joking, it was the scariest shit I’ve haver experienced.”

We were having a drink at the Snake Room and he was laughing his ass off without a care in the world.

“Yes Alex, stop teasing Candy, she looks quite upset” said Priya, patting me on the arm.

“Thank you!”

“Even though…” she continued cautiously “you should admit that a ghost is not the most plausible explanation.”

“Why not?” Chani interrupted “ghosts are perfectly natural. We are made of both flesh and spirit, some of us just stick around a little longer than what our perishable bodies allow.”

Alexy started laughing even louder.

“Come on Chani, do you really think that a dead guy would waste his time haunting a deserted dusty storage room? Personally, if it was me, I would set up home in the male locker room.”

“It could have been a girl, you know?” said Priya “and we have no idea what’s in that room at the back of the art building, anything could be going on there.”

“Nothing is going on there” I said “I went back in the morning. The door was locked and I found no indication of anyone ever being there.”

It wasn’t totally true. I did go back in the morning when lots of sunlight and passerbys felt like the best shield against whatever I had seen the night before. The door was indeed locked but I found a piece of paper lying on the floor that I didn’t think was there before. It was a page from a notebook where a poem was written in an elegant and slightly ancient-looking handwriting. For some reason I didn’t feel like sharing this detail with my friends. It may have had nothing to do with my ghost anyway.

My ghost… that sounded ridiculous even in my head, but I didn’t know how else to explain what I saw.

“I am going back there tonight and will get to the bottom of this!”

“Please let us accompany you, I hadn’t laughed so hard in days, we are all going back to the dorms anyway” said Alexy while we all got up and put our coats on.

This was secretly what I was hoping for, and the real reason I had brought up the incident in the first place. Strength was in numbers. Alexy wanted to get a good laugh out of the situation, Priya was the voice of reason and Chani was just interested in anything mysterious.

“Too bad Rosa was busy tonight, she is going to miss a real ghost hunt” he sniggered.

“Quite fitting” said Chani “it’s almost Halloween.”

Once on campus we made way to the dorms. The place was again desert.

“So… where is this haunted broom closet?” Alexy joked.

“Right over there” I pointed to the back of the art building.

“I hear no gruesome sounds”

“I know…”

“No scraping of chains”

“I know…”

“No dying screams”

“I know…”

“No…”

“Enough Alex” Priya said calmly “stop tormenting Candy, she feels enough mortified.” She turned to me and added “Don’t worry Candy, this place is dark and the wind is so strong, anyone could…”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the noise. Everyone froze. We looked at each other with wide eyes. Ah! I wasn’t crazy, this time I wasn’t the only one who heard it.

“What the…” said Alexy.

We heard it again, louder. It was a metallic sound, it did remind a bit of rusty chains scraping the floor.

In that moment three things happened almost at the same time: with the same loud noise the black door burst open and crushed against the wall, the tall dark figure raised against the doorway more imposing and majestic than ever, and a piercing scream split the air.

“You were right I would have never been able to open this rusty door by mys… Guys? What are you doing here? Alexy, why are you screaming like this?”

Rosa rushed out of the building and ran towards Alexy who was crouching on the floor with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard her voice, a moment passed where he seemed to pull himself together, got back to his feet, dusted his clothes and said with a too-bright-to-be-real smile

“Ahah I was just teasing Candy, she has been telling everyone she saw a ghost here yesterday. It was you all along, great prank Rosa.”

“It was me, actually.”

A deep voice said from behind Rosa’s back. We all turned towards the door to see a tall man step into the light. He had slightly long hair of different shades from white and grey to dark, and the most beautiful heterochromia of the eyes I had ever seen, one golden brown and one deep green. He was wearing clothes in what looked like a gothic or Victorian style, a long black coat and a dark green cravat at his neck. He was… striking, and he was looking at me with those unsettling eyes.

“Guys, this is Lysander, Leigh’s brother.”

Everyone got out of their stupor and started saying hi and giving their names. I felt like my tongue was tied.

“He just moved in town to study at Anteros, he stayed with Leigh and I for a few days while the university sorted the mess they made with his dorm room. The idiot admin officer apparently mixed up his documents and assigned it to someone else.”

“What are you going to study, Lysander?” asked Priya with a smile.

“Poetry” he simply replied.

“He is doing his fifth year specialising in poetry, he has a real talent with words.” Rosa replied proudly patting his back.

“And what have you been doing in this building at night?” asked Chani curious.

“He is collaborating with the music department as a lyricist, they do lots of rehearsal at night, as I said he is really talented.” Why was Rosa talking in his place? If he really was so talented at putting words together he apparently wasn’t as much at expressing them. Also, why did he keep staring at me?

“Okay, good, mystery solved. I’m going to my room. Nice to meet you Lysander” Alexy said walking towards the dorms still looking a little unsettled.

“I have to go too, I just came to bring a few stuff my dear brother in law forgot” she said laughing “I swear Lysander, if your head wasn’t on your neck you would lose that too.”

“I am going to the library, goodnight.” Chiani waved and walked away.

Priya, Lysander and I headed to the dorms together.

“Well, this is me” she said looking at me a little apologetically, I had totally forgot her room was on the ground floor! “Nice meeting you Lysander, see you tomorrow Candy, goodnight.”

Lysander and I were now alone in the deserted hall of the dorms. I felt really awkward, why was I feeling so awkward? I pushed the elevator button, a part of me hoping he also had a room on the ground floor, but no, he was waiting right next to me. At some point the doors opened and we got in. I pushed seven and he pushed nine.

Was this the longest elevator ride in history? The silence was deafening. I was rummaging through my brain trying to find something, anything to say when, to my surprise he spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

“W-what?” I stuttered.

“For yesterday, for scaring you. It wasn’t my intention. The door of the basement where we compose is very old and rusty, it needs a good push to open up. I apparently applied too much force and smashed it into the wall. I must have terrorised you, like that in the dark… I tried to explain but you run away, I am really sorry.”

I felt heath rising in my cheeks, God I was such an idiot.

“No, I should be the one to apologise, for acting like a child and thinking you were a…”

“A ghost?” he said and smiled. He actually smiled and it was… enchanting.

“I admit that’s pretty funny” was he teasing me? “but Casper was one of my favourite movies when I was a child so I’ll take it as a compliment.”

The elevator doors opened and, with a mental shake, I stepped out of the elevator mumbling a goodnight.

“Candy?”

I turned around surprised.

“See you around” he said with a small smirk on his lips. The doors closed, hiding his beautiful face.

Wow… I had so many questions. Who was this guy? Leigh’s brother yes but… where had he been all along?

And that intense aura surrounding him… those incredible and slightly sad eyes… I was intrigued and wanted to know more. Much more.

See you around he had said, I smiled a little.

Looking forward to it.

////////////////////////

Go to Chapter 2

#mcl #mclul #my writing #fanfic #my candy love #amour sucre #dolce flirt #amor doce #corazon de melon #mcl lysander #lysandro #lysandre #lysander #au #trois allumettes

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scriptura-adrepticius · 7 years ago

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A Heart of Ice - Zhu Xingjie

Uncalled for and unrequested, but inspired by Beauty and the Beast, some beautiful fanart I CANNOT FIND, and because Xingjie looks like a prince.

Pairing: Zhu Xingjie x OC/reader

Genre: fluff, angst, royalty!au

Word Count: 7.2k

Zhu Xingjie has a heart of ice, and unbeknownst to you, you’ve been tasked with melting it.

Masterlist

if he looked at me like that i’d melt

Deep in the forest lies a forgotten palace, a forgotten land, a forgotten king. Cursed, he wanders the stone walls, unable to even glimpse the outside world.

The king used to be vain, you see. He was pristine, perfect, his skin pale and smooth, his eyes sharp but charming, his voice sweet and alluring.

He had everything. And that was his trouble.

The king grew up a spoiled child, used to flattery and gifts, unaccustomed to want. Whatever he wanted, he had or would get by whatever means possible. And when his father died and he ascended the throne, his requests only became more and more impossible.

It was a wintry day when the fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter, to see just how horrid this king truly was.

“Please, just one night, my good king… Please…”

She found out when he ordered her away.

In return, she cursed him. He stared in horror as she began to glow, a brilliant white light rendering him blind.

All the nobles and ladies around him vanished into thin air.

The candles flickered once and went out.

The drapes blew shut and when he ran to open them, the fairy simply laughed. “Young king,” she chuckled, “you would not want to see the sunlight.”

Frozen, the king could only stare at the now-beautiful fairy, who appraised him with a cold smile. “You will live forever as the king with a heart of ice, cursed to never see sunlight until you have learned to love once more. If exposed to the sun, your heart will melt too fast, and your time on earth will be gone.”

The king felt a stabbing in his heart, bringing him to his knees, and he clutched his chest in pain. He felt himself grow colder, saw his skin turn paler, felt the color drain from his face and his lips.

A cruel laugh echoed in the ballroom.

“Farewell, young king, and may we meet again soon.”

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Stupidly, that’s the only thing you can think at the moment. A snowstorm is brewing, and all you can think is that you’re cold.

“Well, I’m not wrong,” you mumble.

The wind is howling in your ears, the snow obscuring your vision. You clutch the reins on Xing harder, huddling down into your cloak as you urge him on. Xing obediently tries, but he can’t see either, and the snow on the ground is impossible.

The sun is nearly down, and the sky is darkening fast. If you stay outside longer, there is no guarantee on how long you can survive. Survival instinct spurs you on, and you doggedly continue with Xing.

It seems like a blessing when you finally see what seems to be a wall through the whirling snow. As you get closer, the wall grows larger, until you can just barely make it out to be a sort of very large house. Xing perks up, as though recognizing the house as a safe haven, and he speeds up slightly, slogging through the deep snow.

“Just a little more,” you encourage, patting his neck, before squinting through the snow to take a good look at the place.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

It’s not a house.

It’s a palace.

A large, imposing gate - the wall that you saw - rings the grounds in which a tall, stone castle stands. You swallow, looking around nervously. It’s getting dark, and though you aren’t in a blizzard yet, the snowstorm very well might develop into one. So you steel your nerves, jump off of Xing, and lead him forward.

Once at the gate, you pause, unsure of how to get in, as the gate is made of heavy stone and metal. However, it seems you need not worry, because the gates suddenly swing open though not a single person is in sight. You look around suspiciously, but worry for Xing and the strengthening wind push you forward through the gates.

The gates are almost taller than you. Xing could probably just jump over them if he tried. There’d be no way for you to get out.

You shudder, not because of the cold this time, but because of how ominous this all feels.

You wonder if it’s too late to turn back.

A loud neigh jerks you around, the reins ripped from your grasp. Xing suddenly spooks and you shout, trying to calm him down, but he turns, rearing his neck, before running through the gate.

“Xing!” you yell, racing after him, but the gates clang shut right in your face, the loud noise ringing in your ears and rendering you frozen, unable to move.

You gape, stepping forward, but an invisible force repels you, sending you stumbling backwards.

Cold terror settles over you, but you force yourself to breathe deeply and turn around.

“Well, that settles it,” you mumble. With Xing gone, you have no way of going anywhere else. So you continue, hurrying to the doors of the palace as the wind continues to pick up speed.

The large, stone doors open surprisingly easily when you push, looking around for any sign of something living. “Hello?” you call, allowing the doors to close behind you.

There is no reply.

You shiver in the darkness, glancing back at the door. Again, you wonder if it’s too late to leave.

“Hello?” you try again.

Silence.

“Hello.”

A shriek builds up in your throat but you swallow it down, whipping around to see a lantern in the darkness, illuminating the side of someone’s face. A wave of relief and anxiety washes over you, and you bow slightly in their direction.

“I’m sorry for intruding, it’s just the storm outside was getting worse and my horse spooked and left and this was the closest place…” Your words die away when the person - well, the man - gets close enough for you to see his face.

He is striking, handsome, but inhumanly so. Perhaps the right word to describe him is otherworldly.

His skin is pale, so pale it’s nearly white, but not sickly. He stands with an elegant, cool grace you associate with nobles. His coal black hair contrasts sharply with his skin, and on anyone else, the combination would repulse you. However, it just makes him seem more aloof, even further away from you, a mere mortal.

His nose is tilted perfectly, his mouth unsmiling. A severe, wintry coldness seems to emanate from him, making you shiver even more.

But it’s his eyes that truly captivate you. And yet at the same time, they repel you.

They are dark. So dark.

And so, so cold.

“What brings you here, traveler?” he asks, gazing idly as though you are just a bug waiting to be crushed. You swallow, shrinking under his cold gaze, but you make an effort to hold yourself tall.

Your voice is steady when you speak. “I was trying to reach the next town, but I got lost when the snowstorm picked up. This place was the only place I saw, so I… I tried to come here. My horse spooked and ran away, and I have no other place to stay. I ask for your permission, please, to stay for the night. I will leave tomorrow morning.”

That disdainful gaze, that aura of cold, that wintry anger- is it anger? You’re not quite sure- makes you want to run away, but you swallow and stand your ground. “Please,” you plead again. “Just for tonight.”

The cold laugh that the man lets out sends chills up your spine.

“Traveler,” he says, staring directly at you. “I don’t think you understand.”

You take a step back involuntarily. “W-what...” You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “What don’t I understand?”

There’s a long silence, and you’re about to bolt, blizzard or no, when he speaks.

“Once you enter this palace,” he says slowly, “you cannot leave.”

. . . . .

You jolt awake, panicking when you see that this is not your room. It takes a good thirty seconds for you to remember the events of yesterday, and when you do, you burrow under the thin blanket again.

“Please tell me this is all a dream,” you mumble, poking your head out of the covers once again, holding on to that stupid, vain hope.

Alas, the stone walls of the room shatter that dream. You sigh, kicking the covers away, before padding over to the small closet where you’d stuffed your things last night.

“I hope I brought that extra shirt,” you mutter, swinging the door open.

“What the fuck?!”

The closet is not empty, or even close to empty. Clothing of all types and designs fill the space with a rainbow of color, a stark contrast to the dark stone walls that surround you.

You blink.

You blink again.

You close the door and reopen it.

The clothes are still there.

You close it and open it again.

Everything is still there.

“Is this magic?” you murmur, hesitantly tugging on one of the shirts. To your surprise, it feels solid beneath your fingers, and you pull it out.

Dark blue, with intricate white designs bordering the collar and sleeves. You look between it and the rest of the fabric in the wardrobe.

“Why not?” you finally say, switching your rumpled, scratchy shirt for the new one. The cloth is comfortable and warm against your skin, and you pluck at it in curiosity as your stomach rumbles in hunger.

Food. Right.

You exit the room nervously, peeking around for any signs of the cold man from yesterday. There are none, so you venture out, stepping quietly on the stone floors. After wandering around for a long time, you finally locate what seems to be the dining room. There on a table lies a small assortment of fruits, breads, and other foods.

“Where does this all come from?” you ask yourself, eyeing the food uncertainly. You cautiously pick up an apple and examine it before biting into it.

Well, it tastes fine. You shrug before devouring the rest of the fruit.

“Magic, perhaps,” you murmur. You can’t think of any answer.

Once you finish, you take to wandering again, as there’s nothing better to do. You walk through the halls, taking random turns and opening random doors. You find a lounge, what seems to be a study, a lot of bedrooms, and then you find a library.

The room is large, filled with shelves that are in turn filled top to bottom with books. Mesmerized, you step inside, gazing in wonder at the book-laden shelves.

“Am I in heaven?” you squeak, breathing in the welcoming scent of old books. You pull one book off a shelf, scanning the title eagerly before sitting down to read.

The day passes in this manner, devouring one book and then pulling down another. It’s only when the clock strikes seven that you finally pull yourself from the fictional world to come back to reality.

You carefully mark your place with a scrap of paper, taking the book with you as you attempt to find the dining room again. It takes a good fifteen minutes, but that’s better than the thirty it took you this morning.

Still locked in a slightly dreamy haze, you step inside the room, ready to eat. However, you snap out of it quickly when you see the man from yesterday standing by the table.

Cold.

You shudder.

“You’re late,” he says simply.

You don’t sit down. “I wasn’t aware that there was a set time for dinner,” you reply, eyes flitting back and forth between the table and the door, wondering if you could just skip dinner like you skipped lunch.

“Well, now you are,” he replies indifferently. “Sit.”

You don’t particularly want to, but something tells you that you can’t disobey. So you sit down gingerly, placing the book down next to you. You notice the man’s gaze travel to it, but you ignore it, instead filling your plate.

The meal is uncomfortably silent. You want to talk, but at the same time, you don’t. There is no noise at all save for the sound of chewing and silverware clanking on plates.

“Where does the food come from?” you ask impulsively.

Then you want to throw yourself out the window because Xinyi, what the hell kind of conversation starter is that?

“Magic,” the man replies without even looking up.

You blink slowly.

Okay… so I was actually right.

“You don’t believe me?” he says, raising an eyebrow. You nod vehemently. “I believe you,” you say with conviction.

Well, how else could you explain the clothing and the food? You’re pretty sure he didn’t cook it all himself, at least.

He just raises one eyebrow. You kind of feel like he doesn’t believe you, but what does it matter? So you busy yourself with your food again.

You finish your food in silence, standing up awkwardly. “Uh, where should I put my plate?” You shift your weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“Just leave it,” he replies, standing up as well.

“Magic, huh,” you mumble to yourself, placing the plate down. You pick up your book, ready to leave.

“Xinyi.”

You freeze.

How does he know my name?

“The magic only keeps you from leaving the grounds,” the man continues, looking at you boredly. “You can still go outside.” He begins to walk away.

“How do you know my name?” you demand.

He turns back, a ghost of a smirk tilting his pale lips. “Magic.”

What an annoying jerk-

“And if you must know…” He pushes a lock of hair back, the simple motion rendering you speechless.

“My name is Zhu Xingjie.”

He walks away, leaving you to wonder just how he knew your unspoken question.

. . . . .

“Zhu Xingjie,” you mumble to yourself, wandering through the library. It’s a name that fits him, for some weird reason. You shrug, plucking a few books off the shelves. You’ll read those today.

A peek outside the heavy curtains tells you it’s sunny outside. You remember what Xingjie told you, that you could leave the castle, just not the grounds. You haven’t gone out in some time, so you think why not? and head out.

It’s cold, as expected, and you shiver even with the warm coat wrapped around you. You walk around for a bit, exploring the massive grounds, poking at a few strange statues here and there. They’re creepy, almost gargoyle-like, but interesting.

You find a large tree, and after climbing up the branches, you settle yourself in and continue reading.

Evening comes and you start to get hungry again, even after snacking the whole afternoon, so you reluctantly climb down the tree, shuffling inside the castle with rosy cheeks. You’re not sure if you’ll see Xingjie again, and you don’t really want to, but hunger wins over and you enter the dining room.

Xingjie is there. You don’t particularly care to sit with him for another meal, after they’ve been so awkward this whole week, so when you’re done filling up your plate, you start to walk away.

“You went outside?” he suddenly asks, a strange wistfulness in his tone.

Startled, you nod slightly. “Yes.”

He nods silently, turning back to his own food. You notice his expression turn from a blank face to a frown, but you stay no longer.

That strange display of emotion stays with you. You can’t help wondering why he seemed to have felt the way he did.

Still, what is there you can do about it? It’s hard enough to be in the same room as him- how can you get him to open up to you?

It’s a difficult question, one that you don’t have the answer to.

. . . . .

You decide to start by initiating conversation at meals. But wow, it’s hard.

First of all, you have no idea what to ask.

Second of all, it’s really hard to talk in Xingjie’s chilly presence.

Third of all, he doesn’t want to talk.

A few months drag on this cold manner.

“So what do you do during the day?” you ask one day, forcing yourself to keep the words flowing. It’s hard, and you’re running out of ideas, but you forge on anyway.

If you’re going to spend the rest of your life in this godforsaken place, you might as well get along with the only other person being held captive.

Xingjie looks up uninterestedly. You fight to keep your eyes steady, staring at him, though you want nothing more than to back away into the wall.

It’s not just that he looks scary. He certainly does, in a stupidly handsome way. However, it’s that unreadable expression in his eyes that makes you want to flee.

“Why do you want to know?” he responds, raising a single eyebrow.

Oh my god.

He’s been like this the whole past few months, and you now want to punch the stone wall, despite the fact that you’d probably break your hand.

Scratch that. You want to punch him.

He’s not making this easy at all.

“No particular reason,” you say evenly. “I’m trying to maintain a conversation, and I’m curious.”

He looks at you impassively. “Why do you want to maintain a conversation?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your anger to go away before you throw food in his face. If you threw food, he could probably freeze you right then and there with that apathetic gaze of his.

“Because if I’m supposed to stay here for eternity, I might as well attempt to get along with the only other person being held captive in this godforsaken place,” you snap.

A cold expression passes over his face, and you involuntarily shiver, chills running down your spine.

“You will never know what it feels like to stay here for an eternity,” he says lowly, standing up.

You stare, shrinking slightly under his cold eyes. He walks over slowly, and you scramble to stand. You want to get away, because he’s seriously scaring you, but it’s as though his cold gaze has you frozen in place, unable to move.

He stops in front of you, his face only a foot from yours. You shiver, his cold aura hitting your skin.

Perhaps he really is the embodiment of winter.

“You will never know,” he whispers, his eyes angry and… is that helplessness you see?

His hand comes up, almost as though to grasp your chin, but just as he’s about to touch your skin, he drops it to his side quickly as though he’s just remembered something. Without another word, he stalks out the room.

Your hand comes up, touching the skin where he almost touched you. You shiver when you feel just how cold it is.

. . . . .

The events of last night come back with full force when you wake up the next morning. You groan, shoving your face back into the pillow.

You really don’t want to face Xingjie today.

It’s strange. In that moment where he nearly touched you, you saw so much emotion in his eyes, so much emotion that you’d never seen before.

Perhaps you’re so shocked because you couldn’t even think of him as a human with feelings.

The thought makes you feel really guilty.

Your thoughts turn back to that moment, your hand coming up to touch your chin as you gaze into the mirror. It’s bright red and prickles, though it doesn’t seem to be any worse than that.

“Oh god,” you whisper.

He nearly gave you frostbite from touching you.

Actually, he didn’t even touch you, which makes things even worse.

Is he even human? You feel guilty for thinking that, but it isn’t natural, his ice cold touch. His wintry aura isn’t normal either, as is the pallor of his skin.

You swallow, swinging your legs out of bed to get a closer look in the mirror. The frostbite is mild, alright, but you can already see the blister that’s supposed to form afterwards. You prod at it, wincing in pain.

“He may as well be the embodiment of winter,” you mutter.

You stay in your room the whole day, save for sneaking a couple plates of food out of the kitchen. But by late afternoon, you’re getting antsy, so you set off to the library to find a new book.

You push the door open, only to see him browsing the shelves. He looks over and you stop short, nervous and a little scared.

Xingjie’s eyes narrow, and he walks over, staring at your chin. His hand comes up and you jerk away reflexively before realizing he has gloves on.

“Relax,” he says quietly, though a bit haltingly, as though he isn’t used to speaking with such gentleness. “The gloves will prevent what happened yesterday.”

You relax slightly, allowing him to touch your chin gently. You look anywhere but at him, unsettled yet transfixed by his sudden kindness.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice serious. “I lost control of myself. I shouldn’t have done so.”

You swallow, forcing yourself to untense despite your proximity to him. “I have to apologize as well,” you say. “I didn’t know that what I said would affect you so much. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… not your fault,” he says, taking a slight step back. “You didn’t know.”

You want to ask why what you said hurt him so much, why it made him so angry, but the look in his eyes tells you that that is a question for another time. So you swallow your curiosities in favor of nodding.

“It’s not your fault either,” you say. “If someone had said something to anger me, I can assure you that my reaction would have been much more than touching their chin.”

It’s unexpected, what happens next, but Xingjie smiles slightly. Not a smirk. A real smile.

You gape.

“Perhaps,” he replies, “but I also must apologize for being so rude to you over the past few months.”

You make a face. “Let’s put that behind us. It’s fine.”

Xingjie raises an eyebrow, moving over to let you inside. “You certainly let go of things quickly.”

You shrug a little. “I don’t like holding grudges. I forgive, but don’t forget.”

Xingjie nods, looking thoughtful. “Well, I’ll leave you now,” he says. The look in his eyes softens the smallest bit as he bows slightly, about to walk away.

“Wait,” you say, before you even realize you’re speaking. He looks at you, surprised, but you swallow and forge on.

“Please don’t leave on my account,” you say softly. “You don’t need to go.”

Xingjie opens his mouth, staring at you in mild shock. You don’t hear the thoughts echoing through his head, but if you could, you would have heard Why would she want to be in the same room as a monster?

And yet something possesses him to stay.

You smile as he nods slightly and a little awkwardly, then steps back into the room.

. . . . .

Your friendship with Xingjie is tentative at first. The blister on your chin stays for a while, reminding you of just what he can do. It’s hard to relax yourself around him, though you make an effort to do so.

It’s also a little difficult to maintain a friendly relationship with someone whose beauty is so utterly cold and ethereal.

But it happens, bit by bit. Though you don’t see him around much, the castle doesn’t feel so uninviting anymore, and when you do see him, conversation flows. Not very smoothly, but it’s a start, and you find yourself more comfortable around him.

You still have a couple of questions, though. For one thing, besides when he apologized, you’ve never seen Xingjie outside of dinner.

What does he do during the day?

It’s a simple question, one that you should have no problem asking. However, something stops you. It feels like you’re invading his privacy, somehow, like it’s something private for Xingjie and Xingjie only.

And yet you ask anyway, because the scholar within you won’t rest until she gets her answers.

To your surprise, when you ask, Xingjie just kind of looks down. He looks… almost embarrassed.

Embarrassed.

Who knew the almighty ice prince Zhu Xingjie could look embarrassed?

You look at his expression. It’s… cute. You almost coo in amusement.

“I… make music,” he says quietly, barely able to look at you.

You tilt your head, unable to see the reason behind his reaction to his statement. “Music?” you echo.

He nods.

“So you play an instrument?” you ask, leaning forward.

Xingjie hesitates, then nods. “Piano, guitar… basically all of the instruments in the music room.”

You’re too excited to notice his slightly confused expression. “Can I hear you play?” you ask, gazing at him eagerly.

It seems to take a moment before your question registers in his mind, and even then, Xingjie is still a little out of it when he answers. “After dinner,” he promises, and you have to fight to keep the wild grin off of your face.

. . . . .

Xingjie is confused.

Very, very confused.

First of all, why weren’t you… fazed… at all… by the fact that he liked to make music in his free time?

His parents had devoted their entire lives to telling him that his passion for music would take him nowhere, that it was useless, that he had to devote his life to running the kingdom and not to such stupid trivial pursuits. As such, the nobles of the court devoted their lives to telling him the same thing.

Even after his parents died and he became the cold shell he is today, he hesitated to go to music even though nobody could stop him.

All because of that stupid stigma against the arts that he was brought up to believe in.

So when you expressed enthusiasm in his interest, in his music-making, he was shocked. And what shocked him even more so was the genuine delight in your eyes.

In all his years in the court, he’d never seen anyone look at him as genuinely as you did.

When you continued to ask him about playing instruments, he was so lost. He couldn’t believe that anyone was speaking to him like this. Especially a monster like him.

Really, did you just not realize the pure coldness that he emanated? The fact that he was literally a frozen, animated… semi-human?

And then when you asked him if he could play for you… well, Xingjie really can’t explain the slight feeling bumping around his chest. It’s been so long since he really felt something for anything other than his music that he really just doesn’t know how to explain it.

Whatever the feeling is, it isn’t unpleasant.

It’s then that he learns you can play the instrument too, not as well as he but granted, he’s had decades of practice compared to your mere eighteen. It’s then that the feeling grows, filling his chest as he watches you play with your simple grace and charm.

You confuse him so, so much.

And yet… this confusion… it isn’t unwelcome.

Xingjie sighs, getting up abruptly.

He’s never felt like this before, and he’s not sure what to make of it at all.

. . . . .

You lie in bed, still on cloud nine because of the beautiful music this night had given you. Or, more accurately, that Xingjie had given you.

His fingers danced on the instruments, making sounds that were almost too beautiful for your ears. He was talented, sure, but you could see just how much dedication he had to music and how hardworking he had to have been to reach that level.

You turn over, humming one of his melodies quietly. It had been a wonder to watch him play, to watch how he transformed from a cold, awkward being to someone with so much passion.

A smile crosses your lips involuntarily.

It’s like you’re seeing Xingjie in a whole new light now. First he was the cold, unwelcoming prince of the castle. Then he became more like an awkward, shy transfer student from another school.

And now he’s more like the dreamy musician with a passion that’s infectious, that inspires you to do better, to do more.

Your heart thumps, thinking of his bashful smile when you complimented his playing, and you feel yourself reddening slightly.

Who knew such a cold person could make you blush like this?

Really, if there wasn’t so much… mystery… behind Xingjie, and if you knew more about him, you wouldn’t hesitate to say that you could definitely fall in love with him.

But there’s those other questions that continue to prod the back of your brain and force you to stay vigilant and guarded against these feelings in your heart.

Just why is Xingjie here? Why is the castle always so dark, and why are the windows never open? And why is Xingjie so… cold?

. . . . .

Now that you know where Xingjie is during the day, you don’t hesitate to enter the music room quietly, sit in a corner with a book, and read as he fashions new melodies and harmonies that bless your ears with their beauty.

Xingjie doesn’t hesitate to join you in the library either, with him giving you recommendations every now and then. He doesn’t say it, but you have a suspicion that he’s read everything in the library.

Which brings another question to your mind: how long has he been here?

“You look like you’re thinking hard about something.” You start a little, not having noticed that Xingjie’s stopped playing and is now looking at you with slight concern. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You really want to ask the questions you have in mind. But for some reason, you also don’t. It feels like… taboo. You don’t know why, but it’s like you just can’t ask.

So you opt for something else. “What’s the extent of the magic of this place?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” you trail off, trying to put your question into words. “Does everything necessary just… appear? Or is it like if you wish for something, it appears? Or what?”

“If you wish for something within reason, it will appear, I think,” Xingjie confirms. “I haven’t fully tested this magic either, despite-” He stops suddenly, then shakes his head. “Never mind. I just know that after I learned the guitar, I wished for more instruments, and the next day they were here.”

You notice his sudden hesitation and you want to pry further, but you don’t. Silence falls, and unlike other silences you’ve had before, this one is awkward.

Xingjie seems to know that wasn’t the question you wanted to ask.

“So what did you really want to ask?” he says quietly.

Damn, you were right.

You swallow. The air suddenly seems colder, and you shiver involuntarily, scared to verbalize your thoughts.

Fuck it, you think. And you open your mouth to talk.

“What is your connection to this place?”

Xingjie immediately clams up. You can see it. And you feel really bad for making him so uncomfortable, but you also really want answers.

“I…” He starts, then stops.

You’ve never seen this look in his eyes. To you, Xingjie has always been confident, cold, shy, embarrassed, sweet, and so many other things, but never… nervous.

And this expression makes you scared. What could be so bad about your question that the ice prince is now nervous?

“I can’t tell you that,” Xingjie finally says. “I’m bound by the magic of this place. I can’t tell you. At least… not yet.”

You nod slowly, putting down your book. “Then can you tell me why it’s always so dark?” You think for a moment, coming to a sudden realization. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you go outside either.”

Xingjie looks even more helpless. “I can’t tell you that either.”

“Okay.” You nod again, feeling awkward. The atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable, and you quickly stand up to leave. “See you, Xingjie.”

“Alright, Xinyi.”

You leave the room hurriedly, eager to escape the tense silence.

. . . . .

A week passes. Then another. And another. And another.

And, slowly but surely, the friendship you’ve built with Xingjie begins to crumble.

It’s your fault, you suppose. If you hadn’t asked those stupid questions, things wouldn’t be this way.

You’re miserable. You never realized just how much you enjoyed your time with Xingjie, how much you enjoyed talking to him.

You never thought you’d feel this empty without him.

It was your decision to stop going to the music room after that tense conversation. You stay in your room or outside for the most part, knowing that you won’t see Xingjie there. Dinner is awful - you’d forgotten how bad the silences used to be.

Without Xingjie, you feel empty and desolate. It’s like he’s become an essential part of your being over the past months, and you’re incomplete without him.

But if you’re miserable, Xingjie feels worse. He doesn’t blame your curiosity - he mostly blames himself for not being able to tell you what you want to know.

If only he could explain why he was so cold, why he couldn’t go outside, why the castle was always dark and how he was bound to this castle.

He sighs, his head in his hands. He’s sitting at the piano, but today, inspiration won’t come to him.

It’s strange. Whenever you were with him, lying quietly in the corner with your book, ideas came naturally to him. Seeing your smile inspired him. You made him feel that strange feeling in his heart, that strange feeling that he couldn’t figure out before… but now he’s pretty sure he knows that it is.

Love. That’s what it is.

Love.

But Xingjie’s afraid. He’s never loved before, for one thing. The only people he’d ever cared about were his three friends, all of whom disappeared when he was eternally bound to suffer here. He’s never felt this raw emotion for another human, this longing for someone that makes him almost physically ache for want of you to be near him.

For another thing, Xingjie has only one shot at getting this right. If you aren’t the one, and Xingjie only mistakenly thinks he’s in love, then things could go very, very wrong. For you and for him.

And the last thing, the scariest thought of all.

What if you don’t love him back?

Xingjie finds it difficult to believe that you could ever care for him in the same way he cares for you. He’s literally subhuman - his heart of ice confirms that.

How could you ever love someone who’s barely human?

The days drag on, with you slipping through his fingers with each passing moment. Xingjie becomes desperate to see you, but even when he does, it’s like there’s a wall between you two. An invisible wall that makes communication more difficult than ever.

It’s killing him. Well, probably not really, since he’s literally immortal and bound to this fucking place until he learns to love. But it really feels like it’s killing him.

And so he makes a decision.

. . . . .

You’re standing, ready to leave the dining room. You cast a glance at Xingjie, who looks conflicted about something.

You turn, but Xingjie’s voice calling your name has you stopping in your tracks. “Xinyi.”

“Yes?” You look back to see Xingjie walking up to you.

“I… um…” Xingjie looks down, then back at you, a slight blush on his face. “Would you dance with me?”

It takes a few seconds for the question to register in your mind.

Dance?

“Here?” you ask, perplexed.

Xingjie quickly shakes his head. “No. In the ballroom.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to tell you something, but in a livelier situation.” Xingjie smiles slightly. “And from my past experience, dancing is livelier than me sitting you down at a table to tell you.”

“But I have nothing to wear,” you say, looking down at your trousers and shirt. They’re undoubtedly nice clothes, but for a dance, you need a dress. Unless Xingjie plans on being unorthodox.

Xingjie laughs a little, a sound you’re glad to hear after so many weeks of silence. “Xinyi, remember that this place is magic?”

You blush. “Right.”

“Go check your closet,” Xingjie says helpfully. “I’ll meet you there.”

With that, he walks around you out the door.

. . . . .

Icy blue silk, white satin gloves, a rose pin in your hair, light blue shoes. You watch your step, doing your best not to trip on the stairs.

It’s with nervousness and anticipation that you walk to the ballroom, hoping that you don’t look a total mess, but all those thoughts fly out of your mind when you see Xingjie.

He looks so, so handsome.

His blue silk shirt matches your dress, as do his white gloves, contrasting with his black pants. His eyes are still as dark and deep as you remembered, but it seems that they’re… twinkling. An expression you’ve never seen before.

“You look very handsome,” you say shyly, taking his outstretched hand.

“And you look very beautiful,” he says back, unable to take his eyes off of your face.

You blush under his gaze, allowing him to lead you inside. “Are we dancing without music?” you ask, looking around at the various instruments leaning against the wall.

“Magic, Xinyi,” Xingjie says, whirling you into position. You attempt to recall the dances you were taught back home, hoping that this won’t be too different.

You look around, startled, as music begins to play. You catch a glimpse of a violin floating in the air before Xingjie is moving, placing his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder, and clasping the other in his.

“Let’s dance,” he whispers, his cold breath hitting your face. You shiver slightly, but in delight, before following his lead.

It’s strange, awkward almost, to be the only two dancing in this enormous ballroom. But after the first dance, your surroundings melt away, your attention focused only on the man in front of you. And you become comfortable enough to ask the first question.

“So,” you say, “what did you want to tell me?”

Xingjie twirls you under his arm slowly, looking suddenly serious. “You had questions before that I could not answer.”

You nod.

“I’ll answer them now,” he promises, “but don’t interrupt me until I’m done, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply.

There’s a short silence as the music dies, signaling a new song. The opening bars are soft, eerie, and haunting, and you shiver in Xingjie’s grasp.

“I was once a king,” he says, looking into your eyes. “I was vain, selfish, and horrible. I had everything. I wanted for nothing. And if I wanted for something, I would get it. No matter what. In short, I did not love.”

You remain silent, unable to look away.

“One day a fairy came, disguised as an old woman seeking shelter. I refused her.” Horrible pain twists Xingjie’s face and he looks away for a moment to compose himself. “It sounds terrible, but that was the person I was back then.”

You find it a little hard to believe, but seeing the pain in his eyes, you know that he’s telling the truth.

“In return, she cursed me.” Xingjie swallows. “Everyone around me vanished. The lights flickered out. And when I tried to open the drapes… Well, in short, the fairy had cursed my heart. I did not know how to love - my heart was proof of that. So it literally became a heart of ice.” A bitter smile crosses his face. “So I’m not even human. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” you say staunchly. “Get that idea out of your head.”

Xingjie laughs a little sadly, adjusting his grip. “Alright, if you say so.

“Anyway, if I went outside,” he continues, “if I saw the sunlight, that ice would melt, and I would live no longer. As long as I remained in the dark, I would live, eternally bound to this castle until I learned to love.”

You nod slowly. Then, unable to restrain yourself, you ask, “But why couldn’t you tell me earlier? Why tell me now?”

A slight smile twists his pale lips. “If I told my story to anyone I did not love, I would die. Immediately, painfully, I don’t know.”

Your heart pounds painfully in your chest as Xingjie stops dancing, the music coming to a rest. It’s so silent in the huge room that you can hear your breathing, shallow and quick.

“You love me?” you finally ask, voice barely a whisper.

“I think I do,” Xingjie replies, his voice equally soft. “Do you love me as well?”

You nod once, twice, three times. “I think I do,” you whisper.

Xingjie’s gloved hand finds its way to your cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. His touch is cold but dulled by the cloth of his glove, and you revel in the way his hand brushes against your skin, gently pushing away a fallen strand of hair.

You lean closer, cupping his face in your hands. You stare into his eyes, those dark eyes you fell in love with, those dark eyes that hold you captive in place. You are spellbound, feeling his breath ghost across your lips.

“Are you sure you love me? A monster?” he whispers.

“I said, get that idea out of your head.” You glare at him teasingly. “And yes. I am sure.”

And you press your lips to his in a gentle, sweet kiss.

. . . . .

It’s cold.

Xingjie’s lips are so cold.

It repels you and you almost pull away, but you force yourself to come closer, allowing Xingjie’s hands to rest around your waist as you cup his face in your hands. You force yourself to stay pressed against him, against the man you are sure you love.

And then, gradually, his lips become warmer. And warmer. And warmer.

You open your eyes, staring into his, before breaking away.

Where pale, white skin used to be, there is now a hint of pink and color in his cheeks. Your eyes roam his face, seeing pink lips and twinkling eyes.

Is that a tear you see? You reach up, brushing it away with your thumb.

“Xingjie,” you breathe. A tear wells in your eye, threatening to spill down your cheek. “Xingjie.”

“Xinyi,” he whispers, brushing it away.

And then he kisses you again.

Around you, the drapes blow open, the music begins to play again, and chattering begins to fill the room. But you don’t notice, focused only on the man whose heart you have melted.

“I love you,” you sigh against his lips.

He breaks away for just a second, just enough to say, “I love you too.”

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shadowknux372 · 6 years ago

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Ludvina Von Koopa, The Isolated Maestro

"Of all the melodies in the world...power is the sweetest song of all. Shall we dance? ♥"

The oldest of the Koopa children in the royal family, and the one spoken of with the most reverence aside from the Queen herself. Standing only slightly shorter than her younger bruiser of a sister Rory, Ludvina seems to have a theme of blue coloring; her shell and eyes are a dark blue, and her hair even darker so, smooth and kept well-groomed atop her face, full of smooth features, if one can keep their eyes away from her piercing, cold stare. Her body frame is tall and elegant, and she exudes an aura of power and nobility that one actually would associate with a person of her lineage. Very few times will Ludvina be seen without a conductor's baton she keeps on her person, something that is the first clue to Ludvina's interests.

Ludvina is very musically inclined, and devotes herself entirely to music and its compositions, particularly in classical style. To the world, she is a cold, analytical composer of melodies that haunt the hearts of those that serve in her territories, though none of those who find themselves haunted can say whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. For hours at a time, Ludvina will be alone in her studies, the only sign of life within her home the echoes of instruments as she dedicates herself to the greatest melodies to be created in the world. When seen outside her studies, she socializes little, saying little more than what is necessary, be it requests, or commands, or anything else besides. Often times, besides the biological necessities, Ludvina will only leave her home to travel, to hear the ambient sounds of nature, assumed to be further inspiration for her music.

Despite this predilection towards a non-violent hobby, Ludvina is said to be the strongest of the Koopalings in all regards, second only to her mother at this point. The charred remains of failed compositions is a clue to this, as before the birth of Bowsa Jr., no other Koopaling had inherited their mother's ability to breathe fire, except for Ludvina. It seems the only thing that keeps Ludvina from being a terror capable of taking over alongside her mother is her inclination towards isolation. Ludvina's home territories are quite out of the way and hard to find, and as such, little is seen or heard of her compared to the more publicly exposed and more maligned of Bowsa's daughters.

Even when taking part in familial bids for power, Ludvina tended towards isolation, finding ways to defend her areas and remain away from battles to focus on her studies. During The Great Airship Offensive, the distant island Pipe Land was retrofitted by Ludvina and her followers to turn all useless Warp Pipes into massive instruments, turning the entire island into something akin to a pipe organ. With which, Ludvina would fire at intruders (and occasionally fire out intruders to exile them) through cannons, all in tune to the beat of a gigantic orchestra. During The Bid To Take Over Dinosaur Island, she retired herself to a distant mountain area, rigging a bridge that led there to sound off musical tones when pressure was felt, different tones for different pressures, letting her know exactly what sort of threat was imposing itself upon her. And in the most recent group attempt at kidnapping the Princess Peach, Ludvina demonstrated handily that her magical strength was as strong as the rumors implied it was.

Although rarely reported to directly participated in physical confrontation, few assume that Ludvina can't hold herself in a fight. Many owe this to the remarks of a single Toad, said to be the only one who hasn't blocked out the memory, who describes Ludvina in battle as "the most deadly dance you'll ever see." Even with her power, like her siblings, Ludvina's efforts in the familial efforts failed due to the efforts of the hero Mario. Since then, Ludvina has retired to her home territories once again, and none know whether she cares not for her losses, or is even now preparing the hero's swan song...

#mario #super mario #mario bros #super mario bros #mario bros 3 #super mario bros 3 #monster girl #monster girl encyclopedia #mge #profile #koopa #ludwig von koopa #ludwig koopa #ludvina koopa #ludvina von koopa

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shannaraisles · 7 years ago

Text

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 28 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical threat and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Expectations

"Are you busy, my dear?"

Rory looked up at the beautifully modulated tone. Vivienne De Fer, her least favorite character from the game, stood in the doorway of her clinic, tall and imposing, and exquisitely polite. Face to face, the First Enchanter of Montsimmard was intimidating, but not in the way she had expected. Instead of the coldness she had always assigned to her, Vivienne's eyes were warm and inviting, disguising her political ambitions and impressive magical power behind a manner that sought to put everyone at their ease. It was actually more worrying to think she might be taken in by it. But, as she'd told Evy on numerous occasions, merely disliking a person was not a good enough reason to deny them her time.

Tucking her notes back into the chest and locking it, she offered the striking woman a smile. "Nothing that can't wait, Madame," she assured the mage, gesturing for her to take a seat. "How may I help you?"

"I should like to consult you on a personal matter," Vivienne said, stepping inside but only far enough to be heard without projecting her voice to the village at large. There was a certain amount of distaste as the woman noted the sound of vomiting from the partitioned off ward. "Would it be possible to find time in your hectic schedule to visit with me in the Chantry? The matter is ... somewhat sensitive."

Rory raised her brows. "I can assure you, Madame, no one here would share anything you choose to speak of," she said, not prepared to give anyone preferential treatment. Even Kaaras had to come to the clinic for his daily dose of massage therapy on the marked hand when he was in Haven. "As you can hear, we have patients, and I cannot in good conscience leave the clinic when I may be needed at any moment."

"Your dedication does you credit, my dear," Vivienne responded, seemingly honest in her praise. She reviewed the situation for a moment. "Would you object to a small spell? Just to be certain that no one hears what is said between us."

Magic. She'd managed to avoid direct contact with magic thus far, but Rory knew that couldn't last. For all her faults, Vivienne was more than competent, and permanently disabling a trusted healer would not be a shrewd political move. Still, best to be sure ...

"May I ask the nature of the spell?" she queried, wondering why her syntax had raised itself several social levels to match that of the mage.

Vivienne smiled, apparently pleased with the question. "It is what is commonly known as a muffle, my dear, though it is more accurate to call it a block," she explained in a calm tone. "Once set, anything we two say within this small space will remain ours alone. You will still hear the comings and goings outside, I assure you."

"And is the spell cast on us, or on the room?" Rory asked searchingly. She might be sympathetic to the mages, but that didn't mean she wasn't rightly wary of magic itself.

"What an inquiring mind you have," the mage commented, but again, she seemed pleased to be asked. "A healthy respect for magic is rare in these times, even among mages. The spell is cast upon the room, not the inhabitants, and I shall naturally remove it when we are done."

"Thank you, Madame." Rory hoped she didn't look too relieved by that answer; offending Vivienne was an easy way to make a powerful enemy. "I have no objection."

Vivienne inclined her head in acceptance of that permission, her eyes going distant as she gathered her energies to cast. A strangely greasy quality settled over the room, muffling every sound that reached Rory's perception, even the sound of her own heartbeat. Yet, as thickly as the sensation settled, it seemed to thin, flowing outward to envelop the room itself. The sounds of the ward and the village outside this little space normalized into their usual faint intrusion as Vivienne's expression clear.

"It is done," she declared, her voice sounding just faintly distorted, like a radio that wasn't quite tuned correctly. "Now then, my dear, to work." She moved gracefully to take a seat with Rory at the desk. "I have need of your healing knowledge to help me end a miserable life."

To say Rory was shocked was an understatement. Evening knowing what she did of Vivienne's personal quest, it was disquieting to note how very matter-of-fact the woman was about it. "Madame, I am a healer," she felt the need to point out. "Death is not my first port of call."

"Yet when nothing else can be done and the life that remains will be agony, death is your gift to give," Vivienne countered smoothly.

"Are you certain you have reached that point?" Rory asked with an inquisitive frown. "Could you give me the details before asking me to help you kill someone, at least?"

To her everlasting surprise, the First Enchanter's eyes filled with tears. "Everything has been attempted," she confessed in a bleak tone of despair. "Exquisite magics now only cause pain; those herbs and potions known for their efficacy have no effect. I fear my own efforts have done nothing but lengthen his suffering. Oh, my dear, I cannot bear to see him brought so low!"

Bloody hell, she really does love him. What did she do to make his death linger for so long? But Rory didn't ask. Instead, she drew her chair closer to Vivienne's, laying her hand over the woman's trembling fingers. "Madame ... try to be calm," she urged gently. "I know it is difficult, but I need to know. There might be something we could try yet."

Vivienne had never struck her as the sort to accept comfort offered, but the mage clung to her hand, gripping tightly as she drew in slow breaths to calm herself. Not one tear fell, but they remained there, behind her eyes. This was a raw, vulnerable side to the woman Rory could not have predicted. In the game, it had always seemed as though Vivienne was only really interested in the power and influence her liaison with Duke Bastien offered her, yet here and now there was no denying the very real grief she felt at the loss of the man himself.

"It began several years ago," Vivienne told her, almost hesitantly. "He was taken unexpectedly with the falling sickness. He seemed to recover, though it left him with a weakness in his right side. That might have been simple to overcome, but a few months later, he suffered a fit of apoplexy. His speech became slurred, and for several days, he was unable to rise from his bed.The apoplexy had never left him - since then, he has suffered many such fits, and each time his recovery is slower than the last. We have consulted mages, healers, even heathens, yet nothing has worked to reverse the damage done. Then, last month, he was struck down by a fit that has left prostrate, barely able to move. I am at my wit's end, Healer. All there is left is to give him an end with some dignity."

As she spoke, Rory struggled to properly understand the true diagnosis. Apoplexy is what I think they used to call epilepsy, so he has uncontrolled epilepsy, brought on by ... What the hell is falling sickness? She said something about it leaving him weak on his right side, so ... that's a stroke. Fuck it, I don't know anything about neurological ailments long-term. But she did remember some small details from the game that might help.

"There is a potion that might save him," she said carefully. "But, equally, it might kill him. I've never seen the recipe myself, but I do know it requires heating by a magical flame and the addition of a snowy wyvern's heart at the last stage of preparation. I'm afraid that's all I know, but I've heard from healers I trust that it's one of the most powerful rejuvenation potions ever to be devised."

"That ... does sound familiar," Vivienne mused in a thoughtful tone. "A kill or cure, certainly. I do believe I may have seen this recipe of yours, in an old Tevinter medical text in the Montsimmard library. If I could find it, would you be willing to assist me in creating this potion?"

Rory drew in a slow breath as she considered this, but honestly, she already knew her answer. "Madame, if there is even a chance of saving your friend, then I will do whatever I can to help," she promised softly. "But please ... don't let your hope rise too high. He may be too weak for the potion to do anything more than stop his heart."

"Yet even that would be a release from the prison his body has made for him," Vivienne answered unhappily. "Thank you, my dear. Health or death is a far better choice than a full guarantee of death."

"I'm sorry I can't do more," Rory murmured regretfully.

"Nonsense, my dear," the First Enchanter said in a brisk tone. "You did not waste my time as others have done, suggesting everything that has already been tried, nor did you insist upon knowing exactly who I speak of. Such confidence in myself and knowledge of your own art is very much appreciated." She glanced up, straightening her back. "But I have kept you too long from your duties. Forgive me, darling. I shall not trespass further upon your precious time."

With a snap of the mage's fingers, Rory felt the odd distortion in the air around them cease, recognizing the release of the spell that had guaranteed Vivienne's privacy. She rose with the elegant mage, wiping her hand over her own hip.

"I hope I've been of some help, at least," she offered, walking the woman to the door.

"On the contrary, my dear, you have given me new purpose," Vivienne assured her, stepping out into the wintry village. "This young Inquisition is lucky to have a healer who cares more for the well-being of her people than protecting trade secrets."

"I can think of at least one healer who would call me an idiot for it," Rory replied in amusement, the ugly specter of Granthis rising in her mind. He would be horrified at her giving up even vague knowledge of an extremely rare potion to a non-healer, she was sure.

"Better an effective idiot than a foolish hoarder," was Vivienne's comment on that. "Do try not to work too hard, my dear. The commander will not like it."

That's the Vivienne I was expecting - smug and condescending, and suggesting she knows more about Cullen than I do. But after that strangely privileged glimpse of the woman behind the imposing mask, Rory found the persona made her smile rather than frown. She watched the First Enchanter walk away, turning back to the clinic herself. It was about time Evy got a break from ward duties, anyway.

A few hours later, Rory found herself giving very serious thought to her current need for at least one more pair of hands for this little ward of hers. A minor bout of something very like 'flu had hit Haven - all six of the beds were occupied by those hit hardest. Keeping on top of regular obs, cleaning the bedpans and sick bowls, changing the sheets, and making sure the fevers weren't running out of control twenty-four hours a day was really too much for just two people to handle; on top of that, they still had visitors to the clinic with minor injury and other complaints, not to mention the various dressing that had to be checked daily. Ideally, she needed a nursing staff specifically for the clinic ward ... and that probably meant lay sisters from the Chantry. As much as she disliked the idea of letting Mother Giselle's eyes and ears into her clinic, the health of her in-patients required her to swallow her pride and ask for help, preferably before Evy wilted away in front of her. No, there was nothing for it; she had to have help. Tomorrow, she'd have to approach Giselle and ask.

It was a shame she couldn't take Kaaras along with her, really. The Qunari clearly intimidated the woman, whether he meant to or not, but he was leaving for the Storm Coast at dawn, taking Sera, Solas, and Cassandra with him. No decision had yet been reached on whether to approach the mages or the templars for help with the Breach, but Rory had planted the idea of scouting Redcliffe village when he was looking for Blackwall. Someone else with secrets. She had faith that Kaaras would not simply stand back and give the mages up to Alexius once he knew what was going on. And, of course, that would bring Dorian to Haven. Of all the companions, he was the one she was most looking forward to meeting. Who knew if he'd even like her, but she hoped he would. She needed someone she could confide in, and Dorian, with his awareness of alternative magics, was the one least likely to instantly point the finger of blame if she let a little too much slip.

"You're looking a wee bit exhausted there, Ror," Rylen's voice broke into her thoughts. "Isn't even full night yet."

She looked up, smiling to see her friend walking into the clinic with a steaming bowl of stew in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other. "Is that for me?"

"Aye, commander's orders," he told her. "You missed dinner again."

"Too much to do," was her only excuse, her stomach rumbling as she took the meal from his hands. She couldn't keep the smile on her face from softening at the knowledge that Cullen had found the time to order someone to make sure she ate. Soppy kitten that he is.

"You need more hands," Rylen pointed out, taking a seat beside her as she ate. "Evy's dead on her feet, and you're not much better."

"I'll ask tomorrow," she promised through a mouth of bread and meat. "Thank you for looking after her."

"She's my wee bonny," he said easily. The fondness in his voice spoke volumes of how he felt about Evelyn Trevelyan. "Never thought to have someone so sweet to call mine. Taking care of her's easy as breathing. You're the one we're worrying over."

"We?" Rory asked in a bemused tone.

"Aye, we," he agreed. "Not just the commander, either. You've many watching you spread yourself too thin, Ror. We don't like it."

"It won't last forever," she told him in a confident tone. "The ward will be empty again by the end of the week."

"And you'll do the same again next time there's sickness," her friend predicted sternly. "Don't give me that guff. You're terrible at looking to yourself, and it shows."

"I prefer to keep busy," she tried to argue, but he was right. She felt like Bilbo Baggins - like butter scraped over too much bread.

"Keeping busy'll kill you," Rylen informed her, pulling no punches. "And that'll kill Cullen. He needs you, Rory. And we need him."

She sighed softly, knowing he was right there, too. The Inquisition needed Cullen, and he did seem to need her. "Tomorrow," she promised once more. "I'll arrange for help tomorrow."

Rylen eyed her for a long moment. "Mind you do," he said at last, "or I'll do it for you. I'm not having my best girls run down by duty. I've seen that happen too many times."

His words stayed with her long after he left, haunting her mind as she settled her patients and curled up on her hard bedroll to snatch a little sleep before they needed her again. The implication almost frightened her. Somehow, she had become integral to the Inquisition. Just what was that going to do to the story? Only ... it wasn't a story, not any more. It was real. There was no checkpoint, no opportunity to reload and try again. She couldn't keep this pace of work up forever, and everyone knew it. It was time to truly accept her place here, and do what she needed to do to be the best she could possibly be. Preferably before someone else did it for her.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dai fanfic #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #rylen #vivienne de fer #healer doing healer things #a softer side to madame #rory's overwhelmed

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