Tangled In Strings

Chapter 8: Ghostly Roots

The swamp was quiet that night.

Not peaceful—never that. But hushed. Watchful. Like the forest knew something was about to be unearthed.

Snatcher floated ahead of Moonjumper in silence, his shadows dim, sluggish. For once, he wasn’t hiding behind sarcasm. He hadn’t spoken in over ten minutes—not since saying:

“I want to show you where it happened.”

Moonjumper followed, silent as moonlight, his bare feet brushing the moss. He didn’t ask what Snatcher meant. He already knew.

They stopped before the largest tree in Subcon. Towering. Gnarled. Its roots split the earth like jagged scars.

This wasn’t just a tree.

This was the tree.

The place where Snatcher had died.

---

✦ Inside the Hollow ✦

Snatcher phased into the trunk, and Moonjumper stepped through after. Inside, the air was cold. Stale. It smelled like damp wood, lost memories, and faint magic—long decayed.

The interior was vast and hollowed, a natural cathedral of roots and shadow. In the center sat a cracked table. A rusted lantern. A weathered book left open on a page long-faded by time.

And on the far wall—

A frozen portrait.

Of Vanessa.

Her human form. Crown of braids. Pale hands folded. Eyes serene. She looked kind. Regal. Untouched by frost.

“I painted that,” Snatcher said suddenly, voice barely audible.

Moonjumper turned.

Snatcher hovered near the table, clawed hands twitching with memory.

“Before I… changed. Before she froze her heart and mine.”

Moonjumper moved closer, careful not to step on the crumbling remnants of what might’ve once been parchment or clothes.

“Tell me who you were.”

Snatcher hesitated.

Then, softly:

“His name was Conrad.”

---

✦ The Flashback ✦

He was young then. A scholar. A dreamer. He’d come to the forest with a bag full of books and ideals, determined to chart Subcon’s wild magic. He believed it could be understood. Measured. Tamed.

And then… he met her.

Vanessa.

The witch-princess.

She was curious. Rebellious. Lonely.

And she saw him.

“We were in love,” Snatcher said quietly. “Real love. Or so I thought.”

Moonjumper watched him as he spoke—watched the way his shadows coiled protectively, defensively.

“She asked me to stay. Said she didn’t want to rule alone. I said yes. I would’ve given her anything.”

“But she wanted more.”

Snatcher turned to him now, eyes flaring dim blue.

“She wanted to own it. All of it. Including me.”

---

The night she changed—when her heart froze and the cold spread from her tower—Conrad tried to stop her. He pleaded. Bargained.

“She said if I wouldn’t join her as she was, she’d make me.”

He ran.

She cursed him.

He barely made it to the woods before the spell took hold—turning blood to shadow, bones to mist.

He died beneath this tree.

And woke up a monster.

---

“I stayed here for years after,” Snatcher murmured. “Trying to remember who I’d been. Trying to undo the curse. But I was too angry. Too hurt.”

He turned toward Moonjumper.

“So I made myself into something else. Something who didn’t care anymore.”

Moonjumper stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Snatcher’s arm.

“But that’s not true. You do care.”

“That’s the problem,” Snatcher whispered.

---

✦ The Relic ✦

Moonjumper walked to the back of the hollow, toward a low root. Something glinted there—half-buried in moss.

He pulled it free.

A silver chain.

A locket.

Inside was a tiny painting. Two figures: Conrad and Vanessa, smiling. Human.

Alive.

Moonjumper held it up.

“You never really forgot who you were.”

Snatcher turned away.

“I didn’t want to remember. Because remembering meant grieving. And grieving meant feeling again.”

“And now?”

Snatcher looked at him, haunted.

“Now you’re here, and I can’t stop feeling.”

“Is that really so bad?”

“If it means losing you? Yes.”

Moonjumper stepped closer, face calm, unwavering.

“You haven’t lost me.”

“You might,” Snatcher said bitterly. “People like me don’t get to keep things. We’re haunted. Cursed. Doomed to watch everything we care about break.”

“Then let me break the pattern.”

Snatcher met his eyes, uncertain.

“How?”

Moonjumper held out the locket.

“By remembering. By reclaiming what was good—before it was twisted.”

“You want me to be Conrad again?”

“No,” Moonjumper said gently. “I want you to be whoever you are now. Conrad. Snatcher. Both. Neither. But real.”

Silence.

Then Snatcher reached out—and closed his fingers around the locket.

---

✦ End Scene ✦

Later, they sat in silence beneath the ancient branches, the lantern casting soft gold light.

Snatcher spoke, for the first time in a long time, without performance.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be seen.”

Moonjumper smiled softly.

“You were always visible to me.”