God this place is bright...
It's the first and only thought that can come to mind, calloused hand haphazardly reaching up to block the sun's assault before burrowing itself into the mountain of pillows strewn across the bed.
Everything is too bright, a scintillating glow of yellows that dance across the blankets December pulls tightly over his face, the sunlight still managing to pierce through the thick material like a blade. His previous theory that it must be nearly summer is evident now, birds chirping too loudly beside his window and dragonflies buzzing quickly past being enough to leave him with a neverending headache. He seems to realize that at this point getting any more sleep would be pointless, rather pulling away at the knitted comforter with a hint of annoyance before rising from the bed with a body aching creak.
As grandeur as the palace appears on the outside the rooms within bring a warmth that seems too out of place. Besides the marble and crystal adorned great room the rest of the rooms December has managed to fall into all seem to be sparsely decorated, or at the very least adorned with oddities more reminiscent of a childhood home than any castle.
The blanket he roughly discarded is clearly homemade given the loose knitting sporadically littered across its surface. Even the bed itself seems to be a display of craftsmanship, the stacked logs carved with intricate details of woodland animals that December can't recognize, his finger absentmindedly grazing the embedded design.
The only luxury in the room seems to be the large crystal light that hangs in the center of the room, each quartz swirling in the breeze as they cascade downwards in a spiral, casting patterns of light that dance across the walls with each kiss of sunlight that graces their surface.
With a slight stretch he rises from the bed before a knock sounds at the door, the sound hollow as it repeats itself, this time with a sing-songy rhythm before the door creaks open, bringing with it a faint aroma of baked breads and a sweet note December can't quite place.
Placed in the doorway stands a girl no older than December. Her appearance is human enough, dark locks pulled into a lose bun that leaves only a few hairs free to frame her face. She's dressed simply, a plain white blouse matched with a skirt slightly too short for her frame.
"Hello?" December starts with a yawn, confusion clearly scribbled across his features. "I believe you my have the wrong room."
The mystery girl shakes her head in opposition, a few more strands escaping her bun as she closes the gap between the two in one stride. "I'm Celeste. " She outstretches a hand for formality sake only, withdrawing the limb back to her side before December can raise his own in greeting. "I work in the castle but Sasha decided to place me on babysitting duty. Apparently the presence of another human is supposed to be soothing."
Sasha. The name brings about emotions that can't be named, just the vaguest flash of red eyes piercing into blue before the thought fizzles with a physical shake of the head. Yet there's something about that man, that creature, that refuses to leave December's mind, the idea grasping at the edges refusing to be placed away. Though they had only met for mere moments it was enough to leave a chill coursing through his veins as instinct overruled rationality, and the gravity of his newfound situation began to weigh upon him.
Alone in the cage of a beast, it's only keeper whisked away to play dress up and engulfed in quite literal fairytales.
The slightest of frowns plays at his lips as his thoughts seep into the physical realm, anxieties overflowing to the point they can no longer be contained behind tight pursed lips. "Celeste," he feigns a smile, grabbing at a nearby shirt placed carelessly over the back of an oak chair. "I appreciate it. Genuinely." He adds as an after thought, still unsure of the girl stood before him.
"He asked if I could show you around town today." All of her words are stiff, December notes, like his presence alone is a nuisance to the girl. "Now that Wren is back the palace will be crawling with officials wanting to meet with him. I'm assuming Sasha wants you out of the way." She seems to take notice of the way December draws back, a glimmer of sympathy befalling her as she cradles her round face in her hand. "It's not that you're unwanted it's just a pretty big day and as superhuman as he may be, Sasha still only has two eyes."
As much as he hates to admit it he understands the order from a professional point of view. Sometimes it's better to give a fake task to get a subordinate out of the way than risk letting them ruin the main event. "Maybe we can get some breakfast? I'm pretty starving actually." A hands comes up to rub at the back of his head, smile overtaking him as he cocks his head with a grin.
Celeste only nods in agreement as she awaits December stood in the corner, shrugging the cotton fabric over his head before following the draconian girl towards the door.
Outside. A place he had only met once, standing in the frameway of Haven's delivery room with his mother at his side. It's all so distant now, the sensation of his boots sinking into the mud dampened by the rain of the night before. The aroma of wet earth and worms that had found their way to the surface having burned through his lungs in a way he had never been introduced to before. He can still see the towering woods in the distance, their presence seething with life as if the trees themselves were alive, their breaths manifesting as the chill air that struck against his cheek. It all had seemed so foreign at the time, an unhallowed island placed so close to their salvation.
Now December walks the cobblestone pathways of this Hell, passes its inhabitants that all share the same nearly-human features that leaves his stomach in knots. The confidence he once held as Head of Lab had dissipated the moment he passed through those twin trees, just a shell of who he once was now roaming these streets. He's a body without a soul.
Better than a mind without a conscious.
He stops for a moment, Celeste continuing ahead without noticing his hesitation. A mind without a conscious. His eyes squint at the thought that blossoms like a weed, the root of it too entangled to easily pull away. With a sigh his head falls towards the sky, tired limbs dragging through dark hair and gripping on too tightly as if that grasp were the only source keeping his body from slipping away.
Bodies continue to slip by, the streets awake with an effervescent glow unusual for this hour. They gossip as they walk by, eyes dragging against the tall creature stood dead in the middle of the street, eyes closed to the assault of the sun and hair gripped tight in his whitening fists.
A hand wraps around his lifted forearm, pulling at the tight locked limb until he's brought back to this so-called Earth.
"We're here." Celeste states dully, manicured nails pointing towards the building ahead of them.
Stood at the end of the cobblestone road stands a large cottage, it's stone steps leading to a light wood door painted white with misplaced strokes. Purple flowers grow from their windowsill planters, accented by the sheer white curtains pulled away to the side of the French styled windows. The scent of pastry cream emits from the building, vanilla and softened butter spilling into the streets as Celeste impatiently pulls them within the small diner.
A bell placed atop of the door chimes with their entrance, the sound splitting through the bustling cottage filled with people. Human people. They sit around large wooden tables, circular slabs cut straight from the tree and adorned with scattered paintings of red and blue flowers. At each table sits log stools overflowing with patrons, their features familiar as December absentmindedly graces his own eyes, taking in the security of the green and brown eyes scattered before him.
Celeste notices the slight movement, body leaning over to December as she places a hand to his ear. "This place is pretty popular with changelings." She whispers, pulling back with a tight lipped smile.
His eyes scan the diner at her words, a breath he didn't know he was holding releasing with the confirmation. With his examination a small wall catches his eye, brow cocking in the slightest as he approaches it. The wall is scattered with photos, a few of them framed but a majority tacked onto the light-wood wall with pins or nails. Cautiously, he grabs at one of the photos, the commotion of the people around him fading into the background as his eyes scan the photo gripped tightly between his fingers.
A dark haired Wren stands smiling in the photograph, his arms wrapped around a woman who softly smiles into the lens. Her eyes are squinted in amusement as her hands hold Wren's arms tightly against her. Yet the longer December stares at the photograph the more foreign it seems. Wren's dark brown locks void of his signature curls and his eyes...
Though he has to bring the photograph inches from his face his suspicions are confirmed, brows furrowing in the slightest as he studies the photo. Wren's eyes are void of their old lavender hue and while their color is indeed dark, it isn't the burgundy that he's come to known. Though the boy's smile has compressed his eyes the hue is still visible through the joyful slits. Each eye is pure black, devoid of any whites as the obsidian iris blends completely into the sclera.
"Hey," December calls, eyes never leaving the photo pressed tightly between his forefinger and thumb. "what happened to Wren's eyes here?" He points at the small photograph, examining the way Celeste slightly tenses before pulling the photo from his grasp and tacking it back onto the wall.
There's a discomfort that snakes it's way between the two still stood in the middle of the diner, gaze pressed tight against the wall of memories before faltering to one another. Confusion meets reservation, Celeste toying with another photograph of a dark haired Wren in a poor attempt to avoid the question at hand. Yet December doesn't budge, merely repeating the question until Celeste gives way with a sigh of defeat and a mumble of an answer.
"That isn't Wren, it's Basil. He was the king before Wren."
There's a truth hidden in her answer, clear by the way her cheeks blaze red for the first time, rivaling the flowers painted across each wooden table before them. The girl rubs away at her arm, a crack forming in her stone exterior as she bites back onto doll lips awaiting December's brewing questions.
He doesn't seem to take notice of her reaction, body unaware of the tense girl next to him near frozen with fear. "Wren had a brother?"
"No," She sighs heavily already sensing defeat. "Wren is Basil." The confusion on December's face is clear as she continues her explanation with a defeated sigh and another awkward rub of the shoulder. "The king's line is a bit, how do you say... special. They die and then they come back but they're different but they're the same..."
"Celeste, that is the worst explanation I've ever heard."
"It's a reincarnation cycle."
The voice springs up from behind them, the two turning before falling face to face with a woman standing too close, the scent of alcohol ripe on her tongue. A lanky arm finds its way around December's shoulders, pulling him closer though he fidgets in protest at the movement. She's stronger than she looks, he notes, her arms small and littered with scars yet she manages to hold him still in her grasp.
Her dark hair curtains her features and falls against the small of her back, black nails reaching up to brush back the unruly locks as she flashes the boy a grin. Whether it's sinister or playful he can't yet tell, everyone in this world a confusing mix of the two. The woman grabs at the same photograph from before, almond eyes softening if only for a moment before stashing the photograph into a hidden pocket.
"Look," Her voice is deeper than a woman's should be, a harshness intertwined with every word that escapes her raspy throat. "I'm gonna take a good guess and assume you're the human that rolled through town yesterday. Therefore," she starts, withdrawing her arm from December's shoulder to place it against her chest with playful chivalry. "I'll answer any questions you got since my baby sister here is about as personable as a bag of rocks. I'm Nova by the way."
The woman outstretches a scarred hand before bringing the two beneath her arms, pulling them away to the diner's counter that wraps across the far end of the room. Carelessly, she climbs across the counter bumping a few dishes on the way before falling on the other side.
"I'm December." As shocked as he is he keeps his formality, extending a hand to the woman across the counter as she hands him a coffee filled mug. "Reincarnation cycle you were saying?"
"Hmm?" Nova mumbles against the rim of her chipped mug, brown eyes peeking up from behind the golden rimmed cup. "Oh yeah, those photos are of Basil, the last king who also happened to be my boyfriend. I was his High Priest," her eyes roll with the mention of the word. "we all know what that's code for they just can't get over their purity bullshit to accept it."
"You seem pretty jaded to have been a High Priest." December admits, swirling the contents of his cup before taking another sip.
"Basil was like this too, he never really cared about the royalty stuff. Actually," she perks up, a memory dashing across her eyes before fading as quickly as it came. "he ran this diner with me. But to answer your question the bėlä line is just one king reincarnated over and over. It's kinda freaky though cause they all kind of look alike.
"What's even worse," she starts up, pouring the contents of a glass bottle into her mug. The scent of liquor mingles with the burnt fragrance of coffee beans and the now sickeningly scent aroma of pastries but the woman doesn't mind, merely pouring the contents until her golden cup threatens to overflow. "Is that they keep their memories. Some collective consciousness they fall into after they die. Rumor has it that when they die the next incarnation can tap into that consciousness and it's like they're all alive in there giving him 'godly' advice and what not."
It's a lot to process, December admits to himself, staring into the contents of his cup in a poor attempt to understand. "And Basil's eyes?" December quizzes, deciding it's better to interpret the haul of information later to prevent a headache from coming on.
"That happens sometimes. Wren used to have lavender eyes because he had never drank blood, but I heard that when he came back to the castle his eyes were burgundy." She doesn't allow time for December to answer, merely carrying on her speech with slightly slurred words, her coffee concoction clearly taking effect. "But black eyes? Black eyes is what happens when you start to eat someone, flesh and all. How do you think I got all these scars?" Nova drunkenly points to her arms but December's gaze doesn't follow, his eyes downcast in slight embarrassment. "I'd bet good money on the same thing happening to Wren. I'd keep an eye on that little black haired boy if I were you."
With the mention of Ryder, December perks up , palms slamming against the wooden counter with too much force before he's leaning over, the scent of alcohol heavy on the woman's breath as their eyes meet. Her devilish grin twinkles in each obsidian eye before she lets out a cough-like laugh, arms crossing defensively in front of her. "You really think that after almost two hundred years of not drinking blood, Wren will just be okay now? Hell, Basil drank blood his entire life and he still turned into a binge eater!"
The woman merely shakes her head with a patronizing grin before eyeing December, pointing to the far end of the diner before turning back towards him. "Listen, a little ways in that direction is where the temple is. Wren used to go there every night so if you think I'm so wrong how about you go over there tonight and ask him yourself?"
She's met only with a nod, December too lost in his own mind to process much else of what she says. His thoughts are only on the mention of the temple, the slightest vision of Ryder dancing across closed lids before he takes another drag from his cup, head falling into the groove of his palm as he stares out the window and into the cluttered streets of this new world.
See you tonight, Wren.