Mortals.
The word alone was like the toll of a death knell, sinking deep into my bones.
And everything else was hushed—quiet.
But footsteps rang sharply down the hallway and through the door, sounding overly loudly in my own ears, like the booming heartbeat of a condemned prisoner. Phoebus had walked away.
And perhaps it was because Kallistê had no more words to say or was perhaps drained and weary from bearing the information alone but she didn't say anything—nothing at all—before her own resounding footsteps faded into dim silence.
I was alone again.
When the world used to kiss up against my skin and laugh with me, hold me—I didn't want the moment to end, wishing that time could stand still and that I could bathe in pleasant blissfulness—even if it was just for a moment. But after hearing what Kallistê had confessed, it was as if the world had shrunken away to leave a cold void around my skin, as if I had become detached from reality itself with nothing but a fattening black whole of mangled thoughts in the depths of my head.
I wasn't sure how long I had been on the floor. Kallistê and Phoebus had long since left and now everything was just...nothing. I didn't feel anything at all. The flowery scent seeping in from the window had suddenly turned musty and twisted and I stood, walking towards those polished glass panels and swung them shut, locking it.
It was only when the chirping, buzzing, and swaying, sounds of nature stood still did I allow myself to stop and breathe and think.
The attackers are mortals, they said and I was surprised to find myself believing them. But if it was people from the village, my village—I didn't know. The chances were equal when I compared my village with other nearby affiliates made out of small towns or bustling cities. After all, humans hated faeries and it was a mutual understanding for the two sides.
If I was completely honest though, I'd admit the reason as to why they were attacking now after centuries of peace was still unclear—like peering in murky, grey waters only to see yourself, eyes and nose scrunched and lips tightening. This is why I pushed it aside, focusing on other possibilities instead.
The consequences would be steep, unavoidable, if my village and the Elders had something to do with these assaults. Every little detail, every sacrifice and months of planning would be bleached away—not a single stain to be found. So I doubted it. Doubted that the Elders would be rash enough to do this, doubted that my family would be stupid enough to do this as an act of love or vengeance.
Or so I told myself.
I could live on excuses for a long time. Maybe call myself a hero while I'm at it. Perhaps also burn and slaughter a few faeries they call heretics if my people wanted them dead. The world made room for these things. It made large room for monsters, and less so, I think, for those half-eaten by them.
Monsters. I had already known for months now that I was one of them.
Returning to the side of the bed at that thought, there was a pile of freshly-washed clothes, stacked in a neat little pile next to the bowl of soup. Hands skimming the soft cotton of a billowing blouse and trousers, I plucked them from the nightstand, cradling them against my chest to place them on the bed.
Because when I peeled off the nightgown, I'd peeled away with it the fragmented doubts and second-guesses. And when I'd changed into the new set of clothes, standing in solitude, I'd transformed into the monster I'd expected myself to be—donned in blood-drenched armour and claws and fangs.
.____________________.
I painted and I schemed for the next few days—waiting and thinking. There was a silence to my soul; I was fall leaves under frost. I feel the chill in my blood, coldness bringing the synapses of my brain to a standstill. Part of it was a pain, yet one I could endure, one I could sleep through night after night without the anaesthesia of false hope.
I was silent.
And watchful.
At least I had something to occupy myself with, I supposed, as I plotted out every detail and action on countless restless days and nights. Most of the paintings I'd created then had been sloppy—lacked the enthusiasm and life in which I had usually involved in each careful swish of a brushstroke or each line of a charcoal sketch. That was to be expected when I'd tucked them all away in the darkest corner of the gallery afterwards. What I did not expect, however, was someone to have picked them all up and even displayed them amongst more breathtaking and praise-worthy pieces—all of which were not drawn by my hand.
The sunset dipped upon the horizon as if a million scarlet blooms ignited. I find myself shivering slightly at the chill in the air—warmth seeping away along with the last essence of light. There was no destination in mind as I trudged down the open corridor, gilded arches and filigree supporting the curved glass roof stretching ahead of me.
I didn't know how I'd ended up in the west wing when I'd wandered down from my room in the east wing. Having rejected Phoebus's offer for a starlit stroll in the gardens, I'd mindlessly wandered down hall after hall, corridor after corridor until I'd lost myself somewhere both in the folds of this place and the in the portals of my soul.
I'd made a good show of appearing tired, hunching my shoulders a bit, making my steps heavier. And even made a better show of slowly looking over my shoulder when he'd called me, as if each strained and fatigue-ridden movement was a true effort.
But the battle was the smile I forced to my mouth. To my eyes—the real tell of a smile's genuine nature. I'd practised in the mirror. Over and over.
So my eyes had easily crinkled as I gave a subdued yet happy smile to Phoebus.
But there was a whoosh and I faltered in my step, quickly pinning myself onto the innermost wall and inching forwards. The hallway took a turn to the left about five paces down and there was another whoosh, louder this time, as I turned the corner.
Stopping at the edge of the elevated sparring ring I said, head tilting upwards, "You shouldn't be practising when you're injured."
One arm wrapped in a tight cast and the other holding a sword, Oberon turned, grinning—pale hair almost like shimmering waterfall of smothered stars tied in a man bun behind his head. "Well, I'm almost healed so it doesn't really matter."
"Still, you should watch out for trips with that limp of yours."
Though not entirely noticeable, if one was to look closely enough, you could see the slight tremble in his knees when he landed and how he would lean on his right leg a little more than his left.
But Oberon just shook his head before making his way to a small refreshments table by the side of the ring. I busied myself with pouring two glasses of water as he grabbed a small towel from the weapons rack next to the table, wiping the sweat that had gathered on the edges of his face.
I followed him as he lead us to one of the benches that surrounded the arena. Sitting down, I handed him one of the cups, and he murmured a word of thanks.
"So," Oberon began, but I continued to stare at nothing in particular, something in the distance that only I could see. "What brings you here?"
I shrugged. "Nothing in particular," I said and smiled weakly. Lies. "I guess I was just...bored."
"Bored?"
"Yeah, bored. There's nothing much for me to do. You know, the kind of feeling where you're standing still while everything else is moving forwards, shoving you and all."
He didn't say anything for a long while but—
" I feel the same way," Oberon said suddenly and my head snapped to face him. "That's why I busy myself with border patrols and commanding the army. As an immortal, I have plenty of time I do not need and sometimes, I wish I can give away that spare time to others who may need it."
"What do you mean?"
I could see Oberon hesitate, his throat tightening before he sighed—a long sigh.
"As a commander, the number of lives I save is perhaps less than the number of lives I've taken," he said quietly and I listened. "There was a dying young boy once, on the battlefield, and when I'd walked past he'd gripped my ankle and wouldn't let go. He told me he was suffering and in pain and that he wanted me to kill him or he would kill himself. But...I couldn't do it."
And I knew. I knew the feeling of giving up, knew it so well that it had planted itself deep in myself, coiling around me that it had become normal, even. Oberon's eyes had gone misty, recalling a memory long forgotten.
"He asked me 'For what should I live for in this world? What does it mean to live'," he shook his head. "Do you know what I said?"
I didn't know but kept quiet.
"I said 'If you don't know how to live on anymore; then live for this moment. I have no answer to the question you asked. However, if you don't know the meaning of your life, then make this living moment that meaning, and use this very breath as your reason to live.'"
"He was the enemy's child at that time and he'd looked at me with those young and hopeful eyes, not knowing that I was his parent's murderer. He even passed with a smile on his face!"
But I didn't say anything once again and just listened patiently, feeling my mind go blank at his words. Didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say or what to even feel about this. The world had gone still before an abrupt guffaw came from next to me and realised—realised that Oberon had started laughing, clutching his stomach.
"Can you believe it?" he exclaimed and I watched, watched as tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes. Whether they were from happiness or sorrow, I didn't know. There were lots of things I didn't know. "How was I so stupid to have said that? Maybe it was because I was young and naïve at the time but he'd believed me so easily, so quickly, his enemy for the Mother's sake!"
As Oberon spoke, he couldn't help but let out another small laugh and shook his head. "Even now I don't understand what I was thinking back then. How did I ever have the courage to tell someone to make that moment the meaning of their life?"
I was breathless and he continued.
"It really was something that could only have been said back then. Long ago, I really thought I was invincible and fearless. If you asked me to say the same words now, there is no way they would ever leave my lips again. I wanted to save the common people, but in all honestly, who was I truly saving?"
Noiselessness blanketed the area.
After a while, I murmured, "Something like saving the common people, it really doesn't matter how you do it. But, although brave, it's foolish."
"Yeah," Oberon agreed.
"Although foolish, it's brave," I continued.
"I think you were very kind to have said those words."
Oberon glanced up, his eyes wide and staring. Searching on my face for a moment, it was as if he was lost and needed a way back.
I sent him a bittersweet smile in response and right there, he found what he was looking for before he whispered, "Thank you."
Unable to say anything else, we simply watched quietly as the last of the sun dripped away and stars overtook the empty black canvas and I imagined—imagined as though each little blob of light was a life out there and wondered—wondered if perhaps one day all those little lights would ebb away until there was nothing but a sea of lonely inkiness.
Sitting next to each other, there was nothing else but to enjoy each other's presence, like a comforting aura for both of us to feed on. Oberon had seen much horrors in his life and perhaps hadn't had the chance to fully express them to someone. But listening to his words just now, I realised that—realised that it probably wouldn't be appropriate to talk Phoebus or Kallistê. But a stranger like me, especially one to which he could relate in the most minor ways—I would gladly be the vessel for his pent up emotions even if it was just for a heartbeat.
"If you had to choose between your people and a new life with nothing related to your previous one, what would you choose?" The words were tumbling out of my mouth before I had even registered them.
Oberon hummed. "That's a tricky one."
I stretched my legs, prickling from sitting too long, but waited patiently. His glass of water sat unused by his side, I noticed. It's probably contaminated from the falling pollen like snow by now.
"But," he said and I straightened. "I would probably pick my people."
"Why?"
He smiled and shrugged despite the seriousness that hung from the question alone. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm happy with the life I already have, happy with the people I'm surrounded with whether they have malicious intentions or no."
I could feel my eyebrows scrunching as I asked, "So you'd give up the chance of a new life where you can let go of any misfortunes from this life?"
Oberon huffed and waved his hand. "Yes, but what's the problem? Those who have known each other for decades can become strangers in a day. We met by chance, and we may part by chance. If we like each other then we shall continue to meet; if we don't then we shall part. I'm the one who gets to choose which parts of this life I choose to remember. Not the other way round. There's no banquet in the world that doesn't come to an end so I'll say what I want to say."
I didn't know whether to laugh or grimace at his poetic take of things before nudging him. "That's deep."
"I don't think I would like to start over too. It'll be a waste of time to have to recreate everything I already love in this life so why not just enjoy the one I already have?" he added, eyes dancing with laughter and mirth.
I could feel the corners of my lips gently tug into a wistful smile. "Things aren't always that absolute. Sometimes, it's not up to you to decide if the path is easy to walk."
"I might not be able to decide whether the path is easy or not; but whether I tread the path is entirely up to me," he whispered and I agreed. The path he'd chosen would have been harder than starting anew but even this wouldn't stop him from striding in headfirst. If I were to ask myself that question, I think I would've chosen my people too.
"You understand, right?" he asks and I could sense his burning gaze on the side of my face.
I didn't, yet, I did. I didn't want to believe it, but I have to. Right and wrong as well as wishes were beyond me, had always been beyond me. The heavy realisation sat like an anchor deep in my belly, grounding deep.
So I said, lied, the way I'd always done, "Yes."
I told him, "I understand."
Something cold, slimy and protective had slid over my skin, like the shifting scales of a snake.
And he rose. Head tilted towards the heavens, he breathed in before turning around to face me. "Good," he said, his voice quiet, yet loud enough for only me to hear. "It's late. I'll be taking my leave first."
Clasping my shoulder, he shook me lightly before disappearing into the corridor that had led me here.
I didn't stay too long after his farewell and when I left—between the ruffles of sewn cotton—I tried to hide my hands, which once trembling, had steeled like iron.
.____________________.
Standing by the window of my bedroom, I watched buttery light highlight petals of the flowers in the bushes below. The clock chimed eleven and I rose to my feet, ignoring the chill that bit my fingers like frostbite. It was time.
Too much time I'd wasted on observing and detailing and preparing, too much time I'd wasted patiently biding my time for the faevenom to take effect. And as the clock sounded its last strike, I revised my plan.
Breach, kill and run. No questions, no hesitations. Run and run like hell to the outer wall where the stolen mare was and then cross over the border and I'll be safe.
Naturally, I hadn't wasted any days after I'd recovered and had immediately rushed to ground the black milkweed's petals into a fine powder, fine enough to slip into food and drink. Somehow, I'd managed to pick the regular glass of wine out of thousands of other poisoned ones and I thanked the Mother for it.
Evening after evening I'd snuck a little portion of the faevenom into the food and wine we consumed. The Elders had explained that the poison would not affect humans and I supposed it was a test of sorts. To see where my loyalties lay. But I didn't disobey and had personally seen the effects it caused one night.
Every smile was a lie. A bright, pretty lie bursting with pale rosy cheeks and fat rolls of feigned happiness. But that they believed it so easily...I scrubbed my face. I couldn't let those emotions control me anymore.
The more powerful the faerie, the stronger the effect, they explained and I didn't doubt it. Not when one night when Phoebus had decided to escort me to the gallery and tried igniting the candles—with great difficulty. Excuses he'd come up with to decline laborious activities and earlier nights retreating to his chambers—I'd noticed it all.
Until today, the fourteenth round of poisoning and the peak of development—he would be at his worst.
My blood pumped through me in a strange rhythm, like icy rivers that hardened me—turned me into something...else. Sinister; infernal.
I took a deep breath and walked away from the window, eyes trained on my weapons only as I swung my quiver over my chest and tucked my dagger next to my hip. The black cloth slipped up from around my neck as I pulled, covering my mouth and nose.
Dull steps brought me to my bedroom's door but light glinted and I stopped. And I turned around.
I could not recognise the ominous figure reflecting myself on the smooth surface of the mirror but I didn't give myself a chance to look again as I spun and walked away.
For the moment I'd stared into those silver eyes, muted and dim, I'd known who it was. Known that it was the monster clothed in blood-drenched armour and claws and fangs.
And I'd known it'd overtaken me—restrained me—as I stepped out that door and roamed the night.
.____________________.
Hello everybody!
So I'd planned to make this a short chapter but somehow it doubled in size. Oh well, can't blame someone for getting a little too carried away when writing. ;)
Anywho, I hope this chapter had flowed well. I don't know about you guys but what I struggle the most with in writing is perhaps flow and dialogue. Still trying to find the perfect balance between too much and too little when it comes to descriptions so it may be a little clunky. I'd love to hear your thoughts about what you think about it!
As for the glossary and timeline I'm planning to put up, I will probably spend a day or two this week getting it ready. And when it's published, I'll probably leave it at the end of the book so as to avoid any minor spoilers. Updates will also be hopefully released consistently every Sunday as I slowly get back into the habit of writing. :)
But that's it from me for now and I hope all of you are well!
-Hazel