Chapter Sixteen: Stars
Amelia was excited.
All of the clothes she'd ordered for Xaphile had finally been finished, and she was genuinely eager to do something that might brighten his mood, if only for a few moments, but upon entering her home, she noticed that he was in his usual place by the fire.
It had become rather normal for her to see him there, truthfully, since he'd taken to sitting beside the mantle with his eyes closed or napping if he wasn't doing anything. His behavior mildly reminded her of a cat, since he seemed most comfortable lazing near warm places.
When she gently set the parcels on her kitchen counter, his sleepy eyes flicked open and he looked at her with large, kitten-like pupils before unfolding himself from the floor.
"Shopping again?" he asked, voice coming out a little hoarse. "Want me to put anything away?"
"Actually, yes!" she exclaimed, turning around and handing him one of the packages. "This is yours! Once you open it, I want you to take the others and put them in the trunk we moved into your room day before yesterday."
"For me?" Xaphile asked, blinking at it in detached confusion. "Uh, thanks."
Lifting his clawed hand, he hesitantly took the parcel and carefully opened it up, but Amelia held her breath when he pulled out the dark fabric, held it up, and gently shook it out.
His mouth dropped open, and she grinned.
It was a spider-silk shirt, thin and cool to the touch, like a strange mixture of cotton and water... and all across the sleeves, shoulders, and hood, vines and flowers had been embroidered with shiny silver thread. She'd personally requested it made with the designs since they suited him.
Faeries were at one with nature, after all.
"Do you like it?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back with a huge grin. "I chose quite a few different clothing styles that I thought were simple, but still flashy. Everything is designed for comfort and easy movement, and the tailor was even kind enough to design a hole in the leggings for your tail!"
"I don't know what to say," he murmured, giving her a stunned look. "Thank you."
"Well, after you put them on," she giggled, "please fold up my father's robe and set it on the counter. Now that you have clothes of your own, including undergarments, there's no need for you to wear something that doesn't fit you."
Xaphile looked down at the azure outfit resting on his lean frame and sighed.
"Thank you," he quietly repeated. "This is... more than I could have asked for."
She watched as he slinked off down the hall towards the washroom, but when he disappeared, tail flicking out of sight, she giddily returned to her duties, humming as she worked.
I did something to cheer him up, she silently cheered. He seemed in higher spirits for once!
For nearly ten minutes, she whisked around her home, alternating between grinding poultices and her chores, and she was just finishing up one of her regular customers' headache remedy when she heard him coming back into the room. She turned to ask if he could grab the empty parcel sitting on the counter across the room, but the request died on her tongue.
For nearly half a minute, all she could do was stare at him.
It was actually kind of intimidating for her to realize just how much a simple change of clothes could alter someone's appearance. Instead of looking goofy and relaxed like he had while wearing her father's old clothes, his new attire actually made him look the opposite.
The shirt clung tightly to his upper torso and a sharp v-shaped swath of cloth stretched down below his pectorals, greatly revealing the long stretch of black fur on his pale skin and showing off his broad shoulders. It loosened near the waist to allow mobility and comfort, the ends hanging down to his lower thighs.
The sleeves, much like the robes he'd been wearing until now, stretched past his clawed hands in a bell-bottom manner before hanging loosely, hiding his limbs.
Then there were the pants he'd been given. They were also black, but they looked like something she could picture on a brigand since they flared out in a loose manner before tightening near the ankles.
All in all, the outfit made him look roguishly handsome.
Long black tail flicking around, he carefully pulled the hood up and hid the horns on his head, sea green eyes gleaming like a cat's from within its shadow.
"How do I look?" he hesitantly asked, shaking the shirt out and looking down at himself. "They feel extremely comfortable, but I've never actually worn clothes like this before, so..."
"You look rather dashing, actually," Amelia told him, still heavily amazed. "Those clothes really suit you."
"Thanks," he murmured, frigid eyes unexpectedly mellowing out. "I appreciate you giving them to me."
It wasn't exactly a smile, but at least it had taken the emptiness in his eyes away for a moment.
Amelia watched as he silently returned to the fireplace and sat down again, staring off into space. He did it so often that it was unnerving, particularly since he always seemed to be looking off at something distant that she couldn't see.
She took note of his taciturn mood and kept an observant eye on him while she ground up more herbs, but he hadn't left her home for real since he'd used his magic to restore Marty's tree. She'd spotted Kirby sitting near the now-empty cage several times, but the little boy hadn't visited them since his grandfather had forbid further contact with Xaphile.
She had also come and gone frequently during the week, since she constantly did trade with people outside of the safety of her home, but she and Xaphile only ever conversed during mealtimes, which was another interesting thing, considering he had taken charge of them.
While she worked, time seemed to fly by as it always did, and she'd just gotten around sixteen remedies ground up and mixed into several small containers when he finally stood up.
She blinked and turned to look at him, then glanced at the window to see that the late afternoon sun was shining into the kitchen.
"Oh, dear," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I lost track of the hour. Is it time to make supper already?"
"Yes," he softly confirmed. "I'll get started if you want me to."
"By all means, Phil," she yawned, putting her medicines away with a satisfied smile. "There's a basket of freshly bought eggs, herbs, and vegetables in the basket over near the bread oven."
That was all it took.
Walking over to the sheet of metal he'd asked for on his second day of kitchen duty, he gripped it and headed over to the fireplace, setting the sheet across the flames with the help of four metal pegs he'd driven into the wall several days ago with her permission.
He then headed back over to the basket and began to pull things out, including seven eggs, a myriad of vegetables, and various spices. His tail gently flicked back and forth as he worked, occasionally brushing against the wall behind him, and Amelia watched in awe.
Ever since that first night, he'd offered to help with household tasks, but even though there really hadn't been anything else for him to do, he'd actively demanded that she give him some sort of set chore to put himself to use, so she, ever lacking good ideas, had spontaneously decided to give him the duty of making their meals since she hated cooking.
She'd been stunned to discover that he was excellent at it.
Everything he made seemed to taste delicious, particularly any dishes he made with eggs.
He was a genius with eggs.
Using the counter and a knife, he chopped up the vegetables with deft movements, mesmerizing her like always, but after he finished dicing he grabbed a second thin sheet of metal and a huge handful of pickled olives resting in a nearby jar before heading over to the fireplace again.
Squatting, he held his hand above the makeshift oven tray and crushed the olives, dripping their oily juices onto the heated metal until it was fully coated, then he skillfully cracked the eggs across the top of it and sat back, wrapping his arms around his knees with watchful eyes.
His ears bobbed a bit and his tail flicked back and forth as he squatted in front of the fireplace.
After about seven minutes, he finally stood back up and added the vegetables, then began to push the eggs around with the second sheet of metal for nearly fifteen minutes. His actions never ceased to amaze her since, until he'd arrived, she had never before seen food prepared in such a manner. The best part was, whenever he cooked, his eyes became focused, clear, and completely intense, losing a great deal of their lackluster visage.
Donning her oven mitts, he finally pulled the metal sheet out of the fireplace and carried it to the kitchen counter, and after another seven minutes of letting it cool down, he carefully took two of her china plates out of a nearby cupboard, piling them high with even portions of food.
The moment he set them down at her table, Amelia, wide-eyed with wonder, immediately started clapping without thinking.
She couldn't even help it.
Watching him cook felt similar to the time she'd seen a street performer's most impressive act.
His face turned red.
"Why do you always start clapping?" he muttered. "All I did was make dinner."
"Like I've said before, it's impressive no matter how often I see it! It's so unorthodox!"
"Whatever," he mumbled, carefully sitting down. "It's scrambled eggs. Nothing special."
She popped a bite into her mouth and crooned in delight
"I beg to differ. It's very special! And utterly delicious!"
He didn't respond to her enthusiasm, instead choosing to eat, but she couldn't help noticing that his sharp, upturned eyes had returned to their sheenless state, and he didn't seem to have much energy. Glancing at his clawed hand, which was resting on the table, Amelia took note of the unpleasant emotions resting behind his irises and was struck by a strange desire to make him feel better.
So she set her hand on his and squeezed ever so slightly, trying to offer him reassurance, and although she felt uncertain about it for a moment, when his eyes merely flicked up to stare at her, she relaxed.
"If there's anything I can do to lessen the weight of whatever is causing your sadness," she finally murmured, "just tell me, okay? I understand that your first impression of our village was horrible, but I truly want to help you."
He instantly tensed.
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine," he quietly retorted. "Don't worry about me."
Ever so gently, he pulled his hand out of hers and returned to his food, but he noticeably became more and more abstracted, eating mechanically with his sheenless eyes fixed unseeingly on the wall. Amelia had an uncomfortable suspicion that while his body might have been there at the table, his spirit was far away in some remote place, and she also felt a bit guilty since she knew it was likely her fault for sending it there.
When the meal ended, he came out of his reverie and stood up to wash the dishes, but when he carefully cracked his back an unpleasant chill went through her stomach. He had been doing that ever since he'd arrived, since his body still seemed to cause him intense pain.
Amelia worriedly tried to think of something she could do that might take the horrible empty look out of his eyes. He hadn't really done anything aside from sit around and do chores, so maybe there was something they could do together.
She wracked her brains.
"Thank you for the food," she murmured, still thinking; going for a walk seemed like the best option, but she didn't know if he would be up for it. "Pray, after you're finished, would you like to take an evening stroll with me through the city?"
He paused, long ears flicking.
"A... stroll?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "I'm sure it would be a nice change from sitting around all day... especially since it's going to be a clear night! The stars are always brightest this time of year!"
He hesitated, visibly becoming nervous.
"Do... you really want me to come?" he asked, frowning as he collected the dishes. "The people in this town are scared of me."
"Not anymore!" Amelia exclaimed, beaming at him. "In fact, today people were asking about how you were doing."
He looked mildly surprised.
"Really? People were asking about me?"
"Yes, so it's quite all right. They aren't as afraid of you as they were before, so will you come?"
He stared at the floor for a good three minutes, catlike pupils round.
"Fine... I guess I'll go with you," he eventually murmured, then he shook his head and brought the plates over to the tray, "but first, I need to get to the dishes."
She beamed.
She was glad she'd asked.
🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗
Xaphile was uncomfortable.
Avoiding Amelia's gaze, he set the dirty dishes down on the board and lifted it into his arms, carrying them all outside and over to a small section of grass. Then he went back indoors and grabbed a bucket before trotting over to a nearby water pump at the edge of the cobblestone street, and with several powerful strokes, he began pumping water into it, face going tight with concentration.
Until two days ago, he hadn't fully realized just how far behind in technological development the world he'd ended up in really was.
It was mostly little things, but the big things were a huge deal.
There were no electrical outlets in the walls of Amelia's home, so all of the lights within came from oil lamps, strange magic crystals that she called bobbles, or candles.
There were also no modern vehicles, and no modern bathrooms: everything was horse-pulled, and there were outhouses instead of toilets.
Foods that were quick to expire supposedly couldn't be kept for a long time without magic since they hadn't invented a refrigerator, which also, once again, ran on electricity. There wasn't even any running water in the kitchen... no sink, no faucet, nothing.
Washing the dishes was a pretty big chore in comparison to how it had been back home since he had to pump the water himself and wash them in a bucket outside, and there were only two places he could get clean water: the pump, and a nearby well that he was too scared to approach since it was nearly identical to the well he'd seen in the movie 'The Ring'.
Even the bath in Amelia's washroom was unusual.
According to her, the aqueduct pulled water from an underground well where it was sent to a magical basin somewhere within her home, and after being heated to a set temperature, it would roar down a wooden funnel that had been built into the wall and automatically fill the tub. It was a bizarre combination of practical science and what seemed to be real-life magic.
"I wish I was a genius with cars and modern things like other guys my own age," he grumbled as he scrubbed. "If I knew how it all worked, maybe I could find a way to give these folks a hand with new-age conveniences. Such as a working toilet, for example... or indoor plumbing."
There were other things that also tried to eat away at him, and each time he thought about them, he felt cold creeps crawling across his flesh. He'd been in one shit storm after another since showing up in wherever the hell this was, so there hadn't exactly been any time to think.
There had been no time to ask the basic questions.
Why am I here? he wondered. Why am I not dead? Where is this place? The afterlife or another planet? An alternate reality that's different from my own, but similar enough to greatly resemble it?
He had no answers.
No closure.
Even after a week, he was desperately holding onto a philosophy that belonged to an entirely different world.
"Phil," Amelia called. "Is it all right if I bring your metal tray out?"
"Sure!" he called back, tail thumping against the grass. "I'll be done soon!"
She instantly swept outside and gracefully set it on the grass, then grinned at him and walked back inside. True to his word, he started scrubbing with all his might, thinking about everything that had happened even whilst trying to keep his mind quiet.
Eventually, though he had nothing left to scrub, so he just sat there on his knees.
Knowing that he had killed himself but having no idea why things were the way they were.
He could still remember the feeling of his father's heart medication dulling his body's movements... even more, though, he remembered the bullet.
The agony that had roared through his skull.
How was it that he was still alive?
Finally, he stood up and carried the tray inside, setting the clean dishes on the table. Once he finished putting them away, he walked over to the fireplace and slid to the ground.
The sun had already slipped below the horizon, and the first stars were winking into existence when Amelia came into the room, but to his surprise, her glasses were off and her braids had been undone.
Her hair was glossy, thick, and quite curly.
She was smiling.
Humming a little tune, she gently brushed her glossy brown hair, then smoothed the front of her rich brown dress, which was an old-fashioned high-collar sort of gown.
Blue eyes bright, she looked at him with a grin.
"I'm ready to go," she peeped, clasping her hands. "Are you?"
Wordlessly, he stood up and stalked towards the front door, not meeting her eyes.
By the time they started along the road, the sun had slid below the horizon and twilight had descended upon Chisago. Xaphile lifted his gaze to the sky, truly looking at it for the first time since he'd awoken in the forest.
Shock zapped him like lightning.
The night sky was different.
There was no North Star... the big dipper was gone, and instead of seeing just a myriad of far-way dots across an ocean of black, it was almost as if the heavens had opened their doors and unleashed their splendor.
The dark, night sky was full of light and color... flecks of green, distant galaxies...
It was beautiful, but in a cold, lonely way.
This world had a moon, too, but it was larger and much paler than the one he was used to.
"Where am I?" Xaphile abruptly asked. "This place... this isn't where I was born and raised."
Amelia glanced back at him.
"That may be so," she murmured, "but although Aerika has its problems, it is a truly beautiful country, and I'm sure you'll come to see that, as well."
"That's not what I meant," he quietly retorted. "The name of this country is Aerika, right? What about this world?"
Amelia halted, turning around to face him with wide eyes.
"The... name of this... world?"
"Yes. Tell me."
"Atlas," she said, smiling a little. "This world's name is Atlas. Do all woodland sprites not know about that? Or is it yet another unfortunate aftereffect of your memory loss?"
The ground dropped out from beneath him.
His suspicions had been right.
He was no longer on the Earth he knew.
Xaphile didn't respond to her question, merely looked into the abyss of beauty resting so high above him. Slowly lifting his clawed hands, he took his hood off, revealing the horns sticking out of his skull, revealing his elf-like ears, but not caring.
A cold wind swept through the street, but he didn't notice, he simply gazed at the sky with eyes that reflected the stars above.
Tentatively raising his arm, he stretched his hand out to them, wondering if the planet he'd been born and raised on was hidden somewhere among those distant galaxies. For a long moment, he just stood like that, praying someone would take his hand.
Someone from the real world, anyone.
But nobody was there.
His arm trembled as he held it out to the sky.
Glitter and diamonds... that's what these stars were.
They were cold.
Unfamiliar.
And he was here, alone.
The only one who didn't know them.
Slowly lowering his hand, Xaphile shivered and continued staring at the sky, but for the first time, he truly wanted to go home.
To Connie... to the world.
His world.
This place... this wasn't even the same planet he'd been born and raised on.
It was obvious.
He didn't know how, or why, he was here... he didn't even understand his body, or how Ella was still alive in wherever he was, but the one thing he did know, even without any set fact to go with, was that the situation he'd ended up in was a permanent one.
He'd felt it deep in the marrow of his bones the moment he'd woken up as his new self for the first time that this was his new reality until he could end things all over again.
"Phil?" Amelia asked, worriedly tilting her head. "Are you all right?"
Upon hearing the sound of her voice, his eyes finally fell and landed on the dirt.
He didn't want to raise them to the sky again.
If he did, he would see things that made him unbearably sad.
He started walking down the cobblestone path again and moved past Amelia, ignoring how intensely she was looking at him even when she hefted her skirts and trotted up after him.
"Are you all right?" Amelia asked again. "What are you thinking about?"
"Don't worry about it," he murmured. "It's nothing."
"But whenever you say that, I only worry more," she sighed, setting a hand on his arm. "Look... I understand that you're probably very... mistrusting of me."
"Mistrusting?"
"Yes. After all, my people did some pretty terrible things to you... but I swear, I won't betray your trust. If something is troubling you, then... you can tell me. I promise."
He stared at her, startled in more ways than one.
"I'll admit that your friendliness is strange," he admitted, "but you're one of the only three people in this town who's shown me kindness of any sort. I've already been given more than I can ask for."
For a long moment, the strangest expression seemed to flash through her eyes.
"What do you mean? You keep saying that, but why?"
He shrugged awkwardly and gave her a weak, halfhearted smile.
"I'm just grateful not to be locked in a cage anymore. At the very least, I should handle my own problems without any outside help. I can't rely on anybody but myself."
"Phil... that's not--"
"Plus," he interrupted, "even if I did explain half the crap eating away at me, there's no way you'd be able to understand it."
She bristled, looking a little upset.
"And just why ever not? What makes you think I wouldn't understand?"
"The fact that I don't even understand most of it myself."
She stared at him, brow knit with worry and frustration.
"Tell me what's bothering you and let me be the judge of whether I can understand or not," she finally snipped, folding her arms and tapping her foot. "I want to help you, so please, tell me."
His ears drooped and he sighed.
She just wouldn't quit, would she?
"If you really want to know, fine," he muttered. "I don't know anything at all. That's the problem."
"Eh? What do you mean?"
"This world..." he grumbled. "I don't know anything about it. What is magic? Why do I seem to have it? What am I, exactly? And what are the names of the cities around here? The countries? I don't know anything about anything."
Her eyes flashed with recognition, and her face softened into a sympathetic expression.
"If that's truly what's bothering you, I can definitely help you," she said in a firm tone, stepping forward with solid intensity in her eyes. "I have a great many books--"
She stopped talking and let out a squeak when her shoe caught on an uneven cobblestone. Flailing, she tried to catch her balance, but she failed and fell forward.
He instinctively caught her before she could hit the ground, but the moment he touched her, for a split second, he felt a familiar emotional twinge before the warmth of her body engulfed him and that twinge faded.
Tendrils of his dark hair billowed around her like a cloud as he carefully pulled her upright; lifting her eyes, she blinked up at him with eyes of the bluest blue, and for nearly ten seconds, they gazed at each other. There was something very familiar in those eyes... it was the way she was looking at him...
Suddenly she jumped, and the spell broke; Amelia backed away and bowed, clasping her hands.
"T-thank you," she stammered. "That would have been a nasty fall."
"No problem," he muttered, dragging his hood up. "Just watch your step."
"I apologize," she said, turning and heading back towards her home. "Let us return. We've had a nice walk, but I'm sure Lady Ella will be arriving soon."
He froze in his tracks.
"What do you mean? What is she coming for?"
"She wants to discuss something with you," Amelia shrugged. "I'm not sure what, exactly. She'll be arriving at any time, so we should probably head back sooner rather than later."
Xaphile lowered his eyes to the dirt, heart going cold from the inside out. He didn't want to deal with the doppelganger again, but in the end, it apparently didn't matter.
After all, these days, he never got what he wanted.