Inspired by Niall Horan’s Put A Little Love On Me. This is basically the story of Aeris and Starmist and what happened to them after that one fight.
i. Aeris
You fall on your rear end, gasping at the pain, the shock. The sheer anger that he would dare to do that, that he would dare to push you. You shove back to your feet, ready to charge back through the portal, but the tiny asura gate attendant steps in front of you, arms spread wide and a snarl on her face. “No! Enough! This is not what the Mist portals are for! Turn around this instance and leave, or I will call the Lionguard on you.”
You pause, the red in your vision barely dimming. “He’s still in there. I have to get him.”
She shakes her head. “No. He will come back if he was meant to come back. I will watch the gate. You do not get to go back through, not in your state.”
Your fists clench, and you open your mouth to argue. She holds up one finger. “Last chance, sylvari. I will start yelling on the count of three. One, two, thr–”
You spin away from her, cursing her under your breath. You spot the backpack with your items – and his – lying on the floor. Scooping it up, you stalk off.
How dare he. How dare she stop you from going after him. How could this infernally infuriating world do this to you?
You let a vicious smile lift your lips. You’re glad Starmist doesn’t have his weapons with him. Maybe he’ll get what he deserves, in the unpredictable Mists. Serves him right.
You walk, not seeing where you’re going, vaguely aware of the people scattering, moving out of your way. This pleases you. They should move for you. They shouldn’t dare to talk to you. You are going to tear out the throat of the next person who dares to speak to you.
“Hey. Pay up or you’re not passing through the gate.”
Your eyes flick to another asura, and your lips press together. Maybe you wouldn’t yell at the gate attendant. This one did nothing to you, and you’d look like an idiot for yelling at him. You press a silver coin into his hand and walk through the gate, emerging into the damp humidity of the Maguuma Jungle. Cobblestones clack under your feet, and you pause, suddenly aware of your surroundings.
This is not the Grove.
It must be Rata Sum.
You grit your teeth. By the Mother, was everything trying to make you angry today? Was everything going to go wrong?
You spin on your heel and stalk back to the asura gates. No gate attendant tries to stop you when you walk through one, but your feet still hit cobblestones. The same sort of cobblestones, the same sort of architecture rising around you.
Thorns, now you are in Soren Draa. No wonder no one stopped you.
You stalk forward, too angry to turn back, too conscious of the many asura staring at you.
You will not humiliate yourself by changing your mind and going back to Lion’s Arch to get another gate to the Grove. You can walk through the forest and get back to the Grove in no time.
And maybe, you admit to yourself, you can use the walk to calm down.
ii. Aeris
You’ve been walking for hours. You’ve taken a break for food and drink, and to ask a passing asura progeny where you are on your map. You suppose you are close to the path that will cut into the Caledon Forest, but you are tired. There is a large building up ahead, completely devoid of people, and you head there to take a rest.
You’ve seated yourself close to a pile of oddly sparking purple rock, when you notice the asura walking around in hazard gear. Some of them are bent over and look to be coughing. You don’t understand why.
The purple rocks next to you spark, and you flinch.
You are falling.
A hard surface greets you, and your breath is lost, pushed out of your body unceremoniously. The hard angles of your backpack and the combined weight of two sets of gear crush you, poking uncomfortably into your back. You slowly push yourself up, groaning.
“Hey!”
You see an asura in telling black and red robes peeking over the rock above you, and you scramble to your feet, fumbling for your sword.
The asura groans. “Please, none of that. I’m no threat to you.”
“Are you certain?” You ask, sword finally unsheathed and pointed at him. The Inquest researcher sighs.
“Come up here, fool sylvari.”
You cautiously climb the slippery rock, finally seeing him as he is, laid out on the rock, one leg bent at an awkward angle. He gives his leg a pointed look. “See? My leg’s broken. And I’m all that’s left of my krewe. I’m trapped here, same as you.”
“Who said I’m trapped?” You ask, but you lower your sword. The researcher rolls his eyes.
“If you’re here, you’re trapped. I saw you appear and splat.” He points towards the opposite end of the cavern. “The only way out is through that gate on the last platform. This leg means I’m not getting out, but maybe you can, if your timing is good.”
You eye the constructs scattered through the cavern, the broken pillars arranged in a pattern you think you can handle. After all, didn’t you just escape a similar cavern with Starmist?
“All I have to do is jump from pillar to pillar?”
The researcher nods. “It’s that simple. Or difficult, if you’re me with a broken leg. How do you think I got this?” His eyes widen at something behind you, and you turn, but see nothing. “Ah, I forgot one tiny caveat. Do you see those chaos rifts through the cavern?”
You look, but you don’t know what you’re looking for. “Chaos rifts?”
“Those sparking things, dandelion-brain. Avoid those. They wreak havoc with reality. You might find yourself…affected, if one of those hits you.”
You think back, the purple sparks prompting a memory. “Will it bring me back to where I came from if I get hit?”
The researcher laughs. “Oh, don’t we hope! No. I know one brought you here, but all the effects I’ve seen while I was trying to escape do not teleport you out.”
You press your lips together. “Why do they teleport people like that?”
The researcher sighs. “There was an explosion at the Thaumanova reactor in Metrica Province. Some of the crystals used at that site were excavated in this cavern, and now they exhibit a twinning effect.”
You were just in Metrica Province.
“I…might have just been at the reactor site.”
The asura’s eyes widen. “Were you? And to be teleported so far… This is amazing. Ah, if only I could record my findings,” he laments.
You ignore him, thinking about something else he said. “What’s a ‘twinning effect’?”
It makes you think of your twin, and you’re sad that you might not make it back to the Grove in time. She is supposed to be returning from her adventures soon, and you’ll miss her.
“These crystals are creating a sympathetic metamorphic reaction, attracting the chaos rifts from Metrica Province here. Nasty bit of business, that twinning effect.”
You completely do not understand what he said. “All…right, then. I’m getting out of here, chaos rifts or no.”
“Good luck.” The researcher gives you a wan smile. “You look like you have supplies, you might make it. Say, do you have a drink of water? I’d like to have a drink, before I die.”
You nod and remove your pack. “How long have you been down here?”
“About a week, I’d wager.” He gulps a mouthful, handing the waterskin back. “Keep the rest of that. I hope you escape.”
“A week? But, your leg–”
“Broke it this morning,” he says dismissively. “Or what I presume to be morning. It was a pain to drag myself up here, you hear? I am in agony.”
You nod slowly. “Will you starve to death?”
The asura laughs. “Ah, what a fern thing to ask. No. I see a dagger in your pack. Give it to me, and I will slit my wrists or something. No point in living any longer.”
You see the logic in that, and hand him a dagger. One of Starmist’s daggers. You still feel a sourness towards your boyfriend. He wouldn’t miss one of his daggers.
Then something else registers. “You were in here a week?”
The asura looks up from his assessment of the dagger. “Give or take. Days are hard to count in a sunless cavern.” He points at the edge of the rock they are on. “Now get moving. I’ll drag myself a little further so you don’t need to see my bleeding body every time you fall and have to return here.”
You nod absently. “A week…”
“Yes, you dumb fern. By the Alchemy, get a move on. And avoid those rifts!”
“Thank you,” you say, finally looking back at him. “May you find peace in the Mists.”
The researcher smiles ruefully. “Escape, little plant. Go back to the sun.”
You bow to him and turn around, gauging the distance to the first pillar.
iii. Starmist
You fall, passing through clouds, finally thinking to curl yourself into a ball. The water’s surface slaps you anyway, and you unfurl your limbs, praying that you’re swimming upwards.
Blessed air greets you after a few reckless slaps of the water’s surface inform you of your location, and you drink it in greedily. There is nothing but water around you, but you think you spot land. You swim towards it.
It’s not as far as it seems, and you flop onto the grass, breathing heavily. As you stare at the endless expanse of white above you – the Mists are so boringly endless – your mind drifts, and you wonder again, about him.
About Aeris, your boyfriend, whom you shoved back out to Lion’s Arch. Which resulted in you remaining trapped here.
The other side of an asura gate, a completely different world.
You’re no longer angry at him. It’s been so long, since that fight. Endless days and nights of travelling and walking and seeing nothing but white, white, white, and the memories of the past.
You still haven’t met any old spirits, and it puzzles you.
But now you lie there, your clothes no longer wet – when did they dry? – and you wonder about your boyfriend. About where he went after you sent him back. About what he might have thought, what he might have done.
You’ll never know if he came back through the gate. The creature that grabbed you – a giant cliff bat, perhaps – had thrown you aside, and you’d woken up alone, with no asura gate in sight.
The only plus was that you did not have to eat, drink or perform any vaguely living activities while trapped in this infernal place. If you did, you might have died long ago. Not that it makes a difference, you think, since you are already in the Mists. The land of the dead, the land of mystery.
You think of Aeris and his sweet, gentle smile. Of his shyness that makes his glow flare a deep magenta, of the looks he sneaks at you whenever he thinks you aren’t looking. The way he holds your hand cautiously when he thinks you are asleep, how you often wake to find him nestled in your arms.
You smile bitterly at the endless white. He is lost to you forever if you don’t escape the Mists. You have no idea how to. Perhaps you will wander forever, and never see your lover again.
You hate that thought. You hate that you have no idea how much time has passed, how long you have spent in this dead land. You miss the greenness of the Caledon Forest, of the fireflies’ glowing bodies in the boughs of the Grove. You miss Murasaki’s quips and the acquaintances you’ve made, and woodwork to keep your hands busy and mind calm.
Maybe you’d go crazy, if you don’t escape.
You try to imagine all your friends and what they’re doing, but you can barely conjure up an image of their faces. White has been your life for so long, and you can’t see. You can’t imagine anything else.
Tears prick your eyes, and you throw an arm over them, the water pricking at your bark.
You hate feeling so empty. You miss the constant presence of the Mother, tangible no matter where you go. You miss knowing you aren’t alone. The Mists are so lonely.
You want to escape. You don’t know how to.
You roll over onto your stomach, the pale imitation of grass poking into you as you hide your face.
Mother, please, give me strength. I want to go home.
You don’t know how long you lie there, silent tears sliding into your hands as you curse your inability to control your temper. For if you had, you’d never have been stranded here. You’d never have been lost in the Mists and lost in this mess.
You might have fallen asleep, but you have no way to know. You just get to your feet, glance at the changed landscape and keep walking straight.
Mother, please guide me home.
iv. Aeris
You push to your feet, tears stinging your eyes as the water stings the cuts in your palms and knees.
You want to give up. It has been so long. So long since you’d first started your futile attempt to escape. So long since the Inquest researcher had crawled out of sight and killed himself. You’ve had to walk past the smell of his rotting body to find fresh water, and it gets stronger every time you have to go back.
You have no idea how many days have passed. You’d given up on counting the times you’d fallen. The times the chaos rifts have struck you and given you strange abilities that either help or hinder your progress.
You even forgot, for the longest time, that you can make portals, to jump back up if – when – you fall. But they take so long to weave, and you are tired – so tired. The only good resting place is the starting rock where you begin your jumps. You don’t like sitting there, because you can smell the dead researcher. And it was his rock first. It reminds you too much of the dead asura’s attempts. He had been trying for a week. How long have you been trying?
You forgot to cut notches into rock. You don’t know.
Time is a useless construct. Your muscles cramp and burn, and every curse you know falls from your lips, but you keep pressing forward, only stopping if exhaustion drives you to your knees. You don’t like resting on top of the pillars, because the rifts are rampant and unrelenting. They warp your body, making you huge or tiny, slowing or speeding up your perception of time, and sometimes, messing with your vision.
Half the time, you don’t know what you are seeing anymore.
And the purple lightning is driving you crazy.
You wish you knew of a better way to jump out. But the rocks are so slippery. The random animals that get teleported in are annoying. You always kill them before they get you, but in another flash of purple they are gone. You never know if they were really there at all.
You need a rest. You have just fallen. Did you really?
You look down; your ankles are in the water. You nod to yourself. Yes, surely you’ve just fallen. You can take a break. You must be allowed a break. Who said you had to push yourself this hard, anyway?
You feel like the floor is dry. You lay your head down, but it’s too hard. Your backpack is also too hard, courtesy of the weapons in it, and the food that is running out.
You close your eyes and see a smiling sylvari. He is beautiful, with lilac leaves for hair and pale green bark, the kindest red eyes, flashing with mirth.
You love him. You can’t remember his name, but you love him. Is it a dream? Is he a dream?
If you can escape, perhaps you’ll seek him out. Maybe you Dreamt of him. You can’t remember now.
The Pale Tree is the caretaker of the Dream. You don’t know why you remember this. You can’t feel her here. You miss her.
Mother, Mother, where are you?
Tears heat under your closed lids. They must be closed, for you do not see purple lightning. The lightning irks and reassures you. It is a constant, even when it makes you fast, slow, big and small.
Why are there tears in your eyes?
You see another sylvari. Her head is the perfect height to rest your chin on, and her bark is the same tone as yours. Her glow is a lighter shade of pink, and she smiles so much.
You love her too. What is her name?
Who is she?
In your dream, she kisses you, and you kiss her back. Her forehead is smooth beneath your lips, and her arms are warm and strong around your waist.
You remember her crying, and wiping her tears away. You remember her weight in your lap, her warmth by your side, because when have you not shared a hammock?
Is she your twin? You remember holding someone tightly as they cry out, and the bright sun above you. The time of your Awakening?
You miss the sun. Purple lightning can’t compare.
Your eyes must be open now, for you see the shards of crystal on the ceiling. So much purple lightning.
You sit up slowly, your muscles creaking. Your waterskin is almost empty. Time for another trek to the water pool.
You hold the memory of the two sylvari close to your heart, and it warms. You love them. You will escape for them. They must be wondering where you are. They must miss you too, surely they must.
What if they don’t?
You fumble, falling to your knees. The rock is harsh beneath your hands, but you do not fall off the pillar. That is a small blessing.
But your lips purse.
Why haven’t they come for you? Surely they would, if they loved you back.
You vaguely recall the dead person near the water pool. Didn’t they say something about this being the only way out, of escape?
How did you get in here?
So many questions, so few answers.
A chaos rift strikes you again, and you are tiny. You laugh.
Tiny is good. Better than huge.
The jump is easy, and you make it. You keep going, but as you jump, another streak of lightning hits you, and you slip over the edge, crashing into the water.
You pummel the floor in your frustration, creating ripples in the water around you, splashing all your clothes.
You were so close, that time. The gate is not too far away.
It glows pink and purple above you, and you stare at it angrily. You hate it. You hate how unattainable it is.
You stomp angrily back to the starting rock, screaming your frustration.
The cavern amplifies it back to you, the crystals shrieking and mocking.
v. Starmist
All you see is his magenta glow, his perfectly sky-blue bark, his copper-coloured eyes that turn nickel with his glow.
You love him so much. You miss him so much.
You regret ever arguing with him. It was what you did, to argue until you ran out of anger, or until you found a solid answer. But now that you are all alone, you miss him so much it hurts. You just want to hold his hands and beg for forgiveness, and ask if he’d take you back.
You didn’t actually break up, but it feels like you did. All these dissonant whispers, all these insecurities.
I am not simply a whisper. Come to me. Open your mind.
You do not understand.
I am Glint. This way, sapling. No, the other way.
He is blinded by the world. He cannot see us.
You do not understand. All you see is white.
Bind your eyes, little one. You need not vision to find what cannot be seen.
It makes sense. You tear a length from the bottom of your fraying shirt and tie it over your eyes.
Come. Follow the voices.
There are so many voices, but you follow the voice that called itself Glint. You feel a gentle, hot breath over you, and an energy fills you from within.
Little one. Will you let me teach you?
“Who are you?”
It is Glint, of course it is, but another voice answers. It is not the same as the previous voice that spoke with Glint.
We are the spirits of the Mists. We see you, who do not belong here. We see how you have fought.
You have fought? You believe you have. But you had no weapons, and fighting was ineffective. You ran away, instead.
Ah, but now we will teach you. Feel this? Do you feel my strength within you?
You feel the roaring intelligence of Glint, of her fury and her deep desire to see good done, guided by her visions.
Good. Reach out, and fashion a sword.
Fashion a sword? How–?
But a hilt is in your hand, and you almost drop it in surprise, it is so heavy.
You never remembered swords to be so heavy.
You must learn again. Walk forward, and practice with us.
You listen to the voices, thrust and parry where they tell you to. Spin when they say so. Manifest another sword in your non-dominant hand.
They train you, and you feel better. Stronger. Filled with purpose, now that you have company again. You were going crazy with hurt and sadness and of the loneliness.
You miss your mate.
It is a sneering voice who says this, someone who identifies himself as Shiro Tagachi. Such a weakness.
“He is not here,” you tell the assassin, for that was what he was, in his era. “He is too far away.”
We will reunite you to your family.
This is the dwarven king, Jalis. You like him, for he is strong and brash and has a hearty laugh.
“I hope so,” you tell him. “But I need to be able to fight my way out, first.”
Very true. Come, back to the practice!
But when they allow you to rest, your mind still wanders, and your heart bleeds.
You miss Aeris so much. You want to get back to Tyria as soon as you can.
Please, Mother, let me return home. Let me come back and sit at your roots.
Your eyes are bound, and you see black. The images behind your lids are vivid, and you are glad you don’t have to stare at endless white.
Up. We go forward, today.
You don’t need to see when the spirits guide you. You were wandering blind, for so long, but now you see.
Your footsteps are sure, and impressions form behind the veil. You ready your weapons.
We will find you armour next. Metal, for protection.
You’ve always worn leather armour before, but you like this idea. Metal fortifies and protects. King Jalis likes metal. Glint’s once-scales were tough like metal.
If you are protected, you can go home more quickly.
You can’t wait to escape.
vi. Aeris
The gate is so close. Its light blinds you, even after so long spent with purple lightning. You heave a breath and start to weave a portal with shaky hands.
You are so weak. So tired. You have forgotten the names of everything. You think there was something rotting near the water hole you use to fill your waterskin, but you’re not sure. You think there’s nothing more hilarious then getting turned big and small by the purple lightning.
They’re called chaos rifts.
Your hands almost fumble with the portal’s magic. Chaos? That sounds dangerous. But they’re so much fun.
It would be nice to escape, though. You are out of food. You are so tired. You vaguely recall the faces of some people you thought you used to love.
Sylvari? You think so, because no other race has the same diversity of skin colours. Blue and pale green. That’s all you recall. A smile, or two. Kisses and hugs and warmth.
Ah, you’d like to be warm again. The sun might be warm.
If you can get out, you can see the sun. You are so close…
The portal’s inactive purple swirls at your feet. Your eyes cross as you stare at the next pillar. You can make it, surely.
Jump, and jump. And jump and jump and jump.
What is that purple swirly thing up on that rock? And you, you are drenched, again.
How cold you are.
A portal, you think, but you’ve forgotten how to activate it. You think hard, staring at it, but as tendrils of memory stitch themselves together, the purple fades away.
You feel disappointed and sad as you trudge back to the start. You could have made it.
A smile. A memory of a smile.
Who is this sylvari you remember? Why does your heart feel warm and ache at the same time?
You don’t know.
The gate, it is so pink and bright. You jump.
Your feet slip – your soles are wet. You crash onto the floor, scrabbling for purchase.
You are wet, and on your rear end.
You feel a familiar frustration rising up, and see a red glow disappearing over the top of the rock.
He left you. He said he’d wait, but he left you.
How could he?
You fall multiple times, consumed by anger at the thought of him. How dare he leave you?
You promised to wait for each other. You couldn’t see his glow, for it was so dark, blacker than black.
And yet, and yet.
He had left you.
He had not waited.
You are so angry, you miss your step. The chaos rifts have struck again, and you are massive. You slip.
You give up, and rest. You deserve a rest. You work too hard.
Your waterskin is empty.
Your hands are cut.
Your backpack is clanking, and you pull the top open angrily, to see weapons.
Huh. Weapons.
Do you know how to fight?
Your feet only know how to jump from this rock to that.
The gate is bright and pink and purple, and you can almost touch it. You do. The metal of its rim is warm under your hand.
Hah, you think smugly at the beautiful sylvari with the red glow. He who exists only in your memory. I reached the end. By myself.
You stumble through the gate, and you are falling.
The sun blinds you, and what is that coming up towards you–
Water, more damned water slaps you – shocks you with its force. It soaks you, but this time you can’t see the end of it. You are blinded – the sun – and the water is warm but also so cold, and you need air.
You swim blindly, but you are so tired. Your lungs are bursting.
The water is cool on your tongue when it rushes in.
vii. Starmist
Everything is so bright, and so dark.
Time to go, little sapling.
You don’t get to ask where.
It is hot and humid now, and the Mists have never been so. You don’t understand.
You sense figures coming towards you, and voices, actual voices. You turn your head up, but your hand still clutches your sword. Your shield is on your back. You are on your hands and knees.
“What do we do with him?”
“Where did he come from?”
“Sylvari! Can we trust him?”
You don’t understand.
So many figures, pressing in but holding back, and you don’t know if it is wise to raise your sword. Their distrust is so strong. Palpable.
But a little tendril wiggles over; a sweet aroma, a heady relief in the midst of so much uncertainty. “Starmist? Starmist!”
You know this voice. You turn your head towards her voice, crawling upright and sheathing your sword. Everyone takes a step back.
Your legs are shaky, but you manage to stand. The crowd parts around you, and a figure rushes through.
Small. So small. Has she always been so small, when her brother is a whole head taller?
But her hands are strong as always, and you can taste the taint of violence on her. It is stronger than when you saw her last. You can feel her heart bursting with so many emotions even as you wrap your arms around her, even as you breathe in the scent of the jungle on her.
You can feel the crowd dispersing, even as you both sink to your knees. Her tears are wet on your neck, where she has hidden her face. She hates crying, but for you, because it is you, she will shed a few tears.
It touches you.
“Mura, Mura.”
You stroke her hair and kiss the side of her head. Her arms clutch you more tightly.
“Star. I’ve missed you so.”
There’s something she’s not telling you. You can sense the outline of the shield on her back. She’s learnt a new skill, as you have.
“How long have I been gone?”
Murasaki shudders in your arms, and you feel her sadness. It’s so much stronger now, with your learnt abilities.
She’s always been sad, but this is an endless pool. An abyss darker than Mallyx’s taunts.
“Three years.”
You freeze. Surely, you’ve heard wrong?
“No, Star. It’s been three years. I can’t reverse that much time.”
Reverse…time?
“I’ve learnt so much in the time you were gone,” she whispers. “I’ve had to. But – even with the ability to change timelines, I can’t reverse that much time. Maybe a week, that’s the longest I’ve tried. The easiest is a few minutes to an hour.”
She’s suffered so much. You can feel it in her broken heart.
Her shattered heart. It was broken, before.
What horrors has she seen? How, why has she learnt to reverse time?
Her hand slips into yours. Small. Defeated.
“What would you change, if you could reverse time?”
Your fingers crush hers.
Everything.
“Then you know why I learnt to manipulate time.”
She squeezes your hand. “You can sense thoughts and emotions now?” Her voice is light. Forcibly light.
You smile. This change of subject is fine. “Somewhat.”
“And your eyes? Are you like Rytlock, too?”
Rytlock? Brimstone? The charr tribune?
“He’s like you,” she tells you. “Returned from the Mists, with new abilities. Bound eyes, to help him…focus? But he won’t tell anyone about his adventures. Will you tell me?”
You smile and kiss her head again. “Of course.”
You love her so much. You would tell her anything.
“I love you too, Star.”
A crippling loss ripples through her, and you catch a flash of crushed emotion, a shattered memory.
“Where’s Aeris?”
You word it simply. She does not reply. She goes numb.
And in flashes, you feel her emotions at each stage of finding him, of trying to wake him, of trying to restore him.
His rejection of her, yet he’d listened to Midori. His hurt and anger and wariness. The black hate he’d sent crashing upon her, when she’d had nothing but love and relief in her heart for him.
It makes your heart ache too. Her emotions are so distinct.
“He’s with a warband, in Ascalon.”
More flashes of emotion. Worry that he’d get himself killed, relief when he was adopted by the charr. Hurt, for something he couldn’t name.
“When did you find him?”
“Two years ago,” she breathes.
Mother have mercy, Aeris was gone for a year?
Murasaki shakes her head. “Maybe less. But I didn’t get the message that he was found till a year after you two had disappeared.”
There’s something else in her knot of emotions that gives you pause.
“Tell me.”
She says it so slowly, so haltingly, so uncertainly. You feel like you’re adrift, when it finally pieces together in your mind.
“I think he died. It’s not Aeris who came back to us.”
And you, you can finally unravel the rest of her thought that goes with the hurt.
Aeris doesn’t believe that Murasaki is his twin.
It shocks you, because you have never known a closer pair. They are the same soul in different bodies.
“What happened?”
You sound so far away. So empty. Like you’re back in the Mists, staring at endless white.
“Chaos Caverns.”
You’d heard whispers in the Mists, of the horrors of the Thaumanova reactor and what had happened there. Your blood chills at the thought of your lover, stuck in there for so long, with all that rampant, crazy magic.
All alone.
All alone, and going crazy with it.
“I think,” Murasaki says, whispers, as if she can read your mind and not just emotions, “That he lost his mind in there. I don’t recognise him.”
Her heart crumples, and you pull her in for another hug. You know how important her twin is to her. He’s her lifeline. Half of her heart, as he is yours.
Was.
If the Aeris you knew is gone, then can he be part of your heart any longer?
“He will always be part of our hearts.”
It is the last straw. It breaks you.
You clutch at each other and sob silently, tears soaking your blindfold, her tears soaking the remnants of your shirt from three years ago.
He will always be part of our hearts.
He is gone. The lifeline you’d clutched on to while lost in the Mists.
You can feel the truth of it in your soul. Murasaki does not lie, not about these things.
Mother, Mother, why does this happen to us?
“The Pale Mother is unconscious,” Murasaki says haltingly, voice cracked. “Mordremoth – the Jungle Elder Dragon, attacked her.”
It’s all it takes you make you break again.
All that is love is lost, and loss is ashes on the wind; bitter to taste, chilling even when it has left.
some of the best writing advice I’ve ever received: always put the punch line at the end of the sentence.
it doesn’t have to be a “punch line” as in the end of a joke. It could be the part that punches you in the gut. The most exciting, juicy, shocking info goes at the end of the sentence. Two different examples that show the difference it makes:
doing it wrong:
She saw her brother’s dead body when she caught the smell of something rotting, thought it was coming from the fridge, and followed it into the kitchen.
doing it right:
Catching the smell of something rotten wafting from the kitchen—probably from the fridge, she thought—she followed the smell into the kitchen, and saw her brother’s dead body.
Periods are where you stop to process the sentence. Put the dead body at the start of the sentence and by the time you reach the end of the sentence, you’ve piled a whole kitchen and a weird fridge smell on top of it, and THEN you have to process the body, and it’s buried so much it barely has an impact. Put the dead body at the end, and it’s like an emotional exclamation point. Everything’s normal and then BAM, her brother’s dead.
This rule doesn’t just apply to sentences: structuring lists or paragraphs like this, by putting the important info at the end, increases their punch too. It’s why in tropes like Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking or Bread, Eggs, Milk, Squick, the odd item out comes at the end of the list.
Subverting this rule can also be used to manipulate reader’s emotional reactions or tell them how shocking they SHOULD find a piece of information in the context of a story. For example, a more conventional sentence that follows this rule:
She opened the pantry door, looking for a jar of grape jelly, but the view of the shelves was blocked by a ghost.
Oh! There’s a ghost! That’s shocking! Probably the character in our sentence doesn’t even care about the jelly anymore because the spirit of a dead person has suddenly appeared inside her pantry, and that’s obviously a much higher priority. But, subvert the rule:
She opened the pantry door, found a ghost blocking her view of the shelves, and couldn’t see past it to where the grape jelly was supposed to be.
Because the ghost is in the middle of the sentence, it’s presented like it’s a mere shelf-blocking pest, and thus less important than the REAL goal of this sentence: the grape jelly. The ghost is diminished, and now you get the impression that the character is probably not too surprised by ghosts in her pantry. Maybe it lives there. Maybe she sees a dozen ghosts a day. In any case, it’s not a big deal. Even though both sentences convey the exact same information, they set up the reader to regard the presence of ghosts very differently in this story.
Hihi this is a terribly scandalous fic inspired by this prompt and by a discussion with my other friend on What if we replace all the wedding flowers with vegetables. Please enjoy my indulgent writing :>
The faint whirring catches his attention first, even before the arms wrap around his waist. He can feel the hard, uneven ridges through his clothes; a familiar touch, and a welcome one.
“Aoi,” Raimundo starts, not looking up from the vegetables he is chopping, “Does your gyro need to follow you around? Everywhere?”
The arms release their hold, and he hears a huff. “It’s cute!”
“Only you think so,” he comments drily.
“If you had a better appreciation for mechanical things–”
“I have plenty of appreciation for mechanical things,” he counters, setting the carrots aside and picking up the potatoes, “As long as they’re far away from me.”
“Bah.” She grumbles, leaning around him to watch the potatoes turn into cubes. “You’re no fun. It’s cute.”
“Mechanica are not cute. Living things are cute.”
“For example?”
“You.”
Aoi scoffs. “Flattering, but I’m not cute.”
“Says the tiny sylvari who tinkers with metal and clockwork and adores cats.” Raimundo glances at her, a faint grin on his face.
Aoi frowns at him, but he can tell her heart’s not in it. “I’m half Mordrem. I can’t be cute.”
“Your scars endear you to me.” He leans over and kisses her forehead. “I don’t know what you looked like before, so I can’t judge. You’re cute now.”
As he pulls back, he sees the smile she’s failed to hide. He grins. “Could you get me some broccoli from the cool box?”
Aoi nods and leaves to retrieve the ingredient, taking the whirring gyro with her. Raimundo's smile doesn’t fade. Mordrem or no, Aoi has proved herself to be a staunch friend and partner. He has few enough of those.
“Hey, Rai.”
Raimundo looks down, surprised that she’d returned so quickly. He chokes when he only sees her eyes, the rest of her face hidden by the large head of broccoli. It does not help that her leaves are the same shade of green as the vegetable.
Aoi lowers the broccoli, giggling. “I didn’t realise they grew to be this big!”
“I didn’t realise your face was so small.”
The sylvari laughs, swatting at him with the vegetable. “Small now, you mean.”
“Well, of course.”
“Anyway,” she continues, “Look at this! The stem is so long!” She holds the stem of the broccoli with both hands and bats her eyes at him. Raimundo can’t help but laugh.
“What are you doing?”
“Doesn’t it look like a bouquet of flowers?” She holds the broccoli to her chest, head tilted to the side, smiling coyly. Then a big grin splits her face. “I mean, these are florets. Wouldn’t it be interesting to use broccoli as flowers instead of actual flower bouquets? You’d save so much money at weddings!”
Raimundo laughs. “You’d also scandalise everyone.”
“But it’s great! And economical! And tasty!” Aoi waves the broccoli in his face, her gestures animated. “Think about it, you could use cauliflower and red lettuce and other coloured foods as decorations! And then use them to cook afterwards! Nothing wasted!”
Raimundo nods, humouring her. “And you would hit someone very hard when you toss the bouquet.”
“Bonuses.” Aoi grins. “All the bridesmaids can hit someone hard if they get harassed. And the bouquet won’t even be ruined!”
It’s so absurd that Raimundo has to smile. “Is this hitting hard thing about hammers again?”
“Stop judging me, they’re versatile.” Aoi swipes at him with the broccoli. When Raimundo clutches at his arm and moans, she chirps, “See? Very effective.”
“You are absolutely ridiculous,” he tells her.
“And you love me anyway.”
“Yes, what a poor life choice.”
“I love you too.” Aoi tugs on his arm, pulling him down to peck his cheek. Then she places the broccoli on the table, bouncing up and down and clapping her hands, expression excited. “I've got an idea!”
“Oh no.”
“Want to see how much trouble I can get us into?”
“We’re going to die, aren’t we.”
“Hey! I can control myself. It’s only mid-week!”
“No, you certainly cannot.”
Aoi sticks her tongue out at him. “You’ll love it, I promise. Be back soon!”
“Be back for dinner,” he calls. The front door shuts with a click, and Raimundo shakes his head.
Silly, adorable sylvari. Using vegetables as wedding decorations? She’d scandalise the gods themselves.
-----
“What’s all this about?” Raimundo tugs on the cuffs of the very fancy suit, admiring its quality. “And why are we here?”
“Patience. You humans jabber too much.” The asura pulls on his coattails, walking around him to scrutinize his outfit. “Hmm. It’ll do. Bit of a rushed job, but it can’t be helped.”
“Ricotta. What. Is. This. About.”
“Typical. The sylvari didn’t tell you? Then I shall refrain. You’ll find out in, oh, what’s the time, Hyou?”
“Time to go,” Hyousetsu replies, her ears twitching. A second later, a knock sounds at the door.
“Ladies. I refuse to go anywhere if you do not tell me what is going on.”
“You are not getting kidnapped, if that is what you are worried about.” Hyousetsu opens the door, stepping aside for the person behind it. “It’s a small gathering of friends.”
“Not being kidnapped again, you mean,” Raimundo mutters. Louder, he says, “Then why do I have to dress up? It’s just friends.”
“Trust me when I say you’ll want to look your best,” says the sylvari who steps in. He raises his eyebrows at Raimundo’s appearance, whistling. “Well. He cleans up exceptionally well. Thank you, Ricotta.”
“You're welcome. Hyou and I will be there in a minute. We have to change.”
“Take a circuitous route,” Hyousetsu says. “So we can arrive before you.”
“Very well. Raimundo, please come with me. I will explain.”
Raimundo grumbles but follows him. He trusts Starmist to be straightforward, if no one else will be. “I am going to give a piece of my mind to the mastermind of this secrecy.”
As the door shuts behind him, he hears Hyousetsu snort, “No, you won’t.”
Starmist gestures to the empty hallway, leading the way. “So you've been told nothing at all?”
“No. I was assaulted by those two this morning, and ferried away from my own home. I don’t even know where I am.”
Starmist laughs. “Ah, they were right. This is so typical. Right. We're somewhere in Hoelbrak. A small room has been rented for our party's use, and there will be food and drink available. The rest, I am not allowed to tell you.”
Raimundo sighs. “This is such a dreary day.”
“It will turn for the better. I promise.”
“How can you know that?”
“Well,” Starmist says, “How well do you know Aoi?”
Raimundo trips, but catches himself in time. A memory rises unbidden to the front of his mind.
“Want to see how much trouble I can get us into?”
He sighs. It’s only the end of the week, what has she done now?
“What has she done now?” He says aloud.
“Nothing you wouldn’t approve of,” Starmist grins slightly. “If it eases your mind, there will be less than ten people present.”
“Ah.” That does ease his mind a little. “Fine. Are they all people I know?”
“I think so, yes.”
They finally stop before a door that looks exactly the same as the rest in the hallway. Raimundo thinks he can hear light music floating out from behind it. Starmist turns to him and taps his cheek. “Smile a little. Or don’t scowl, least.”
“I am not scowling.”
Starmist simply raises an eyebrow and opens the door.
He is right. It is a small gathering, about ten people in total, including musicians. The room is lit with soft lanterns, the fire in the hearth infusing the room with heat. Flowers and bright decorations adorn the tables and chairs, and at the far end of the room, a large norn and a pair of tiny sylvari wait.
His eyes snap back to one of the decorations on the table. Wait a minute. Is that–?
Starmist squeezes his elbow, and Raimundo steps forward, forcing his mind blank. His eyes scan over the people in the room, praying for no more surprises. He is pleasantly surprised that he does recognise those present.
Hyousetsu and Ricotta stand beside one of the tables, now dressed in fancy suits. Jahala stands beside the fire, hands behind her back. Vance and Vahland, Starmist’s friends, play the lute and harp together, the melody soothing.
Raimundo barely feels his feet move; he’s certain he’s not smiling like Starmist told him to, but he can’t control his facial expression, not anymore.
He recognises the people standing at the end of the far end of the room. He recognises – or thinks he does – the type of decorations around the room.
Now it’s more of an effort to keep his face frozen, rather than allow the smile to slip out.
She actually did it. The madwoman.
May the Six forgive me for participating in this scandal.
Raimundo tries his hardest not to think about it. He focuses all his attention on the taller of the two sylvari ladies, because he can actually trust her to be stoic and calm. He refuses to look at Aoi for the moment – he cannot afford to laugh, not right now. Not if he guessed the occasion right.
Gods, he was participating in a scandal. He was walking to his bride, not the other way around.
They reach the end of the room. Starmist steps to one side, as does Murasaki, allowing the two to meet. Raimundo glances at the norn – he doesn’t quite know him – before extending his hand to Aoi. She places her hand in his, the rough bark poking his skin, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Her dress is beautiful, fashioned in the style of the sylvari. A pale, smooth material – which may or may not be one of the Pale Tree's leaves – edged with thin branches and flower buds. A simple diadem of the same branches and buds rests on her head.
She is elegant and beautiful, utterly resplendent.
If only he could say the same about the odd bouquet she was carrying.
Raimundo refuses to look at it further, or he will never stop staring. He is certain that he can keep his cool for another five minutes. He has to.
“Friends!” The norn’s voice booms out, and the instruments quiet. “Esteemed guests! Thank you for coming today, to witness the joining of lives, to acknowledge the pact sworn by hunters willing to share hearths.
“We are called here today to witness and bind these lives together, to lend our ears and eyes to the oaths to be sworn. Let it be said now, that Aoi, daughter of the Pale Tree, wishes to offer her hearth to Raimundo, son of none. Not just her hearth, but also her hunts, and a steadfast rock to rest against in leaner times.”
The shaman takes a length of thin cloth from the table beside him, draping it over their clasped hands. He wraps it around their wrists, tying it securely, then steps back, his voice booming.
“Speak your oath, daughter.”
Aoi's eyes are clear and sharp as she gazes at Raimundo. Despite the half-joking nature of the entire set up, he can feel that this part is very real and means a lot to her. When she speaks, her voice is strong, ringing with conviction.
“Raimundo, I offer you my hammer and my shield. I offer my home, wherever it may be, as a haven and a place to rest your head. I swear to shield you where you need shielding, to strike your enemy before they can take your head. I swear to provide whatever you may require, if it is within my capabilities. May the dragons take me before I turn my back on you.”
Simply worded, but it is the depth of her emotion that moves him. That makes colour rise in his cheeks. Raimundo didn’t know that she cared that much. That she loved him enough to take on the world for him, if it came to it. What had he done to deserve her devotion?
“What say you, son?”
Raimundo internally thanks the norn shaman – he has to be a shaman, to be presiding over them like this – for not reiterating that he has no parents.
“Aoi, I offer you my blade and my rifle, my pot and my fire. Wherever you go, I will follow, and your enemies will never reach you. No matter the location nor situation, I will always have a warm meal for you, and you will feast like the gods themselves. I will carry you where you can walk no more, and I will be the sapling that holds you upright. I swear your needs and wants will be fulfilled as best I can, before my own. May Kormir take my tongue if I dare speak falsely.”
“So they have sworn, and so shall it be,” the shaman intones.
“So shall it be!” The rest of the room echoes. There is a pause before the cheers burst out, cries of delight and congratulations. The shaman bends over their hands again to untie the cloth, and Raimundo looks Aoi in the eye, ignoring the jubilation around him.
Then his gaze drops to her unlikely bouquet, and he lets out the groan he has been containing.
Aoi bursts into giggles and jabs him in the chest with the broccoli.
“Aoi,” Raimundo groans. “Aoi, Aoi, Aoi. You had to. Of all the serious ceremonies that you could have set up, this is the one that you choose to put a joke on?!”
“Told you I’d get us into trouble, didn’t I?” She giggles again, leaning in to peck him on the cheek. “I’m impressed you kept your head that long!”
“I’m– I just– Ugh!”
Aoi pats his cheek with the broccoli. “Come look at the rest of my decorations.”
“I hate you.”
“You just married me,” Aoi reminds, as Murasaki peeps over her shoulder. “You can't hate me that much.”
“She’s right,” Murasaki pipes up. She holds a head of cauliflower, and Raimundo gives her a withering glare which she ignores. “That was adorable, by the way. You’ve proven yourself a romantic sap, Rai!”
“I hate you too,” Raimundo says. “You of all people have more sense than this.”
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” The Commander smiles. “I love a good romance as much as anyone else!”
“More than anyone else.” Aoi leans back and slips an arm around Murasaki's waist for a quick hug. “Now let’s show Rai our handiwork.”
The human groans. “Sylvari.”
“Enjoy the décor,” Starmist says. He taps his breast pocket and winks. Raimundo suddenly realises that it’s not a flower sprig in his pocket, it’s cabbage leaves folded into petals.
He’s mildly mortified that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
Murasaki and Aoi drag him around the room, proudly showing off their vegetable displays. The mix of cabbage, lettuce, cauliflower and various other vegetables is surprisingly artistic. There’s even a passiflora flower or two amongst them, which are the only 'real' flowers, as far as Raimundo is concerned.
He spots the pineapple, the thing that first alerted him to this craziness. Surrounding it is a carefully spiralling tower of bell peppers and cucumbers. The other tables have similar displays consisting of different fruits and vegetables. Some red onions have made their way in as well, and he has to admit that maybe fruits and vegetables make good decorations.
“How much of this is an illusion?” He asks Murasaki. “They looked like real bouquets when I first walked in.”
“None,” Aoi sings. “These are all arranged by hand.”
“Just a trick of the eye,” Murasaki says. “No need for illusions when Aoi knows how to arrange so well.”
This is true, Raimundo admits.
He doesn’t get to complain further, not when the guests start coming up to them with grins and congratulations.
(He says 'them', but when he looks around for Aoi a second later, she has disappeared.)
(Raimundo sighs internally. Typical, for her to run off and leave him to face the social aspect of things alone.)
It does not surprise him that Ricotta and Hyousetsu are first in line. The asura's smirk is condemning. “Are you satisfied now that I dressed you well for this occasion?”
Raimundo gives her a deadpan stare. “You’re right, ‘satisfied’ is the correct word. I still dislike how manhandled I was.”
“Bah. Always so unappreciative, bookah.”
Hyousetsu covers her mate's mouth with a roll of her eyes. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Ricotta pries the paw off her mouth, swatting Hyousetsu's tail as she storms off. The charr shakes her head and extends her paw, her claws gently encircling Raimundo’s wrist when he takes it.
“Many happy wishes to you and Aoi. I hope your relationship will remain steadfast.”
“Your wishes are well received,” he replies. “Have you and Cheese been well?”
“As well as we can be,” she snorts. “I don’t know if the charr or the asura disapprove more of our relationship.”
“They will always judge.”
“Always,” Hyousetsu agrees. “But trust in each other, and you’ll be fine. It’s when their words get to you that’s the most dangerous.”
“Don’t I know that,” he says drily.
Hyousetsu smiles faintly and claps him on the shoulder, leaving to join her mate.
Jahala steps up to him next, her hand warm as she grasps his forearm. “Well met, Raimundo. Congratulations.”
“Well met, Jahala. Thank you. How are you?”
“Surviving.” She shrugs. “It’s good to be back in Hoelbrak. Never again will I enter the Heart of Maguuma, if I have to face another pocket raptor.”
Raimundo barks out a laugh. “Aye. I understand completely.”
“Nasty little creatures,” she mutters. “They don’t even burn right.”
“I’m sure that’s just the humidity of the jungle.”
“Bah. The jungle is terrible, no matter what excuses you put upon it.”
“I cannot disagree.” Raimundo recalls the one or two times he’s followed Aoi in there to visit Aurene. “Leeches. Foul things.”
“Do not remind me,” Jahala mutters. “I would set the jungle on fire to purge the world of them.”
“How about not returning there at all?”
“That would only be too easy.” The norn glances behind her, to the others hovering about, waiting to congratulate him. “I shall take my leave. We must catch up a little more later today.”
“That we must.” He grasps her forearm again, and she strides off.
Vance and Vahland catch him next, even as he tries to find a glass of water. A quick glance around tells him that Starmist and Murasaki have taken up the instruments instead. Their music is simple, though he still catches the odd note that is horribly off-key.
Vahland catches his line of sight and gives a hearty laugh. “Better to have poor musicians than to have the music stop altogether, I think!”
“You might have a point,” Raimundo says. “Sets the atmosphere, or something like that.”
“Indeed.” Vance speaks, a lazy smile rising to his lips. “Though I believe the idea was also to see which of them plays worse.”
“They’ll make the decorations wilt,” Vahland confides excitedly. “I’ve seen it happen to regular flowers, I’m curious about vegetables.”
Raimundo chuckles. They certainly were an interesting pair. “Surely their playing isn’t so bad?”
“You have not heard.” Vance raises his eyebrows. “Count yourself lucky.”
I always forget how much I like their humour. Beautifully harsh.
“Speaking of lucky,” Vahland interrupts, elbowing his partner, “Congratulations! Many happy wishes to you and Aoi.”
Vance nods. “It’s always nice to see others find love.”
“You don’t have to sound so inflectionless as you say that,” Raimundo says, a smile on his face.
Vance shrugs, a hint of a smile rising on his lips. “It’s just how I am. Congratulations, regardless. Now we must find Aoi, and warn her of her decorations' plight.”
Raimundo laughs. “Go ahead. I would like to know where she’s disappeared to, myself.”
They leave, and Raimundo finally gets to snag a glass and drink his water.
Time drags on as the food is passed out, and people drag him into longer and longer conversations that leave him no room to eat. It is pleasant, at first – he has not spoken to many of his friends in a long time, and it is good to catch up. But as he is passed from person to person, as conversations ebb and start up again with no reprieve, he only keeps tolerating it because the food – that he finally gets a chance to taste – is delicious.
There comes a point when he excuses himself – a little tersely, but he cannot bring himself to care. He stands by the fire, if only to escape talking for a bit. He wishes he could cloak himself and sneak out, but it’s neither polite nor proper. And it’d be rude to his wife, whom he spots mingling with the guests – she looks animated, and that is good enough for him.
The norn shaman wanders over after a few minutes and hands him a drink, patting him on the back. “Drink. Calm your mind, for they can entertain themselves.”
Raimundo glances at him and leans against the fireplace. “I’m sure they can.”
“Indeed they will. Breathe deep, Raimundo. Let your gods calm you, and refresh yourself in your solitude.”
Raimundo smiles. There are few kinds of people who understand that he needs some peace and quiet. “We have not met properly.”
“No,” the shaman says thoughtfully. “I am Quil Stefensson. I speak for Snow Leopard, and she teaches me to listen before I leap.”
Someone who listens. He likes the norn better already.
“I am Raimundo. But you knew that. Well met, Quil.”
“Well met.” The norn sips from his tankard. “Would you mind the extra company, or shall I keep them occupied for a while longer?”
Raimundo follows his gaze to the rest of their party, laughing and talking, some of them cheerfully spinning around in dance. He thinks about it.
“I don’t mind your company. Do not expect me to answer too often, if you do speak to me, though.”
“Your head is heavy. Shall I tell you a tale? You need not reply, I shall speak anyway.”
Quil spins him a saga of the Spirits of the Wild, his voice soothing. It washes him away in its telling, gently painting a picture in his mind. He is almost sad when the telling is over.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Come, eat more. Have some sustenance before we pass out the remainders to the people of Hoelbrak. They do not receive fresh vegetables often, and it will be a delight and a balm to them.”
Raimundo almost smiles. “I’m coming.”
-----
It’s a lot later, when they’re finally back in Divinity’s Reach, that Murasaki presents them with her gifts. A gold ring for each of them, enchanted with mesmer illusions.
“I've heard that some cultures exchange rings to symbolise the couple's commitment to each other. Take these. Don’t exchange them, because the illusion is specifically tailored for each of you.”
She doesn’t stay to receive their thanks – Taimi was expecting her, and she had to leave immediately. Regardless, her gifts are well appreciated.
“What does yours do?” Aoi asks. She had put her ring on, and now her hands are smooth like a regular sylvari's, and her extra eyes are gone. It is a little disconcerting, but Raimundo knows that she appreciates it. She can walk amongst regular sylvari – amongst all the races – and not be ostracised, now.
Raimundo takes one of her hands and puts it against his chest – his flat chest – running it down and towards his hip. Aoi's eyes widen, and then both her hands are on him, patting down his entire torso, tugging at the waistline of his looser pants.
“Oh, sweet silence. She did it.” Aoi's voice is hushed. She looks up at Raimundo, her one set of eyes shining. “She did it. How do you feel?”
“Not squishy.” Raimundo grins, and it’s real. The first real smile since the festivities had worn him down, a giddy warmth that makes him feel like screaming his delight. “I finally feel comfortable in this body. It feels like it’s mine.”
Aoi squeals and throws her arms around his neck. He can’t help but hug her back, and the way the hardness of her body does not sink and press into him in certain places only makes his smile wider.
Everything about the day has been good and terrible, but this gift – this beautiful, mesmeric gift – was the best thing to end it with.
[Alternatively: Loving is Cruel, and Hearts Always Stay Broken]
This is ~9k words ok, it’s pretty long. It’s also my heartbreak valentines’ fic from 2019
Starmist rises from his place between the leaves quietly, eyes tracking the departing saurians. With Mordremoth gone, the Mordrem are no longer an issue, but the jungle poses enough problems of its own.
He sighs under his breath and resumes his trek, eyes watchful, sword ready. The cliff where he will make his dive is just up ahead, but he would greatly prefer it if he could do it unhindered, and without being chased by the jungle's irritants.
Pocket raptors, he thinks sourly, are definitely not part of Ameyalli's provision.
He didn’t think so, at least.
Glancing around him a last time, he steps gingerly onto the branch, inching out along it. His glider is half-formed on his back, ready to be snapped open when he jumps.
He can just make out the ledge he has to get to, the faint sound of the lute almost hidden by the natural sounds of the jungle.
Starmist takes a deep breath, and leaps.
His body snaps up, lifted by the wind catching the corporeal glider formed by Mist energy he ripped out of a rift. It spreads above him in great sweeping wings, translucent but for the ripples of energy that define the shape of a dragon.
He angles the glider towards the ledge he was eyeing earlier, tugging on the tendrils of energy to steer himself.
Twenty metres… Ten metres… Five… He yanks on the energy, compressing it and shoving it back through another rift, just in time for him to drop onto the ledge. His feet land softly on the grass, and he folds the remnants of the glider up, tucking that particular energy signature into a small rift he carved explicitly for that purpose.
He looks up, head cocked; the music has stopped, and he can see why. The strumming Itzel has fallen back, his lute abandoned, bow and arrow nocked and pointed at him.
“Sylvari. But with a spectacular type of glider, the likes of which I’ve never seen. In the shape of a dragon, no less.”
Starmist can hear the unspoken question in his voice, see the wariness in his unblinking eyes.
Do you serve the dragons? Must I end you?
Starmist blinks. Opens his mouth and speaks slowly. “Ibli sent me. He said I might find you here, might perhaps commission a song from you.”
“Commission?” Acan lowers his weapon, just a fraction. “I play for fun. For joy. I had not thought of commissions before.”
Starmist smiles, a small, wry thing. “Murasaki – the Pact Commander – told me you play beautifully. She has not the time to come back, but I thought I might seek you out for a song or two.”
Hesitating for a moment, he adds, “Today is a special occasion, by the human calendars. I thought to celebrate it, with music.”
Acan blinks, the only sign that he registers Starmist's words. “The Pact Commander. Yes, I remember her. In a huge rush at the time, but with a lovely glider as well. Purple and pink – such unusual colours in the jungle. So easy to spot and get shot down, in carelessness.”
The sylvari winces, but nods. “That’s her. I’m her friend. Might I convince you to play me a song, and I give you a glider?”
Acan blinks again. His smile stretches as he lowers the bow and arrow completely. “Teach me how to use it as well, and I shall play you more than a single song.”
Starmist grins. “You have yourself a deal.”
So it was settled. Starmist would teach Acan how to glide once he was off-duty. The Itzel would play him a song right away, since he was still on scout duty, and could easily complete his end of the bargain.
“What would you like to hear?”
Starmist sinks down to the ground and purses his lips, tilting his head back against the log with a small shrug. “Anything. Play me your favourite.”
Acan's eyes flit to him, his fingers absently stroking the strings, half-formed melodies escaping into the air. “You came to bargain for a song, and you will not choose one?”
Starmist shakes his head. “Not because I will not choose, but because I cannot. I do not know any songs.”
Acan’s eyes narrow, and his mouth presses into a flat line. “That is…unusual.”
The sylvari shrugs. “I’ve lost a lot more to the dragons than just echoes of songs. I don’t bother myself with worrying about it for too long.”
Acan appraises him for a moment longer, head cocked. “What were you saying before – that it is a special occasion?”
Starmist nods. “A day of celebration for lovers. I admit that I do not know much other than that.”
Acan nods slowly, his eyes flicking back to the jungle before them. “Have you a lover?”
Starmist almost smiles, a twinge of pain in his chest. “Once.”
“…a song of remembrance, then. For what you once had.”
Webbed fingers begin to work the lute, teasing the strains of a melody from it. It winds and peaks and falls, tugging Starmist along on its journey, drawing him into a nest of memories.
A blue-barked hand takes his, softly illuminated by the glow of fireflies, and glowing within from the sylvari's glow. Starmist looks up into his face, a grin lifting his lips as he squeezes the hand.
“Star, will you dance with me?”
“Of course.”
Their entwined fingers lift, shifting until their hands lie palm to palm, flat against each other. Starmist reaches out to place a hand on his boyfriend’s waist, turning him, moving them, until they are pacing slow circles under the fireflies' glow.
Aeris dips his head, but Starmist can still see his expression: nervous but pleased, and a tad shy. He wants to reach up and kiss him.
Starmist presses his fingertips harder against Aeris’, prompting the other male to look at him. His lips lift at the corner, and Starmist’s hand shifts, sliding to the small of Aeris’ back. His other hand twists their joined palms until he has a firm grasp on his hand, and he steps closer.
Aeris steps back, but he is still in the half-circle of Starmist's arm, and the shorter male takes it as an opportunity to press the dance. Leading them, guiding them.
Aeris’ face falls as he realises it. “I asked you to dance, and yet you’re leading.”
Starmist chuckles. “We can swap, if you want to lead.”
His boyfriend shakes his head. “In a minute. Indulge me, and I’ll take my turn to treat you.”
Starmist can’t help his grin or his next action. The hand holding Aeris’ slides free, moving to cup the back of his neck and pull him down, their lips meeting in a brief but tender kiss. Starmist captures his lower lip between his teeth, tugging at it gently, marvelling at the plush flesh. He releases it and presses another kiss to Aeris’ mouth instead, relishing the taste and feel of him, never wanting to back away.
From the way Aeris’ arm has wound around his back, pulling Starmist against him, he knows his boyfriend feels the same way.
Acan’s song trails off in a smattering of notes and unwound melodies, and Starmist glances up at him. He can feel the wobbly smile on his face, the water clouding his vision, and takes a shaky breath.
“Thank you.”
(Even his voice sounds tinny, stretched thin and about to break.)
Acan nods slowly, his fingers stilling. “The song should invoke good memories. Why do you weep?”
Starmist gives in and wipes his eyes. “…because it was a good memory. A situation that will not happen again. But I am grateful that you reminded me of it. I shall treasure it dearly.”
The Itzel doesn’t look too convinced, but Starmist isn’t an expert at reading hylek expressions.
He leans back against the trunk as Acan begins a new song, uplifting and cheery.
But his heart cannot shake the earlier memory, and a tang of pain remains.
I miss you, my love.
-----
Murasaki trails a hand through the water, the ripples distorting her reflection.
She can’t look at herself. Not now, not ever. Thorns, she is such a fool.
What made you think you were lovable? Naïve, stupid sapling.
You should have died in your pod, let Aeris absorb you. At least then, one of you would have survived, remained useful.
Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and she gnaws at it, refusing to let the tears fall.
Stupid, stupid sapling.
Ayla's never going to love you. Just like Carita. Just like Varshur.
Stop falling in love with others, especially those who don’t – won’t – love you back. Or those who just want to use you. Like Amatsu.
Her fingers tighten into a fist, and another volley of ripples dances away.
Mother spare your soul, but you’re stupid.
Murasaki knows better. Knows better than to be sitting here and pining; knows better than to have this mental breakdown when out there, her soldiers are having problems of their own.
Her soldiers. The Pact.
Not really her soldiers anymore, since she resigned long ago. But everyone still looks to her as a leader, more so than Logan, and they will follow her into fire. They depend upon her leadership, lousy though she has been.
So, they are still her soldiers, after all.
Murasaki draws her hand back, barely flicking the water off before she presses it against her chest, a breath catching on its way out as a memory assaults her.
The Marshal – Trahearne – the firstborn who loved you, and was lost.
Didn’t you love him too?
She knows the answer, as well as each splintered and shattered piece of her remaining soul.
I love him. Loved. Mother forgive me, but I loved him so much.
And now he’s gone.
Just like everyone who crosses my path.
It’s a wonder Star still likes me. It’s a wonder Aoi and Dori still stay. It’s amazing that Aeris acknowledges I exist.
Oh Mother, forgive me.
Please forgive me, and my stupidity.
She can’t stay. She won’t. She has no right to be sitting here, pining and crying over people who will never love her. No right to be sitting here, whole and complete, when her twin is so badly damaged that he is not himself any more.
Not really whole and complete. I died.
Did it matter? Dying? I came back. Came back, and made everything worse.
I should’ve stayed.
The soft rustles from behind alert her to the person approaching, and she draws in a deep breath, wishing away the tears.
A heavily scarred hand flits over her shoulder, the lightness of the gesture betrayed by the weight of the hand.
“Dori wants you to stop sulking and get back out there.” Aoi's voice has an echo to it, despite being soft. “I came to sit with you.”
Murasaki sniffs. Aoi and Midori are the only ones who are allowed to see her cracked façade, and only flashes at a time. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I’ll come right out.”
Murasaki pushes to her feet, pressing harder on the earth than she needs to, allowing the pebbles to grind into her palms. Aoi's eyes are hooded, the extra eyes on the sides of her face downcast.
She must not be wearing her ring, and Murasaki wonders why.
“If…” Her voice stops Murasaki. “If it’s any consolation, I miss Rai terribly. I’m afraid of what he’ll think, when he finds out we’ve failed.”
When he finds out I’ve failed. Aoi and Dori weren’t part of it.
Murasaki holds out her hand, and Aoi grasps it lightly. They share a sad smile.
“Go write him a letter,” Murasaki says. “Tell him you love him, and you miss him.”
Aoi’s eyes widen, understanding flickering in them. Then her expression falls. “Will you write to Aeris?”
To the last person I’ve loved and hurt? No.
She shakes her head. “I’ll find Dori, let her slap some sense into me and start a new plan. Maybe arguing against the Court's mentality will bring me back to myself.”
Aoi’s fingers find hers again, squeezing gently. “Come talk to me after, if your heart still aches.”
It will never stop aching. I love too easily.
Murasaki nods, and turns to stare out at the water for a while longer. Sinks back to her knees, for she is weak.
The spot over her heart is cold, where the wind blows through the wet fabric.
-----
Aeris unloads and oils the gun, checking and cleaning its components thoroughly before putting it back together. He sets it on his left and picks up another rifle to repeat the process.
Outside the curtain, the soldiers keep going about their daily business. Their whispers have a hollowness to them, broken and devoid of life. It’s not hard to understand why, after the news broke.
Aurene, gone. Their last hope of defeating Kralkatorik, snuffed out like a flame. After being impaled, of course.
Aeris exhales deeply through his nose, clicking the rifle shut. His right hand reaches for another, but finds nothing but gunpowder dregs. He stares at the empty spot for a second, then raises his eyes to the high ceiling with exasperation. He didn’t think he’d be done so quickly.
Great. Now he has to go out there and face the rest of the Pact. He doesn’t think he’s ready for that.
Scooping up the guns, he makes his way to the rack and begins stacking them, taking his time. But he’s still done too quickly, and the lack of things to occupy his attention unsettles him.
Aeris picks up a towel and cleans the grease from his hands with it, walking over to the rainwater barrel to rinse. When he’s done, he takes a quick glance around the small area, confirming its emptiness. Good. He needs all the privacy he can get.
Crouching behind a table, he murmurs a spell, fingers tracing the symbols in the air. There’s a whisper and a rush of wind, and he grimaces as he opens his eyes.
He stands and steps over to the water barrel, peeking at his reflection. Ashy skin, wide eyes, fronds pulled back from his face. He smiles at his reflection, and a female sylvari smiles back.
Aeris hopes the illusion will hold, and steps beyond the curtain.
He goes to the forge first, seeking out the only other warbandmate in the Pact. Rune might not have been allowed to help with the dragonsblood weapons, but she would be there all the same. Nothing and no one kept her from working with metal, if they knew what was good for them.
The soldiers don’t glance twice at him as he slips past them, and he allows himself a longer look at their faces. They all look the same: tired, haggard, hopeless. Aeris can’t help but wonder what the Commanders are planning, and if they have told the troops yet. Morale was taking a turn for the worse.
The crowd thins as he makes his way towards the forge, the soldiers choosing to stay close to the hearths and not venture into the cold passageways. The halls of Deldrimor Keep are beautiful, he has to admit. It was a waste to not admire them, especially now that beauty and hope are so hard to find. He hopes it doesn’t stay that way.
The room before the forge is bustling with people, and he sticks to the shadows to avoid any members of Dragon's Watch. Not many would be able to see through his illusion, but Rytlock would be able to, and he didn’t want to face the tribune at the moment.
Aeris hears the forge before he feels it. The Zephyrite choir has stopped, but the ringing of steel hitting steel persists, and the heat from the lava never cools. Pacing around the room, as far from the heat as he can, he tries to spot Rune, and groans when he sees her speaking to the Forgemaster at the centre of the forge.
He supposes he can wait until their conversation is over.
Except that it never seems to end, dragging on and on, until he feels dizzy from the heat and his pacing.
(Really, he shouldn’t be this affected by the heat. He spends his days in Ascalon, and the Pale Mother knows how hot it is there.)
He perches on a crate and watches the two figures, silently begging them to hurry up. He rests his head against the stack of crates behind him, hoping the pressure will alleviate some of his dizziness. But no one comes for him and soon, the light and heat from the forge force his eyes close, and the ringing of steel lulls him into slumber.
His head hurts. His throat is dry and his tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth. The light above him is weak, bits of sunlight filtering through the slats in the roof. A lamp sits on the table, its light dull from the cloth covering it. He wonders where he is.
“Commander. He is awake.”
A throaty voice calls from the mouth of the room, and he turns his head, wincing at the throbbing. He can hear footfalls against sand, and soon, multiple shadows block the doorway.
He closes his eyes. He can feel emotions roiling, and they don’t belong to him. What is this?
“Aeris.” It’s a whisper, a plea. It’s one word, filled with raw emotion – panic, relief, desperation. Love?
It’s one word, and he thinks that’s his name.
Aeris. He tests the name in his mind, rolling it over. It sounds right.
It is your name, dearheart.
He squeezes his eyes shut. Who is that?
I am the Pale Tree. Your mother. You have suffered greatly, my child.
I don’t understand.
Your mind has been damaged by the dangerous magic you encountered. Fret not, for your friends have managed to cure the worst of it.
Then I must thank them.
Aeris opens his eyes, taken aback by the closeness of the person before him. A female, whose eyes are wide and stained with relief. He reaches out with his mind, and what he feels confirms it. She is the one with the wild emotions he feels.
“Aeris,” she whispers. Her hand grasps his, and he pulls it away, disturbed at her casual touch. Who does she think she is?
Her eyes droop at the loss of contact, and he senses that she wants to reach out again. She pulls it back instead – a wise move, he thinks. He’s suddenly not in the mood to deal with people, especially creepy ones.
Over her head, he spots two other females. They look at him; the green-barked one's eyebrows are furrowed, her mouth pressed into a pout. The purple-barked one seems to look at him down her nose – but that doesn’t make sense; of course she’s looking down at him, he’s lying down.
He's confused, and wonders who they are.
The voice – the Pale Tree – said they were friends. But he recognises none of them.
“Ah, he is indeed awake.” A rumbling voice drifts over to them, deeper than the one he heard before. Aeris glances up and blinks in surprise. A giant frog steps towards them, and the female sylvari drift back, allowing him closer.
Hylek, his mind supplies, and he knows this to be true. These giant frogs are a race called the hylek, and they are masters of alchemy.
The hylek places a webbed hand on his forehead, peering into his eyes. “Much better. The fever leaves you.”
“Thank you,” he croaks.
Ha, he thinks. I sound like him. Croaking.
The hylek pats his forehead, his skin cool. “You are welcome. My tribe owes Aoi a favour, and this was too easy to help resolve. Come, can you sit? Have some water, and some broth, if you can stomach it.”
He feels oddly shaky, and flinches when the wild female from before moves forward to help him sit. He can feel her hurt, but she doesn’t say anything, simply handing him the cup.
He sips at it, half-listening to the hylek's explanation of what happened to him. Chaos magic, warping his mind, twisting it to madness. He is lucky, he hears, that his body was not also affected. Does he have any missing memories?
Aeris blinks, stares into his empty cup. Does he?
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I feel as if I do not know anything.”
“What do you mean?”
He thinks about it. “I know some things, like what food is, and where places are on a map. But the specifics of my life… I feel as if I know nothing of that at all.”
The room stills. The sylvari look at him with a mix of horror, fascination and worry. The hylek looks thoughtful.
“Stay with us a while,” the hylek says. “We shall try to acclimatise you to the world as best we can. It would not do to let a patient stumble out and kill himself by accident because he is but a tadpole.”
He grins weakly, tickled by the analogy and strangely unoffended by it. “I have no objections.”
“Good, good.” The hylek turns to the sylvari. “Don’t give him a hard time, okay?”
All of them nod, the one with green bark piping up, “Thank you. You have been very kind.”
“A debt for a debt,” he replies. “I fear that I will have to repay that debt many times before it is repaid in full.”
“Nonsense, Ikniu. It was my pleasure to help.”
The hylek shrugs and bows, stepping outside. The sylvari are upon him in a moment.
“How do you feel?” It’s the wild one again, concern radiating from her. Aeris looks away, too unsettled to answer, and notices that her bark is the same shade of blue as his.
Odd, but not unusual.
The haughty one steps forward and peers into his eyes, harrumphing under her breath. “He looks decent. Disoriented, but fine.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Dori?” The green one asks, her tone lilting, teasing.
“Maybe.”
He feels like he should say something. “Who are you people?”
Hmm, not the best start, but it’ll do.
They stare at him, until the wild one breaks the silence. “You don’t recognise us?”
“No. Should I? You’re kind for helping me, and for that I thank you. But I don’t know you, and this is extremely weird.”
They seem to hold their breath, and it is the wild one who eventually speaks. “I am Murasaki, and this is Aoi and Midori. You’re my pod twin, and they’re my friends.”
Pod twin? Aeris knows that phrase, but to be the twin of this female? The Pale Mother must be joking. She is too intense. He can feel the sea of emotions that ripples under her bark – terror and panic and fierce determination, all lined with the sharp tang of violence. It makes him wary, to know that someone could be so well acquainted with death and not be affected by it.
He shakes his head, fingers gripping the cup tightly. Too tightly, but he can’t help himself. “I don’t know you. Sorry.”
The wild one – Murasaki – laughs weakly. “You’re joking, right? Aeris, this isn’t funny. I thought I lost you.”
He shakes his head more firmly. “No, I truly don’t know you. And you are freaking me out.”
“Aeris–”
He can feel her distress, but the way she says his name, as if he has to listen to her. No, he refuses to do that.
“Listen.” His voice is cold, harsher than intended, but he's in a panic now, and the defensive words flow too easily. “I do not know you, and you are not helping, if you have helped at all. I don’t care who you are, but you act as if you have power over me, and I know that’s not true. I belong to no one but myself, and I am not indebted to you in any way. Now get out.”
She hesitates, resolve faltering, her mouth half-open as if to protest. Aeris grits his teeth. “Get. Out.”
Murasaki’s hands are trembling, but her face has gone still. A mask. She clenches the trembling digits into fists, then turns around and marches out, her steps stiff. The green one – Aoi – glances at him for only a moment before she runs out after her.
The purple one, Midori, sighs and rests her chin in her hand, a small smile on her face. “You’re a lot more entertaining now than before.”
He senses that she means it; she’s amused, rather than panicked like the others are. “So you insist on following her lead as well?”
“Mm, not precisely.” Midori perches on the edge of the bed, a safe distance from him. “I’m a necromancer, and I recognise dead things when I see them. Your past is dead to you, it seems, and I sense that the only way forwards is for you to forget it.”
Aeris feels the knot in his chest loosen. Finally, someone who understands.
“I really do remember nothing,” he admits. “Everything is a blur. Indistinct.”
“But can you discern truth from lie?”
He starts, and stares at her. Midori doesn’t flinch, only raising an eyebrow to push her question.
Aeris nods slowly. “I feel as if I know these things. And I can sense the emotions of others, just a little.”
“You haven’t forgotten everything, then.” She reaches over and plucks the cup from his grip, rising to swap it out for another one on the table. “You were trained in mesmer magic before. Perhaps some of that training remains.”
“Perhaps,” he concedes. He knows what mesmers do, their manipulation of the mind. It makes sense now, how he can feel the tinges of emotion from others.
The cup he is handed is warm, and he sips the broth gratefully. The liquid warms him; he didn’t know he was cold.
Midori regards him a little longer. “My take is this: after the hylek have deemed you healthy, move on. Go into Tyria, explore and find your place. My loyalty will always be with Murasaki, and as much as I want to see her happy again, it will do neither of you good.”
“You don’t believe her, do you?” His voice drips with distaste. “She sounds delusional.”
Midori says nothing, but holds his gaze until he looks away.
“What I believe,” she says softly, “Is based on the truths of the past. The past that I bade you forget.
“To answer you: yes, I do believe her. They are her truths, as they are mine. But for you,” she shakes her head, “They are not your truths. They are a dream, long-forgotten. Dwell on your here and now instead. Make yourself a new life.”
She stands and claps him on the shoulder. “Death stalked you, and yet you got away. Treasure your second chance.”
Aeris frowns at her back, then looks into his half-finished broth.
He senses that she spoke the truth. She feels like the most straightforward of the trio, despite her haughty demeanour.
Perhaps he will follow her advice, and move away from the turbulent and disturbing past that he cannot recall.
“Aeris. Aeris, wake up.”
He blinks blearily, scowling and pressing a hand over his eyes at the brightness. He feels slow and sluggish, and he does not want to wake up.
“Burn Aron for leaving me alone in this,” he hears, before he is picked up. The breath is knocked out of him, and the blurry swishing of something before his eyes tells him what happened.
Rune tossed me over her shoulder.
He doesn’t know to feel smug or ashamed.
Aeris watches the swaying of her tail for a bit, feeling the coolness of the halls as they move away from the forge. He reaches back and tugs on her mane. ”I can walk.”
“Oh? Are you sure you’re awake?”
“I’m certain.”
She lets him slide off her shoulder, glaring at him as he dusts himself off. Ah, the illusion must have shattered when he fell asleep, he’s blue again.
“Your illusion broke when you fell asleep.”
Aeris sighs. “Yes, I just realised.”
“You should’ve just come to get me instead of waiting,” Rune continues. “I could’ve talked forever with the Forgemaster.”
“I realise that now.” Aeris rubs his neck sheepishly. “I just wanted to chat, I finished cleaning the guns.”
Rune raises an eyebrow. “You mean you want more work? What a surprise.”
“We’re among Pact here,” he hisses. “I’m trying to avoid them.”
The charr snorts. “Not fond of fame, eh? Me neither.”
Aeris throws up his hands. “If you know, why question it?”
“Sometimes it’s better to hear things spoken aloud.”
They continue down the hall, reaching the doorway that opens out into the snowy peaks. After the heat of the forge, the chilly air feels like heaven, and he takes an appreciative breath.
“Why didn’t you go to find your sister?”
Aeris doesn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the sparking landscape. “I don’t want to cause her trouble.”
Rune snorts. “Trouble? Cub, the Commander loves you more than she does herself. After what happened, she’d be more than happy to see you.”
Aeris keeps silent. He knows it’s true. And though he loves her in his own way, he can never be the one she needs.
Her brother died in the Chaos Caverns. I just wear his body.
“She doesn’t know I’m here,” he says at last. “Last she heard, I was still in Jahai, in Sun’s Refuge.”
“So you’re a surprise. Big deal. At least you’d be a good surprise.”
Aeris sighs heavily. He can’t tell her. Rune wouldn’t understand. The warband wouldn’t understand.
“I need to see Dori first. She’ll know if it’s okay to meet Mura.”
Rune huffs and folds her arms. “Stop delaying, cub. Everyone knows the Commander blames herself for what happened. If we want to get anywhere from now on, we need her back and not mourning.”
“I think she’s allowed to mourn,” Aeris says lightly. Warningly.
“Of course she’s allowed. But Midori and Aoi don’t hold fort as well as Murasaki does. They’ve got less experience to go with the title. We need Murasaki back, or the Pact will really fall apart, even with the Marshal holding it together.”
Aeris knows she’s right, and he hates it.
“I’ll go look for her.”
He turns back into the building, still feeling Rune’s eyes on his back, and murmurs a different spell. This time, he’s rendered invisible, and sticks to the walls.
The Commander’s office isn’t hard to find, and he’s relieved to see only Midori inside. Aeris steps inside the doorway and drops the spell, clearing his throat to alert her.
Midori glances up, the corner of her lips twitching up. “I knew I heard something. I was wondering when you’d come here, actually.”
“How’d you know?”
She shrugs. “Someone just reported that the Commander was taking a nap in the forge. It didn’t seem likely, especially since I know Mura is in one of the lower tunnels.”
“And she hates the heat.”
“Then there is that,” Midori agrees. “But why are you here instead of with her? Surely you’ve heard the news.”
“I have,” Aeris says, eyes downcast. “But I didn’t think I was fit to comfort her.”
“No?”
“While I was in the forge, I– I had a dream. A memory, really.”
He glances up at her; Midori's chin is propped on her fist, and she raises her eyebrows at him to continue.
“I remembered that time when I first woke, and the three of you had taken me to the hylek.”
“Ah,” Midori murmurs. “You were nasty to Mura.”
“Yes,” Aeris mumbles. “I know she wouldn’t be thinking of that right now – we’re twins, not telepathic – but I still feel guilty. Unworthy. She deserves better than me.”
“She does,” Midori agrees, and Aeris flinches. “Don’t look like that, you came to me because you knew I’d give you the truth.”
“Have I ever told you that I hate you for it?”
“Mm, once or twice.” Midori twirls a pen in her fingers, glancing sharply at him. “But that’s not really why you came to see me.”
“No,” Aeris agrees. “I came to check how’s she’s doing, and then I’ll go back to hiding in plain sight.”
Midori glares at him, and he can sense how her mood sours. “You’re an asshole, you know that? She needs you, and you’re going to keep hiding?”
“She doesn’t need me.” Aeris says, hands clenching into fists. “She needs Starmist, or her brother. She needs someone who didn’t die and become a stranger masquerading as her brother.”
Midori suddenly stands, the chair screeching behind her. Rage emanates from her, crashing over him like a spew of hot lava. “Shut up. Shut up. I don’t care that now is the time you've chosen to grow a moral compass, because she needs you, you hear? I don’t care that you remember nothing of your life before the Chaos Caverns. I don’t care, that you’re guilty that you’ll never be who she needs. You’re all she has now, and if you care about her even a bit, you’ll let her cry on your shoulder at least.”
Aeris opens his mouth, but Midori vaults over the table and slaps him. Her hand just barely reaches his face, but his head is thrown to the side regardless.
“You are a coward,” she hisses. “A coward who dwells too heavily on the past, and lets it cloud your judgement of the present. You should be learning from your mistakes instead of letting them weigh you down. You should have learnt that mistakes are only lessons, instead of letting them build up and become a rock you cannot roll away.
“You want to do some good in the Pact? Find Murasaki. Go to her, and bring her back to the present. She has to mourn – we all do – but without her, Aoi and I can’t do anything. We don’t know enough to deal with all of this yet. We can’t move forward until we learn from her. And we can’t learn until she is pieced back together.”
Midori's words sound so similar to Rune's that Aeris is taken aback, but she is not done.
“Do you know what they are saying outside? Have you heard what the soldiers are saying about her?
“'Where's the Commander? Why isn’t she helping us? Why isn’t she fixing this? Didn’t she tell us it’ll all be alright, that we’ll win?'
“'Why is she gone? Why is she mourning for a dragon? The dragons have brought us nothing but destruction, they should all die.’”
Midori’s nostrils flare as she takes a large breath, her hands clenching and unclenching. She looks as if she wants to throttle someone. “Why is she mourning? Because she lost her daughter. Because she lost the last family member who loved her, who was there with her. But do they know that? No! I don’t think they do, nor will they ever understand.”
She fixes her glare on him again, and jabs him in the chest, hard enough that he has to steel himself against stepping back. “They look at her, and they see what they want to see: a sylvari, a fallen dragon minion. Someone they can’t relate to, because she is so high above them. Too far away. She’s not relatable, no matter how hard she tries to interact with the people or help them.”
“What has that got to do with me?” Aeris cuts in, discomfort wriggling under his bark. “Get to your point.”
“My point,” she hisses, “Is that seeing the two of you together helps not only her mental state, but it will do wonders for the Pact as well. It will help them understand. Understand that she is not so much unlike them. That she isn’t cold and unfeeling, that she’s more than a 'freed dragon minion'. That she has family she loves and will do anything to protect.
“They will never understand that she died for Tyria. They will never know that long before that, she lost half her soul when her twin died. They will never know how she kept fighting out of obligation, even as everyone close to her kept leaving or dying. She loves Tyria and will die for it again if it helps fix anything, but spoiler, it won’t.
“You want to help? Go out there, and fix your sister. Apologise to her. Do whatever. You hear me? Paint that pretty picture for the Pact to see. Pretend if you must. But show them that the Commander has something worth fighting for, that she will fight for.” Before he can nod or reply, she continues, “Or I will find a Nightmare Pod and stuff you in it myself. You’ll make a lousy Courtier, but at least I know my Courtiers have purpose. You? You’re no better than a desiccated choya in the desert wind.”
Aeris’ eyes drop as she turns and walks back to the desk. He can feel the weight of her accusations and revelations hanging heavy over him, and it makes his head dip as he shuffles towards the door. All the fight has left him, and now he just feels ashamed.
He can barely cast the invisibility spell before he slowly walks towards the lower tunnels; the buzz of words in his head is too loud.
Is it true? That Murasaki would fight for him? That part of her died when he first woke and shunned her? She always seemed like such a cheerful person, and though he could always sense the tinge of pain under her façade when they were together, he never knew how deep that vein ran.
He wonders if she hates him too, for leaving her, for never giving her a chance.
He wonders if he’ll be brave enough to drop the invisibility when he finds her.
The air grows colder and ever damper as he descends, and he wishes he thought to bring a coat with him. The floor isn’t slippery, but keeping his footing is tough when he’s trying to be silent.
He doesn’t expect to hear voices when he arrives at the cavern, and ducks behind a stalagmite in case his spell wears off.
The voices aren’t loud enough to distinguish words, but the tone and cadence reminds him of Aoi. Her words have sounded oddly twisted ever since she surrendered to Mordremoth and her body got changed. She may have reclaimed her body in the following years, but her voice never recovered.
Aeris looks out from behind the rock, just in time to see Aoi turn back up the path. The smaller figure remains, leaning against a rock and staring out over the water, hands lying limp in her lap.
It doesn’t take long for Aoi to pass by him and his hiding spot, and he waits a few moments longer before ducking out. Aeris lets the invisibility fade away, and approaches her at a normal pace. He knows she prefers to hear someone approaching, rather than sneaking up on her.
But Murasaki doesn’t look up. She’s back on her knees, the gravel scattered on her splayed skirts. Aeris is within five paces of her, and her hands are still loosely curled in her lap. Limp. Careless. Defeated. He reaches out to grasp her shoulder.
She turns her head to look at him, the tiniest of smiles flitting over her face. “I heard you.”
“But you didn’t call me out.”
“No.” Murasaki turns back to the water, but one hand moves to her arm, grasping it through the fabric of her dress. Not just grasping – pressing, crushing, trying to channel her negative energy elsewhere. Aeris only knows this because he has witnessed it before.
“Hey. Stop that.”
Murasaki’s grip tightens further. “You’re not the boss of me.”
He reaches out, but she flinches away, hand moving to her chest, fingers pressing down over her heart. Her expression twists briefly – agony, hurt, resignation – before it smooths into her regular blank look.
“Weren’t you in Jahai?”
Deflection. He recognises this game, has played it before with her when she’s not ready to open up. When she’s too shattered to speak about whatever is bothering her.
“I was,” he agrees. “I came with the Pact to prepare for the fight against Kralkatorik.”
He senses it: the stab and twist of grief, even though her expression doesn’t change.
“Ah. Were you there for the final fight?”
Aeris shakes his head. “I was helping prepare weapons for the soldiers. My Iron Legion training comes in more handy than my actual magic.”
Murasaki glances at him briefly, eyebrows raising slightly when it clicks. “Ah. One mesmer leading the Pact is bad enough.”
“Better not to give them doubt, with a second, similar-looking mesmer fighting on the front lines.” Aeris finishes her thought.
The tiniest smile lifts her lips. “Good thinking. Anyone come with you?”
Aeris takes a moment to lower himself to the ground, resting his head against hers. “Just Rune. Best blacksmith in the warband, maybe the entire legion. But don’t tell any of the other smiths that.”
“Of course I won’t.” She adjusts herself as well, until her head leans against his shoulder. He can feel the coil of emotions unravelling inside her, loosening its iron grip on her heart. It reminds him of what Midori said, and his heart twists. He turns to kiss the top of her head.
“Did Dori send you too?” Murasaki’s voice is soft, a whisper he almost misses.
He sighs and rests his cheek atop her head. “Yes. I didn’t want to bother you, but she guilted me into it.”
“Oh.” The coil of emotion tightens in her chest again, and Aeris feels immediate guilt for telling her the truth.
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
(If he is already telling the truth, he might as well explain it to her. He knows she would overthink it if he didn’t.)
Small, cold fingers fumble over his, squeezing his hand. It feels more like a flutter.
“I didn’t want you to see how I’d failed.” Her voice catches, the emotions tighten. The pain magnifies, and he knows there’s something she’s not telling him.
“What else?” Aeris keeps his tone neutral; Murasaki hates crying, and any emotion from others could set her off, this close to the edge.
She doesn’t say anything, but her emotions churn, her fingers tighten on his hand.
“Show me?” He tries to make his voice as soft as possible, the lightest suggestion. He’s not sure he succeeds.
Her head shifts on his shoulder, and her free hand lifts tiredly, weaving images in the air – miniature illusions, figures he recognises.
Carita de Santis. One of the trio of human sisters that Murasaki had been friends with, who had been out of touch for so long, she didn’t know where they were.
Varshur. A rather nice ranger, who had an excellent bond with his pets. Aeris vaguely recalls that Murasaki used to fancy him. He wonders where the man is, now.
Ayla Leothyra. He remembers her. A chronomancer like Murasaki, light on her feet and wove the sturdiest portals that he had ever known.
The last face, he knows by heart. All sylvari do.
Trahearne, firstborn of the Firstborns, the Pale Tree’s favourite son. Unlike the other figures who stand stoically, Trahearne stands with one hand reached out, a kind smile on his face.
Aeris bends to peek at his sister’s face. Her expression is the slightest bit downturned, and her eyes are fixed on Trahearne.
“Mura?”
She doesn’t look at him as she begins speaking. “I love them all. Loved. I don’t know.”
Murasaki takes a long breath, and Aeris can feel the shudders that goes through her. “Trahearne is the only one who loved me back. And he’s dead. I haven’t heard from Carita or her sisters, but I hope they’re okay. Varshur and Dartea have been gone for so long as well. Ayla…” She trails off. “She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever known, but she’ll never love me. No one does. No one will.”
Aeris squeezes her hand. “You’re being hard on yourself. I love you.”
“But I killed you too.” Murasaki’s voice catches. She looks at him in the eye, her mouth wobbling. “I’ve lost you once. It’s not fair of me to keep you around, since not one part of you remembers me from before.”
“I chose to stay,” Aeris says. “I don’t remember, but this is me choosing to stay.”
“I can’t lose you again!” She turns to grab his lapels and shake him, her fingers like ice, even through the material. Her face is contorted, twisted; she looks terrible when she cries. Her agony tears through him, rending his heart as well. “I’ve lost you twice: once to chaos magic, once when you walked away. That’s not counting every little time you’ve come back and left, not counting each and every time I feel Star's heart break when he’s thinking of you.”
Murasaki's fingers loosen, her expression clearing for a second, though her emotions plummet. Her eyes squeeze shut as her head bows, a single tiny splotch appearing on her skirt. “Oh, Mother forgive me, I killed Star too.”
“He’s not dead. And I left him in the Mists, so the blame's on me for that one,” Aeris points out, trying to ignore the echo of heartache. For the lover he barely remembers. For his pod twin, who does love him, in spite of all he’s done.
“But if I had never listened to you? If I had never introduced you two?” Murasaki dries her eyes with the back of her hands, wiping them on her skirt. “No one would be where they are, in the terrible positions they are in, if I had never interfered. I wish I hadn’t been born. You should’ve absorbed me in the pod.”
“Oi,” he protests. “Don’t talk like that–”
“And hide the truth?” Her emotions are a vacuum – hollow, empty and unending. “No. I’m tired, Aeris. So tired. I should’ve stayed in the Domain of the Lost when Balthazar fried me. I should’ve been impaled when Kralkatorik shot at me. I should’ve died a thousand times over. I should have been there to take the place of every fallen soldier, or at least put a clone in their place. I should have done so much more – I could have done so much more. I’m weak. I'm so weak. And I’m tired.”
Murasaki has been curling further into herself with this speech, pulling away from him. Aeris reaches out for her shoulders, pulling her in and wrapping his arms around her.
She is limp in his arms, even when he rests his cheek on her head. Even when he pulls her all the way into his lap, rubbing some warmth into her shoulders, because blast it, she’s insanely cold.
He doesn’t quite know what to say to her, because in a way, she’s right. But he has to say something, so he settles for, “You can’t save everyone.”
Aeris hears a small sob, feels her emotions crack; he pulls back a little, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “Shh. Stop crying. Those soldiers knew what they were getting into. This is a war. They knew they might die. They accepted the consequences.”
“I still should have died.”
“And let this coalition crumble around you? I don’t think you could do that.”
Murasaki’s emotions plunge, and he can almost feel her heart break. Again.
Aeris sighs. Her emotions are confusing his own, and he feels the guilt and shame of Midori's words hanging over him again. “I’m not trying to be mean, okay? You just care too much. You don’t want anyone to die, because you’re too self-sacrificing. But you need to see that the Pact will literally crumble without you. Logan’s good, Aoi and Midori are good, but people will follow you. You die, and Tyria will go to mulch.”
“I still want to die,” Murasaki whispers. “For real, this time. I’m so tired of all of it.”
“Dying is the coward's way out,” Aeris says, resisting the urge to wipe her tears away. “Or so a cub once told me. What good is dying? You’re conceding defeat. You’re admitting that you’re not good enough to win. And with old Kralky eating the Mists – I don’t think you really want to die.”
Murasaki sniffs, amusement colouring the emotionless void. “You have a terrible way of comforting people.”
“Blame the charr.”
“You just suck.”
“But you feel better now.”
“No, I don’t.” Her arms wiggle free and wrap loosely around his torso. Aeris can feel the shuddering breaths that she takes, the sobs that she hides in the folds of his shirt. The gulps of air and loud sniffling, and the wetness seeping through his shirt where her tears stain. He rubs her back and rests his cheek on her head, letting the tears run their course, feeling her emotions crest and fall. Mother knows how long she’d been supressing them.
But the tears do come to an end, as does the tsunami of emotion. A listless tiredness rests in its place, and he turns to kiss the top of her head. “Better?”
A slight shifting on his chest is all the response he gets – a nod, and fingers uncurling from his shirt. Aeris bends forward, wrapping his arms more securely around Murasaki as he lifts her, staggering to his feet. He shifts his grip, but Murasaki pokes him weakly. “I’ll walk.”
“Are you certain?”
“It’ll do me good.” She wriggles until he sets her on the ground, sweeping the remaining gravel from her skirts. Then she wraps an arm around his, interlacing their fingers and leaning against him for support. “Walk with me?”
He squeezes her fingers in answer, and they move slowly towards the cave entrance.
Aeris can still feel Murasaki’s emotions in flux, but they are calmer. Duller. He feels like he should say something.
“You know I love you, right?”
He feels the tiny shift in her emotions. The lift; a small, cresting wave. “I love you too.”
Aeris squeezes her fingers. “You love too much, and too hard.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Their footsteps echo off the walls of the tunnel – little clicks that scatter, returning to them like the pattering sounds of devourers' feet. Murasaki turns a little, glances up at him. “There’s so much to love. People. The weather. The lay of the land, the architecture of races long gone. The beauty of relationships, and the comfort we find in them. Isn’t it worth loving?”
Aeris doesn’t know. He’s not much of a ‘feelings' person. “You tell me. You've always had more emotion towards things.”
He stumbles; Murasaki bumped him with her hip. He turns to glare at her, but the crease between his brows fades when he sees her faint smile.
“You’re an emotions person, too, Aeris.” She squeezes his fingers lightly and keeps walking. “We just have to find it again. Chaos corruption can’t keep it away forever.”
Aeris doubts that, but Murasaki's no longer crying, and he’d prefer to keep it that way for a bit longer. “Mm-hmm.”
She hip-checks him again, laughing as he stumbles. “You doubt me. I'll show you.”
Murasaki sniffs suddenly, her emotions plummeting as she clears her throat and wipes her eyes. “I’ll show you. I’ll prove it to you.”
“Mura…?”
“I never got to tell Aurene how much I love her.” Murasaki’s voice is thick. Choked. “My daughter.”
They’re still walking, Murasaki pulling them along. Her grip is crushing, her footsteps like thunder in the tunnel, her breaths ragged and deep as she tries to force more tears back. “I– I’ll prove it to you, okay? We’ve spent this long together. Even if you can’t remember, I’ll show you, somehow. That you can still be an emotional person.”
Aeris lets her hand go, wrapping an arm around her shoulders instead. Her arm snakes around his waist, her sniffles muffled in his shirt. “Let’s bring flowers to Aurene?”
“What flowers?” Her voice is despairing. “Do you see flowers in this frozen wasteland?”
“What about illusions? I can’t shape snow into flowers very well.”
“We could carve crystals.” He can hear the lift in her tone, her attempt at humour.
“That too.”
They banter softly, all the way back to the main hall, past small groups of soldiers who stop and stare, who look baffled and confused. Murasaki notices them, and waves a little at each group. Her hand is now tucked into the crook of Aeris' elbow, rather than around his waist. It makes it easier to walk. It makes their relationship seem a little more acceptable, especially in the humans' eyes. Mother knows why they’re so particular about the proper sort of relationship siblings should have.
They make it back to the Commander’s office, and Aeris really doesn’t feel like facing Midori. She’s the most straightforward of the trio, and right now, that might be good or bad.
He unhooks Murasaki’s fingers from his elbow, whispering when her expression falls, “I don’t want to see Dori yet. I’ll get some crystals while you talk?”
Murasaki’s eyes crinkle. “Come back, okay?”
“I will,” he promises.
She lifts his hand to her lips, kissing the back of it. Her lips are cracked and rough; she needs to take better care of herself. “Thank you.”
He kisses the top of her head in return. “Be safe, until I get back.”
“Is that a threat?”
Aeris shrugs. Releases her fingers and walks away.
He can feel Murasaki’s amusement from behind him, fading away as the distance between them increases.
No, he may not remember much, and he may have messed things up spectacularly, but somehow, he is still loved and accepted.
Aeris doesn’t understand how, but love is a strange, fickle thing.
If only he could remember what it feels like himself. The real thing.
Something that doesn’t feel like an illusion about to shatter in the wind.
Based on another silly conversation me and @fellis-world had.
Please check out the comic that she drew!
A little flame danced above their heads, twisting into different shapes. A translucent mirage appeared next to it, dancing with it, darting in and out of the flames. A laugh bubbled out of her companion and he flicked his fingers, expanding the fire.
Now it was her turn to shriek, and her illusion did the same, darting away and sticking its tongue out. The flames gave chase, and soon they were both in hysterics, pulling their respective magics close to and away from each other, pulling ridiculous faces all the while.
“Stay still, Murasaki,” Eos said, while expanding the flame. “It won’t hurt.”
“Nope.” Murasaki pulled her illusion away, watching it taunt the pillar of flame. “Just because it can’t hurt doesn’t mean I will let my poor illusion be burnt!”
“Aw, you’re no fun.” He made a face at her, then pulled a strand of water to join the flames.
“No,” she muttered, pouting at him. “Now you’ll burn him with steam!”
“Oh, good idea! I didn’t think of that!” He shot her a cheeky grin and went after the illusion again. The mirage threw its hands up and ran, leaving a trail of butterflies behind it.
The twin flames and water finally caught up and crashed down on the illusion, shattering it into a cloud of butterflies. Murasaki’s pout grew deeper. “Eos, you killed him. My poor illusion. What did he ever do to you?”
“I am sorry,” he said, but a smile still curved his lips upwards. “I’ll let you win next time?”
“You’d better.” She knocked his shoulder with her own, grinning.
A cat leapt up to them, pouncing on Murasaki’s skirts. She smiled and reached for it while Eos looked over her shoulder and cooed at it.
The cat rubbed its face on her hand, its copper eyes meeting hers. It let out an insistent meow and shattered, the resulting butterflies swirling up her arm before dissipating into nothing.
Eos gasped behind her, but Murasaki smiled in exasperation. She turned back to her friend, but before she could say anything, he burst out, “The cat! It– It–”
“It was just an illusion,” she reassured. “The other cats are real and around here somewhere. My brother’s come to visit, and that’s his way of letting us know he’s here. He’s downstairs. Do you want to come say hi?”
Eos wrung his hands, still distraught over the illusionary cat. “Yes? I guess? Your brother is also a mesmer?”
“He is,” Murasaki confirmed, standing and offering a hand to Eos. “We’re pod twins, and I thought it’d be funny for us to learn mesmer magic so we could trick others into thinking we looked exactly the same.”
“You don’t look completely the same?”
Murasaki poked him, smiling. “He’s male, I’m female. We look a bit different.”
Eos’ glow flared bright with sheepishness as Murasaki continued. “But you’ll see. We look a bit different in another way.”
“Hmm.”
They made their way down from the balcony, turning down the spiral slope to see a sylvari sitting at the table. He had the same light blue bark as Murasaki, though his hair was a brighter lilac, and his glow was a deeper pink than hers. He looked up at their footsteps, expression hardening as he spotted Eos. “Mura, who’s this?”
Murasaki sighed. “Aeris, be nice. This is Eos. He’s a friend.”
“A friend of what variety?”
“The friend variety. Can you stop being so suspicious of everyone?”
“No.”
“Burn you, Aeris.” Murasaki scolded. “Be nice!”
Eos gaped at him, eep-ing and hiding behind Murasaki when Aeris stood up and strode over to them. He was tall, towering over them by one and a half heads, and it made him heaps scarier.
“My Aeris isn’t this scary,” Eos whispered, clutching Murasaki’s sleeves and shrinking behind her. “Why is your Aeris so scary?”
“Your what?” Murasaki whispered back. Eos didn’t get a chance to reply, because Aeris was towering over them, and it was all he could do to hide.
Murasaki put her hands on her hips, glaring up at her brother. “Aeris. Eos is a friend. We both served under Trahearne. Back off.”
Aeris’ expression softened at that. “Ah. That’s okay, then.”
Murasaki huffed. “It shouldn’t matter how I met him. There is nothing of that sort between us, and even if so, it’s none of your business.”
“Your well-being is my business.”
“I am perfectly grown! I can handle myself!”
Aeris’ nose wrinkled. “Yes, but still–”
“Still nothing. Do you actually want me to burn you? Eos is an elementalist, and he handles fire as well as Aron does.”
“Don’t drag me into this!” Eos whispered frantically, but Murasaki didn’t turn to look at him.
Aeris did. His eyes were fierce, and it felt like he was trying to set Eos on fire with how hard he was staring. It didn’t help that his glow was such a deep pink that it bordered on red, making him look more intense.
“Aeris,” Murasaki hissed, bringing his attention back to her. “We can have a perfectly civil conversation, or I will send you back to the warband in pieces. Rune taught me a few things about hot pokers and heated metal.”
Aeris immediately looked hurt. “Sister, really, I’m just trying to look out for you.”
“And I’m telling you that I can take care of myself.” Murasaki sighed, equal parts exasperation and annoyance. “Shut up and sit down, okay? I’ll be right back.”
She pushed her brother away, edging around him. It gave Eos the opportunity to keep using her as a shield, and he was grateful when they reached the doorway of her bower.
“Your Aeris is scary!” He burst out. “And how is he so tall?!”
Murasaki shook her head, a tired laugh slipping out. “That’s why we needed magic to seem more alike. He’s so much taller than me.”
“Too tall,” Eos agreed. “Very scary.”
“You’ve lost all your words,” she teased. “He’s not that scary.”
“He looked like he was trying to burn me! And I can’t burn!”
Murasaki giggled. “Just smack him with some static next time. It makes his leaves stand on end.”
“Does it?” Eos looked thoughtful. “I have to try it.”
“Yes,” Murasaki agreed. “But first… You said 'your Aeris' isn’t so scary. Who’s your Aeris?”
Eos brightened, laughing aloud. “My brother! His name is also Aeris!”
“Yeah?” Murasaki giggled. “What a coincidence!”
“Yes, it’s very funny.” Eos smiled. “I’ll let you meet my brother someday too! Since I’ve already met yours…”
He made a face, and Murasaki laughed. “I hope your Aeris is nicer than mine. Mine is only scary to others, he’s nice to me.”
“He seems overprotective,” Eos pointed out. “And jealous.”
“I know,” Murasaki said, folding her arms angrily and glaring at the room behind them. “What an annoying brother.”
Eos nodded. “My brother is also annoying. He makes me study, and I don’t like studying.”
Murasaki laughed. “Oh, Eos, don’t say that to me. I love studying. I’ll side with your brother on this one.”
Her friend looked horrified. “No! Don’t betray me like this!”
Murasaki edged closer, raising her hands like claws. “Better run, or we’ll catch you and make you read all the books~”
“No! Nononono,” Eos shrieked, dashing out of reach. “Bye Murasaki! See you around, without books!”
Murasaki dropped her hands and laughed gaily, waving at the fleeing Eos.
He didn’t like studying? Oh, he was in for a horrible treat when she met his brother.
-----
Eos waved his brother along, urging him to hurry up. “Come on! My friend’s waiting!”
Aeris sighed. “I don’t know why I have to come meet your friends.”
“Just one friend. And her brother! She’s in the Priory too.” Eos made a face at that. “Ew, books.”
Aeris’ expression lifted slightly. “You made a scholar friend? Maybe she can get you to study.”
“No. Nonononono, she won’t, and I told her that she’s not supposed to help you!”
Aeris smiled slyly. “But brother, studying is important for you to master your magic.”
“I still won’t do it.”
“Eos!” They turned to see a short female sylvari waving to them, tugging a tall male along. She looked happy to see them, but her companion did not, lagging even though she was holding his hand.
“There she is!” Eos waved back with both arms before turning to Aeris. “Stay here to greet them, brother? I’ll be right back.”
He ran off before Aeris could say anything. He eyed the approaching duo, leaning against the railing and folding his arms tightly. Why did Eos have to keep leaving him behind with strangers? He knew how much he hated these interactions.
The female smiled again when they reached him, dropping her companion’s hand and giving him a bow. “Hello! Are you Eos’ brother? He’s told me about you.”
Aeris gave her a small nod, grateful that she didn’t try to shake his hand. He glanced around frantically, wishing Eos would hurry up and come back. These people were intimidating – the female with her exuberance, and the male with his height.
The female’s smile softened at his response, and her voice was gentle, her tone more sincere. “I’m Murasaki. It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“Mura,” her companion warned. “You barely know him.”
“It’s called ‘courtesy’,” she hissed, smacking him. “Be polite, brother.”
Aeris was shocked by her abrupt attitude change, but he could understand it. This was her brother. All siblings got annoyed with each other, it seemed. As he was right now – he was annoyed with Eos and where he had disappeared to.
Murasaki’s brother was about to say something when Eos ran up, grinning. “Murasaki! Hello! I’ve gotten us a table over there, shall we go have a drink?”
Aeris didn’t like the mischievous look in his brother’s eye, nor the way Murasaki’s eyes and mouth turned up even more at his suggestions. They were up to something, he was sure of it.
He had no choice but to follow the two chattering sylvari, falling in step next to the intimidating brother. He still hadn’t been introduced to him, and it was a bit rude, even if he didn’t like meeting new people.
They had just turned the corner when he heard a voice call out, “Excuse me, Aeris?”
Aeris turned around, looking for the voice. There was a sylvari he didn’t recognise standing there, but courtesy demanded that he respond.
“Yes?”
Aeris looked up in surprise and found Murasaki’s brother looking back at him. It was he who spoke, responding to that sylvari calling to him. He too, looked surprised.
His confusion was disrupted by the sound of muffled laughter behind them, and he looked back to see Eos and Murasaki covering their mouths, amusement evident on their faces.
Aeris didn’t understand, and glancing back and forth between the sylvari who called him and the equally confused one standing in front of him did not help make it any clearer.
Eos finally spoke up, still shaking with giggles. “Sorry for disrupting your day, citizen! Please don’t mind us.”
The random sylvari looked helplessly at them, then shrugged and walked away. Aeris rounded on Eos, glaring at him. “What did you do?”
“Ooh, he has a nice voice,” he heard Murasaki whisper to Eos, smiling.
“Mura,” her brother cut in, “What is going on?”
“Nothing, Aeris,” she replied brightly, then bit her lip, suppressing more giggles. “Shall we go have a drink, like Eos said?”
Aeris glanced at her brother, understanding slowly dawning upon him. The taller sylvari clearly did not get it, still frowning at his sister. “Mura–”
“Aeris,” Aeris interrupted, cringing internally at how weird it felt to say his own name, “Let it go. Eos likes pranks.”
The other Aeris turned to him, confusion knitting his eyebrows, glancing rapidly between him and his sister.
Murasaki sighed, walking to her brother and taking his arm. “Come on, dumbass. You share the same name, alright? Are you sure Ascalon hasn’t wilted your brain yet?”
Aeris walked after them, falling in step with Eos, who was still giggling. “Eos. Really?”
“You should have seen your faces!” Eos said. “So confused!”
“You are terrible.”
“You’re just no fun.” Eos nudged his elbow. “Let’s have a drink, yes?”
Aeris sighed as he sat down with them. Trust Eos to find a friend who would encourage his pranks.
The other Aeris looked slightly less murderous now, but he still said nothing and simply stared at him and Eos. Murasaki put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands, asking, “So, do you guys have a family name? To call you by, and to make things easier for my brother.”
“It’s not funny, Mura,” her brother said. He sounded aggrieved, and increasingly like a broken record.
“It’s very funny,” Eos replied. “Our family name is Starsong.”
The taller sylvari made an acknowledging sound. “My last name is Blizzardglade.”
“Aeris Blizzardglade? Fancy,” Eos mused.
The other Aeris looked smug. “I’m from the Blizzard warband. And yes, it does sound cool.”
He’s rather arrogant, Aeris Starsong thought. Out loud he said, “Your last name? What’s your sister’s?”
Eos fell silent at that, and Blizzardglade looked away. He looked ashamed all of a sudden, and it made Aeris suspicious. But Murasaki smiled calmly and said, “My last name is Hikyuu. It’s more of a title than a family name. A reminder, of sorts.”
Starsong leaned forward, curious. “Is that Canthan?”
Murasaki brightened immediately, and her brother groaned. “Yes! I thought – well, since my name is Canthan, why not find a Canthan ‘surname’ as well?”
“What does it mean?”
Her smile didn’t waver. “I’ll tell you one day, maybe. Or maybe you can find out for yourself. Names are interesting things, aren’t they?”
“Hmm,” he replied nonchalantly. Internally, he was already itching to return to the Priory archives and find a Canthan dictionary to consult. She’d piqued his interest.
Eos clapped his hands in delight. “You guys get along well! See, brother, you can study with someone else now. Leave me alone.”
“No, you still have to study.”
“No!”
Murasaki giggled at their disagreement, nudging her brother to whisper, “So, what do you think?”
“They seem fine,” he muttered back. “Starsong seems like too much of a scholar to be a threat.”
“For the last time, they’re not threats. Make nice. It’s good to have friends outside the warband.”
“Hmph.”
“Be nice, Aeris. Please.”
“Maybe I’ll try.”
“Thank you. Now have a cookie.”
“You spoil people. This is blackmail.”
“These are cookies,” she huffed. “Just shut up and eat.”
inspired by a conversation I had with @fellis-world, though this doesn’t quite depict how that conversation went...
Murasaki stood in the little garden behind the Firstborn’s statue, gazing up at his visage. The stars were a pretty background for his forward-looking face, the Mother Tree’s leaves dipping in and out of view.
She wrapped her hands around her elbows, fingers pressing into bark. Harder, until her fingers grew sore from the pressure, but not enough. Never enough. It was never enough, for her bark wasn’t hard enough to draw sap, not hard enough for her to injure herself.
It made her a little bit resentful, but also grateful. The Mother knew her tendencies towards self-harm, and though she would never pick up a knife and willingly draw sap, anything else was on the table.
The soft sounds of raking from behind her made a small smile rise to her lips. Mender Earie tended his garden beautifully, and though she had little skill with plants, it was always nice to sit near and listen to him work.
She let her mind wander, and soon noticed voices floating over. Her eyes darted back. A short sylvari with bright green bark spoke to the mender, his posture open and friendly. The leaves on his head were burgundy, his pulsing glow a bright blue. She didn’t think she’d seen him around before.
He looked a little like Caithe, though her mentor would never be that open or friendly. It made her curious, but not curious enough. She didn’t want to be seen, not at the moment.
Mender Earie called to her. “Murasaki. Come, speak to a brother.”
She pretended she couldn’t hear him and walked towards the statue, standing just under it. She really couldn’t bear to speak to anyone, not at the moment.
But footsteps approached anyway, and she felt a presence looming behind her. She didn’t want to look back, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the Firstborn’s feet.
Don’t speak to me. Please.
“I miss him.”
Murasaki glanced at him then, surprise softening her animosity. That was not what she’d expected, but it was not…entirely unwelcome. “You knew Trahearne?”
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. The kind of sadness she knew, shaped by loss. “Who didn’t? He was a kind mentor, a loving man. A great leader.”
“He was, wasn’t he?” Murasaki said softly. She shifted to half-face him, surprised to find that he was nearly as short as she was. Not many sylvari were. “I wish I spent longer with him.”
“As do I.”
“Were you in the Pact?”
“I was.” He shook his head, leaves fluttering into his face. “I left, after the Maguuma campaign. I could not stay to keep it going, when the man who brought it all together was gone.”
“You don’t like Logan?” Murasaki teased.
(She caught herself. It surprised her, for she hated talking about this. It made her heart hurt.)
“Logan Thackeray will never live up to Trahearne.”
Murasaki chuckled. “I would not say that to his face, but you are right.”
The man grinned, offering a small bow. “I’m Eos.”
“Murasaki.” She smiled, not entirely falsely, but not completely truthfully. She glanced up at the statue, then back at Mender Earie, who was not watching them. Maybe it would be alright, to be indulgent for a few minutes. “Would you like to go up there? See the view as he does?”
Eos started, looking at her curiously. “Can we do that?”
“As long as you don’t tell Mender Earie.”
Murasaki winked at him and casually walked away, her hands twisting beneath her sleeves. A last glance at the mender showed him tending his plants, and she spun on her heel, disappearing as she focused on the ground where the statue stood above them.
She blinked at the new view, then spread her hands over the ground, locking her spell in place. A swirling pink portal appeared at her feet, and the moment Eos appeared through it, she let the spell fade, the portal dissipating.
He let out a low sigh as they looked over Caledon Path, at the travellers that came and went, at the Wardens standing sentinel. Then he looked up, at the visage of their beloved Firstborn and the way he extended an arm out to the Grove, resplendent yet reserved.
Eos' face crumpled, and he fell to his knees, sobbing softly. Murasaki slowly lowered herself to the ground near him, but just out of reach. She wondered distantly, what it was like to give in to your emotions, to be allowed such freedom of expression. To cry when you felt sad. To not have to hold it all in.
She tilted her head back, gazing upon Trahearne's smiling face. It made her eyes water, to see him so. To see the eagerness on his face, the life in his expression. The gentleness with which he beheld the world.
She missed that. She missed his surprised laughs and thoughtful guidance, his strategic mind and careful actions.
She missed being inspired by such a great man, and his untimely death had left her with a bigger hole in her heart than she dared to admit.
Murasaki took a slow, deep breath, wishing away the ugly frown that had pulled her lips down. She could not cry. She wouldn’t. Enough tears had been shed–
“Murasaki?” Eos’ voice pulled her gaze back to him. His voice was hoarse, and his face was wet. “Why don’t you cry?”
“I can’t.” Her fingers laced together under her sleeves, crushing each other. “I won’t cry. Trahearne deserves better than my tears. Because I couldn’t save him.”
“None of us could.” The words were a bolt to her heart, hitting harder because she knew they were true. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t cry.”
She shook her head. She barely knew Eos, and she didn’t want to cry in front of him. “Crying is my weakness. I don’t like it.”
“Then I’ll turn away,” he offered. His eyes bore into hers, bright and understanding. “We all deserve to cry.”
She smiled tightly as he did as he said, pondering on his words. She’d love to. But she hated people seeing. She really hated it.
Above her, Trahearne reached out, his smile comforting. Familiar.
Murasaki squeezed her eyes shut; let her smile wobble and her teeth grit together, a few tears leaking out. Her breath hitched and her inhales were shaky, her heart plummeting. Shattering.
I miss you. Trahearne, I miss you.
Her hands clutched at the grass, tearing some loose. She let them bite into her hand for a moment, then released them. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she blotted her eyes on her sleeve, breathing deeply through her mouth. Willing her emotions back under, behind a wall of calm.
“Sister, that’s hardly called crying.”
“You weren’t supposed to be looking.” Murasaki flicked her gaze over to Eos, who leaned against one of the statue's feet. Her heart was still heavy – even though she had only been vulnerable for a few seconds – and she did not have the energy to be angry.
He shrugged and smiled lightly. “I can still hear, even if I don’t look.”
She smiled at that, a small, tired smile. “Yes.”
She was so tired. She didn’t want to move, not when it meant others could come upon her in her distress, and she wouldn’t be able to pull a brave façade for them.
Maybe she could stay. Just for tonight. Just another few hours of vulnerability. What was a few more when one person had already seen her as such?
“Do you want to stay up here, brother? I can create a portal for you to go back if you don’t, but I don’t want to move for the night.”
Eos glanced up at her, his expression shaded with thoughtfulness, with pain. “I think… Perhaps I will stay the night, if you don’t mind sharing this space. I would shelter under Trahearne’s shadow. It feels as if he is still here.”
Murasaki nodded. She thought the same. “In the morning, then. Maybe in the morning, it’ll be better.
I feel like the problem ppl have when constructing redemption arcs is people make ‘the character realizes what they’ve done is wrong’ the end step instead of like…one of the earliest ones. a satisfying redemption arc doesn’t resolve when the character first feels sorry, it resolves when a character has really journeyed towards atonement and made enough change in themselves to achieve some kind of symbolic victory over who they used to be
not sure if anyone’s said this yet, but for my fellow writers out there who want to create stuff like this, OP is right and there are technically 5 steps of change:
1. precontemplation.
the person is still in denial and isn’t even considering changing their behavior yet
2. contemplation.
the person starts to understand why they should maybe change, but they’re still hesitant
3. preparation.
the person has decided to change. they’re making plans to put their goal into action and have possibly made minor changes, but they have not stopped doing the unwanted thing
4. action
the person makes significant steps to change their behavior. they seek help, avoid triggers etc.
5. maintenance.
the person successfully changes their behavior for a period of time, though they mays till face struggles.
Aaaand the floating step which may or may not happen: Relapse
relapse can occur at any point in the process and might happen more than once. or not at all.
This applies to Any type of change! Addiction, diet issues/weight loss, and a variety of bad behavior habits. Of course, as a writer you can start the story at any step or take it as far as you want if step 1 doesn’t happen until after the story begins. People are pointing out that change isn’t linear and that is so true. As someone who’s currently watching a narcissist parent attempt to overcome addiction, I can totally agree. It’s back and forth, sideways, and in circles. Lots of circles ! In the world of fiction there are so many ways to explore any type of change in a character, and I’m always down to talk about it with anyone who wants/ needs to
Yikes @haikyuusetters I was with you until you listed weight loss as a redemption arc. Unlike with addiction, people “relapse” on diets because diets don’t fucking work and are extremely dangerous. Please check out @bigfatscience and @ok2befat for some good info on why that is and don’t say fat people need to be redeemed again. 😬😬😬
hey sorry you read that offensively but i did not at all say that overweight people need to be Redeemed, good heavens. I said the 5 steps of change can simply be applied to any type of change! the original post was about redemption to some degree but i took it as a chance to explain how any kind of change a person chooses to go through has official steps that naturally ensue. i never said people HAVE to lose weight. it’s just a totally different kind of example that actual mental health professionals use to explain this process. people are writing all kinds of stories, not just about evil people being redeemed. that was the point of what i said
Right, this took me a year and a quarter to finally finish editing and get posted, but here it isss :D My sort-of backstory on Aeris and Starmist’s relationship.
This is long af so it’s under a cut.
“Dreams are always dashed. Why do you still bother?”
Oh, shut up.
“Don’t listen to the demon. Follow your heart, little one. Grow stronger, regain your confidence.”
“Aye. You are stronger than you think. You are still growing. Shape your future, lest you be turned to stone.”
Thank you, Glint, King Jalis. But please, leave me to think.
Starmist sighs, looking out over the darkened expanse beyond the boughs of the Tree. His hands are cramping from working for too long, but he doesn’t know what else to do. His heart is too heavy to do much else, and he needs a distraction that will not worsen his injuries.
(Funny, that sylvari can sustain injury and scar tissue like any other race.)
Maybe he should take a walk.
He packs up his materials, storing them carefully in his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. It’s a decent walk to the bower, but he knows he will still be restless after. His mind is spiralling downwards, and his heart sits like a rock in his chest.
“Perhaps today is the day I will consume you, weakling.”
Oh, shut up, Mallyx.
“Leave the sapling be. It is not his fault he keeps hearing us…”
Starmist is grateful for Ventari's interjection, but he can’t find it in himself to reply, to thank him. He hopes the old centaur knows he is grateful.
He pushes aside the leaves covering the entrance of the garden, dropping his satchel just inside it. A cat walks past and stops to sniff it, turning away just as quickly. Starmist feels a hint of a smile tugging on his lips. Aoi's cats are helpful, sometimes.
His feet lead him away, wandering the small city. The Grove isn’t big by any means – it is just a tiny hub nestled between the Mother Tree's roots, the three levels intertwined by gentle slopes. The light shining out of blooming flowers make it warm – complimenting the spots of luminescence that the Tree herself has on the roots that form the slopes. Tiny spots of firefly luminescence are suspended in fine webbing in darker areas, little stars in the dark.
The various forms of lighting are not bright enough to darken the stars and the moon overhead, but are bright enough to light the path, to keep the nightmares at bay. The flowers by the slopes to each level brim with softly glowing nectar, winking gently at him, tempting him with their sweet contents.
He lifts a drop from a petal to taste; he doesn’t feel like running, he doesn’t feel like erasing the weight on him by throwing himself into the exhilaration gifted by the nectar. But he loves the flavour of it; sweet, life-giving, brimming with energy.
It sits on his tongue, light and heady, a burst of flavour to brighten his mood, just a little.
Starmist continues to wander.
His feet lead him; his eyes guide him. Shifting him away from where people congregate, directing him towards quieter areas. Still well lit, but less noise. Less…interference.
It is difficult, to hear and feel others so acutely, after he returned to Tyria from the Mists.
A small room. A little tunnel, leading up, then sloping down. It is lit by the glow at the end of grubs’ tails, the bands and spots on their bodies, and illuminates several other sylvari.
Their thoughts are peaceful, calm. He might stay here a while.
Starmist wanders partway down the tunnel, sitting on a clear patch of ground. A grub crawls up to him, its feelers tickling his cheek. He strokes its face, gently pushes it on its way. Its interest is captured by a nearby leaf, and it wriggles off.
“Starmist? By the Tree, is it really you?”
He turns towards the voice, lips already lifting. This is a good voice to hear. “Sei. It is good to see you.”
“And you, sapling. Come away, don’t sit where the grubs can chew on you. I know a quiet place that is far cleaner.” The shorter sylvari beckons him forward, and Starmist gets to his feet. His quiet time might have been interrupted, but he can think of no better person to have found him.
There is a little room by the grub tunnels, filled with puffy pod-chairs. It is here that Sei seats him, offering a drink as he sinks into the exquisitely soft chair.
The liquid is cool – water sweetened with a dash of nectar. Not much, but it’s all he needs. He has never been one for fancy drinks, especially not after his experiences with Wintersday spirits.
Sei sits beside him, cupping his own drink. Starmist snorts as the mender sinks into the chair, making him shorter than he usually is.
Sei rolls his eyes. “At least you haven’t forgotten how to laugh.”
“I guess not.” Starmist's voice is quiet, a little smile in it. “But–” He mimes how Sei sank into the chair, “–it was funny.”
“If you like insulting my chairs, you are welcome to sit on a regular stool.” Sei sniffs, ignoring the jibe. “These are comfortable.”
“I never implied they weren’t.”
“Good. Laena loves them. Anything she loves is generally a job well done.”
“She’s picky.”
“She has good taste,” Sei corrects. “But enough about her.” He fixes Starmist with his piercing gaze, and he squirms in his seat. “Tell me what bothers you.”
There’s no lying to a mender, especially one as astute as Sei.
Starmist sighs. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to talk about it?”
“I–” Truth be told, he hadn’t thought about it too deeply. But he thinks of his last letter, the one he sent with Sabadi, and he feels like that might be it.
“I…was thinking about Aeris again.”
“Aeris.” Sei sniffs. If he had been a cruder man, he would have spat on the floor. “What a horrible sapling he turned out to be. Charr are terrible influences.”
Starmist stares at the liquid in his cup, no longer thirsty. His throat is too tight. “Yeah. Most of them.”
“Most of them,” Sei agrees. “The ones that don’t conform to their precious Citadel’s orders are a lot more amenable.”
Starmist can’t deny that. He’s met Hyousetsu twice, and for a gladium, she’s surprisingly good-hearted. Gruff, but kind.
“Why were you thinking about him?”
Starmist glances up. Sei is looking at his cup, tracing the rim. He’s not pressing for answers, neither with his gaze nor the tone of his words. But he waits, all the same, for a reply.
Starmist bites his lip, wondering the same.
(Not really, not really. He knows why.)
“I’ve… Been dreaming about him again. So I wondered. What could have happened if I held on. If I pushed a little more, tried a little harder, when I found out he was in Ascalon, when I came back from the Mists.”
“Do you wish it went differently?”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t look up. “I wish he wasn’t so hostile. That he’d give us a chance again.”
“Ascalon changed him, as the Mists changed you. You’re more adaptable now. You could still talk to him.”
“Maybe.” He hesitates. Even thinking about talking to Aeris makes his heart stutter out of beat. With terror. Fear. Pain.
He doesn’t want to be rejected again. Not after their last meeting, when Aeris made clear that he wanted nothing to do with him.
“What about speaking to him with Murasaki as a mediator?”
Starmist’s heart rate spikes. “No. That’s the worst thing I could do.”
“Why?”
It sounds absurd in his head, and even worse aloud. “He thinks I want to be with her.”
Sei snorts, almost spilling his drink. “Is he mad? Those charr really have done something to his brain.”
“I don’t know.” Starmist feels bad even thinking about it. He doesn’t like thinking badly about Aeris, even if those accusations might be true. “He almost killed me the last time we met.”
“Oh, he’s definitely mad. I should send Laena after him, slap some sense into his underwatered brain.”
It hurts to laugh, and the sound that comes out is choked. Trust a mender to think of ‘underwatered’ as an insult. Trust this mender to send a Warden after a ‘rogue’ sapling.
Sei reaches over and pats his hand. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it, Starmist.”
Starmist nods mutely, but he can barely think. He feels like he might cry.
Stop it. You’re not this weak.
“Yes, you are.” Shiro sounds bored. “Just kill the nuisance and be done with it. It worked with Cantha.”
I am not assassinating a man I still love, Shiro.
“I loved the Emperor once. He tried to kill me, so I killed him first.”
“Men are disgusting. I agree with the assassin.”
“Rather ironic, Scorchrazor.”
“The only time I agree with a man is when his opinion is not completely misogynistic.”
Kalla, Glint, please.
“Arguing with the spirits again?”
Starmist looks up, catching Sei’s amused look. He gestures at Starmist’s face. “You always get this look when they start talking to you.”
A tiny smile lifts his lips. It’s mostly exasperation. “Yeah. Some of them say I should kill him first.”
“Violence begets violence,” Sei says. “If you are the bigger man, you wouldn’t do it.”
But am I?
“You are.”
He doubts it.
“You still love him, do you not?”
You know I do.
“What will you do?” It’s Sei speaking, not one of the spirits.
I don’t know.
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “You’re right, the Mists changed me. I’m too scared for confrontation now.”
“You used to confront people too much in the past anyway.” Sei sips his drink, eyes thoughtful. “Funny, how your roles have swapped. Aeris used to be the quiet one.”
Starmist snorts. “Not with me, he wasn’t. He was so cheeky, but also tender, sarcastic, impassive… He was a kaleidoscope, but only behind closed doors. Ascalon seems to have filtered his emotional range, and now he doesn’t care about offending others or being nasty to them.”
“Not to Murasaki, I hope.”
“Even to Murasaki.”
Sei's eyebrows look like they might disappear into his non-existent hairline. “And here I thought he loved her more than anything.”
“That doesn’t stop him from arguing with her.” Starmist chews on the rim of his cup. “I don’t think she minds that much. She’s been referring to him as 'a pain, but my pain'.”
“Always adaptable, that one.” Sei chuckles. “If she’d give up her responsibilities, I could make a mender out of her.”
“She’d never do it. She feels like she has to do it all herself, especially now with Trahearne gone.”
“I know,” the mender sighs. The Firstborn's passing – sacrifice – is still a difficult subject for all sylvari. “It doesn’t stop me from worrying. She’ll get herself really hurt one day, from trying to be everywhere at once.”
Starmist doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tell him that she already died once.
Sei stretches, then leans over to pluck the empty cup from Starmist’s hand. “Well, don’t worry too much. You’ll reconcile with Aeris in due time.”
Starmist tries to smile, but his heart turns in the opposite direction from his lips. “I hope so.”
I really, really hope so.
-----
Aron follows the magenta glow to its source at the top of a small cliff, plopping down beside his friend. He follows his gaze to the small camp where their warband rests, the fire dying down, the last few retreating to their tents.
They’d reach the Citadel soon. A few more days. He can almost see it now: Deliver their reports. Get some approved time off. And after that, a new assignment – hopefully nowhere near Ebonhawke.
He doesn’t have much hope of that. The Iron Legion Imperator likes sending as many troops out there as possible, even though the treaty with the humans is holding strong. The Separatist ranks never seem to thin out, and the Renegades are just as annoying.
But he doubts that is what brought his friend up here.
“What’s burning your leaves?”
Aeris shoots him a sour look. “I’m not that upset.”
Aron snorts. “Sure you aren’t. You’re sulking on a cliff. The higher you go, the more upset you are.”
“I hate that I’m so predictable,” Aeris grumbles. “Fine, yes, I’m upset. What of it?”
“What’s it about? If it causes you to leave even more clones behind in the morning, Legionnaire Blizzardblade won’t be pleased.”
Aeris grumbles more. “Just thinking.”
“Oh no, thinking.”
“Shut your trap, fuzzball.” Aeris shoves him, but there’s little heat behind the action. “I was just thinking about my sister’s friend.”
“The tall thief?”
“No, not that one.”
“The gladium and her ranger?”
“No.”
Aron counts off individuals on his fingers. “The Soundless, the Courtier, the other thief; the human guardian or one of her sisters; the other ranger, the other other guardian and ranger–”
“No to all of those.” Aeris sounds sour. “The revenant.”
Aron’s ears prick up. “Never heard of that one.” To be fair, he reasons to himself, there aren’t many revenants in Tyria. He only knows they exist because the most famous one is charr.
“Because I don’t talk about him.” The sylvari sounds downright grumpy, maybe even bitter. “I don’t like thinking about him.”
“Wow.” Aron is impressed. “What did he do that you hate him so much? And how is he still your sister’s friend?”
Aeris glares. “Are you implying I chase away all of my sister’s friends?”
“You said it, not me.”
Aeris punches his arm. “I do not.”
“Evidently, because this revenant is still your sister’s friend.”
He can almost see the steam pouring from Aeris’s ears. “Okay, I’m not telling you after all. You’re being annoying.”
“Fine, then.” Aron stretches, getting to his feet.
A hand catches the hem of his pants, preventing him from walking away. Aron raises his eyebrows, but the sylvari isn’t looking at him.
He sits down.
It takes four cycles of the sylvari's glow brightening and dimming before he begins to speak. “The revenant's name is Starmist. He used to be my lover.”
Aron can’t help it; he splutters. Not so much because his friend had a male lover but because– “And now you hate him?”
“What made you think that?!”
“Your face and how much you don’t want to talk about him,” Aron points out. “But go on. This is the juiciest thing I’ve ever heard from you.”
“Aron Blizzardclaw, I will put a bullet in your skull–”
“I’ll set you on fire first. Anyway, about your lover.”
“Ex-lover,” Aeris stresses. “We’re not on talking terms anymore.”
“Alright, seriously, what did he do to get your leaves all withered?” Aron is perplexed. “I’ve never seen you this agitated, even when your sister died.”
“She came back.”
“Not the point. You evidently care more about this guy than your sister, and that’s saying something. The whole warband – heck, all of the Citadel, even Tyria – knows you have a sister complex.”
“I– I do not!”
“Yes, you do, you mottled leaf.” Aron cuffs his head. “Who is this man? I must meet him.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, you meddling fluff.” Aeris shoves him. “Starmist can stay far away from you and me, for the rest of my life if necessary–”
There’s something in his voice that gives Aron pause. The forced hardness, the over-the-top aggression.
(The edge of hysteria.)
“You still love him, don’t you?”
Aeris splutters, his glow so intense it’s almost red. “What are you talking about?”
Aron points a claw at his face. “That. And here I thought sylvari couldn’t blush.”
“You’re a pile of dolyak manure.”
“You didn’t deny it,” Aron observes. “What’s so special about this guy?”
Aeris says nothing, his glow slowly dimming as he gnaws on his lip. Aron waits.
“He’s my everything.”
(Soft, so soft. He’s heard Ash Legion walk more loudly than this.)
(Thank the Eternal Flame he has four ears.)
Aron blinks as the words register. Stares at his friend. Clears his throat. “Come again?”
“I’m not repeating that.” The blush is back in full force, and the charr has to hold back a laugh. “I know you heard me.”
“Well, yes, but– Man, that was disgustingly sweet.”
“I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Aron groans. “How does the Commander live with you?”
“She was born with me.”
“No technicalities.”
Aeris snorts. They are silent for a while.
“So. This guy a sylvari?”
“Yes.” Aeris sounds like he’s sulking again. Aron rolls his eyes.
“And you’re not talking to him anymore, why?”
“He pisses me off.”
“Now you’re contradicting yourself,” Aron growls. “You love him, but he annoys you. Sort yourself out!”
Aeris mumbles something incoherent. Or maybe it’s so jumbled up that none of Aron’s four ears can pick it up. “What?”
“I made a bit of a mistake.”
“Boy, am I surprised.”
“Shut it.” There’s no heat behind the words. “It was a misunderstanding, okay?”
“You don’t want to apologise.” Aron infers.
“…something like that.”
“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”
“I may have accused him of sleeping with my sister.”
Aron groans. “That is the least sylvari-like thing ever. Even I know sex is a secondary thing to you guys.”
“Shut up, I know.” Aeris sounds aggrieved. “And there was another thing, but I’m not telling you that.”
“What, too personal? And here I thought this was personal.”
“Even more personal, yes.” Aeris doesn’t even try to deny it, and Aron’s eyebrows raise to join his hairline.
“Well. Who knew?”
“Go away.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Are we going back to camp or what?”
The sylvari is quiet for a moment, then silently gets to his feet and takes the path down. Aron follows him, shooting quizzical looks at his friend’s back.
How odd. Maybe a ghost is possessing his friend. There’s no way he just said all of that of his own accord.
-----
A cold night, a frosty cave, the chill of the wind seeping into bones.
They’re almost there, almost at the end. The dark room is coming to a close.
Above their heads, the spirit of the pirate captain laughs.
They ignore him.
“Come on. One more platform.”
Hands grip each other tightly, before letting go. The pirate spirit lights the room again.
One second, a running jump, rolling and coming to a stop.
The light cuts as he rises to his feet. Breathless, a laugh bubbling out.
A panicked voice comes from behind him. “Starmist? Where are you?”
His heart sinks, his laughter dies. “Up here.”
“I can’t see you, where have you gone?”
He leans over the edge, gripping the stone carefully, just as the light blinks into existence.
And snuffs out.
But the image is still imprinted on his mind: an outstretched hand, a face filled with panic, a desperate reach for something that is unattainable.
“I’ll wait for you. You remember the path out, right?”
A shaky breath. “Yeah.”
“You can do this. I’ll stay here.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I’ll be the marker so you know where to go.”
“Okay.”
The scene changes.
Angry yelling, voices echoing back at them, ten times magnified.
“You jumped without me!”
“It was an accident, I slipped!”
“Fine, but you didn’t wait!”
“It was cold and there might have been a shark in the water! I waited outside!”
“Excuses.”
“Get a grip, you found me in the end. It’s not that bad!”
“I thought you were dead!”
“Well, I’m not.” His voice sounds so cold. “Worry about yourself.”
A pause, an almost stunned silence. “Are you implying that I’m more likely to die?”
“If you don’t stop clinging to me, yes! I can’t be there all the time, Aeris.”
“Do you want to leave?”
The heavily implied, but unsaid 'me' at the end of his sentence hangs in the air. The pirate captain cackles behind them, ghostly echoes filling the cavern.
Starmist holds his gaze but says nothing. Indignation courses through him. He will not say something he regrets, and he will not add fuel to the fire.
He turns towards the exit and storms out of the cave.
The colours shift, the lighting increases.
A rough shove sends him backwards, stumbling too close to the humming asura gate. He looks up, glares at his partner. “Stop.”
“You want me to be more assertive, don’t you? So, watch me.”
Another shove, but this time Starmist is ready. He catches Aeris’s hands, pushing him back. He may be shorter, but Aeris is unused to combat and brute force. He can win this.
The surge of strength takes him by surprise, and they fall. The screams of the asura gate assistant is all he hears before his head compresses and his vision goes black.
He hits the floor, the breath knocked from his lungs, his head cracking against the ground.
Beside him, Aeris struggles to push himself up. Starmist thinks he might have the same headache he does.
Serves him right.
Something catches his eye – the odd surroundings, the metal of an airship, the strangely foggy air around them. The silence, the unnatural stillness.
He blanches.
We’re in the Mists. We have to get out.
The asura gate hums beside them. He's sure it will take them back to Lion's Arch, but they have to move. Fast.
“We need to go–”
“We should settle this here and now.” Aeris staggers to his feet, grabbing Starmist by the arm. The shorter sylvari yanks it away, glaring.
“We need to get back to Tyria, now.”
“Why not finish this here? No one is watching.” The taller folds his arms, and Starmist feels his anger returning.
“You have terrible priorities.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“I’m trying to keep us alive!”
“Really? Or just yourself?”
Starmist growls. “We’re in the Mists. There’s all sorts of things in here that could kill us!”
“If we’re in here, we’re dead anyway.”
“Not true. Some people have returned from the Mist War.”
“And even more haven’t. I can’t feel the Pale Mother here. Can you?”
He can’t. “Argue later, leave now.”
“You sound like an ettin,” Aeris sneers. “So simple-minded.”
“I dare you to say that again.” He steps forward, but Aeris holds his ground, chin held high.
“I said–”
Starmist shoves him, catching him off guard. Aeris stumbles and trips and falls backwards – eyes wide, body passing through the shimmering haze of the asura gate.
Starmist sighs in relief. Steps forward to follow.
Something grabs him, yanks him back. Hooks the back of his shirt, drags him away from the gate. He chokes; fumbles at his sides for his weapons, but comes up empty.
I left them in my backpack.
The backpack that is still sitting in Lion's Arch, where he had set it down before their fight.
The thing holding on to him screams. Ear-piercing, head-splitting. He claps his hands over his ears, but he can hear them ringing, can feel his body curling up from the shock.
He blacks out.
-----
A hand is shaking him awake, turning to gentle shoves. A voice calls his name; lightly exasperated, a sighing cadence.
“Starmiiiiist. Get up, c'mon.”
He opens one eye, the last tendrils of the dream fading; he makes out a light pink glow. He sighs through his nose. “Lemme sleep, Mura.”
“No. I just returned, I want my bed back.”
“We can share.” He shifts onto his side, the hammock tilting. A moment later, he feels the dip of the material in the other direction as she climbs in beside him.
Starmist feels her lay her head against his chest, an arm and a leg wrapping around his body as if he is a large pillow. He feels her satisfied grumble, the tiny sigh that gets lost in his shirt.
“Goodnight.”
“’night.”
They sleep on.
-----
They’re lagging behind the warband, Aron carrying the still-sleeping sylvari on his back. He’s pretty sure this is the real one, because the clones don’t talk in their sleep.
Aeris mumbles something, then inhales sharply. Aron ignores him and the tightening of limbs around his neck. It’s not a sign he’s awake. It could be another nightmare.
He wonders what his friend is dreaming about, but he thinks he might know.
I'm going to ask the legionnaire for a week off, then take this plant back to the Grove and leave him there.
Stupid stick needs to sort out his problems.
Aron wonders if the Commander is back from her latest trip yet, if she’ll be home.
He supposes he’ll find out soon.
-----
He wakes slowly, wondering what the warmth next to him is, wondering why it is so small. He can hear soft exhales, the weight of a head on his chest, but it’s not quite right. It’s too light.
He blinks too many times and squints at the person beside him.
Oh. Just Murasaki.
He hates admitting to himself that he still feels disappointed, after all this time.
He’s not coming back, stop doing this.
“Emotions make you weak.”
He can’t really disagree with the assassin.
Starmist gets up slowly, pulling away and out of the hammock. Murasaki shifts in her sleep but does not rouse; he gently lays her head back down, watching her breathing return to normal.
He exhales lightly and turns away, picking up and sliding his weapons into place. He glances at the armour set in the corner but decides to leave it be. No point in putting them on when he’s not leaving yet.
“What is the point of putting on only half of one’s clothes? Do it properly.”
Shut up, Shiro. At least I took my weapons.
“One day you’ll return to the Mists because of your sheer stupidity and carelessness, and I will remind you what it means to allow your foolhardy consciousness to 'relax'.”
“It’s his house. Why must he carry weapons at all?”
Starmist can foresee the assassin's reply.
“You strike in the home, where the enemy is undressed and thinks himself safe. Never let your guard down.”
Ventari sighs.
A rustle at the door catches his attention, and he hears hissing as the cats flee.
Starmist makes his way there, mildly curious, but he isn’t too worried. Despite Shiro’s misgivings, the Wardens wouldn’t let anyone suspicious into the Grove – the cats just don’t like strangers.
He pulls the curtain-door aside to greet the person.
His heart stops; his breath catches in his chest.
The large charr raises an eyebrow at him and coughs lightly, catching his attention, shattering his frozen state. “Can I, uh, deposit my friend?”
“What did you do to him?” Starmist doesn’t move, but he’s already drawing on the nearest spirit's power. Demonic energy fills him, the tendrils ready for him to take hold of if something goes wrong.
(He tells himself he doesn’t care that his voice broke, there at the end.)
The charr doesn’t seem to notice, his tone nonchalant as he answers. “Oh, he’s just sleeping. I think this is the real one, because he’s been–”
“–talking in his sleep,” Starmist finishes, eyes fixed on Aeris’s face, on his moving lips.
“…yeah.” The charr looks at him curiously. “You know him?”
“Knew. Once.” It’s not untrue. Starmist steps aside, releasing the energy now that he knows nothing is wrong. Mallyx growls at him, but he ignores the demon. “Come in, you can put him down and I’ll get you a drink. It can’t have been easy to carry him all this way.” Why is he being so hospitable?
“Thanks. Much appreciated.” The charr follows him, footsteps light.
Starmist hears a sharp intake of breath as they walk into the sleeping area, and glances over his shoulder. The charr is staring, and he follows his gaze to the hammock and its occupant.
Play it cool.
“Bring him over, I’ll just shift Murasaki.”
The footsteps follow after a beat of hesitation. Starmist ducks around the hammock, gently sliding his arms under and lifting his sleeping friend.
Murasaki doesn’t stir. Her entire body is limp, and Starmist struggles to hold her up. She’s heavier than she looks.
“Put him down.” He tries to keep his voice level, but he’s not sure if the charr can pick up the strain in it. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.
The charr pulls Aeris off his back, lowering and tucking all his limbs into the hammock before stepping backwards. Starmist takes his turn and drapes Murasaki on top of him, trying to arrange her comfortably without touching her brother. He pretends not to hear the charr’s snort, the feeling of surprise emanating from him.
He needn’t have worried. The twins shift themselves to fit each other – Aeris’s arms pulling Murasaki close, her hands fisting in his shirt. They curl into each other, their breathing stuttering before synchronising, until the only way to tell them apart is the colour of their clothing.
Starmist smiles lightly, sadly. He steps around the hammock, lightly touching the stunned charr's elbow and gesturing with a tilt of his head. The charr follows.
The small kitchen is next to the sleeping area, but Starmist pours them drinks and leads the way up to the higher levels, overlooking parts of the Grove. The charr looks hesitant at first, but gingerly sits beside him on the ground, paws carefully cradling the cup. They sit in silence for a long moment, neither taking the first step to speak.
“Are… Are they always like that?”
Starmist glances up, but the charr isn’t looking at him. He nods. “Some sort of twin thing, I think. They always know when the other is near. But they’ll still scream when they wake up.”
“What?”
“Their bodies know but their minds don’t.” Starmist tells him. “It’s hilarious. You have to stay until they wake.”
The charr looks uncertain but agrees before changing the subject. “You seem to know them well.”
“Murasaki’s my best friend,” Starmist shrugs. “You can’t know her for long without knowing her brother.”
A loud guffaw surprises him, the charr smacking his knee with mirth. “I knew it. All of Tyria knows he has a sister complex. The famed Commander has a clingy brother! What a joke.” He keeps laughing, and it sounds genuine.
It’s not how Starmist would phrase it, but he can’t disagree. He has to admit that the charr is humorous, if a bit crude. “They are absurdly close.”
“Sure they are. I bet there’s something funny going on there.”
Starmist nearly spits out his drink. “…I'm not going into details, but you’re not wrong.”
The charr whips around to stare at him; all laughter gone, jaw hanging. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I didn’t specify anything.”
The charr groans. “I’m never talking to a sylvari about this again. I don’t want to know.”
Starmist grins. He can sense his embarrassment, tinged with how disturbed he is. “I shall not divulge anything else then.”
“Very much appreciated.” The charr changes tracks. “What about your name? That’s a safe topic, isn’t it?”
He blinks. “I'm Starmist.”
He doesn’t expect the charr to choke and reaches over, patting his back in concern. “You okay?”
The charr looks at him with streaming eyes and points a claw at him. “You’re Aeris's ex-lover.”
His blood goes cold. “Who are you?”
Why do you know this?
“Aron Blizzardclaw, Blizzard warband, Iron Legion.”
Aeris’s warbandmate.
Starmist tries to keep calm. “And now we know who the other is.”
“Indeed.” Aron is still staring at him, the occasional hiccup making its way out. “You don’t look like much.”
“No, I guess not.” It’s not the first time someone’s said that to him. Staying incognito has always been part of Starmist’s nature. “You look like a big charr.”
“Biggest in my farahr,” Aron brags. “But enough about me. I got some questions for you.”
“I still don’t understand who you are or why you know these things.”
His head is light with encroaching panic, and he struggles to keep his thoughts straight.
Stall for time, stall for time.
“I’m Aeris’s friend.” Aron shrugs. “Found him sulking a couple days ago and he told me some things about you. I’m tired of his angst, so I dragged him here.”
Starmist can’t hold his gaze. “What did he say?”
“Besides how he still loves you and that he’s annoyed with you? Not much.” Aron grouses, taking a large sip.
Starmist can’t breathe.
“He didn’t…actually say that, did he?”
(He knows Aeris. How he is now. He wouldn’t have said that–)
“Not about loving you, no. Guessed that one myself. His glow turned just about red when I said it.” Aron snorts at the memory. “He did say you’re annoying, though.”
Starmist smiles lightly, though it hurts. “Of course he did.”
Aron stares at him, putting his chin on a fist. “You’re a revenant?”
Starmist cocks his head at the change in topic. “Yes?”
“How’d you become one?”
“Fell into the Mists, learnt to hit harder and draw on the only resources I had. I didn’t have any weapons on me at the time, and couldn’t find any until a lot later.” He shrugs. “I think I still have some of my old skills, but I’m too used to this, now. The spirits won’t leave my head, so I can’t focus even if I did try to go back to how I used to fight. I can’t fight very well without my blindfold anyway.”
“Old skills?” Aron sounds intrigued. “How'd you fight before?”
“Just–” Starmist gets to his feet, walking casually to the edge of the mushroom and looking over. He hears Aron scramble to join him, and turns to face him, dropping his cup–
And shadowsteps close, his sword drawn and up against his neck. “–like that.”
Aron rears back, palming his daggers, but Starmist has already shadowstepped back to his original spot, raising his shield. The cone of fire bends around his body and the energy shield, none of the flames touching him.
He looks over the shield when the fire stops, quickly putting away his weapons. “Sorry about that.”
Aron looks stricken, sheathing his daggers with a bit more force than necessary. “I– Flame and soot, I’m sorry, too. That hasn’t happened in a while.”
This piques Starmist's interest. “Done what? The fire? Isn’t it normal for an elementalist?”
“Burn me, no– I mean, yes, but– No!”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Starmist tells him. “It’s just magic.”
“It’s never 'just magic' with charr,” Aron mutters. “Don’t repeat that to any other charr, you hear? My legionnaire is always looking for a reason to toss me out.”
Starmist nods, miming zipping his lips. “I’d forgotten your people dislike magic.”
“Yeah, well,” Aron flops down. “Not hard to forget if you hardly spend time with us.”
“I’ve met a gladium or two.” Starmist picks up his empty cup, setting it by his side as he re-joins Aron. “They were all right.”
“No charr is really 'all right' without a warband. It’s like being dehorned, declawed, defanged.
“Speaking of weapons,” Aron gestures at Starmist’s weapons. “I wondered why you didn’t take those off in your own home. Geez!” He glares at them, grumbling. “I can’t believe it. You were trained as a thief. A highly wary one, at that. Damn, that’s a huge change in style.”
Starmist traces the rim of his empty cup, hiding a smile at Aron’s perceptiveness. “Yeah. That’s the main reason why I took so long to find a way back to Tyria. I wasn’t able to find a way out when I couldn’t hit harder than they hit me.”
“Who is 'they'?” Aron sounds genuinely curious, but Starmist shudders.
“The Mists are full of things. Worse monsters than you can find on Tyria, and spectres that haunt you. Every bad thing that you can imagine and worse is in there. I don’t want to go into detail.”
Aron nods. “I can respect that.”
“Thanks.”
A beat of silence, and the questions return. “What weapons did you use as a thief?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Aron shrugs. “’m curious. There’s also a theory I want to confirm.”
Starmist peers at him, curious. “Double pistols, sword and dagger sometimes.”
The charr taps his chin with a claw. “Hmm. Maybe only half the theory works.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Aeris’s weapon choice. He used to use double swords. Or that’s the weapons he preferred when we found him. He swapped to the pistol and the axe when he followed the Commander to the desert.” Aron glances at Starmist. “Maybe he picked up the pistol because it reminded him of you.”
Starmist can’t help it – his heart flutters. “A romantic notion.”
“Isn’t it? So juicy.” Aron rubs his paws together, grinning. “That damn plant never tells me anything good, I gotta weed it out of him.” Aron raises an eyebrow as Starmist makes a face. “What?”
“Bad pun.”
“Pun? Oh–” Aron groans. “Didn’t mean it. It slipped out.”
“I’m kidding, it was pretty good.”
“Thanks. Oh, hey, I just thought of another thing.”
“What?”
“You know how mirages can do the shadowstep thing too?” Aron smiles slyly. “Maybe–”
Starmist smiles. “You’re reading too much into it. Mirage magic has thief elements in it, that’s all.”
The charr shrugs, completely unaffected. “Maybe, but it’s good fun.”
“Mm.”
“How’d you meet the Commander?”
“Do you ever stop asking questions?”
Aron grins. “Not if I can help it. I’m Iron Legion by training. It means you keep asking questions and innovating.”
“Fair enough.” Starmist is beginning to like this charr. “I actually met Murasaki because she was trying to set me up with her brother.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.” Starmist laughs. It feels good to laugh. “She was so blunt about it. 'Hi, my brother is too shy to talk to you, so I’m his mouthpiece. Please come talk to him so he’ll stop whining?'” He mimics Murasaki’s wide eyes and innocent tone, and Aron bursts into laughter.
“The Commander is savage.”
“You don’t get that far in life without being that harshly honest,” the sylvari agrees. “She’s always been brave like that.”
“Gee, I need to spend more time with her. I know her a little, but she sounds like the exact opposite of her annoying brother.”
Starmist thinks about it. “They are kind of different. But similar in many ways.”
“As long as she’s not sulky like he is,” Aron grouses. “What a complete annoyance he is. Can’t even get him to tell me straight why he’s upset.”
Starmist shakes his head. “Some people never change.”
“What was he like? Back then.”
“Back then?”
“Yeah.” Aron seems unfazed by his weak attempt at deflection. “You said the Commander came to ask you to talk to him, right? Did you?”
“Are you asking me to tell you the entire story of how we met?”
(Starmist isn’t going to admit he’s slightly amused – and shocked – but he is amused.)
“Yeah, pretty much. You said I have to stay and watch them wake up.” He jerks a thumb in the direction of the sleeping twins. “Might as well have a story to pass the time.”
Starmist takes a deep breath. He’s never had to tell anyone, before.
(Everyone else knows or respects his space enough not to ask.)
“If you want to listen, I guess I could tell you. But how about I get some more drinks and some snacks first?”
He’s stalling, but Aron doesn’t seem to notice or mind.
“Ooh, snacks. Yes, please.”
-----
He’s testing a blade on a piece of wood when a small female sylvari skips up to him. Her eyes are wide and innocent, and her pink glow contrasts nicely with her blue skin.
“Hi. I’m Murasaki. My twin is hiding somewhere behind that pillar, and he really wants to talk to you but is too much of a coward to, so I came instead. Could you do me a favour and talk to him, please? I’m tired of his whining.”
He can’t help his lips twitching into a smile. “I like your honesty.”
She shrugs. “He’s getting on my nerves. So, please?”
He doesn’t see why not. It could be interesting. “Sure. Lead on.”
She skips ahead, twisting back a little to grin at him. “What’s your name?”
“Starmist.”
“Nice name. Mother picked well.”
“She did.” He falls in step beside her. “What's your brother’s name?”
“He can introduce himself.” They stop just before a bend, Murasaki staring at a wall. She sighs and puts a hand on it, running her palm over its surface as she continues forward. “Sorry, I’m not very good at magic yet. My brother does stealth spells better than I do, and I have to find him the regular way.”
Starmist is intrigued. “I know a bit of magic. I can try to help you find him.”
“Thanks. If I can’t find him this way, that would help a lot. What type of magic are you learning?”
“Oh, bits and pieces. Mostly stealth and cloaking. A bit like Firstborn Caithe.”
Murasaki turns to grin at him. “Thief magic, that’s cool. My brother and I are learning mesmer magic. There’s a bit of stealth in that, but it’s mostly illusions.”
“Curious. Why that?”
Murasaki lifts and drops a shoulder. “To confuse people. You’ll understand when we find my brother.”
They round the bend, Murasaki’s hand catching on something. She fumbles, scrabbling a little before she grabs a hold of it with a triumphant “Gotcha!” The inconspicuous image of the wall shimmers and dissipates.
A tall male with the same skin colour as Murasaki grimaces as he reappears. His glow flares a deeper pink than hers as he tries to break free of her grip. “Mura!”
“You're being stubborn. Introduce yourself, c'mon.”
The male glances at him and looks away immediately, biting on his lip. His whisper is low and urgent. “Mura, please.”
“No. The least you could do is be polite and introduce yourself. I did it, it’s not hard.”
“It is for me!”
“Shut your trap and introduce yourself, brother dear.”
Starmist decides to put the poor guy out of his misery. Murasaki is evidently someone that you do not mess with. “Hi, I’m Starmist.”
A pause, and then–
“Even his name is beautiful,” he hears the other mutter. The compliment brings a smile to his face, warming him to the stranger.
The male finally makes eye contact, his smile so shy it looks painful. “Hi. I’m Aeris.”
“You’ve got a pretty name too,” Starmist offers, laughing when Aeris’s eyes widen.
“You heard that?”
“Only a deaf person couldn’t have heard you,” Murasaki comments drily, her hand still wrapped around his arm. “My job here is done.”
She releases her brother, smiling brightly at Starmist. “It was good to meet you. I’ll see you later, there’s somewhere I have to be.”
She grabs the front of her brother’s shirt and yanks him down to her – Starmist hadn’t noticed before, but Aeris is a whole head and a half taller – pecking him on the cheek and skipping away.
Aeris straightens slowly, rubbing his cheek. He’s not looking at Starmist again. “Sorry about her.”
“Don’t be. She is her own person.” He looks up at Aeris – funny, how someone so tall could be so maladroit – and asks, “She said you’re siblings?”
Aeris nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Pod twins. All sylvari are technically siblings, aren’t we?”
Starmist chuckles. “That’s right.” He sweeps an arm out over the expanse of the Grove. “Would you like to walk with me?”
Aeris doesn’t hesitate, despite how uncomfortable he seems. He nods shyly, falling into step beside Starmist.
“Murasaki said you’re learning mesmer magic?”
(Starmist hasn’t really had conversations with others before. He’s not sure what to talk about, or how to lead one.)
Aeris nods. “Mura thought it’d be fun to confuse people. We look pretty similar, other than the height and gender.”
Starmist takes another look at Aeris. He can sort of see what he means. Added to how mesmer magic works, it wouldn’t take too much finesse to create an illusion just slightly different to themselves to match their sibling.
He then thinks about his vague memories, things he saw in the Dream. Weren’t males usually the ones who led, and females followed? Or was that just for humans? “But what do you want to do? Surely there’s something you’re interested in.”
Aeris shakes his head. “I haven’t found anything I like yet. I'm somewhat decent with mesmer magic, so I’ll stick with it.” He pauses for a second, his voice a little softer as he asks, “What about you? What do you do?”
It’s a very broad question, but Starmist figures he’ll be straightforward. “I’m learning thief magic. But I prefer crafting.”
“Crafting?” Aeris’s eyes go wide. “What type?”
Starmist shrugs. “For now, artificing. Want to watch me work?”
“Yes, if you don’t mind me watching…?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.” Starmist smiles and leads them back towards the crafting sector. “I don’t really know what I’m doing yet, but you can watch if you’re sure you won’t be bored.”
“Oh, I won’t.” Aeris looks around at all the different crafting stations, slack-jawed. “There’s so much to do here.”
“And this is just the Grove. Imagine what’s out there, in the rest of Tyria.”
Aeris’s attention snaps back to him. “So much. I remember just a little from the Dream, but the world is just…huge.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Starmist pulls out his tools again, chipping at the wood he was working on before. “It’d be interesting to go out there, don’t you think?”
“If you had someone to go with, sure. It must be lonely to go by yourself.”
Starmist looks at him, hands stilling. Aeris is examining one of the tools, eyes occasionally flicking to him, still chewing on his lip. He looks nervous, but strangely adorable.
He might try to be this guy’s friend after all. It might be nice, to have a friend.
“We could go together, if you’d like.”
The other's eyes snap to meet his, brimming with disbelief. Starmist shrugs. “Unless you’d prefer to go with your sister.”
“No! No, that’s okay.” Aeris takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Mura likes exploring on her own. I don’t want to bog her down. She knows I’m not a fan of figuring it out on my own like she is. I’d like to go with you.”
Starmist grins, his woodwork forgotten. “Then adventuring we shall go.”
-----
Aron drums his claws on the table. “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”
Their cups are half-empty, though they have been refilled twice. The pile of cookies has been completely demolished, and their weapons (alongside Aron's armour) sit against the wall.
“You wanted to hear me tell the story,” Starmist reminds. “I didn’t say it’d be exciting.”
“Ugh, fine. That sounds so unlike Aeris though. Him, shy? An awkward mess?” The charr snorts. “What a joke.”
“That’s what he was like.” Starmist smiles, eyes drifting as he loses himself in another memory. “Ungainly, but so careful with others, always waiting for someone else to lead him. He’s just a big puppy. That’s why Mura used to boss him around so much.”
“Is she the older twin?”
Starmist shakes his head. “I don’t know. You know about sylvari Wyld Hunts?”
“No.”
“They’re a sort of…mandate? Mission? From the Dream. It could be to protect the people, it could be to cleanse Orr. It’s like a compulsion – you can’t get rid of it until it’s completed.
“Murasaki woke with a Wyld Hunt. She was supposed to slay Zhaitan, which as you know, led to her becoming the Pact Commander. Aeris didn’t. Just before they woke, Murasaki was calling out because she was dreaming of her Hunt, and Aeris was holding on to her tightly. No one knows which one of them fell out of the pod first, since they kind of fell together.”
“Huh. Okay.” Aron taps his chin. “So Aeris just woke up with a sister complex, huh?”
Starmist snorts. “Oh, I don’t know. Murasaki loves him a lot too, so it’s not that weird.”
“Siblings with that much care and affection for each other are weird.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“No, I guess not.” Aron tilts his head and considers him. “I’ll have to take you to the farahr sometime, to see what sibling rivalry and stuff actually looks like. Then you’ll see what I mean.”
“Sure.” Starmist is intrigued. “That sounds interesting.”
Aron nods to himself, as if checking off a mental list. “Okay, so tell me more.”
Starmist sighs with a touch of fondness.
This charr – and his curiosity – is definitely growing on him.
-----
Starmist vaguely remembers what love should feel like. It’s one of the strongest emotions, so it definitely fed back into the Dream as an experience for all forming sylvari. But to feel the visages of it himself – it is intriguing but terrifying.
Perhaps he should talk to Murasaki.
He slips away from the crafting station, heading for her small garden. She used to share a communal one with many other sylvari, but her experiences in Tyria have made her flighty, nervous. She said she had nightmares, and she’d rather not burden others around her with it. It was her pain and duty to bear.
The menders respected that. He remembers a small mender by the name of Sei helping to shape her garden and bower.
He always thought Sei a little odd in appearance. He looked so tough, hardened by the world, but he had the sweetest, wisest soul of any sylvari he had ever met. It was even more odd because his dearheart Laena was a Warden. She was the fierce one. Gentle in appearance, slim and seemingly fragile, but she could launch several Nightmare hounds by herself, and wasn’t afraid of using her weapons to 'talk'.
Starmist reaches the bower, picking up and ringing a small bell by the entrance. He still remembers what happened the first time he entered without doing that. He’s not keen on being attacked by several clones again.
“Come in!”
He pushes leaves aside and steps in, seeking the source of the voice. He finds her lounging in a hammock, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out. Murasaki turns to face him as he approaches, and her face lights up. “Starmist! Good to see you.”
“And you. Resting?”
“As much as I can rest while lying here.” She sighs, waving him to a patch of soft grass before returning to staring at the ceiling. “Sleeping gets boring after a while. I want to explore. But it’s so hard to go anywhere without random things attacking me, and that’s the part I’m tired of.”
“If you took some company along, they could take care of the fighting for you.”
“Mercenaries?” She asks, mouth quirking at the corner. “I’m not paying good silver for that. I can take care of myself. I just want the world to leave me alone for a bit, you know?”
He thinks about it. “I think I do.”
“Mm. But you came here to ask something, right? What is it?”
Starmist smiles sheepishly. “What gave it away?”
Murasaki’s head lolls to the side and she grins at him. “You’re usually too glued to your work to do anything else.”
He shrugs. “You’ve got me. I did want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Have you ever felt like you were in love?” He questions. “I know we’ve all felt remnants of it in the Dream, but it’s different, here in the world.”
Murasaki’s fingers drum on her thigh. “I know what affection feels like. Love, not so much. I wouldn’t define it as that.”
“Alright then, affection. What’s that like?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been feeling, and we compare?” She smiles slyly.
Starmist rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “It’s like a great fondness for the other person. Being happy when they’re happy, amused by their antics, finding the ridiculous things they do silly, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Their pain is your pain, and you want to hold them tight and wish away their tears or the burden on them. You want to do everything with them, because they make even the most mundane things fun.”
Murasaki smirks at him. “Do you want to hold them tight and kiss them?”
“Sometimes,” he admits.
“Sounds like my definition of affection, but a little more intense. Oh, I forgot to ask, where would you like to kiss them?”
“Their mouth, maybe?” Starmist stares, bewildered. “Isn’t that what we hear people do?”
“Yeah, and if you stand and stare long enough, you’d see them do it too,” she says drily. “Yup, your sort of affection sounds a lot stronger than mine. Let’s term your feelings ‘love’, shall we?”
Starmist laughs at the abrupt change of direction the conversation takes. “You are utterly ridiculous.”
“And mine is called ‘affection’,” she continues, though her smile gives her away. “Alright, now tell me who it is you think you might be in love with.”
“You’ve been looking forward to asking that question.”
“Indeed I have.” Murasaki’s smile doesn’t fade. “C’mon, tell me.”
Starmist rolls his eyes, and his glow flares a shade darker than it usually is. “I might love Aeris.”
He is taken aback when Murasaki claps her hands together, giggling madly. The hammock sways with her movement. “Oh, Mother forgive me, I’ve waited too long for this day.”
“You what?”
“Remember that day I made you come talk to Aeris?” She’s still grinning, now twisted completely on her side to face him. “I hoped that you might love him as he has loved you, since, well, the first time he saw you.”
“He what?” Starmist is flabbergasted. “I always suspected he had a crush on me, but ‘love’ is pushing it a little, isn’t it?”
“Oh no,” she sing-songs. “He’s been smitten for ages. Though I admit, he has better patience than me. It only took him the better half of a year to win you over.”
Starmist starts laughing; the situation is too ridiculous. “You are an awful friend and a worse sister.”
“I have to find my entertainment somewhere, you know.” Murasaki is beaming; she looks a lot more relaxed than when he first stepped in. “Luckily, I am related to pretty good drama. This might even be as good as the dramatics of the humans!”
“You insult us.” He puts a hand over his heart. “Us? Almost as good as humans?”
“Hmm, no, you’re right. I’m out of the loop.” She winks. “I’ll have to go to Divinity’s Reach soon and ask around for the latest gossip.”
“Utterly despicable behaviour.”
“All in good fun, my friend. Oh, I hear someone coming. Wonder who that could be?” Her tone is teasing, but Starmist’s smile freezes on his face.
Murasaki notices right away, her expression softening. “I’m kidding. There’s no one there.”
“I’m glad I’ve been degraded to ‘no-one’ in your eyes, sister.” Aeris steps in, rolling his eyes. “That makes it easier for me to come and go.”
“Nonsense, I’m the one who has to disappear so often.” She sighs sadly, her demeanour drooping. “Speaking of which, I need to go to that new stronghold that Trahearne mentioned. It’s almost ready.”
“We could accompany you part of the way there. Take the scenic route, explore a little.” Starmist glances at Aeris for the first time since he entered the room. He looks away quickly when he realises the other is looking at him.
Murasaki’s face lights up. “Would you really?”
“What happened to asking me first?” Aeris sidles over to nudge Starmist’s arm, voice light. “'We' could accompany Mura? Really?”
“I thought you might like to come,” Starmist says. “But you have a point. Would you like to accompany me as I accompany your sister to this new stronghold of the Pact?”
“Yes, I would. Thank you for asking.”
Murasaki sighs loudly. “Are you two over this 'being polite' business yet? If we’re going to go, I want to go as soon as possible.”
“You should be resting.”
“I’m bored of resting, Aeris.” Murasaki pouts at him. “There’s nothing to do in here.”
“Well… If you put it that way…”
The insinuation is loud and clear, even to Starmist.
(He knows the twins have a more… Physical side to their relationship with each other, but they’ve never been this blatant about it.)
Murasaki rolls her eyes. “No, I’m not that bored. We’ll leave tomorrow, how about that? That gives me time to talk to Mother before we leave.”
“Fine by me.” Starmist speaks first, to dispel the awkward atmosphere. Or maybe he’s the only one that feels it.
(He’s becoming too sensitive to this topic. Only humans and their scandals worry this much about sex.)
“And by me. I’ll go pack a few things.”
“Splendid.” Murasaki clambers out of the hammock. “I’ll go talk to Mother, you two be good.”
Starmist frowns at her as she leaves, but she just winks and waves gaily.
“What’s she talking about? We’re always good.” Aeris grumbles as he walks deeper into the small garden.
“Who knows.” Starmist stands and follows him. He allows himself one nervous squeeze of his hands before he drops them to his sides. “What do you think we’ll need?”
“Some food, at the very least.”
Starmist rolls his eyes, a smile lifting his lips. “Anything else?”
“A change of clothes, in case. Water skins, snacks…”
“Very practical of you.”
“Mura’s rubbing off on me.” Aeris picks out some items from the food basket, handing them to Starmist to place on the table. They move to the sleeping area and get their individual bags, packing what they need. They work in silence, the air filled with the sounds of their work. It doesn’t take long for them to finish.
“Got your armour?”
“Yeah. Weapons?”
“Yep, and an extra set.”
They set their bags by the door, ready for the morning. Their heads nearly collide as they straighten, and Starmist laughs nervously.
Aeris glances at him, a wry smile on his lips. “What’s on your mind?”
The shorter sighs, nervousness doubling. “Why are you and your sister both so astute?”
“We’re mesmers. We know minds.”
“I always forget that.” He shakes his head. “Take a walk with me?”
“Of course.”
They step out of the bower, following the path through the Grove. It’s day, but the flowers still shine brightly, for not much light reaches the deepest level of their city.
Starmist’s eyes wander, taking in their city, occasionally drifting to the tall male walking beside him. He seems relaxed, but his eyes are darting all over the place, betraying his compounding nervousness.
(That makes two of them.)
Their eyes meet, and Aeris turns away before Starmist can. It’s so like him that Starmist can’t help but smile.
“Aeris?”
“Yes?”
They’ve stopped now, in the shadow of one of the gardens. Aeris isn’t looking at him, so Starmist places a hand on his elbow, turning him until they’re face to face.
“Look at me, hey. I’m not that awful to look at, am I?”
“Of course not.” Aeris’s eyes snap to his, shocked. “You have to know that you’re amazingly good-looking.” He snaps his mouth shut after the words are out, eyes dropping, his glow flaring with embarrassment.
“That’s not what I said, but thank you.” Starmist smiles, his heart rate speeding up a little. “You wanted to know what was on my mind, right?”
Aeris flounders, a complete reversal of his earlier confidence. “If you don’t want to share, that’s okay! Forget about it! I don’t want to pressure you or anything–”
Starmist squeezes his arm, cutting him off. He takes a deep breath. “If you want an honest answer, I was thinking about you.”
Aeris splutters, flaring bright pink.
Starmist barrels on. “I was just saying to your sister that I think I might love you. 'Might' because I don’t know what love feels like, so this is all pretty new to me.”
Aeris is chewing on his lip.
Starmist takes this as a good sign, throwing caution to the wind.
“And I was going to ask if you would let me love you. Treat you as a lover would, and not just a friend.”
The silence stretches between them, thin and fragile. He’s forgotten how to speak; his throat is so dry.
“Do you mean it?” Aeris sounds hesitant, halting. He looks so nervous, and his question is loaded with uncertainty.
“Of course.” A horrifying thought occurs to him, despite what Murasaki said before. “Unless you don’t feel the same way. In which case I beg you to forget this conversation–”
A pair of hands grip his shoulders firmly, cutting him off. Bright nickel eyes focus on his own, the intensity in them quieting Starmist, even as his anxiety spikes.
“Of course I feel the same way.” Aeris only hesitates a second before continuing. “I’ve only loved you since forever, but I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same as I did.”
Starmist can feel the sincerity in his words, and they make his heart skip, a wide smile splitting his face. He reaches up slowly, hands framing Aeris's face, pulling him down and setting their foreheads together.
This close, he can hear the shallowness of his breath, the too-fast inhales. Their eyes lock, and he can’t help but marvel at the depth of colour in his eyes. Deep gold shot through with silver, the two melding together and sprinkled with copper flecks. Aeris is beautiful, and it’s taken Starmist too long to notice it.
Come on, ask him.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please.” It’s a whisper.
Starmist closes his eyes and brings their lips together.
It’s soft, warm, pliant. The plush feeling of flesh against his own is foreign but not unpleasant. It’s a curious feeling to have those lips move against his own, pressing gently, testing the waters. Pressing a little harder, more insistently.
It’s a bit of a shock when he feels his lower lip taken between the other's teeth – what else could that sharpness be? – but Aeris is gentle. A light touch, the testing of the give of flesh, a ticklish swipe across it, which could only be his tongue.
Retreat, then the pressing of lips together again. Just flesh on flesh, slowly, gently. Pressing hard then lightly, pulling away.
Starmist opens his eyes, breathless.
Aeris isn’t looking at him, but his glow is still bright. “I’m– Sorry, I’ve daydreamed of doing that for the longest time.”
Starmist shakes his head, shifting his hands so one cups the back of Aeris’s neck and one threads through his hair. Holding him close, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “Don’t be. It was new to me, but still good.”
Aeris glances at him, smiling shyly. “Want to 'practice' again?”
Starmist laughs, leaning in for a quick peck, relishing the thrill that goes through him. He reaches for Aeris’s hand, lacing their fingers and tugging him along, shooting him a smirk over his shoulder.
“Yes. But maybe somewhere where others can’t stare.”
-----
Aron grins stupidly, little rumbles coming from his chest. “Now that is a juicy story. So cute.”
Starmist rolls his eyes, but there’s a tiny smile on his face. It’s a good memory for him. “I suppose so.”
“You suppose?” Aron snorts. “That was more romantic – and cheesy – than anything I would get in the warband or the legions. I need to spend more time in the Grove, rather than Divinity’s Reach!”
“You’re fond of gossip.” Starmist states, side-eyeing him, the corner of his mouth twitching up. It’s a hilarious thought.
“If you’ve been raised on war, romances like this are a welcome respite.” Aron shrugs. “Don’t tell my legionnaire, she thinks I’m too soft as it is.”
“I won’t.”
A sharp shriek from the next room cuts their conversation short. Starmist is out of his seat immediately, even before he hears the thump.
He can feel Aron's bulk coming up behind him, but doesn’t stop, even when he slips and crashes into the doorframe. The pain is insignificant, compared to the terror he felt in that cry.
He doesn’t know what his eyes register first – Murasaki on the floor, scooting away with one hand covering her mouth; or Aeris, half-awake, risen half-out of the hammock, an arm stretching out towards his sister.
Even half-asleep he looks perfect.
Starmist runs to Murasaki to check if she’s hurt, shocked to see the tears on her face. He’s never seen – or felt – her this pained. “Mura…?”
It’s like she can’t hear him, her eyes still fixed on some faraway place. Little sobs escape her and the arm by her side is rigid; her fingers clench and relax in quick succession.
He kneels beside her, gently pressing his palms to her face to alert her before drawing her close. She buries her face in his shirt, one hand clenched in the material, one digging into his shoulder. He whispers reassuringly to her, one hand on the small of her back, the fingers of the other laced through her hair. Cradled this close, her sobs are audible, but he doesn’t understand them.
“Aeris… No, please… Please… No, no, no, come back…!”
Starmist glances up in confusion. Aron is distracting Aeris, talking softly to him. The sylvari's gesturing indicates his befuddlement as well.
Starmist strokes Murasaki’s hair, continuing to whisper soft reassurances to her. But her shaking only gets worse, her words a jumbled mess, alternating between don’t leave me and Aeris, no.
He doesn’t understand.
A nightmare?
It has to be, Aeris is right here.
A tentative hand on his shoulder makes him look up; he almost cracks his head on the wall as he jerks away. Aeris barely glances at him despite his violent reaction. “May I?”
Starmist slowly releases her, gently prying her fingers off him. He may not understand why Murasaki is so distressed despite her brother being right beside her, but they’ve always been good together. For each other.
He can trust in this.
Aeris doesn’t move away for privacy. He pulls Murasaki into his lap, brushing the tears from under her eyes, whispering urgently. It’s loud enough that Starmist can still hear him, and it only confuses him further.
“Shh. Shh. It’s alright, I’m here.”
“No, no, no. Don’t leave me, don’t abandon me.”
“I’m here. I’m here.”
“No. No. You’re not. My Aeris is gone…”
Does he imagine it, or does a pained expression cross Aeris’s face?
“Murasaki, please.”
Starmist is confounded. Aeris never calls her by her full name. What's going on?
“Mura. Mura. I'm here. I’m here.”
“You’re gone, you’re gone… You left me, you wouldn’t have me…”
“Shh. Shh. I’m here. I won’t leave you again.”
But her sobbing continues, and Starmist can’t stand it. He crawls over and places a hand on Aeris’s shoulder, murmuring to him as he glances over. “Press your forehead to hers.”
Aeris does so, still whispering to her, but it’s evident that she calms down almost immediately from the physical contact – her breathing stuttering but slowing, her eyes squeezed less tightly shut.
It gets stranger as Starmist watches – it’s all backward, what he’s witnessing now, as compared to what he saw years ago.
Murasaki turning her face up, eyes opening to look at her brother, but instead of leaning in, she inhales sharply, bites her lip and turns the other way. Her chest is heaving, breathing forced, heavy. Aeris doesn’t stop her or turn her head back, only pulling her in to rest against his chest, resting his chin atop her head. His hands sit awkwardly on her back, as if he doesn’t know how to hold her – but that’s not right, because he’s always known. He’s always known.
Hasn’t he?
Murasaki is quieter now, so Starmist scoots away, standing and walking around them. Neither twin looks up as he leaves and pulls a shocked Aron after him, taking them back to the kitchen.
Aron gestures wordlessly behind them, words failing him. His brows are knitted together. “That’s not the screaming you meant, is it?
Starmist shakes his head. “No. It used to be more surprised, and then there’d be a lot of laughing and shoving and cursing.”
“What’s that all about, then?”
Starmist looks back towards the other room, towards the friends he cannot see. “This once, I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
Aron’s ears twitch, picking up in something in his tone. “Explain.”
“Aeris should know how to comfort her.” Saying his name is painful, but even more painful is admitting to himself that something is very wrong. “The way he holds her, the way he tries to console her… That’s not right. That’s not how he used to do it.”
“I knew it,” Aron mutters. “I knew a ghost was possessing him.”
It’s such a ridiculous notion that Starmist barks out a laugh. “Maybe, but… It’s like he’s forgotten how to do it. How’s that possible? They’ve been together forever.”
Aron glances at him. “This is gonna sound weird coming from me, but… I've only known him a few years, and he’s always like this around her.”
“What?” Starmist is taken aback.
“Yeah. The Commander’s only stayed with us a few times, but every time we’ll hear her screaming in the middle of the night and it always takes ages for her to calm down, whether Aeris is there or not. We always thought it was the PTSD – y'know, what with her being the Commander and all.”
Starmist knows what PTSD is and understands what Aron is trying to say. All the wars she’s fought, all the people she’s lost and the sacrifices she’s had to make. All the soldiers she’s sent to their deaths.
Yet what he heard Murasaki saying doesn’t add up to that.
He mutters, half to himself, “She’s always calmed down when he’s there. At least, she did, but that was years ago. I haven’t seen them together in a long time…”
Another thought occurs to him, and Starmist’s eyes flick up to Aron's. “Hey, Mura was saying something about Aeris abandoning her. Know anything about that?”
“What?” Aron looks startled. “He’s always clinging to her, ever since he found her again. Why would he abandon her?”
“Found her again?”
Again?
“Yeah, me and him went to see Tribune Brimstone when he got summoned back to the Citadel. The tribune mistook him for the Commander, who was still in the Heart of Maguuma at the time. I suppose they were reunited after that – the tribune kicked me out of the room at that point, and then I didn’t see either of them for weeks. My guess is the tribune took him to her.” Aron shoots him a concerned look. “You didn’t know about that?”
Starmist can’t answer, but he supposes the look on his face says enough.
“Why would he abandon her?”
Aron’s mutter is soft, more contemplative than a real question, but Starmist still finds himself answering.
(He tries to pretend that his voice isn’t as broken as he feels inside.)
“I don’t know.”
I don’t know.
But the Grove is quiet again, and neither of them really dare to check on the twins.
This, in a nutshell, is what I did to get a book with my name on it.
NOTE: This is just my personal way of making the words go. Other people have different ways to make their words go. In the world of words, there are no right answers. There’s just lots and lots of tea/coffee/tear stains.
1). The Idea
When I get an idea for a story, I open up a document, label it “Brainstorming,” and start making a bullet list of events that consist of the plot.
It has to be an idea with tangible weight. A stray bit of dialogue or something vague like Halloween, that doesn’t give me much to work off of. Halloween creatures living on the same street where it’s Autumn every day- now that’s something I can build from.
What kinds of creatures are they? What do they do? What do their houses look like? The best ideas are the ones that spark more.
2). First Draft
This is the easy part- and the most challenging. Easy, because there’s literally no bar. I just sat there and typed. But it’s a huge mental challenge.
When I was in first draft mode, I wanted that story out. I thought that by making it such a rough, far-away version from the concept in my head, I was only delaying the day where I’d hold it in my hands. Turns out, that’s what got it to take on physical form in the first place. So I quieted down, grabbed my laptop and some hot tea, and typed.
3). Dissecting the First Draft
After I finished draft one, I printed it all off and highlighted the scant amounts that were passable for the next phase. Dialogue, descriptions, setting- anything that didn’t look like it was up to par was scratched out and omitted.
I call the above pictures A Slow Descent Into Madness.
4). The Second Draft
On a fresh document, I rewrote the story altogether- and it make a difference. I was coming up with things I hadn’t even thought of previously. And it was surprising how much better the plot was than the first time around. But it was still rough.
5). Draft Three
My method was to start with the bigger, more obvious issues and work my way down. Any plot holes I found were noted, and my outline was constantly under revision. I cut out entire scenes and made mental notes on ways they could be fixed/replaced.
This is where I started cutting chapters in half to make the story flow better- but I didn’t bother writing in usable chapter titles. Instead, I improvised:
6). Drafts Four and Five
These were dedicated to correcting the smaller, less obvious plot holes. This was the point where the story finally started to look close to what would become the final version.
7). Drafts Seven Onward
With the story line looking how I wanted, I then moved on to sentence structure. That one song that looked terrible? Rewritten. Over-the-top descriptions and excessive prose? Gone.
8). Editing and Proofing
This is where I had outside help. Besides this useful tool, I had two people check for spelling issues and the overall story. Once it was in decent shape to be made public, I asked for some additional help.
9). Betas
My betas were in the age range that my novel was geared toward, along with a couple of teachers and parents (as it was middle grade). I gave them the full manuscript, along with seven basic questions like “Which characters were your favorite/least favorite and why?” and “Was there a part of the story that didn’t make sense?”
I gave my betas three months to read a 42,590 word story, and by the end they gave me back the review sheets.
10). Final Adjustments
After I read over the reviews, I let the comments sit for three days so that I could proceed with a clear head. I smoothed out any flaws, scanned over the MS twice to make sure everything was right, and that is how I got to the end of writing my first novel.
Next comes publishing- which is a different beast entirely.
Fanfiction as a collective exists as a combination of the ideal state and all the broken pieces that are left behind. Fanfiction shows us all the things that should have happened, if the world was a little bit kinder: someone adopts Harry Potter, the Avengers live domestically together, people fall in love and admit it. Fanfiction says, things are awful but we’re kind anyway, because we can be, because kindness costs little and gives much. It is democracy at its best, a collection of people solving problems together, solving plotholes and heartbreaks and deaths, a conversation of solution responding to solution because the whole of fandom is, itself, its own canon.
But at the same time, fanfiction is about all of those holes and jagged edges and wounds left unhealed, about what happens when the war is over and everyone who’s left needs to go back home. It’s about the fact that surviving is usually the hardest part, and we rarely get to choose what’s done to us but we do get to choose how we survive afterwards. It’s about the child soldiers who no longer have a war, and about the trauma of getting past the trauma you’ve survived. It’s about injury and depression and PTSD. It’s about recovery, yes, but also about those things that do not recover, those things that will never recover. It is a reminder that we live in a world where many people don’t get white picket fences and 2.5 kids and a happily ever after, but also a reminder that there is life beyond that, survival, yes, but also life. It is a reminder that characters’ lives don’t end with the last page and nor too do people’s lives end with their trauma, but that after that hurt comes comfort and healing and putting one foot in front of another because the best way to get through hell is to keep going.
Warning that this is like 10.5k words, so it’s definitely under a read more.
If you prefer to read it on AO3, here’s the link.
i. Before Frank
It was harder to do it in Ormond, to live by the government’s new stupid rule of one hundred and sixty-seven words per day. Harder, because everyone knew each other, or thought they did. And with less expressed words, you couldn’t quite bring your feelings across as easily, couldn’t quite explain things as well with pen and paper.
It made for a living nightmare, but also a walking dream. Keeping your mouth shut, only nodding and saying things if you absolutely had to. Learning sign language for the times you didn’t want to write, or didn’t have writing implements on you.
It was Susie’s hell.
Nevermind that hell was supposed to be a burning fire pit; hell was the frozen wasteland of Ormond, never quite there, never quite enough.
Every day that she stayed, looking into the silent faces of her parents over dinner, the clinking of cutlery against plates drove her a little closer to the edge. A little closer to understanding why Julie wanted out.
“But where would you go? Surely the rest of the world is silent too.”
Julie took the pencil from her, scrawling a reply on her book.
“Does it matter? Anywhere. Far away from Ormond is all I want. It’s too small, and the quiet gets to you.”
Susie felt like she understood that.
Julie tapped the pencil against her chin. Added a few words below her last sentence.
“It’s like it’s creeping in on you, you know?”
She did. Susie really did.
ii. Frank
She heard it first in murmurs, which was shocking in itself. No one wasted words on murmurs, anymore.
But she also saw their hands, and in the flashes that she could catch, she worked out enough to pique her curiosity.
Julie would want to know.
-----
Julie already knew.
She had a whole paragraph written out by the time Susie found her, and it took a while to read.
“Mr Andrews got a foster son! Imagine that! Didn’t take him to be the fatherly sort. You think he’s in it just for the money?
“Do you think the boy’s our age? Maybe he’ll come to our school too! It’s boring as hell, hopefully some new blood will spice things up around here.
“Should we go to the office and find out? Sneak over to his place after school?”
Her hand was pushed off the page, and Julie wrote something else down.
“Let’s skip out and go look for him.”
The horror of being caught made Susie's breath catch, and it came out in an equally horrified, “Jules!”
Julie’s head shot up. Everyone else snapped around to look at them.
Susie’s face burned, and she pulled the neckline of her hoodie up, over her nose and mouth. She couldn’t look at any of them. She wanted to disappear.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Julie lean back in her seat, casually resting her arm on the back of her chair. Saw her tip her chin upwards. Susie knew the look everyone else was now receiving; a cold, hard glare, one that dared them to keep looking, to keep staring.
Heads slowly swivelled back to the front of the room, and Julie turned that glare on her.
Appraising. Demanding. Bewildered.
Julie dropped her chin, lips pressed into a line, unimpressed eyes looking at her from beneath a raised eyebrow.
Really, Sue?
Susie’s hands dropped from where she was clutching her hoodie, twisting in her lap. Sorry.
A hand covered hers; cold, as all hands were in Ormond, frozen by the persistent winter. She raised her eyes, but Julie’s gaze flicked to the book, her last sentence underlined twice.
Susie didn’t know how she found the courage, but she shook her head. Reached over and tapped a different sentence on the book. The second last one.
Julie huffed a sigh and pulled back, her chin dipping briefly. Fine. After school, goody-two-shoes.
Susie’s hands felt even colder than before Julie touched her.
-----
Clive Andrews lived in a small bungalow on the edge of Ormond, same as everyone else. Maybe just a little bit further out than the rest of them.
There was no car in the driveway when they snuck up to it, their own vehicle left somewhere down the road. Their footsteps were silent in the snow, and the house looked more and more ominous as they approached.
Susie wanted to turn back, but Julie was holding her hand in a vice grip, pulling her along to the windows at the side of the house. The weak sunlight barely illuminated the rooms they peeked into, and they saw nothing out of the ordinary. Plainly dressed rooms with boring furniture and drab coloured walls, not even a fire burning in the fireplace.
“Mr Andrews sure is boring.”
The spoken words made her heart jump – Susie had to convince herself it was the shock of hearing spoken words, not because Julie’s voice made her stomach flutter.
“Mm-hmm.”
They’d learnt long ago that affirmative humming didn’t count as words. Susie had plenty of words left, but it was habit, now.
Chilled fingertips dug into the back of her hand as Julie squeezed, tugging her along to the next window. They trekked around the house, peeking into every room they could see, but there was no sign of anyone home. Only the garden looked recently disturbed, the top layer of snow scraped off, an abandoned shovel next to it. Clearly, whoever had tried gardening found that the ground was too frozen for that.
Julie slipped her hand from Susie’s, pointing at the shovel. That’s got to be the new guy. Everyone who grew up in Ormond knows better.
Or, Susie signed, he’s just weak.
That earned her a short bark of laughter, and Susie smiled.
They continued round the house but found nothing of importance. Shivering and breaths fogging, they trudged away and back to Julie’s car.
A cold pinpoint kiss on her cheek made Susie glance up – it had started snowing again. That was good – it would cover their footprints before Mr Andrews came home, and no-one would be any the wiser of their trip.
Susie was quietly relieved that they didn’t find anything, but she wasn’t about to tell a grumbling Julie that.
-----
Life went on in Ormond, though it now had bits of interesting news.
An obscene doodle on the bookshop’s wall. Little candy thefts from the grocers. The younger kids telling of someone big and scary who stole their corner booth at the family restaurant.
No one thought any of these petty crimes were anything important, not when there were better things to be doing. But it did spice up boring old Ormond, and Susie was happy to listen to people complain about something other than the cold or homework for once.
An arm sliding around her shoulders startled her from her thoughts. Susie glanced up at Julie, before her gaze slid back to her signing hands.
Party on Friday night. Mum and Dad are going to the next town for some business thing.
Susie nodded. She never did anything at the parties, but as far as Julie was concerned, she was the fire extinguisher of the duo. She kept things under control if anything happened to go wrong. She was the straight-laced one, the quiet one who worked the shadows while Julie worked the spotlight.
It worked out well for both of them and made party cleanup so much easier.
Susie tapped Julie’s hand. Who’s coming?
The same. Everyone’s invited, we’ll see who turns up.
Will Joey be there?
Julie rolled her eyes. He brings the tunes, he has to come.
Susie grinned, but the smile wouldn’t fade though Julie tugged on her hair teasingly.
She wondered if Joey would bring her some new music like she’d asked.
-----
Susie never liked the parties, but Julie always got the best sorts of drinks. Most people wanted the cocktail spiked with vodka or rum or whatever sort of alcohol she could sneak, but Susie thought the fresh fruit juice in her fridge was the best thing. She didn’t usually get juice at home, and nobody else at the parties wanted it, so there was more for her.
Well, almost nobody else.
Her second favourite person in the world loved juice.
The music had started and was pounding through the house. It was only then that she gathered up enough courage to sneak out of Julie’s room. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she peeked down at the sea of bodies, groaning quietly.
Why are there always so many people at these things?
The blasting music meant her second favourite person in the world had arrived, but she wanted some juice first. Susie pulled her hood up over her hair, tucking the strands inside. She snuck down the stairs, sidestepping some particularly messy dancers, and inched towards the kitchen, determined to get her sugar fix.
Before she could reach it, a voice called over the music, “Susie!”
She cringed and froze, rotating slowly on one foot to face the speaker. The rest of the room had already split in two to make a path for her, and a wave of the speaker’s hand sent them all back to their activities.
This was probably the biggest reason why Susie hated the spoken word limit. Every word you spoke drew attention to you, and if there was anything she hated, it was attention.
He knew this, and he still did it to her. Ugh. Why did she put up with him?
The person who had called her pulled something out of his pocket, waving it over his head. Susie’s eyes grew round, her annoyance forgotten. Her feet tapped frantically against the carpet as she sped down the cleared path, pushing others out of her way.
A laugh greeted her as she bounced up, trying to snatch the cassette tape from his hand. “What, no hellos?”
He must have saved a lot of words that day, if he was willing to spend them on her. “Hi Joey. That for me?”
She beamed up at him and he shook his head at her, an answering grin on his lips. He lowered the cassette to her, SUZIE spelled on it in bold marker. “Who else do I make mixtapes for?”
Susie grabbed it and stuffed it in her hoodie pocket, jumping up to hook her arms around his neck. “Thanks, Joe. Love you.”
Sturdy arms pulled her into an answering embrace. “Love you–” His words cut off with a choked breath, and Susie pulled back to see Joey’s face contorted.
She felt her expression fall. Pulled her hands free to sign, You used your last words for me?
His answering smile was weak. I thought I had enough.
Susie punched his shoulder and dove in for another hug. She knew he could feel her fingernails digging into his back, her words clear. You idiot.
She felt him turn, and something light touch her hair. She didn’t know her hood had fallen back.
Only for you.
Hushed whispers spread quickly through the room, and they pulled apart, curious to see what it was that sparked the word flurry.
Who it was.
A tall, lanky figure stood in the doorway, face obscured by the shadow of their hood. Susie saw Julie break off from the group she was standing with and head towards them, and she made to follow.
A hand on her elbow held her back, Joey signing for her to approach slowly. She nodded, but her smaller stature made it easier to duck around people, and she reached Julie long before Joey did.
It was just as well, because Julie signed to her immediately. How many words do you have left?
Susie counted. About a hundred and thirty?
Julie nodded. I’ve got enough to introduce myself, but you might have to translate for me. She tilted her head towards the guy – he had removed his hood now – and said to him, “Welcome. I’m Julie.”
“Frank Morrison.” He nodded, eyes taking Julie in with a quick glance, before returning to linger on her face. His hands were still firmly entrenched in his pockets – strange behaviour, for a society that now depended on them to communicate. His voice was deep. Not as deep as Joey’s, but still pleasant to listen to. As his Adam's apple bobbed, Susie made out a shadow on his throat. A tattoo?
His eyes slid to Susie, then above her shoulder. She glanced up to where Joey had stopped behind her and was giving Frank the once-over, arms crossed over his chest.
“Susie. Joey.” She gestured at herself and Joey in turn, and at Julie’s signing, added, “Haven’t seen you around before.”
She didn’t voice what they were all thinking. There aren’t any Morrisons in Ormond. There weren’t any, before you.
Frank’s lips turned up at the corner, his eyes still on Joey. “Clive’s my new dad.”
Susie saw Julie’s eyes sparkle, and a knot of dread sat heavy in her stomach as realisation crept in. She knew that look. She didn’t like where this was bound to go. But Julie was gesturing to the kitchen, so she said, “Would you like a drink?”
His eyes slid back to hers, then to a smiling Julie, a hint of surprise in them. “I would.”
Julie beckoned to him, and he took his hands out of his pockets, trailing after her. Joey put a hand on Susie's shoulder before signing, He seems like a badass. And cool.
You sure? Her hands twisted together after the sign. I’m worried.
You always worry. He put his hands on her back and pushed her towards the kitchen, where there were drinks and snacks and a giant whiteboard to write on.
Julie had already started on the whiteboard when they entered, making her apologies for running out of words. Frank was nodding along as he sipped a glass of the cocktail, occasionally putting it down to make clumsy signs.
Julie caught Susie’s eye as she was pouring herself a drink. She sighed and put her glass down, where it was immediately snatched up by Joey. She shot him a glare, but all he did was lift the glass to toast her, and she rolled her eyes. Keeping her back to him, Susie grabbed herself another glass as she addressed Frank. “Can you sign? Or read them?”
Frank turned to her, surprised again. “Some. Didn’t bother to learn.”
Susie read Julie’s hands, translating, “We can teach you. Much easier than writing when you run out.”
She watched as Julie turned a lazy, suggestive smile on Frank, and her stomach flopped nervously. She really didn’t like where this was going.
“Sure.” Frank took a deep draw from his glass. “But not tonight. Aren’t we gonna have some fun?”
-----
Frank, as it turned out, was very good at basketball. And knife tricks. And doing dangerous, stupid things.
He was older than them, been kicked out of many schools, many homes. But he was tough and confident and indomitable. Completely unafraid and dashingly handsome. A badass, as Joey has so succinctly put it.
Julie was enraptured. Joey worshipped the ground he walked on. Susie was terrified.
But where Julie went, she also went, because this was definitely a fire waiting to happen, and she was their fire extinguisher.
And because she had loved Julie for as long as she could remember. She had to be there for her, no matter where she went. No matter what she did.
It took a while, but Frank had come to accept that Julie and Susie were a package deal. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to steal Julie away whenever he could. Where he couldn’t steal her away, Julie convinced Susie to let them go, with whispered promises and fluttery breaths against her skin.
How could Susie say no? She’d watched Julie’s back for years, and she knew she always would. All that she had, she’d give for Julie.
Julie knew that, and wasn’t afraid to exploit it, sometimes.
Susie wasn’t as slim and tall as Julie was, but all her parents needed was an assurance that there was a female silhouette sleeping in her bed. Susie spent too many nights in Julie’s bed and not her own, but her parents didn’t care. They didn’t mind turning their daughter over to the richer set of parents. They didn’t care about the exorbitant amount of ‘sleepovers’ the girls seemed to have, despite the fact that they were much too old for sleepovers.
Susie wanted to complain, and she did grumble to Joey about it. The other boy had laughed at her and expressed his wish to be part of their adventures. Frank and Julie had all the fun, and they weren’t afraid to brag about it.
Susie didn’t want their sort of fun. Julie had been sent to detention too many times because she’d been caught skipping class to hang out with Frank. They’d nearly suspended her a few times, but Ormond was small, and Julie’s parents were rich. So they kept dodging the line, toeing way too close to it, while Susie lay in Julie’s bed and fretted.
Not that she was complaining too much about that. She got to wear Julie’s pretty nightdresses and breathe in the scent of her. She got to lie in her warm, comfortable bed, surrounded by Julie’s scent, and imagine that Julie would kiss her.
Kiss her with the sort of passion she used to kiss Frank, not the sort of kisses they shared because they were ‘practicing’.
Her only consolation was that Julie came back at the end of the night, chilling her with wind-frozen fingers. Her reward was the reassurance that she was safe, as Julie laid her head on Susie’s chest to sleep.
Sometimes, Julie brought her gifts. Tiny shiny things that she had acquired when she was with Frank, tiny things with price tags that even someone with Julie’s allowance would balk at. Susie suspected she knew where they came from, and hid them carefully in her treasure chest, ignoring the implications for the businesses that had lost them. At least Julie had thought of her, remembered her enough to bring her something.
Susie appreciated the thought, she really did.
Susie didn’t know if it was Julie or Joey, but one of them convinced Frank that they should be allowed to come along on their gallivanting.
The first time they went out, Susie was afraid. So afraid, that she refused to set foot in the store they were raiding and insisted on playing watchdog. Joey had shaken his head at her and ducked into the store. Julie shrugged and left – she knew Susie too well, and forcing her would just cause a scene.
But Frank had tilted his head and looked at her with surprise and curiosity. He seemed to do that a lot. Looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Seeing that she could do something for him.
Then he had nodded. Told her to whistle if someone was coming, right before ducking into the store. Susie never got to tell him that she didn’t know how to whistle.
Thankfully, she didn’t need to whistle that night. Or the next night. Or the one after that.
She got used to watching the darkness, tuning her ears to footsteps that didn’t belong to the other three. When she needed to signal them, she snapped her fingers. Tapped her foot. Clicked her tongue, if it really came down to it.
Joey teased that she was treating them like animals, calling them with clicks and snaps. But she couldn’t whistle, and it was the closest thing she got to a quiet alarm.
Frank didn’t mind. He loved her watchful eyes and sharp ears, and the smooth honey of his voice always showered her with praise. She shouldn’t listen. She couldn’t. But he was charming and confident and brave, and she wanted to be like that too.
She wanted Julie to look at her the same way that she looked at him.
Like he was the sun, and she was a flower opening its petals to greet him.
It was several months after their first meeting, and Frank had started getting better at the signs. Susie no longer had to translate his poor signs for others, or spend her extra words explaining signs to him. Not that he didn’t try, sometimes, to convince her to be his mouthpiece. He swore too often. It was funny, how one hundred and sixty-seven words disappeared when you let out a cuss word or two every few minutes.
It was interesting that he’d noticed that she always had the most words left, of anyone in their group. Joey used his words up quickly, but he worked in a shop. When customers refuse to look at you, you have no choice but to address them verbally. Julie didn’t usually have many left, but she spent her words keeping the remnants of her popular clique in line. Or explaining her every movement to her parents. Or, Susie suspected, talking to Frank.
Susie was small and invisible and had no one but the three of them to speak to. She was good at signing, and that only saved her more words.
No one had to know that she was really saving her words for Julie. For a day when she would be brave enough to whisper to her all the things that she loved about her. The word allowance didn’t carry over into a new day, but as long as Susie kept enough of them, she’d be able to work through her list eventually. That was the plan, at least.
Frank couldn’t know what her plans were – surely she wasn’t that obvious – but it was still interesting that he was beginning to see her. See her as more than just Julie’s shadow, her tag-along, her source of extra words. There were a total of two people in Ormond who saw her as her own person, and Susie was pleasantly surprised that she was able to add one more person to that list.
Perhaps the newcomer to their little town wasn’t a bad thing, after all.
They spent more and more time with each other as a group. Doing the worst things – illegal, law breaking things – but also the best things. The small things. The normal, day to day teenage things. Playing cards, watching snatches of television when there was enough service. Sneaking into the movies when there was something good playing. Attempting and failing to do their homework, and copying Susie’s afterwards. Playing pranks on each other, because what sort of friends were they, if they didn’t make each others’ lives awful?
It was terrible, really, but Susie felt more and more at home with them. She’d never had many friends before, and somehow, a fourth made them a group of friends. Before Frank, the three of them had never felt quite right together, not when Joey was busy working and Julie had the other kids at school dogging her heels. Even when it was just Julie and herself, all they did was talk. They didn’t do anything exciting, ever.
Her parents never let her hang out with Joey. He wasn’t allowed to come over, and she wasn’t allowed to see him, because they thought the colour of his skin would rub off on her. The only times they could meet was at the library, because the librarians didn’t care who read the books, only that you returned them after you were done.
It was a wonder they stayed friends, when they saw so little of each other. But it was the way they had to work, and they were always comfortable around each other, no matter the amount of time they spent apart.
Frank was the glue that brought them together. Held them together. He turned their mundane lives into something more. More than just quiet teenagers left on a shelf to collect dust and rot. More than the silence and cold that defined everyone in Ormond.
It was novel and different and exciting. Susie could appreciate why Julie was drawn to Frank and his outrageous actions. Even if Frank’s mad ideas tended to make Susie very afraid of the law.
One night when Julie’s parents were away and they were sitting around her fireplace, Frank suggested making masks, especially for when they went out on dares. Much easier to stay blank, he said.
Anonymous? Joey had suggested. It was a running joke that Frank was awful at signs.
Too complicated a sign, Frank replied. He flipped Joey the bird anyway, to let him know he knew exactly what he was implying. Susie pinned Joey’s hands before he could say something ruder back.
But anonymous it was, though it was also to make themselves look bigger and scarier. What was the point of dares – especially intimidation dares – if you couldn’t intimidate anyone?
It took them a while to make their masks, and it was to be a surprise.
Not that it really was a surprise, when you were Susie. People just told her things.
Julie copied Frank’s initial mask idea, planning on making a massive grinning mask, for smiling in the face of adversity. She scrapped it later, going for something that resonated more with her instead. A mask with its mouth crossed out. Zipped up. It depended on how you wanted to see it.
Susie saw what she was doing. A silent mask, for the girl inside. The girl inside who was silenced, because children were meant to be seen, not heard. Because girls were pretty centrepieces, but that’s all they were. Ornamentation.
Now the silenced would be the silencer. Susie couldn’t deny Julie that liberation. She rather admired her for it.
Joey wanted to be the face of death. He combined a half mask of a broken skull with a black bandana, the latter tied around his neck. It looked kind of strange to have a mask extending down like that, but Susie could understand why he made it that way.
The bandana covered his neck and jaw, and the mask covered his face. Added to the gloves and full-length clothing, he’d be completely anonymous when he wore it, his distinctive profile hidden behind folds of fabric. He would just be another teenager causing trouble, rather than a black teenager causing trouble. It was safer for him, especially when people in Ormond were still racist and believed blacks should be their slaves.
Joey was so much better of a person than the rest of them. They should be his slaves, Susie thought.
Hearing about their masks, Susie began to come up with her own ideas. She wanted to craft something that was uniquely her, that conveyed the essence of who she was.
She made a cracked mask, for her cracking façade. For the shell of who others thought she was, and the braver, bolder form of herself peeking from behind the cracks. The mask was held together by her old braces, a reminder of many things. One – the person she was before she had gotten them, someone whom others bullied because her teeth weren’t straight. Two – an old life of hiding, a life of walking around in shame. It all seemed like fog, to her. It felt like so long ago, when she’d spent all her time hiding behind Julie. It felt like so long ago, when she used to lie in Julie’s bed and pretend to be her while Julie was out with Frank. Now it was the four of them, and she couldn’t help but admit it to herself – she liked it. She really liked it, that feeling of belonging.
The mask reveal went better than Susie expected – given that hers was the only one that had been a secret. Everyone else didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut around her.
Julie thought hers looked cool, though Joey teased her for being edgy. That was his job, he said. Susie had jabbed him in the side.
But Frank looked at it and nodded, his crooked grin holding approval. Not even a face for people to look at and relate to. Blankness is intimidating, isn’t it?
Susie hadn’t even thought about it that way, but it sounded good.
It felt good, to have Frank’s approval.
When they put on their masks for the first time, sitting in the pale light of the fire in the abandoned lodge on Mount Ormond that they’d claimed as their own, they weren’t just Frank, Julie, Susie and Joey.
They were more. They were a group tested in scores of intimidation dares, the quick work of spray paint and light fingers. They were the phantoms that stalked the night, that did whatever they wanted, uninhibited and free.
They were anonymous, unafraid and strong.
They were the Legion.
iii. The Legion
Susie never stopped being afraid, but she didn’t deny that it was liberating to put on her mask and not be her boring self, if only for a few hours.
They were quick and efficient. Few ever caught them. It was refreshing to let loose, to pour out the rage and suppressed emotion she’d squashed into a corner of her mind.
They should not have needed them, but Frank insisted they have weapons. For protection against the wild animals up by the lodge, he insisted. Better safe than sorry.
You just want to scare people more easily, she signed, but Frank turned away, as if he didn’t see.
That response nagged at her, and a large part of her didn’t quite believe him. So she didn’t get a knife like the others. Frank told her he could get her a generic knife, but he had gotten himself and Julie a pair of pretty custom-made ones, and Joey had gotten some fancy knife himself – a karambit?
Susie liked being anonymous, but not like that. She didn’t want to be generic. She wanted her own identity, but she also didn’t want something that would hurt people too badly. She truly didn’t believe the knives were just for 'protection against the wildlife'.
So she took a broken wooden ruler and taped some compass needles she found to it. Her teachers said math couldn’t kill anyone. Now, it might. Or at the very least, it’d scare someone off.
Julie had laughed at her makeshift knife, but agreed that it was fitting. Susie wasn’t bold like them. She’d never carry a real knife.
Susie had laughed with her, but her chest hurt, as if Julie had stabbed her with her nice, new hunting knife. She could be brave. She wanted to prove she could be brave. She just didn’t believe Frank on this. This was her way of being brave, but also cautious. It was a step out from the shadows that she usually hid in. Surely Julie could see that. They’d known each other for years.
Joey only partially understood.
“She’s not wrong, Sue.” Joey’s words were soft, hidden by the crackling of the fire and the scraping of metal against wood. “You’re softer than the rest of us. ‘S not a bad thing.”
Susie hugged her knees closer to her chest, tucking her chin in. “I don’t wanna be soft. ‘M just being careful.”
“Careful’s fine. But soft isn’t weak.” He lowered what he was crafting and looked at her. “Soft is a mask. It’s your disguise.”
She thought about that. About fooling others into thinking she was weak and vulnerable, and striking them when they expected it the least. They'd be so blinded by her façade, they’d never see it coming. It was a satisfying thought.
It was a crazy thought. Where had it come from?
She didn’t want to attack people. She was trying to be cautious.
The scraping sounds stopped. There were several puffs as Joey blew the dust off, and held it out to her, handle first. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Jules is wrong about one thing.”
Susie raised her eyebrows in question. She still felt too weak to make a sound, and she didn’t want to sign.
He nodded towards what he was holding out – her makeshift knife. “It’s a real blade. You’ll do some nasty damage with that.”
She reached out, took the blade. Her fingernails slotted into the grooves that Joey had dug out of the wood, each etching spelling out a word.
A movement caught her eye. She looked up and Joey began signing.
Any cut made with that knife isn’t going to be clean. It’ll scratch and bite and tear. It’s like a wild animal, ripping a bite out of you.
Susie felt a weak smile lift her lips. She opened her hand and looked at her weapon, at the fresh wood shavings clinging to her fingernails. At the dull and sharp compass needles sticking out at angles. At the serrated, splintered edge of the ruler. At the thick roll of duct tape that held it all together.
SUZZIE :)
The freshly carved name grinned at her, and it looked right, sitting on the handle. The smiley looked dangerous – unassuming but sarcastic, and it promised pain to any who crossed her.
She had wanted a harmless blade, because she didn’t want to hurt people. But Joey was right; what she had made was bound to leave a nasty scar, instead of the clean wound a regular knife would deliver. Maybe it wouldn’t cut as deep – rulers aren’t the strongest, after all – but it would still hurt to be hit by it.
She had made it. It was her blade, and she would own it and the consequences that came with it.
She would be the wild animal that stalked people. She could claim that identity. She could be brave.
Susie slid over, wrapping an arm around Joey’s back, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Joe.”
An arm slid over her shoulders, tucking her against him. The familiar weight of his head rested against hers – reassuring, affirming.
“Always.”
-----
Susie wasn’t the fondest of her job of watchdog, now that she too felt the thrill of the illegal activities. Of the quiet satisfaction when she watched the fallout, the discovery of what they had done. The others always got all the fun, with the theft and vandalism. She still didn’t like the bullying that much; it reminded her too much of what she had gone through before she’d met Julie.
But they were nice about it. Joey always swapped places with her, saving her the finishing flourish of their hastily painted murals. Frank always let her pick some candy or extra snack to steal.
Julie still held her hand, and told her she was strong when she was terrified.
Sometimes she kissed Susie and told her she was brave and bold and getting better all the time.
Susie wasn’t sure what those kisses meant, not when they didn’t have to practice, not anymore.
She should have gotten used to the mini heart attacks by now, but she didn’t think she ever would. She loved Julie so much that it hurt.
She wished she could kiss Julie forever.
It was madness. It was fun and awful and made her blood pound faster than one of her favourite songs. This, Susie thought, was what belonging felt like.
They were the Legion. They were her Legion, and she would do anything for them.
Which was why, she thought, she was stuck in this situation now. Perched on Joey’s shoulders, his hands clamping around her calves. White paint coating her fingers and splattered in her hair, throwing out lines on the mural they’d been asked to do.
A few strokes here, another few there, all while trying to keep her balance. It was a bit too late to wish they’d hauled a ladder up to the lodge – she’d have to make do with the Joey-stepladder, and hope she wasn’t too heavy.
Susie put her closed fist on the wall and leaned back, looking over her brushstrokes. It looked alright. Not her best work, but it was as close as it got to the sketch.
Susie tapped Joey’s hand, pointing down when he turned slightly to look. Gently, slowly, he lowered her to the ground, and she stumbled off, flattening herself against the wall, arms spread out like eagle wings. She heard a snort behind her, and half-turned to grin at him. Joey shook his head at her and walked away, rolling his shoulders and stretching out the chinks in his neck.
Susie stuck her tongue out at his back before bending to pick up the sketch. The top half of it was completed – thanks to Joey’s assistance – and now she had to work on the bottom half. Glancing up at the wall, she pictured it in her mind, then smiled and dipped her brush in the paint.
Joey might not get too long a break, after all. She’d need him back to finalise the details.
-----
Frank was delighted with the mural. He actually picked her up and spun her around, and spared a few words to tell her that it looked better than the artist sketch he’d gotten. “Have I ever told you that you’re brilliant, Sue?”
Susie grinned when he put her down, lifting a hand and tilting it from side to side. Sometimes.
Behind him, Julie leaned against a stack of boxes, a smug grin on her face. “Didn’t believe me then, did you, Morrison?”
Frank flipped her the bird without turning around. It only made Julie’s grin deeper.
Susie caught her eye and threw her arms out towards the mural with a flourish. How is it?
“Spectacular.” Julie’s head tilted to the side as she looked at the mural again, a gentle smile pulling her lips up. “You’re so talented.”
Susie’s heart felt like it was glowing with all the praise. Spoken praise was always so much better than just signed or written praise.
Julie’s praise made her heart sing extra loudly.
“Really solidifies this place as our base.” Joey was looking at the mural, arms tucked into his armpits. He glanced down at Susie, a grin splitting his face. “Gotta do something to celebrate.”
Harass the cinema for popcorn? Susie signed.
Frank laughed, the sound startling her. When she met his eyes, they were alight with a maniac fire.
Yes, let’s do that. His grin was sharp, approving, his signs eager. Good idea.
She’d been joking, but it didn’t matter. Together, the four of them could do whatever they wanted. They were invincible.
They filed out of the lodge, and Susie spared a glance back at the mural on the second floor. The white paint shone against the dark wall, sharply cut letters reminding everyone of who they were.
The Legion.
iv. Slipping up
It was an accident. It had been an accident. She didn’t expect it to be a fatal one.
She was watching the front door, because that’s where people usually walked past. That’s where they had come in.
Joey usually scoped out the back, but he had been too full of rage and indignation. He’d forgotten to check.
Susie had just caught Julie’s signal that she was going to check the back and nodded back. Then she was gone.
And discovered.
Her cry had stabbed Susie, a sharp bolt of terror lancing through her being.
Susie hadn’t thought. She left her post and sprinted towards the sound, crouching in the shadows to peer around the corner.
Julie’s hand was tugging at the hand over her mouth, the other trying to push off the arm around her middle. Her cries were muffled now, desperate and panicked. There was a skittering sound as her foot connected with something, and Susie vaguely recognised the oblong white shape as Julie’s mask. It must have been knocked off when the person grabbed her.
A similar scene flashed into Susie’s mind: hiding under the bed, hands over her mouth. Julie being picked up by her father in the same way, hand over mouth and arm over middle to stifle her cries and struggling. A thump as the bodies hit the bed above her, the heavy bulk of her father pinning her thrashing legs.
“You better keep your mouth shut.” The harsh whisper came from above, a guttural growl that made Susie tremble. “You tell anyone what you saw, and I’ll kill ya, you hear?”
Susie couldn’t know what Julie said back. All she heard was whimpering. Whether it was hers or Julie’s, she didn’t know.
The sharp slap reverberated through the room, and the mattress springs creaked as Julie’s father got off the bed. Then a thump and crack so loud, Susie thought she saw the bedframe shudder. Finally, the sound of footsteps shuffling off the carpet. The door slammed.
Susie didn’t realise she couldn’t see because there were tears blocking her vision.
She crawled out from under the bed, pulling herself up to look at Julie. Her friend had her blanket stuffed in her mouth, fists clutching big handfuls of the material.
The moonlight was dim, but Susie could still see the shine of dark liquid on Julie’s forehead.
It was happening again. Susie was frozen in place, like all those years ago. Fingers curled into fists, every muscle locked. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move–
Julie’s assailant cried out, and she stumbled forward. Her chest was heaving, hands covering her mouth. Susie knew there were tears streaking her cheeks even before she caught her and her hands cupped Julie’s face.
Familiar hands slid around her waist, Julie’s head dropping onto her shoulder as Susie held her close. One hand on Julie’s back, one tangled in her shorn hair. Feeling the wetness on her neck, the strangling vice of arms crushing her torso. Her head resting against Julie’s, until she realised her mask was digging into her. Susie tore it off, pushing her hood back.
And saw what Frank had done.
It was the cleaner, she realised. The cleaner at the store – this store, where Joey had worked at, up until that day. He was a calm man who was friendly to her and gave her gum when she couldn’t afford new music.
It was the cleaner who had grabbed Julie. Who had been trying to stop thieves or vandals. Who had gotten them instead.
Who had gotten Frank’s knife in his back.
(They were the Legion. They never failed.)
“Finish it.” Frank stared down at them, glancing at the man on his knees, groaning.
It was serious. Frank was being serious. He wouldn’t speak if he didn’t truly mean it.
For the limit that was one hundred and sixty-seven, it was surprising how many words they saved for each other. How many words they sequestered and hid and shared together. But the words she just heard weren’t for jokes and laughter. These words didn’t imply harmless fun.
Susie couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t. But– But–
She saw him move first. The pooling shadow at her shoulder. Joey. Her Joey, who had worked at this store, who knew this man, who was the worst at the dares because he knew what it was like to be oppressed. Joey. Joey–
He took the knife from Frank’s hand, punched it into the cleaner’s side. The man cried out as the blade slid in and out of his body, but Joey’s face was turned away. Susie could see the line of his jaw; he, too, had taken off his mask, and his jaw was tight, tighter than he’d ever clenched it. Tighter than she’d ever seen it clenched, even when the terrible bullies in their town had been punching and kicking him for being black.
Susie knew that first-hand, because she had been there. She had pushed the boys throwing the punches aside, flung herself on top of Joey to protect him.
It worked. They got in trouble for kicking her, because some of them hadn’t stopped in time, hadn’t seen her appear.
Joey’s jaw was swollen then, and he had clenched it against the ice that his mother held to his face. Clenched against the pain, of what was hopefully not a broken jaw. They wouldn’t get the treatment for it, if it was.
Joey. She couldn’t believe it. Joey had listened to Frank. Susie listened too, but not now, not when they were hurting someone purposefully to the point of death.
They shouldn’t be hurting people at all.
Susie couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t do what Frank asked of her, not this time–
She stared at the knife Joey held out to her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Damn it, Sue, do it!”
Frank’s words shocked her; her fingernails dug in, and Julie winced. Susie loosened her grip in apology, but Julie had already pushed out of her arms and taken the blade. She knelt in front of the man, both hands grasping the blade, and slid it into his heart.
Susie felt the floor under her hands. No. No. Not Julie too–
She was hauled up, Julie’s fingers wrapping hers around the slick handle. She caught a glimpse of her face; contorted with the grimace that came with holding her tears back, the dark streaks on her cheeks showing where she had tried to wipe the tear tracks away. Frank loomed over her, his hand wrapping around her trembling ones, steadying her.
Steadying. Her.
His other hand was on her back, pushing her whole body forward, until the knife pierced the man’s throat.
She hoped the cleaner saw her apology on her lips. She was so sorry.
She was horrified. It had been so easy. The tiniest bit of resistance, the faint pressure. Then Frank pushed, and the knife slid in like she was cutting warm butter. Except butter didn’t splatter onto her hands, didn’t gurgle like the dregs of bathwater in the drain. Didn’t fold forward and pour out onto her hands – hot and wet and saturated with guilt.
Frank pulled her back, pinched the knife from her limp hands and wiped the blade on his jacket. “Clean up. Fast. Joe and I will take the body out.”
“Where?” Susie’s voice was a whisper. A hoarse, hoarse whisper.
“Mount Ormond.” They all looked at Julie, her face clean of tears now, though blood streaked her face. “No one ever looks there.”
Frank nodded. Gestured to Joey. They picked the body up by the arms and legs and dragged it away, while Julie helped Susie up.
Susie couldn’t say anything. Everything was foggy, and there were blanks in her memory. She looked at the mop. Julie had given it to her. She saw her friend hauling a bucket of water towards her, and something clicked in her mind. She began to scrub at the drying blood on the floor. Slowly. Then faster. Faster. She scrubbed the floor vigorously until it was clean. It terrified her that she knew well how to clean up bloodstains.
“Sure reminds you of my dad, doesn’t it?” Julie’s low chuckle reached her ears. Susie walked over to dunk her mop in the bucket, not saying anything. But her stiff, bloodied fingers trembled on the handle, and she knew Julie could see that.
A bandaged-wrapped hand covered hers. Hid the blood, however momentarily. She looked up; Julie’s mouth was set, her eyes downturned at the corners. “We’ll get away, Sue. We always do.”
Susie opened her hand under Julie’s. Their fingers laced together, squeezing briefly. There was a slam from outside; Joey’s trunk. They looked at each other, fingers releasing, pulling apart quickly.
Too quickly. It was a terrible thing, but Susie wanted to keep holding Julie’s hand, even in that situation.
They picked up the mop and bucket and ducked into the bathroom. Threw out the dark water, rinsed the cleaning implements. Susie washed her hands, but she couldn’t get the feeling of blood off her. She scrubbed viciously, nails tearing at her hands. Julie had to take her by the elbows and pull her back, tell her it was time to go.
She had to get the blood off her hands, out from under her nails. She didn’t want to remember it.
It was warm, like the comforting heat of hot water over cold hands. It was hot, but it wasn’t water. A part of her had liked it.
She didn’t want to like it. It was murder.
Julie stopped her on their way out, piling their discarded masks in her arms. They couldn’t leave any more of themselves behind. Susie wished she had been the one to remember, but she had been too distracted, too preoccupied.
They got into the car, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror. Susie’s expression hadn’t changed from when she looked into the bathroom mirror earlier; she didn’t think it would. She remembered what Julie said to her, and how she couldn’t find the signs or words to respond.
She hoped Julie read her face and meaning, because she was too afraid to say it out loud. Too afraid to respond to her.
Will we really get away, this time?
v. The Fog
The drive up to Mount Ormond was too quiet, broken only by the crunch of wheels on the icy ground. Susie thought she was too scared, but the slowing of the vehicle stirred her back to awareness, and she realised, Oh. I fell asleep.
Then, I was tired enough to fall asleep.
Perhaps murder wasn’t too awful on the conscience after all, if she managed to rest after it.
Beside her, Julie lifted her head, pushing back her hood and rubbing the heels of her hands over her eyes. Her hair was sticking up in all directions, and Susie wanted to smooth it down.
It really wasn’t the time for such thoughts.
They got out of the car, Frank and Joey taking the body while the girls took the shovels. There was a patch of earth not far from the lodge, a place that was once a garden bed. Frank ordered them to start digging there, so they did. It was hard work, even for those of them who knew best how to break up the muddy ice and snow.
Susie wasn’t sure what it was, but Frank stopped all of a sudden, hand going to his knife. He glanced back at them and signed, Saw something. Be right back. Then he took off into the darkness.
The rest of them kept digging. Frank knew how to take care of himself. Didn’t he prove that, just a few hours earlier?
Susie was hot, but her hands were frozen by the time they finished digging. Frank hadn’t come back yet. Together, the three of them hauled the body over and dumped it into the shallow grave, scraping the icy soil back on top.
They looked around. Still no Frank. Susie began to feel a thread of terror for him – they all knew how vicious the wildlife could be, how silent and efficient. By the way Julie was wringing her hands, she was nervous too.
They shone their torches in the snow, looking for footprints. Julie found them first, whistling sharply to call them over. Together, they followed Frank’s muddy prints into the forest, but their torches seemed to grow weaker with every step, the lights barely piercing the fog.
With frustrated sighs, they cast the torches aside – what a time for the batteries to die! – and followed the trail they had found. They huddled together as the cold crept through their jackets, linking arms as their feet clomped along. The path grew darker, the faint moonlight more eerie. The fog seemed to thicken around them, and Susie didn’t dare to look into it for too long. But still they walked, drawn forward by some unknown pull. Perhaps they were just too afraid to turn back.
Susie didn’t know how long they walked for, but the fog got less dense, the light brighter. It seemed like they were following footprints again, and Julie tugged on her arm excitedly to point them out.
Then they were crunching on snow, and the lodge of Mount Ormond was just ahead. But it was bright, as if it was day – surely they hadn’t been walking in circles the whole night? It certainly didn’t feel like they’d walked the night away.
A figure came around the side of the lodge. A familiar figure. Julie’s grip on her arm loosed completely, and she broke into a dead sprint, launching herself at what was undoubtedly Frank.
Susie couldn’t believe her eyes, but she was also frozen stiff, and she knew the lodge had a fireplace. She just wanted to be warm. Joey tugged her along, and she stumbled after him, her knees nearly giving way. Perhaps they had walked the whole night, after all.
Frank released Julie as he saw them approach, sheathing his knife to sign. I followed the trail, and here we are. It’s not our lodge.
Three incredulous stares met his statement, and he beckoned them to follow, walking backwards so he could keep signing. I checked it out. It’s similar to ours, but there are some minor differences. It’s like Spot The Difference. The changes are pretty subtle.
How can you tell? Julie asked this.
Frank nodded towards a man-sized red cupboard next to them. Things like that. Don’t know what they’re for, but you could probably hide a person in there.
The inside of the lodge looked familiar, but also…wrong. Off. There were things about it that weren’t quite the same. Susie couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Frank waved under her nose, raising his eyebrows when she looked at him. See? It’s different.
She nodded. It was.
There were two claps from the other side of the room – where the registration counter was. Joey waved them over, putting four familiar looking things on the countertop. He raised an eyebrow. What are these doing here?
Their masks. Hadn’t they left them in the car?
Susie reached out to hers, tracing the metal studs. It looked different, too. Older. More weathered. Dirt streaks and odd, rusty brown. She couldn’t quite make out what it was.
Everyone else had taken their masks, pushing back their hoods to put them on. Watching them, Susie felt an odd need to do the same.
She had barely adjusted it so she could see when she felt it. A tug at her brain, a coaxing in her heart. She felt compelled to step outside.
Frank was doing just that, his knife sliding free from its scabbard. Julie followed behind him, fingers flexing on the grip of hers. Susie reached into her hoodie pocket for her blade, the sharp edges of the handle comforting in her hand. Behind her, she knew Joey was doing the same, spinning his karambit on its finger ring.
They followed Frank, tugged along like puppets on a string. Moving of their free will, yet not. Heavily compelled, but still aware of their actions. They spread out in a semicircle around what appeared to be a meat hook, its blade shining darkly with old, crusted blood.
Surprisingly, the sight didn’t make Susie feel like puking.
Black tendrils burst forth from the top of the hook, dark reaching tips curling in on themselves like a deranged hand. Susie watched with detached curiosity. There was nothing to be afraid of. She knew this thing, even though she didn’t.
She was quietly pleased that she was not afraid.
“You are the Legion. And now you are mine. Serve me willingly, and you will not be punished.”
Susie’s fingers clenched around her weapon, dark ambition flaring in her chest. Yes… She would serve. She would do anything for this being.
She saw Frank step forward, sheath his blade. Saw him sign. How to serve?
“Speak freely. I am not like your foolish mortal leaders. You will need not words to serve me, but your speech will not be impeded whilst you are amongst yourselves.”
“How?” Frank's voice was harsh, like one whose vocal chords were severely underused. They were. None of them had spoken freely in a long time. “How do we serve?”
It felt to Susie that Frank, the strongest willed of them, had the compulsion as well.
“I will call you into trials. Hunt down the flies that seek the light. Present them to me on these hooks. Bring them all to me willingly, and you will have free reign.”
“What if we don’t want to?” Frank was bold, to say such a thing.
There was a chittering as the tendrils – claws – clicked together. Susie thought it was their form of laughter. “You will want to. Do you not feel the thrumming in your blade, that sings for blood to feed it?”
Susie looked at her weapon. It looked sharper now, the splintered edges sturdy, the compass needles blunt and rusty. She smiled. It would do great damage.
“Feed me first, and I will give you gifts. You will be stronger and faster. You will be the hunters and never the prey. You will take from those who ought to bow to you. Serve me first, and I will gift you your own kills.”
That shocked Susie back to herself. She wasn’t sure she wanted to kill. Her knife looked ugly, now; a terrible weapon for pain and hurt, to draw out others' misery. She wasn’t sure she could do it.
“Did I say to doubt? Your first calling is to feed me. You are responsible for none of the kills yourself. Not until I grant you the right.”
Susie’s fingers relaxed. That was right. She didn’t have to kill them herself. This entity would do it. She was only the messenger.
Something pulled her hood back, tapped the edge of her mask. She looked up and saw a tendril pointing at her, and it reached under her chin to tilt her head back.
Odd, how human and caring the action felt.
“Feed me first. You will get all the time you want. All the words you want. Pursue the desires of your heart, but only second to when I call you.”
Susie would have nodded, if she didn’t think she might cut herself on that sharp tip.
She knew what it was offering. Time. Words. An eternity with her friends, her Legion. Her Julie.
She would take it.
The tendril drew back, and she pulled her hood up, gazing at it. She could just make out the others looking at the entity as well – her mask didn’t have great peripheral vision. The claws clicked together a last time and disappeared, and they were left alone with the meat hook and the newly falling snow.
vi. In between trials
There were so many words to be said, and yet none. Every trial was hard, but they got easier, and sometimes, they went days without one.
The Entity took them one at a time, and every trial was different. Every survivor they met was a little different. A little changed, from the last time they met.
It wasn’t those that mattered to Susie. She was unstoppable in trials, the bloodlust of the Entity charging her, sending her hunting. Every time she did a little better, and she found a little gift back at the lodge to help her with her next trial.
Yes, those were nice, but they didn’t matter to Susie. What mattered was the time she got to spend with Julie, sometimes for ages, just sitting by the fire, falling asleep on each other’s laps and shoulders. Sometimes they talked about everything and nothing: about their past lives, about the trials they were in, about the survivors who thought they were so smart.
The Entity had described them accurately: flies. Pests.
Sometimes the Entity dropped other killers into their tiny home, and they had interesting discussions about how to deal with this and that person. It was never boring, and the newfound stream of words just made it better. Liberating.
Funny, how she didn’t mind being branded a killer now. Even though she never really killed, except when the survivors pissed her off spectacularly, and she felt the Entity’s dark hand granting her the strength to take them out herself.
It wasn’t really killing if someone else was guiding her hand, was it?
But for all her confidence in trials, Susie still wasn’t as brave outside of them. Sometimes she found the courage to hold Julie’s hand for no other reason than she’d wanted to. Sometimes Julie would squeeze her hand back; sometimes she’d just smile and shake her head.
But on a very rare sort of sometimes, she’d kiss Julie on the cheek, and Julie would turn around to cup her face and press their lips together, tongue darting out to taste her. Not really like how they used to ‘practice’, because Julie had so much more experience now. It was like discovering her for the first time. For the second time. Learning all the hidden crevices that Julie hid parts of herself in, teasing out half-truths and little confessions, and tasting the perfume of her. It was intoxicating.
Frank didn’t seem to mind that much, the first time he saw them tangled up together when he had come back from a trial. He just said that it was his turn, and pulled Julie away.
He did return her later, to Susie’s puzzlement and delight.
Frank learnt to share, after that.
Time flowed weirdly in the Entity’s realm, but it was a long time later that sometimes became oftentimes, when Julie began to care less about appearances. She began to say she didn’t mind when Susie bounced up to her for a hug, or called her pet names in front of the boys.
She minded less and less when Susie told her she loved her. When Susie told her that she was in love with her.
Sometimes, she reminded Susie that yes, she did love her too.
It was then, on the rarest form of sometimes, that Julie would seek her out to kiss her first, announcing that she was sick of Frank and he could kiss Joey instead.
Susie was sure Joey wouldn’t mind that at all.
She did catch them kissing once, and it made her face hot to see how passionate they were about it. It took a lot of coaxing to get her out of the red locker she’d hid in.
She never let Joey live it down, of course.
It was an odd sort of life, an odd sort of limbo. But it was infinitely more interesting than the Ormond they’d left behind, because now, she got to do thrilling bad things all by herself. She was encouraged to do it, with no repercussions.
She also got to kiss Julie, cuddle with Joey and watch Frank cuss the roof down when Julie beat him at cards. She had all the time in the world, and her favourite people to spend it with. What more could she ask for?
Susie wasn’t sure she left anything important behind when they got taken – when they were called. She had everything she needed, right here. They didn’t even need to eat. It was great.
They were four parts of a whole: Frank, Julie, Susie and Joey. They were called together, and their abilities were the same. They were stronger together.
They were the Legion, and now they would live forever.
Hey, a chart! This is inspired by an ask I got (I’m gonna be honest, I promised the person I’d tag them, but then sent the reply before I wrote down the URL. So, if I told you I was gonna tag you in this, tag yourself!!)
Dumb question but as a girl myself I don't like sports because of my chest getting in the way a lot but then I had a thought, spider Gwen needs to do a lot of moving and I have this headcanon now that she went out and just got a lot of sport bras but couldn't find the right one at first meanwhile her guardian is like "oh she's into a sport phase or something. Well it's healthy so it's not bad" (idk Gwen's full story but I thought it would be funny BC we can all relate to finding the perfect bra
Please don’t send me headcanons.
Please don’t send me headcanons.
Any chance I was ever going to do this has just gone right out the window.
If you send shit like this to authors/creators, they can’t use it.
Because it’s NOT THEIR IDEA.
It becomes a legal liability. Sure, you might go ‘oh but you can use it! I said so!’ but there’s no contract, no proof, and what if you change your mind? What if your silly headcanon post becomes a lynchpin of their story, something you feel you should be properly compensated for?
It’s not that creators don’t want to hear from us. It’s that if we cross streams, we move from the grey area of fandom content where no one wants to mess with the legalities straight into the dark depths of ‘welp this is a lawsuit waiting to happen’.
A counterpoint: Ideas are not copyrightable. It’s a fundamental tenet of copyright law. It might be a PR liability, but legally you’re on solid ground as long as you don’t copy someone’s actual words or do a sentence-by-sentence paraphrase.
I believe this goes back to sometime in the ‘80s, when Marion Zimmer Bradley took someone’s actual work (as in, took their manuscript and wanted to publish it under her name) and somehow convinced everyone that she just happened to read some fanfic, and “if you read fanfic you can never publish anything close” became… a law headcanon I guess? But in actuality MZB was just a piece of work and really good at gaslighting (see also the whole child abuse thing).
The entire problem comes from people believing this. I’m not trying to say that there is no problem here – there very much is a problem, because people will in fact try to sue you for ‘stealing their ideas’! and they will think badly of you if someone else accuses you of it! But the problem is that people think that ideas are something that you can own. You cannot. We don’t want them to be, because that would impoverish us creatively. Why would we only ever want one take on a story? The whole omegaverse lawsuit thing brought this up again recently. Do we really only want to allow one m/f omegaverse story, ever? (Okay, a lot of you will be yelling “YES” at this point, but you know what I mean.)
So please instead of just uncritically perpetuating this harmful meme, explain the nuances of why you personally do not want to read headcanons. Don’t act like this is just the natural state of things if you are a published author. It’s not. It’s an excess of caution in the face of a misconception. And maybe if people with big audiences explained this things would change.
I do not have the hours in the day to write books and comics and lengthy explanations, over and over and over again, for why people should please not do things I have asked them, told them, and begged them not to do.
A counter-counterpoint: regardless of the actual legality, just imagine something for a second. You are Writing A Thing, and a person on Tumblr sends you their “headcanon” and you’re like “that’s similar to something I’m actually writing already! neat!”
So then you publish a book with that in it and fans are discussing it, as fans do, and then you see it:
“Well actually, fun fact: she actually got that idea from someone’s headcanon on Tumblr!”
And you didn’t, and you explain that, but you see it crop up, again and again, and then comes the snowball:
“did u know: the author got that idea from a fan on social media”
“hey that author actually got that idea from a fan on Tumblr”
“say their name! it was Tumblr user XXX who gave her that idea!”
“Tumblr user XXX is the real originator of that idea! don’t erase them from discussions about it!”
“I can’t believe the author doesn’t give credit to XXX for using their idea.”
You see where this is going. Don’t tell me it’s not true.
“The author got that idea from a fan,” is a fun story because, as fans, we love the idea of our headcanon becoming actual canon. But it’s so easy, in this day and age on the internet, for it to evolve into something people can feel self-righteous over. And no creator needs that.
People oftentimes think that anyone can be a good writer because it’s just words. People might devalue writing and say that you should be doing something better and more lucrative with your time.
It’s staying up until 6 in the morning because you want to get all of your thoughts down before you forget them. It’s tearing your hair out because you’re stuck, and you don’t know how to continue on. It’s rereading your writing and hating the words you’ve written because they sound so stilted and boring.
Writers, what you are doing now is an impressive thing. You’re attempting to create an entire world from scratch, create compelling characters that will capture the hearts of readers, trying to explain that brilliant scene in words when you can visualize it so clearly in your mind.
It can be a really difficult and daunting task, but you’re doing it and you’re doing it well. It’s not worthless, it’s not meaningless, and it has a lot of value.
Writing is the joy of your characters coming to life. It’s the rush that you get when you finally get to that one scene you’ve been dying to write. It’s feeling like you want to cry when someone tells you that they loved what you wrote. It’s that sense of accomplishment you get when you can look back at what you’ve written and say “wow… I actually did this.” It’s the sense of fulfillment you get when you’ve had a productive day. It’s those long days of just thinking about how your story is going to surprise you, and planning ahead 20 novels in advance because you love your writing and your story. It’s the joy of creating, the fruits of your labor, and the excitement of sharing it with other people who will love it just as much as you do.
Nothing will ever take that away from you. Let yourself be proud of being a writer. Give yourself a pat on your back and say “Hey you know what? I love writing, and I’m doing great.” Because you are. You’re doing something really hard, and you’re doing it well.
Writing is an art that can touch people’s hearts, and if that’s not magical I don’t know what is.
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