#green wounds

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds

“A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green.” —Francis Bacon

{Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9}

New chapters will be posted every Saturday at 4:00 pm EST! (At least, if everything goes according to plan heheh)

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 9

And we’re back! Not much to say here, other than that this was one of my favorite chapters to put together. Why? You’ll see... 

Enjooooooyyy!

Years passed, and little Eric grew from an infant to a child. Although the pixies eventually improved in their ability to raise a human child, it often fell to Starchild to keep young Eric from harm. The faerie was often hidden away in the safety of the forest, always watching Eric grow.

“Unca Tommy! Unca Vinnie!”

Eric wandered helplessly through the forest, close to tears as his three-year-old mind panicked. He hadn’t meant to wander so far away from home; he’d seen a cat in the trees and run over to get a closer look, but the cat turned tail and ran off. By the time Eric was tired of running, he looked around and realized he was incredibly lost.

Eric’s bottom lip began to quiver as he kept walking, calling out for his uncles and hoping they would find him. But by now, he was cold, frightened, and it was starting to grow dark. The wind whispered through the trees, and it felt like hundreds of eyes were on him, watching him.

Unbeknownst to the little boy, there was only one pair of eyes watching him. 

Safely concealed in the twilight shadows, Starchild watched the little fox wander through the woods, listening to his small, frightened voice call out for the pixies. For once, Peter was not with him. He’d sent Peter back to the Moors after angrily lecturing him on how obvious he’d been. How could the mangy animal be so foolish as to let Eric see him?

Starchild’s thoughts were diverted back to Eric when he heard the boy let out a sob. His mind began to turn, trying to decide what to do next. Revealing himself was absolutely out of the question. On one hand, he could turn around and return to the Moors, and leave Eric to the mercy of the cold night.

On the other hand… if he left Eric, the boy could potentially not live to see the morning. And when Starchild’s end goal was for him to fulfill his curse at sixteen… that would not do.

So, begrudgingly, Starchild looked up and waved his hand. After a moment of nothing, little balls of light began to appear in the darkness—fireflies. Pointing at Eric, Starchild directed them over to the boy. He wasn’t actually all that far away from the cottage; it was simply a matter of guiding him along.

The fireflies flew over to Eric and settled in a long line in front of him, pointing the way back home. As the boy began to follow the firefly trail, Starchild silently snuck through the shadows after him. And if the question of why he was bothering at all ever crossed his mind, he simply pushed it away.

-*-

One spring day when Eric was five years old (not that he was counting), the three pixies decided to go on an outing, bringing a picnic along with them. They were sitting in a large field of wildflowers, that unbeknownst to them was actually part of a large cliff. The cliff edge, however, was obscured by green plants. While the pixies were setting everything up, Eric ran playing around the blanket.

As always, watching from afar was Starchild. He was lazily stretched out on another distant cliff face, lying back against a moss-covered tree trunk and eating berries as he observed the scene, while Peter lay on a branch beside him. He was far enough away that the pixies wouldn’t see him, but close enough that he could tell who was who. Though he was watching Eric more than he was the pixies. The boy was engaged in a little game, in which he picked a flower, pulled off all the petals so that they were all in his hand, and threw them up into the air, laughing as they fluttered down around him. Then he would run off to find another flower and repeat the process.

While initially it had been interesting to watch him… eventually Starchild got bored of that. So instead he turned to his favorite hobby.

He lifted a hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger together. His fingers glowed purple, and, looking at Tommy, he made a pulling motion.

Tommy’s head jerked to the side, as though someone had pulled on his hair. “Ow!” he heard him yelp. He looked over at Erik, no doubt thinking he had done it, then yanked Erik’s hair.

“Ow!” Erik exclaimed. He glared at Tommy and pulled on his hair in retaliation, Tommy yelling out “Ow!” again.

Smirking, Starchild looked over at Vinnie, who wasn’t paying attention to the scene, and pulled his thumb and forefinger down again. Vinnie’s head jerked as though someone had smacked him and his hat flew off his head. He was frozen for a moment in surprise, then glared at Tommy and Erik, thinking one of them had done that. Vinnie lunged at Erik angrily, and soon all three of the pixies were in a pile of limbs and multicolored clothing, tusseling and shouting angrily at each other.

Starchild gave a laugh, smiling amusedly as he watched. Even so, however, even he felt the touch of malice in both the smile and the laugh. But he didn’t give much thought to it, as right then he caught sight of Eric again. The boy had abandoned his little game, and was now running around chasing a butterfly, giggling as he tried to catch it. As he ran around, he strayed further and further away from the blanket, where Tommy had now tackled Erik to the ground, until he was definitely farther away than was acceptable. As Starchild watched, Eric ran farther and farther away, ever closer towards the edge of the cliff, his attention solely on catching the butterfly.

“Oh, look,” Starchild remarked casually, as though he were merely observing the weather. “The little fox is about to fall off the cliff.”

Peter looked and immediately got up. He meowed urgently at Starchild, no doubt trying to yell at him to do something. Starchild didn’t reply, simply watched as Eric got ever closer to the edge. Closer and closer… until he fell right off the edge of the cliff.

There was a scream, but from where Starchild didn’t see. Instead, he looked down at the long tendril-like branches growing on the cliff face and concentrated. The branches began to move, forming something akin to a giant arm and hand and catching Eric. The little boy, surprisingly, barely seemed to notice he was in the branches because he had fallen off the edge and nearly died. He was instead reaching out and touching the branches, and even from where he was Starchild could hear him giggling. The branches slowly lifted him up to the edge and set him down, then pushed him back towards the pixies, who were now looking around for him.

As the branches settled back to their original places and went still, a sudden meow made Starchild turn. Peter, who had been hiding his head in his paws, was now gazing at him with a rather calculating look on his face. It was surprising just how expressive he was as a cat.

“What?” Starchild asked him. Peter batted a paw at him. Rolling his eyes slightly, Starchild snapped his fingers and turned him into a man, all the while looking back at the cliff. Eric had run back over to the pixies, and they looked to be asking him where he’d been.

“I saw that.”

Starchild turned to Peter, who had his arms crossed over his chest and was smirking knowingly at him. “Saw what?”

“What you did back there,” Peter replied. “You saved the kid.”

He raised an eyebrow at him. “And?”

“You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Starchild sat up, frowning at him blankly. “What do you mean, I didn’t have to?”

“You coulda let him fall,” Peter elaborated. “Let him fall right off the edge and let him die. But you didn’t—you saved him.”

Starchild still didn’t understand. “Of course I did. He isn’t supposed to die from falling off a cliff because his caretakers weren’t paying attention. You know what’s supposed to happen to him. Why else would I keep him from falling?”

Still smirking, Peter was about to answer when a loud shriek of laughter from the field floated up. Immediately, Starchild turned to look at the field, and saw Tommy chasing after the boy, his arms stretched out and playfully shouting, “I’m gonna get you!”

Eric ran out of his reach, laughing in delight. Starchild watched the scene, eyes focused on Eric the entire time. His mouth didn’t drift up into a smile, but his frown did disappear. Then Peter snorted, and he frowned and turned to him again. “What?” he asked annoyedly.

“Y’know, for such a powerful faerie, you can be pretty clueless,” Peter snickered.

Starchild rolled his eyes. “I am not clueless. If I was, I’d be one of those pixies. And you never answered my question. Why else, other than to keep my curse from being prevented, would I save him from falling off the cliff?”

Peter just kept smirking at him. “Think about what you just did when you heard the kid laughing.”

Irritably, Starchild wanted to demand an answer. But despite that, his mind did as Peter suggested.

And it finally came to him. “You think I care about the boy?”

The smirk became a full-fledged grin, and Peter nodded his head.

Starchild blinked at him, unable to think of a reply. He seriously thought, he, Starchild, actually cared about the little fox? The same boy he had placed a curse on as a baby? Now that… was utterly ridiculous.

He slowly shook his head and scoffed at Peter. He turned all the way around and pointed his finger at him. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” he said indignantly. “I do not, nor will I ever, care about that boy. All I care about is making sure things happen the way they’re supposed to. That boy is supposed to prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel when he is sixteen years old, at which time I will finally get what I have wanted for years. You’re out of your mind if you think that anything I do is because I care about him.”

Much to his annoyance, Peter still looked like he didn’t quite believe him. He shrugged, still smiling. “All right, you’re in denial, that’s fine.”

“I am not in denial!” Starchild snapped.

“All right, if you say so…”

Starchild made a noise of frustration and waved his hand, turning Peter back into a cat. Peter stared at him for a moment, then leaned his head to the side as he turned to leave, his way of saying “Have it your way, then.”

“Go hack up a hairball!” Starchild told him loudly as he padded away. “Or better yet, choke on it!”

Peter just tossed his head flippantly.

Starchild huffed. “Mangy cat.” He turned away and went back to looking at the field. It seemed Tommy had caught Eric and brought him back to sit with Vinnie and Erik. They were now all eating the food they’d packed. For some reason, he found himself disappointed Eric wasn’t running around and playing anymore.

Only because he seemed the active type, and it was probably difficult for him to keep still as he ate; perhaps it would be easier for him if the pixies had let him run around a bit more. That was all. Not because he cared, like Peter foolishly thought he did. Starchild scowled as he thought of how amused Peter had been. He was not in denial; he couldn’t be in denial when he didn’t have anything to be in denial about. The notion that he cared about the little fox was ridiculous, and frankly, he was rather insulted Peter had the audacity to think such a thing. He was just making sure his curse would be fulfilled so he could finally destroy everything Ace had ever wanted, and that included stepping in whenever the pixies failed to pay attention to the boy. It wasn’t that he cared. Because he didn’t. At all.

And yet, just as before, his frown drifted off his face as he watched them, his eyes focusing specifically on Eric.

-*-

That would not be the last time that year that Starchild interacted with Eric. Later in the year, in the late summer, he was wandering through the forest, and his path just so happened to take him nearby the cottage. How coincidental…

From where he was standing, safely hidden within the trees, he could see the little fox playing in the front yard. He was waving a stick around like a sword and jumping around, pretending to fight an imaginary enemy. “Suwwenduh!” Starchild heard him shout. Starchild very nearly snorted; he wasn’t expecting a little child to know what that word meant.

He turned away from the scene and tried to find some excuse to be in the general area of the cottage, besides wanting to see how Eric was doing. He also had to avoid the eyes of Peter, who was sitting on a branch watching him, with the same knowing look he got whenever Starchild was watching Eric these days. Luckily, his eyes caught sight of a nearby tree, on which there was a large patch of the trunk without any bark. Stolen by the wood sprites, no doubt. They stole the bark to build their homes, but the problem was they always took far too much than they needed.

Sighing in frustration, Starchild lifted his hand and ran it over the barkless trunk. His magic spread over the bare patch, until bark began to slowly grow and restore itself on the trunk. Better. He’d have to discuss this with the wood sprites. Stupid sprites…

As he was finishing, he heard light, quick footsteps behind him. A child was running towards him. And there was only one child he knew of that lived in these woods.

He could have just ignored the footsteps and walked off. But instead Starchild found himself turning his head to see who it was.

“Hello,”

Sure enough, standing behind him was the little fox. He was staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes and a cute little smile on his face (not that Starchild personally thought it was cute—it was just objectively a cute smile).

Starchild wanted to groan in exasperation. Eric was what, five now? Surely he understood the concept of fear now? He turned fully around and looked down at the boy, giving him his now signature stony look.

“Go away,” he said curtly. Eric just kept smiling and began stepping closer, letting out a giggle. Starchild waved his hand. “Go. Go away.”

Instead of turning and leaving, Eric wrapped his arms around Starchild’s legs and hugged him, looking up at him happily.

“I don’t like children,” Starchild tried again, trying his best to keep his voice level. He momentarily looked over at Peter. The cat was sitting on his branch, watching the scene interestedly.

“Up, up!” Starchild looked down and saw Eric was holding his arms up, still smiling but now looking expectantly at him. He wanted to tell the boy no and to go away. But then again, that hadn’t worked before. Perhaps if he did as the little fox wanted he would leave.

Quickly glancing around to make sure no one else was watching, Starchild bent down and secured his hands under the boy’s arms, then lifted him up. Eric wrapped his legs around Starchild’s waist and pressed his hands to the faerie’s face. He pushed away his black curls, leaving visible the star over his eye. Curiously, Eric reached out and touched it, poking the black skin, then ran a finger down to the white skin of Starchild’s cheek. Eric let out a noise, perhaps the vocal version of a nod, then looked down at the ground.

Starchild set him down and pushed his back gently. “Go. Go, go, go.”

Eric trotted off back the way he came. At one point he stopped and looked back. He smiled and giggled one final time at Starchild, then turned and left. Starchild watched him go, then turned and stalked off. He was going to go speak with the wood sprites now, and try to forget about what had just happened.

He never did.

-*-

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was out in the bright blue sky, the flowers in the cottage garden were in bloom, and Eric decided to spend this lovely day playing outside.

The ten-year-old laughed as he chased the inky black cat around the front yard. The cat kept appearing to him, had been for a couple years now. It was always up for playing with him—or was it a he? Or a she? He wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure the cat was a he.

The cat hopped up onto the wooden table and sat there, staring at Eric. Eric laughed and stroked the fur on its head. “Nice kitty,” he giggled. The cat headbutted his hand, and something about its eyes made Eric wonder if it was amused.

Eventually, the cat turned and ran off into the forest. Eric chased after it for a while, but gradually stopped when he became too worried about getting lost on the way back. He waved at the cat’s vanishing form. “Goodbye!”

As he was running back home, Eric stopped and thought for a moment, then turned and ran in a different direction. He was only a little ways away from home; he was sure it would fine. He came to a clearing that sloped down into a hillside, that was now a vibrant green from the lush grass.

Smiling, Eric pitched himself down the hill. He rolled down the side, whooping and laughing delightedly, giving no thought to how livid his Uncle Vinnie would probably be when he came home with rumpled, grass-stained clothes. When he came to the bottom of the hill he lay there, laughing breathlessly and looking up at the blossom petals falling from the trees, completely unaware of the dark eyes watching him from afar.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 7

GUESS WHAT’S BACK, MY DUDES????? IT’S THE MALEFICENT AU!!!!

In all seriousness though, I do apologize for that hiatus. College life forced me to prioritize and put my writing on the backburner while I got through the rest of the semester, and then I just sorta... forgot about this for a while. But never mind all that. The important thing is, I’M BACK BABY!

I wrote out the next two chapters after this one in advance, and since I’m going home for spring break on Sunday I’m hoping I can sit down with the movie and type up some more chapters. My main hope is that I can go back to regular Saturday afternoon chapter postings, but we’ll see. For now, enjoy Chapter 7! Here’s the link to the master post I made for this story if you want a refresher on what’s happened so far. 

@cosmicrealmofkissteria​ This one’s for you while you ride out your hell week. Enjoy, girlfriend! :) 

King Ace ordered his men to seize every spinning wheel in the kingdom. The wheels were broken and burned, and they might never be used, and thrown into the deepest dungeon in the castle. Secretly, he entrusted the safety of his son to the magic of the pixies, who would take him to a remote hideaway for sixteen years and a day.

Ace shut himself behind the walls of his castle, while his soldiers rode far and wide to hunt Starchild down. But Starchild made walls of his own, fearsome walls of gigantic black thorns, that the Moors might never again suffer the touch of any human. And he reveled in the sorrow that his curse had brought.

The pixies began their charge to raise Eric in a snug little cottage in the woods, far away from the Moors.

At the sight of the cottage, Vinnie was immediately questioning why, exactly, they had agreed to this.

The cottage they were to raise Eric in was, in a word, a mess. It clearly had seen better days; patches of the roof were gone, the windows were covered in dirt, and the gardens surrounding it were a wild mess of overgrowth and dead plants. Vinnie hated to think about what the inside looked like…

Erik and Tommy, it seemed, were taken aback by the cottage as well. “No!” Erik exclaimed. “This is it?”

“It looks terrible,” Tommy stated.

Internally, Vinnie agreed, but he had to shove that opinion aside. “It’ll have to do for now,” he said. “No matter how filthy and unkempt and… probably full of insects it is…” He just hoped there were no spiders.

A gurgle made the three of them look down at the baby in the bassinet. Little Eric gazed up at them curiously, having woken from a nap. Here was another reason Vinnie didn’t want to do this: the little prince would have to be raised away from home, away from his parents. Why had Starchild cursed this little baby, who wasn’t even two months old, to such a fate?

Vinnie pushed that thought away, and instead took another look at Eric. And it was this time that he noticed how big he was. For a human, he was rather small, even for a baby, but he was easily three times bigger than any of the three of them. This could become a problem…

It seemed Erik and Tommy noticed this as well. “We’re gonna need a smaller baby,” Erik said aloud.

“Or bigger bodies,” Tommy agreed. “Maybe we can make him smaller…”

His comment about bigger bodies gave Vinnie an idea. “No… what we need is a good disguise.”

Erik and Tommy turned to him. “What do you mean?” Erik asked.

“We have to blend in, don’t we? And we have to be big enough to look after this baby. So, gather around, you two.” Erik and Tommy flew over to him, and they huddled together and joined hands. “Ready?”

They said together, “One, two, three, grow!”

There was a puff of pink, green, and blue dust, and when it cleared, all three pixies were human size. They looked themselves and each other over, moving their arms, legs, and fingers interestedly. It felt strange to be so big; they were giants compared to their normal size.

Erik looked over at Vinnie, who was standing beside Tommy, and burst out laughing. He pointed at Vinnie. “You’re so short!” he guffawed.

Vinnie frowned and reached out to smack Erik’s shoulder. At least there was one benefit to this; he wouldn’t have to move his whole body to hit one of them. “Oh shut up. You’re shorter than me!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Tommy cut in, “you’re both shorter than me.”  

Neither Vinnie nor Erik wanted to admit he was right, even though he was. They both had to turn their heads upward a bit to meet his eyes, and Erik was eye-level with Tommy’s shoulder.

Vinnie huffed. “Fine. But at least now, there won’t be any questions asked. As far as anyone knows, we’re no longer pixies. We’re three peasant men raising our orphan child in the woods.” Tommy and Erik nodded. “So that means, no more flying.”

Erik’s eyes widened. “No flying?” he repeated.

“No flying. And no magic.”

Now Tommy looked shocked. “No magic?”

“You heard me. No magic.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little bit. We have to appear human, and that means no flying and no magic.”

Both of them looked incredibly disappointed. Vinnie wanted to join them in being disappointed, but someone had to take charge here. “Let’s get Eric inside and start cleaning up,”

Tommy carefully picked up the bassinet, and they all entered the cottage. “You sure this place will be safe?”

“Of course it is,” Vinnie replied as he opened the door. “It’s the middle of nowhere. No one will find us here.”

-*-

Starchild could not believe how easy it had been to find the pixies.

He expected it to be difficult, of course. Peter had been reporting Ace was taking every precaution he could, including sending the little prince away with the pixies. He figured the pixies would hide themselves and the boy well enough that it would be difficult to find them, which he was fine with. He had all the time in the world to track them down, after all. But really? Hiding themselves so close to the Moors? So close it had only taken him a day to find their cottage? They might as well have invited him over to visit.

He peered through the foliage surrounding the cottage, Peter doing the same from his perch on a branch above his head. Clanging noises came from within, meaning they were still working on cleaning the place. His eyes immediately went to the bassinet in the front yard. Did… Did they realize they had left Eric outside? They had brought him outside while they cleared up the gardens, then one by one went back in the house, effectively leaving the boy outside.

Starchild wanted to laugh. The three pixies had always been absentminded, but this was ridiculous even for them.

The door suddenly opened, and Erik ran out towards the bassinet. “There you are!” Starchild heard him exclaim. He picked up the bassinet and went back inside. “You gotta stop hiding,”

Did he… never mind.

Starchild stood there for a moment, pondering on what to do. There was really no reason for him to stay any longer. He knew where they were, which meant he could now spy on them whenever he wanted. And the pixies weren’t exactly doing anything exciting, just cleaning. So why wasn’t he leaving yet?

He blamed curiosity as the reason for why, as soon as he was sure the pixies wouldn’t see him, he stepped out into the clearing and quickly and quietly snuck across the yard. After a moment, Peter jumped down to the ground and bounded after him. Starchild crept up to the window and pushed it open to look down at the bassinet next to it. Peter hopped up on the window ledge beside him.

Eric’s head turned and their eyes met. Faerie and baby stared at each other for a moment. Starchild hummed as he looked him over with unimpressed eyes. “Hm. It’s so ugly, you could almost feel sorry for it,” he said aloud.  

Eric’s mouth curled up in a smile. Starchild frowned, caught off guard for a moment. He’d never gotten that reaction from someone before. Perhaps he was still too young to realize the concept of fear.

Well, no better time to learn. Starchild growled in his throat, then bared his teeth, held out his hand in the shape of a claw, and hissed at him.

To his satisfaction, the smile dropped off Eric’s face. But then, a few moments later, the smile returned.

Starchild glowered at him. “I hate you. Little fox.”

He looked up at the sound of the pixies’ voices and clattering pots, then turned and left the window. And by the time the pixies came back from the kitchen, he had disappeared back into the trees and was headed back to the Moors.

Some time later, Peter brought up their interaction. “By the way, what’s with that nickname, ‘little fox’?”

Starchild frowned at the thought of the encounter with the baby boy, and bluntly replied, “I hate foxes.”

Peter just nodded. That made sense.

-*-

The pixies were perhaps… unequal to their task. Although they took it on with enthusiasm, they nonetheless knew next to nothing of raising a human child.

Starchild decided he hated the sound of a crying baby. Though this was a problem he wouldn’t be having if curiosity didn’t keep bringing him back to the cottage to spy on the pixies and Eric. He hated his curiosity.

More loud crying interrupted his thoughts, and he scowled. He hated curiosity… but not as much as he hated this.

From where he was safe in the trees he glared heatedly at the bassinet sitting in the front yard of the cottage, more specifically at the wailing baby boy inside. Shut. Up.

The pixies weren’t making things much better. They themselves were utterly confused as to why Eric wouldn’t stop crying.

“Why is he crying?” Tommy asked, looking down at Eric.

“I think he might be hungry,” Erik said thoughtfully.

“Then feed him!” Vinnie called from where he was tending a garden. Erik immediately left Eric’s bassinet.

For once, Starchild actually felt relief. At least they had enough sense to recognize the problem. Maybe now Eric would finally stop crying.

As soon as he thought that, Erik came back, holding in his arm a bunch of carrots pulled from the vegetable garden. He placed them in Eric’s bassinet around him. “There you go.”

Starchild sighed in frustration. Never mind. From where he sat on a branch watching the scene, Peter himself lowered his head and shook it, letting out a low sound that was his own frustrated sigh.

Tommy went off and got vegetables of his own, cucumbers, and put them in the bassinet alongside the carrots. Starchild just facepalmed. Meanwhile Eric did not stop crying at all; in fact, he began wailing even louder.

Starchild covered his ears and growled in frustration. “It’s going to starve with those three looking after it,” he ground out.

-*-

Eric’s crying only proved two things: one, the pixies were useless, and two, he had an admittedly-impressive set of lungs. Quite a bit of stubbornness, too, because as day turned to night he went from crying to simply fussing, then back to full-blown crying again during the night. Miraculously, the pixies were able to actually fall asleep in spite of all the racket.

If he hadn’t been so annoyed at the child himself, Starchild would have perhaps been amused at how persistent he was. But as it was, he felt nothing other than the desire to get him to be quiet.

Which led to later that night after the pixies fell asleep. Peter crept into the cottage through the window as a cat, carrying in his mouth a pink rose. The rose, however, had its petals pushed back into the form of a bud, with a small opening at the top, and was full of fresh milk. After giving up on the pixies, Starchild had gone off to find the flower and the milk, because even he knew babies drank milk. Well, Fair children did, but he figured the little fox was so hungry he would eat anything offered to him.

Starchild watched from the window as Peter crept across the floor towards Eric’s cradle. As he moved, milk began to slowly drip out of the rose onto the floor. Perhaps he’d used too much, but he didn’t care, as long as it would just shut the baby up.

Peter jumped up onto the side of the cradle and offered the bud of the rose to the crying boy. At the sight of the cat, Eric was so surprised his crying immediately began to taper off. Peter nudged the bud against Eric’s mouth, and after a moment, Eric reached up to grab the flower in his tiny hands and began to drink the milk, finally going silent.

Starchild sighed in relief. Finally. He turned around and was about to leave when sudden noises made him turn back around. Eric was staring up at Peter as he drank, and around the rosebud Starchild could hear him cooing at the cat. And to his surprise, Peter began to purr at the baby boy, bumping his head against Eric’s and making him giggle.

After watching the cat and baby interact for far longer than he would ever admit, Starchild turned around and set off back to the Moors, his mind turning. If today had been any indication, the three pixies clearly were unable to properly care for the boy. And Starchild had come too far in his plans for revenge to let some incompetent pixies ruin everything.

The faerie sighed heavily. He was willing to patiently wait for Eric to turn sixteen. But if his curse was going to be fulfilled, then Starchild was going to have to make sure nothing happened to the little fox until that day came.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 8

It’s that time again! Relatively short chapter this time around, but hey, a chapter’s a chapter. And we get to check back in with a certain wings-stealing power-hungry king that threw all these events into motion. But you’ll have to read on to find out what happens with that heheh. Enjoy!

It was a relatively quiet day, a few weeks after moving into the cottage. It had been cleaned from top to bottom, enough to satisfy Vinnie’s rather high standards of cleanliness, the pixies had gotten settled, and they were starting to get the hang of taking care of Eric. The baby boy was currently napping, so Tommy and Vinnie decided to sit at the table and play a card game, while Erik sat between them mending a shirt.

They had been playing for a while when Vinnie glanced up at Tommy, saw he wasn’t looking, and slowly reached out his hand towards the card deck. Right before he could snatch a card, Tommy raised his eyes. His hand shot out and grabbed Vinnie’s. 

“What?” Vinnie asked.

“You’re cheating!” Tommy accused.

“Am not!”

“Are too!” Erik pointed. “I saw that!”

“We’re starting again,” Tommy demanded, snatching back Vinnie’s cards.

Vinnie huffed. “Fine, suit yourself,”

Tommy aggressively shuffled the cards, trying to find a good enough insult for the pink pixie. “Greedy… bloated… goat!” 

Vinnie’s jaw dropped open in shocked outrage. Meanwhile, Eric covered his mouth to hide his snickering. “Pfft, hahahahahah, bloated goat!” he laughed, pointing at Vinnie.

Vinnie glared at them both… then startled as he felt a drop hit his head. He looked up just in time to feel more drops of water hit his face. Frowning, he looked at Tommy. “Very mature, Tommy,”

Tommy looked up at him in confusion. “Huh?”

Shaking his head, Vinnie went to grab his dealt-out hand, when even more water droplets rained down on him. His head snapped up. “Stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Tommy protested.

Glaring suspiciously at him, Vinnie slowly sat back down. He slowly reached out to take his cards…

And sheets of rain began to fall on him, for some reason only him. Vinnie gasped and went frozen as the rain drenched his hair and clothes, while Erik and Tommy burst out laughing at the sight.

But they stopped laughing when thunder rumbled inside the cottage and torrents of rain began to fall on both of them. Their laughter turned to shouts as Erik grabbed a pot and held it over his head, while Vinnie and Tommy were left to cover their head with just their arms.

“Who’s doing this?!” Vinnie screeched. “Tommy!”

“It’s not me! Erik, stop it!”

“Why would it be me?!”

“It has to be one of you! This is your fault, Tommy!”

“You’re the one who cheated, you dumb airhead!”

From where he was off in the trees, Starchild could hear the screaming of the pixies as he continued to make it rain inside the cottage. He let himself give a wide smirk of amusement as he waved his fingers in the direction of the cottage, sending off wisps of light purple magic. He heard thunder rumble and saw lightning flash in the windows, then heard the rain fall even harder. The pixies kept shrieking, and he heard thuds and crashes, caused no doubt by them scrambling for cover. Starchild’s grin widened and he began to laugh aloud at the chaos he was creating.

Peter, however, was not as amused. He had been when Starchild was just making it rain, but as chaos ensued in the cottage, he instead gave Starchild an unimpressed look. Starchild happened to glance over and stopped laughing upon noticing his look. “Oh, c’mon, that’s funny,”

Peter just shook his head at him. Starchild rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

-*-

As the days went on, Ace darkened, further consumed by paranoia and vengeance.

Night had fallen over the rolling hills. The only light came from the blazing torches lit by the regiment of soldiers standing at the standing stones of the Moors. They all moved quickly, untying their catapults from their horses. Their orders, given to them by the King himself, were fairly simple: destroy the wall of thorns that surrounded the mysterious Moors.

That didn’t mean they were still a bit apprehensive about it. It had only been a few months since the faerie, Starchild, had interrupted the prince’s christening and placed a curse on him. Since then rumors had circulated about the wicked faerie of the Moors. The armor they wore brought them a little reassurance, since it was made of iron. But still…

“Flames!” the general yelled. The soldiers grabbed their torches and ran to their catapults, lighting the bundles of wood inside. The wood burst into flames. When all the catapults were lit with dancing fire, the general raised his hand and brought it down. “Release!”

One by one, the catapults launched their projectiles. The flaming missiles flew through the air and hit the wall of thorns, setting them aflame. And all too soon, the gigantic thorns were all burning wildly. The soldiers cheered victoriously, raising their weapons in the air as they watched the thorns burn.

But their triumph wouldn’t last very long.

Still covered in flames, the massive black thorns began to move. They rose up into the air, then slammed down on the ground, breaking through the catapults and killing any soldier who was unlucky enough to be in their path.

From behind the wall of thorns, Starchild waved his hands and flicked his fingers. His deep purple magic curled around his fingers like flames, controlling the thorns to destroy whatever they touched. He couldn’t see, but he could hear; he could hear the sounds of the weapons breaking to pieces, the frantic whinnying of horses, and the panicked shouts of the human soldiers. He was almost effortlessly taking down their pathetic attempt to destroy his wall, and the sounds of the chaos he was raining down on them was almost beautiful to hear. A malicious smile crept onto his face, and he began to laugh. It was soft at first, but grew louder and louder, until even the soldiers on the other side of the wall could hear him cackling in wicked amusement.

What few remained of the soldiers quickly turned and ran from the wall of thorns, diving out of the way of the black brambles, with Starchild’s cruel laughter dogging their every step.

-*-

“You failed me.”

It was all Ace could manage to get out. He gazed into the depths of the fire crackling in the hearth, refusing to look at the general that had entered the room. A part of him had been hoping the general’s expedition to the wall of thorns would be successful. And yet, when the general entered the room and told him, in a shaky voice, what had happened… it was almost like he had been expecting the news.

“The wall cannot be burned,” the general insisted. “I-It is indestructible.”

His choice of words made Ace’s mind turn, once again, to the christening, and Starchild’s face appeared in the flames. He was wearing that same cruel smile, and the sound of the faerie’s loud, wicked laughter echoed painfully in his ears. It was his laughter that haunted Ace the most, every hour of every day. Even in sleep he couldn’t escape it; when he slept, if it wasn’t a dreamless sleep borne of pure exhaustion, he heard nothing but the sound of Starchild laughing at him.

Ace’s hands began to tremble. He finally looked up from the fireplace and stalked over to the general, and struck him hard across the face. “Nothing is indestructible!” he yelled. “Not the wall, not Starchild… not even his curse!”

Ace went over to the table and placed his hands on it to steady himself, his breath coming out ragged. It had been a long time since he’d last felt so helpless… and he absolutely hated it.

Starchild’s face smirked at him, and he could just hear Starchild’s voice hissing at him. I’m coming for you…

Ace’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t just cower away in the castle like a sitting duck. He had to take a stand, had to retaliate somehow. It would be mostly impossible, though; he was just a human, defenseless against Starchild’s magic.

But there was one way he could defend himself…

Ace lifted his head and turned to the general. “Bring me the iron workers.”

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 2

And we’re back! I’m thinking I’ll post the chapters every Saturday, because I’ve got like, at least half the story done at this point, so posting every week gives me time to work on it while also letting me focus on college stuff. I’ll tell ya tho, I’ve been excited to post this all week! 

Enjoy the chapter!... Well, enjoy it as best you can. Things get pretty... pretty bad for Starchild near the end. On the bright side, his look in this chapter is his bitchin Dynasty-era costume. 

As the years passed, Ace’s ambition called him away from Starchild, and towards the temptations of the human kingdom, while Starchild, the strongest of the faeries, rose to become protector of the Moors.

A black form flew through the morning sky, twisting through the air and bursting through the clouds. The form drew his wings around himself and twisted into a spiral, higher and higher into the air, until he spread out his wings and floated in the sky.

It was Starchild, now a fully-grown faerie of twenty-six years. He had grown from a young boy into a rather good-looking man (according to the water nymphs anyway). His long, curly black hair cascaded down his back, blowing slightly in the morning breeze, and perhaps with his black hair and splendorous wings and his purple tunic and black pants, along with the black star on his white face and red lips, he would make for a rather intimidating man. But one only had to look at his eyes, which were bright as they looked down at his home, and the smile that graced his red lips to know that they had no reason to fear this man.

Well, unless they threatened the Moors. Then they might as well pray to whatever higher power they believed in that Starchild would show mercy.

But right now, Starchild had no reason to be the fierce protector of the Moors that he was. Instead, he was just another dweller of the Moors on his morning flight.

Starchild leaned forward and went into a dive, flying expertly over, under, and between the various rock and cliff formations. At this point he knew the Moors so well he could have flown around it with his eyes closed… if he hadn’t tried that once and nearly broke one of his wings. Gene had given him a serious scolding over that one. So he kept his eyes open and continued flying, past many dwellers of the Moors, and if he hadn’t been flying so fast he would have shouted a good morning to them.

He passed by a waterfall and flew to be down over the surface of the crystal blue loch, and below him he saw the water dwellers break the surface, diving above the water then splashing down again, and Starchild could feel the spray of the water as they dove back down. Smiling brighter now, he did a few twists and loops in the air before tilting himself up, soaring higher and higher above the Moors. He flew through the clouds, feeling the cool water on his face and hair, until he broke through the thick layer and was above everything. He was so high up that nearly all the clouds were below his feet, and he saw nothing ahead but the bright sun against the morning sky.

Starchild closed his eyes and floated there for a long moment, taking in long, deep lungfuls of the clear, crisp air and feeling the warm rays of the sun on his face. He loved it up here, almost as much as he loved to fly. There was nothing in the world like flying; being free from the ground to soar weightlessly through the air, made even better by his strong, dependable wings. When he was in the air, he could leave everything behind; could forget his duty to the Moors (even though he wore his title with pride), whatever was happening on the ground, and could forget…

The smile faded as Starchild thought of Ace. And it was the thought of Ace that made him remember he couldn’t stay in the air forever, despite how much he wanted to. He leaned forward and flew down back to the Moors.

Starchild often wandered alone, and sometimes wondered where Ace might be, for he had never understood the greed and envy of men. But he was to learn. For the human king had heard of a growing power in the Moors, and he sought to strike it down. 

It was while Starchild was wandering through the Moors one day that he saw it. He was up on a cliff, looking out at the dark, cloudy sky, and he would wonder later if the dismal gloom had been an omen for what was to come.

Then, between the edge of the Moors and Jendell, he saw a huge cloud of dust, slowly inching toward the Moors. He squinted, and through the dust he could see strips of cloth being held up on sticks. Flags; human flags.

Starchild’s eyes widened, and he spread his wings and took off towards the edge of the Moors.

-*-

When the army had approached the standing stones, King William raised his gauntlet-clad arm. “Halt!” his generals yelled, and the army stilled.

King William looked out at the Moors. There was no sign of any of the odd… things, that dwelled in the kingdom, or any of the terrifying giants made of trees that were rumored to guard the borders.

King William spurred his horse forward, and turned it to look out at the army. “There they are!” he shouted. “The mysterious Moors, where no one dares to venture, for fear of the magical creatures that lurk within. Well I say: crush them!”

The knights and soldiers cheered in agreement, the flag-bearers waving the flags in the air.

Suddenly, King William heard the sound of flapping wings. He turned around, just in time to see a human-like man with large black wings swoop down and land on a boulder between two standing stones.

On his boulder, Starchild stood up and looked out at the distant human army. What had before been a bright face with sparkling eyes and a perpetual hint of a smile was now dark and stormy, with his eyes blazing with anger and his red lips in a hateful scowl. His eyes fell on the king, and their eyes locked.

Starchild’s fists clenched. “Go now, forever!” he roared.

King William looked at him with maddening superiority. “A king,” he said condescendingly, “does not take orders from a winged elf!”

Laughter went up throughout the army. Starchild’s frown darkened; he was a faerie, thank you very much. “You are no king to me!” he spat.

For a moment, there was silence. Starchild glared defiantly at the king, daring him to attack. Then he saw King William lean his head toward one of his commanders. His voice was no longer a shout, but Starchild still heard what he ordered: “Bring me his head.”

“Battalion!”

There was a ringing of swords as they were pulled from their sheaths.

“Attack!”

The soldiers began to move, inching closer to the Moors. But even though they had shields and iron swords, Starchild was ready for them.

He clenched his fists. “Arise, and stand with me!”

The ground began to rumble, making the humans stop and look around. “Hold the line!” he heard someone shout. The rumbling intensified, until he saw some of the humans begin to stumble and even fall.

Then from out of the ground burst gigantic tree hulks. They burst through the dirt and crawled out, roaring fiercely at the army. From out of the trees behind Starchild came the border guards, riding on the backs of huge warthogs with their spears in their hands, Gene leading at the front. The ground in front of Starchild rumbled again, then enormous snake-like creatures made of earth burst from the ground, screeching and howling at the army.

Starchild looked back at the army, waiting for them to attack. For a long moment there was nothing. Then he heard King William yell, “Charge!”

The humans began to run towards the Moors. Starchild narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, then spread his wings and took off into the air. His takeoff was the signal for the army of the Moors to charge, and for a moment he hovered in the air, watching the two armies draw closer to each other. Right before they collided, Starchild swooped down and flew towards the Jendell army. He shot through the ranks, knocking soldier after soldier off their horses, distracting the humans enough for the Moors’ army to overwhelm them.

The battle seemed to last moments, when really it went on for hours. Although the humans certainly tried, they were simply no match for the power of the Moors. Gene and the other border guards knocked humans off their horses and impaled them through the chest with their spears. The tree hulks crushed many at a time with their huge fists, jumping and leaping around and roaring fiercely. The tree snakes burrowed through the ground, breaking the surface to snatch humans up in their mouths before diving underground again.

And at the forefront of it all was Starchild himself. He used his wings to his advantage, leaping into the air and tackling humans to the ground, smacking away humans trying to run up on him with his wings, and curling them around his body to protect himself from spears thrown at him. He jumped into the air and swung his fists, bringing them down on a human and knocking him down. The entire time, his face was twisted in a ruthless look, letting every human know he was ready and willing to tear them apart. He was not willing to show any mercy to these people—they, in their greed and arrogance, were trying to invade his home, and if they weren’t going to show mercy than neither was he.

But they weren’t the ones who had led the attack. Starchild flew up into the air and over the battlefield, scanning it for the person he wanted to find. Finally, he caught sight of King William. The arrogant man was still on his horse, and from the looks of his still-pristine furs and armor, he hadn’t even taken part in the battle. Coward.

Starchild’s eyes narrowed in anger, and he beat his wings faster, shooting towards King William’s horse. “YOU!” he roared.

It took only one hit to his torso to send King William off his horse, and he fell to the ground with a cry of shock and pain. Starchild hovered in the air above him, and he saw that his strike had considerably dented and damaged the king’s chest plate, though Starchild suspected it was more for show than practical use. The king lay pathetically on the ground, and for a moment Starchild snarled down at him, feeling satisfaction at the sight of the arrogant human king lying on the ground in defeat.

Then he heard someone yell, “To the king!” Soldiers began to run towards the king, aiming their swords up at the faerie. Well, Starchild was not going to let it be that easy. He violently beat his wings, sending powerful blasts of air at the soldiers and sweeping them off their feet.

“You will not have the Moors!” Starchild yelled as he flew down towards the king, until he was leaning over him. “Not now, not ever! You—ah!”

King William had flung out a hand to push him away, and the iron of his glove landed right on Starchild’s bare chest. Yelping in shock, Starchild flapped his wings and flew back, placing a hand over his burnt skin. As his skin healed, he looked back up to see what was left of the Jendell army finally retreating, running back the way they came towards the human kingdom. He even spotted soldiers lift King William off the ground and onto a horse, then get on horses of their own and ride away. The tree hulks slammed their fists down on the ground one last time, roaring after them.

Behind him, Gene rode up beside him, growling questioningly at him. Starchild turned and nodded, letting him know he was all right. Satisfied, Gene bowed his head to him. Starchild bowed respectfully back, then turned to look back at the retreating army. He blew out a sigh, allowing himself to relax.

They had won. The Moors were safe again.

-*-

When Ace had gotten the opportunity to work in the castle, he leapt at the opportunity and never looked back. He began as a kitchen boy, as far away from the king as possible, but stayed patient. That was the key; having patience. Good things came to those who waited. And eventually, he rose through the ranks of the servants, proving time and time again his strong work ethic and unwavering loyalty, until finally he was one of the personal servants of the king himself.

This, of course, meant that he’d had to stop visiting the Moors, and Starchild. Sometimes, when his luck was bad, Ace would think about Starchild, the starry-eyed faerie he’d shared more than a few kisses with. But he couldn’t mention that he’d been romantically involved with a creature of the Moors, or else everything Ace worked for would go up in smoke. There were times where he missed his Starshine, but surprisingly, these moments didn’t happen as often as Ace thought they would. So much the better; this just meant he could better focus on his goals.

One day, when Ace was twenty-six, King William amassed his army and left for the Moors, decreeing that after so many years, he would finally live up to the promise he’d made to Jendell: that he would invade and take the Moors for their people. For a short moment, Ace considered trying to find a way to warn Starchild that the army was coming, but by the time he made his decision, the army was too far gone. So he’d simply shrugged and carried on preparing the king’s chambers for when he returned. He didn’t know of any way to contact Starchild anyway, and besides, he was sure the creatures of the Moors would be able to defend themselves.

The army was gone for four days. Then on the fifth day, they returned. Ace was able to figure out the outcome of the battle when the king’s head generals burst inside the king’s chambers, with soldiers behind them carrying the king. The king was completely stripped of his armor, and his chest appeared to be wrapped in bandages. If the king had been any younger, there would perhaps have been a better chance of him surviving. But as it was, King William was an old man, and so the palace healers gave him a month before he passed.

It was late at night, now. The king’s generals were standing around his bed, while the king himself lay propped up on pillows. Ace kept quiet and out of sight, drifting around the room lighting candles, and listening to what was being said.

“When I ascended to the throne,” King William began, and his voice sounded raspy and pained, “I promised the people… that one day… we would take the Moors, and its treasures. Each of you… swore allegiance to me… and to that cause…” The king began to cough violently.

Ace immediately went over to the bed, grabbing another pillow and propping the king’s head up. “Your majesty,” he whispered. Once the king’s coughing fit had passed, Ace respectfully stepped back, listening as the king began to speak again.

“Defeated in battle… is this to be my legacy? I see you waiting… for me to die… It won’t be long… but what then? I will choose a successor… to take the throne… and care for my daughter. Who among you… is worthy? Kill the winged creature… avenge me… and upon my death, you will take the crown.”

King William’s words never left Ace’s head. When he was dismissed to go back to the servants’ quarters, he went over to the water basin and splashed water on his face. He looked up and stared at himself in the mirror, thinking and turning the king’s words over in his mind.

-*-

The next day, Ace worked faster than he’d ever had in his life. Normally he worked slowly and efficiently, making sure all his duties were done perfectly, and asking for extra work, and so it was normally in the evening that he finally finished. But today, he worked quickly and didn’t ask for extra work, and so it was the early afternoon by the time he finished. As soon as he was dismissed, he threw on his hooded cloak and left the castle, making a stop at an apothecary before eventually leaving the kingdom altogether.

It would normally take a person the entire day to reach the border of the Moors. But years of trips there had allowed Ace to figure out shortcuts, and so it only took him a few hours. He didn’t stop walking until he came to the old spot where he and Starchild would meet each other. Grey clouds had taken over the sky, blocking out the sun and casting a dim light on the forest and standing stones.

Ace lowered the hood of his cloak and looked around, walking cautiously towards the entrance to the Moors. “Starchild!” he called. Silence. “Starchild!”

Still, he heard nothing. Ace waited for a short while, but when he saw no sign of the faerie he turned around. This trip had been for nothing…

Right after he thought that, he heard a rush of air and feet land on the ground. He whirled back around. There behind him was Starchild. Since he hadn’t seen the faerie in years, he took a moment and looked at him. He hadn’t changed much, but had grown taller. He still wore purple clothes. On his face was an odd look; to anyone else, it would have been rather stony, but Ace knew it was just an act, an act he was struggling to maintain.

“So,” Starchild said to him, and Ace got the impression he wasn’t sure how to react to seeing him again, “how is life with the humans?”

Wasting no time, Ace stepped closer to him. “Starchild, I came to warn ya… they’re gonna kill you.” That caught Starchild’s attention, and he continued, “King William’s men… they’ll stop at nothing to kill you and take the throne.” He held out his hand. “Let me help you… I’ll keep you safe.”

Starchild tilted his head and frowned slightly at him, and for a moment he didn’t reply. “What makes you think you can keep me safe?”

Ace exhaled urgently, and kept his hand outstretched. “Please… you gotta trust me, Starshine,”

Starchild’s face immediately softened at the nickname. He looked down at Ace’s hand, unmoving. Ace waited patiently. That was the key; having patience.

And his patience was rewarded when Starchild reached out and took his hand.

They spoke of many things, and the years faded away, and Starchild forgave Ace, his folly and his ambition, even sang for him again, and all was as it had been long ago.

“Mmph!” Ace let out a laugh as Starchild eagerly pressed his red lips to Ace’s. They were in a remote part of the Moors near the back border, sitting on the bank of a small lake while fireflies dotted the night air. It was a spot no one else knew about, only them. “Gotta warn me when you’re gonna do that, Starshine.”

Starchild broke away, laughing sheepishly. “Sorry,”

“Hey, I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it.” Ace kissed his cheek, then picked up his waterskin and handed it to him. “Thirsty?”

Smiling in thanks, Starchild took the waterskin and took a drink of the fluid inside. He handed it back to Ace, and his eyebrows furrowed as he swallowed. “What is that?” he asked quietly.

“Light ale,” Ace answered easily. “Humans drink it. Good stuff, right?”

“I… I suppose…” Starchild moved closer to Ace until their bodies were touching and leaned his head on Ace’s shoulder. His eyes began to slowly droop closed, until they had shut completely. Starchild’s body relaxed, his wings sinking down to slump lazily on the ground, and within moments he was sound asleep.

Ace looked down at him and placed a hand on Starchild’s cheek. He was a little surprised; the man at the apothecary had said the sleeping potion would work quickly, but he hadn’t expected it to work that quickly. He slowly laid Starchild down on the grass, the faerie’s back facing upward.

“Starchild?” he said aloud, just to make sure. No response. He was completely out.

Ace reached into his bag, and pulled out a long-bladed knife. He closed his hands over the hilt of the knife and placed it so the tip of the blade was just above Starchild’s upper back. He took a deep breath, and slowly blew it out.

“Kill the winged creature… avenge me… and upon my death, you will take the crown.”

This was it. This was the moment, and Ace had to seize it before it was gone. He hadn’t expected to get very far in life, being a peasant boy, and up until now he’d been content as a personal servant to the king. Even if he admittedly had been hoping for more, he wasn’t a fool. It was the farthest he’d thought he would ever go… until last night. Last night, the opportunity had presented itself for him to go even farther. And he wasn’t going to let it pass him by.

“I’m sorry, Starshine,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Then he lifted his knife above his head, ready to bring it down in one killing blow.

His arms shook, but no matter how much Ace braced himself, they didn’t come down. Finally Ace moved away, falling onto his back. He tossed his knife away, breathing heavily. He couldn’t do it. Despite how much he wanted the throne, to be king… he just couldn’t kill Starchild.

Ace turned his head. Starchild was still sleeping peacefully, and he didn’t have to see his face to know of the tranquil look he was sure to have. He was absolutely still and unmoving, even his wings—

His wings.

Ace reached out and ran his fingers over the smooth black feathers as an idea formed in his mind. He couldn’t just return and simply claim he’d killed Starchild. Even if he’d been able to bring himself to kill him, he would have had to bring back proof.

“Your ring… Iron burns faeries.”

Ace turned and reached into his bag again and pulled out a long iron chain.

-*-

The first thing Starchild felt when he woke up was pain. He opened his eyes and sat up—and immediately regretted it when his upper back screamed in pain. “Ah!” he hissed. He looked up to see where Ace was; there was no sign of him. He was alone.

The next thing that Starchild noticed was that he felt… lighter. But far too light… like something had been taken away. His stomach plummeted as dread set in. No, no, no…

Starchild reached his hand over his shoulder, ignoring how his back screamed in protest, and ran his hand over his back. He felt the material of his tunic, then the holes that were supposed to be there…

But his fingers never touched the glossy feathers of his wings. Now panicking, Starchild twisted his head around to look.

All he saw was his bare back. His wings were gone.

Starchild’s mouth fell open, and a series of strangled, shocked noises fell from his mouth as his mind raced to catch up. His wings were gone. And Ace was gone. Which meant…

Tears flooded his eyes, and he began to cry. No… no, it couldn’t be true. But it was.

Ace had taken his wings.

Salty tears streamed in rivulets down his face as he cried. There was another pain now, a pain in his chest, and somewhere in his mind Starchild realized his heart was shattering. He lifted his head and let out a long, heartbroken wail.

His arms gave out and he collapsed back to lying on the ground. He stayed like that for what seemed like ages, his back throbbing in pain and his body wracked with sobs of grief, mourning the loss of his heart and his wings.

-*-

Damn wings, Ace thought briefly as he shifted their position slightly. He’d had to tie them together with rope, wrap them in a tarp, then heft them over his shoulder. There were a few times as he was walking back to the front border where he could have sworn he felt the wings twitch. But that was ridiculous, and besides, he was too busy thinking about how his shoulder was suffering under their weight. He’d never realized how large and heavy they were; perhaps that was because they always looked light as… well, a feather on Starchild. Couldn’t Starchild have had lighter wings? And the smell—he’d never known before what burning feathers smelled like. The wings had stopped smoldering, but faint traces of the stench still lingered in his nose. He decided he hated it.

Dawn had broken by the time he arrived back at the front border of the Moors. He knew of a way back from the hideaway that he could take without being spotted by a creature, but he’d been extra careful this time around. He glanced around briefly, then went for the wheelbarrow he’d stashed behind a thick patch of bushes. He set the wings in the wheelbarrow and covered them with a tarp, then let out a groan of relief as he rolled his shoulder. It would definitely be aching for a while. But the ache would be worth it.

As Ace turned to leave, a sudden loud wail in distance made him stop and look back. For a moment, he felt a flash, just a flash, of guilt.

Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Ace lifted his hood over his head and set off. When he became king he was going to have to work on not being so soft-hearted. But for now, he supposed he could allow himself to feel guilt just this once. It was better this way, he said to himself.

-*-

King William was still asleep by the time Ace returned. He wasted no time in barging into his chambers, marching up to the king’s bed, and throwing the bundled up wings at his feet. King William startled awake and turned his head down to look at the bundle. He looked up at Ace. “What is this?” he rasped.

Ace bowed his head and removed the tarp, revealing the black wings. “I have avenged you, sire,” he replied.

King William sat up as much as he was able, eyes widening in incredulity. “He is vanquished?”

For some reason, Starchild’s wail echoed in his ears. But Ace nodded all the same.

For a moment, King William’s eyes turned from him to the wings, then him again. Then he smiled, in what looked like amazement, and gave a laugh. His laugh was weak, but when Ace heard it, he knew right then that everything he’d done had been worth it. “Oh, you have done well, my boy,” he said, and the feeling Ace got from seeing that look of approval was more intoxicating than seeing any of Starchild’s bright smiles. “You have done what others feared to do… You will be rewarded.”

A part of Ace wanted to pinch himself, to see if he was dreaming. But it was a very small part. The rest of him was savoring the feeling of sweet victory. After so many years, years spent working himself to sometimes-exhaustion, bearing the looks of superiority from nobles, and repeating to himself over and over again to be patient, he had finally reached his goal. Even as a boy, he’d always thought becoming the King of Jendell would only ever be a fantasy… if only his boyhood self could see him now.

“I will do my best to be a worthy successor, Your Majesty.”

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 1

Well, here it is: THE MALEFICENT AU! I am SUPER excited to be writing this story, guys! It’s gonna (hopefully) be freakin’ awesome! (Btw I’m using this picture to give a general look of what Starchild looks like when he’s older, even though it doesn’t make sense for this chapter. Also because that cape is bitchin and comes up later) Hope you guys enjoy!

“A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green.” —Sir Francis Bacon

Let us tell an old story anew, and we will see how well you know it.

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms, that were the worst of neighbors. So vast was the discord between them, that it was said only a great hero or a terrible villain might bring them together. In one kingdom, Jendell, lived folk like you and me, with a vain and greedy king to rule over them. They were forever discontent, and envious of the wealth and beauty of their neighbors. For in the other kingdom, the Moors, lived every manner of strange and wonderful creature. And they needed neither king nor queen, but trusted in one another.

In a great tree on a great cliff in the Moors, lived one such spirit. You might take him for a boy, but he was not just any boy. He was a faerie. 

In his tree, lying on his back, a young faerie boy had his hands raised up in the air. All of the boy’s skin was pale, but his face was pure white, except for the red of his lips and a single black star over his right eye. His long, curly black hair was splayed out along with a set of black wings. Although the boy was young, his wings were already magnificent to look at, all black and made up of glossy black feathers. They were at the moment spread out lazily around him. The faerie boy wore clothes of different shades of purple, but no shoes.

The boy’s fingers twitched and waved, and wisps of light purple magic flitted around them, drifting upward and pushing two dolls made of leaves and branches up further into the air. The faerie boy smiled as he watched the dolls spin around in the air, arms attached together so they looked like they were dancing.

The sudden sound of a breaking branch made the boy stop and look up. Up above him, he saw that one of the smaller branches was bent out of shape, perhaps broken from the weight of the many leaves. He quickly abandoned the dolls and got up, his wings stretching out to help him balance himself. He crawled up a larger limb of his tree until he was standing in front of the broken branch. The boy closed his hands over the break and closed his eyes, concentrating. Light purple wisps of magic curled out from between his hands, and the bent branch slowly straightened out again. The boy opened his eyes and took his hands away; the break was gone. The boy smiled. “There you go,” he said to the branch.

He turned from the healed branch and took a couple steps, before looking out at the beautiful kingdom he called his home.

And his name was Starchild. 

Smiling brightly, Starchild leaned forward and jumped off the branch. As he fell, his wings unfurled out behind him, lifting him up into the air. Starchild flew through the Moors, feeling the breeze on his face.

It is said that Starchild received his name from what happened at his birth. It was said that the stars in the sky all shined down upon the baby faerie, blessing him with the star over his eye.

“Good morning, Bill!” Starchild called to a wood creature as he flew past. “I love your cap!”

Bill smiled and tipped the said cap at the faerie as he flew on.

Although Starchild had no parents, he found he didn’t need them to live a happy life. His heart was still bright as the sun, unable to give nothing but kindness and love.

Starchild came to a shallow pool, where three fat creatures were throwing mud at each other. As he neared, a blue one held up a handful of mud at him.

“No,” Starchild shook his finger at him threateningly, but still smiling slightly. “No, don’t you dare!”

Grinning, the blue creature threw the mud at him. Starchild ducked, and the mud flew over his head and splattered all over the face of a goblin. The goblin turned and started yelling at the fat blue creature.

Starchild laughed as he flew away. “Hah! You missed me!” he crowed.

He flew on, bidding good morning to the various creatures he saw. At one point he did a large loop-the-loop, shouting “Woo-hoo!” in joy. Laughing, he flew through a waterfall, the spray dampening his hair and clothes, but sliding right off his wings.

Starchild’s home was one of peace and joy, and even as a child he knew he wanted to see it stay that way. For he loved the Moors above all else.

Sudden twittering voices made Starchild look down at an island in the middle of the lake, where he saw a small crowd of creatures gathered. Floating in the air were three tiny fairies, wearing clothes that were pink, green, and blue; they were respectively Vinnie, Erik, and Tommy. The troubled looks on all the creatures’ faces was enough to make Starchild swoop down and land in front of the fairies. “What’s going on?” he asked Vinnie.

“The border guards discovered—” Vinnie began, but Tommy interrupted.

“Why do you get to tell him? I want to tell him!”

“I want to!” Erik piped up, but went unnoticed.

“There are rules, Tommy,” Vinnie said to him. “I tell this time, you tell next time. The border guards—”

“No,” Tommy interrupted again. “You told last time, so I get to tell this time, and Eric tells next time.”

“Tell me what?” Starchild interrupted. They were all sweet fairies, but they sometimes squabbled over the most ridiculous of things.

Vinnie rolled his eyes at Tommy. “Ugh, fine!”

Tommy smiled and nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to Starchild eagerly. “Starchild, the border guards—”

“The border guards found a human thief at the Pool of Jewels!” Erik interrupted excitedly. There was a pause in which Vinnie and Tommy glared at him, and he realized what had happened. “Uh, oops. Sorry.”

Starchild’s eyes widened at his words. Without a word, his wings unfurled and he took off, the ensuing gust of wind sending the fairies flying in all directions.

Erik righted himself and looked after Starchild in annoyance. “He’s always in a hurry with his big wings. Stupid big wings…”

Vinnie worriedly watched Starchild fly away. “Humans here… I hope there’s not another war.”

-*-

When Starchild arrived at the Pool of Jewels, he saw two of the giant tree guards that guarded the borders of the Moors standing in the water, pointing their spears at the forest beyond the pool. Starchild landed on the rock between them and looked out into the forest. The tree guard on his left, Gene, turned to him and spoke in the language of the tree creatures.

“I’m not afraid,” Starchild replied confidently. “Besides,” he turned back to the woods, “I’ve never seen a human up close.” He looked out into the woods, and spotted a cowering figure in the shadows. “Come out of there!” he called.

There was a moment’s pause, then a young male voice called back. “No! They’re gonna kill me! Besides, they’re hideous to look at!”

Gene growled. Starchild’s mouth dropped open in shock. “That’s extremely rude!” he said indignantly. He turned to Gene and smiled. “Don’t listen to him, Gene. You’re classically handsome.”

Gene nodded and grunted a thank-you. Starchild turned back to the woods. “It’s not right to steal, but we don’t kill people for it. Now come out.” He made his voice sound more authoritative. “Come out right now!”

It surprisingly worked. There was the sound of footsteps, then a small human came into the light. He had long, straight black hair and a rather thin face. He was dressed in shabby clothing, and as he stared at Starchild his eyes went from Starchild’s face to his wings, looking rather intimidated.

Starchild tilted his head at him. “Are you fully grown?” he asked.

“Er, n-no,” the small human replied.

Starchild turned to Gene. “I think he’s just a boy,”

“You are, too,” the boy replied, cautiously stepping closer. “I think.”

“Who are you?” Starchild asked him, trying to make it sound like more of a demand.

“I’m called Ace. Who’re you?”

“I’m Starchild,”

Gene spoke to him, reminding him about the jewel the boy—Ace—had stolen. Starchild nodded. “Yes, right.” He turned back to Ace. “You have to give it back.”

“Give what back?”

Starchild gave him a withering look and held out his hand. After a pause, Ace sighed and went for a pouch hanging around his neck. He opened the pouch and took out the jewel he had stolen, and tossed it to Starchild. Starchild caught it, admired it for a moment, then turned and threw it back into the pool.

“All right. Now come on.” He flew over to where Ace was standing and turned to enter the forest. Behind him, Gene grunted, asking where he was going. Starchild turned back to him briefly. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” He turned to Ace. “Let’s go.”

“Where are you going?” Ace asked him.

“I’m taking you out of the Moors. Humans don’t belong here.”

As they walked through the forest, Starchild leading with Ace behind him, Ace spoke up again as they reached the edge of the Moors. “If I knew you were just gonna throw it away, I would’ve kept it.”

“I didn’t throw it away,” replied Starchild matter-of-factly. “I delivered it home. As I’m going to do for you.”

When they reached the standing stones marking the edge of the Moors, Ace looked out at the human kingdom that was many, many leagues away. On the horizon, Starchild could see a large structure with multiple jagged points to it. “Someday, y’know, I’ll live there,” Ace said, pointing to the structure. “In the castle.”

Ah, so that’s what it was. “Where do you live now?” Starchild asked curiously.

At that, Ace’s head lowered slightly, and he looked rather sad. “In a barn,” he replied.

“So your parents are farmers?” He was about to ask what that was like when Ace shook his head.

“No… my parents are dead.”

Ace looked back out at the castle, while Starchild felt sympathy rise in him. After a moment, he said, “Mine too,”

Ace turned from the castle to him. For a moment, the two boys stared at each other. Then Ace said, “We’ll see each other again,”

He began to walk off. Starchild couldn’t help but stop him once again.

“You really shouldn’t come back here, you know. It’s not safe for a human to be here.”

Ace paused, then turned around, looking at him inquisitively. “What if I did come back? Would you be here?”

The question caught Starchild off guard for a moment. After a moment he answered, smiling slightly, “Maybe…”

Ace formally extended his hand for Starchild to shake. Starchild stared down at it, then reached out to grab it, completely forgetting about the iron ring around Ace’s finger.

The sudden burning pain made Starchild wrench his hand back. “Ah!”

“What’s wrong?” Ace asked in concern.

Starchild hissed in pain and held his hand, running his thumb over his palm as the pink skin slowly healed itself. “Your ring,” he said to Ace. “Iron burns faeries.”

Ace looked down at his ring. “Oh… I’m sorry.” Starchild assumed he would offer his other hand, but instead Ace took the ring off his finger, turned, and threw it as hard as he could. It flew into the air and out of sight. Smiling, Ace turned back and offered his hand again. Starchild looked at him for a moment, then reached out and took it. They shook hands, then Ace turned around to leave. “I like your wings,” he said.

Starchild smiled and preened slightly at the compliment. “Thanks,”

“See you around, Starshine,” Ace said as he walked away.

Starchild frowned. “That’s not my name!” he called after him.

“Starshine sounds better!”

After watching Ace walk away, Starchild smiled and turned to re-enter the Moors. He thought about the young human boy he’d met for the rest of the day. And that night, he stared up at the canopy of his tree and smiled as remembered how Ace had thrown away his ring without a second thought.

Starchild thought about how Ace had cast away his ring, he who had so little in the world, so that their hands might touch again, and his heart was moved. Thus, did the young thief, who had hoped to steal a jewel, steal something far more precious.

-*-

For the next few weeks, Starchild went to the edge of the Moors, waiting for a while each day to see if Ace would come back. Sadly, he saw nothing of the young human boy. Then one day as he flew to his usual spot, he finally heard a voice.

“Starchild! Starchild!”

Starchild peered through the trees, and grinned happily. There was Ace, standing between the standing stones and looking into the Moors, trying to catch sight of him. Starchild decided to surprise him, and flew quietly over his head and landed behind him. Ace jumped and whirled around, making him smile wider.

“Well, well… after all these weeks, look who came back,” he said.

Ace gave him a lopsided smile. “I thought it worth the risk. So… what do you do for fun?”

They ended up flying over a river, with Ace holding onto Starchild’s foot as he flapped his wings so that Ace’s feet were submerged in the water. Ace was shouting, while Starchild laughed even as he flew awkwardly due to the extra weight. Eventually, Ace’s fingers slipped and he fell into the water, his clothes and hair getting drenched. Starchild flew above him, laughing musically as Ace picked himself up, spluttering.

Ace looked up at him, mock-glaring. “Hey, that wasn’t funny!”

“Yes it was,” Starchild giggled. Ace scooped up a handful of mud from the river and threw it at him. It splattered all over the front of Starchild’s purple tunic. “Hey!” Starchild looked down at it in shock.

Ace laughed. “Now that was funny!”

Starchild narrowed his eyes at him, then swooped down to the river. He grabbed his own handful of mud and threw it at Ace. Soon both boys were incredibly muddy and still tossing more mud at each other, shouting and laughing.

Ace and Starchild became the most unlikely of friends. And for a time it seemed, in them at least, the old hatred between the men and faeries had been forgotten.

“Why don’t you ever leave the Moors?” Ace asked him one day. They were lying on their backs in a clearing, looking up at the clouds.

“Because it would be dangerous,” Starchild replied easily. “Your kind hates mine.”

“I don’t hate you,” Ace argued, sitting up.

Starchild sat up as well. “Well, of course you don’t. But other humans do; humans are always invading the Moors. That’s why we have Gene and the other border guards. And that’s how…” he trailed off, realizing what he was about to say.

“That’s how what?” Ace asked curiously.

Starchild drew his legs up to his chest and pressed his chin to his knees. “That’s how my parents died. Well, everyone says that’s how, anyway. They were defending the Moors from invading humans, and were killed.”

Ace fell silent. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Ace laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Do you miss them?”

Starchild shrugged. “I never even knew them.” How did you miss that which you never even knew?

Ace was silent for a moment, then he spoke again, sounding more optimistic. “Well, when I become king, we can change all of that.”

“Really?” Starchild looked at him interestedly. “Would we be able to do that?”

“Of course we would! I’d be king; I could do whatever I wanted.”

“We could really unite the kingdoms?” Despite not understanding how kings and rulers worked, Starchild was growing more excited at the thought.

Ace grinned at him. “Sure! We’d do it together, Starshine!”

Starchild grinned back, for once too excited to care about Ace’s nickname for him. A chance to unite the two kingdoms, and bring an end to the constant conflict—that sounded amazing.

One thing Starchild loved above all else was singing. He would sing to all the younger creatures of the Moors, after they begged him to do so of course, and he sang for Ace as well.

“A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth. Mise ri d’ thaobh, O mhaighdean bhan…”

Starchild’s eyes were closed as he sang the ancient lullaby of the Moors. He loved singing this song; according to those who had known his parents, it was a song they had sung to him as a baby. Whenever he sang it, it made him feel just a little bit closer to the parents he had never known.

“Ar righinn oig, fas as faic. Do thir, dileas fhein…” The sudden touch of a hand lacing their fingers together made him trail off, and he opened his eyes.

Ace sat beside him, watching him sing and listening with a look akin to awe. The look on Ace’s face was making Starchild’s heart beat faster, and for a moment he just gazed at it.

Ace squeezed his hand. “Keep going,” he whispered.

Starchild smiled, a little shyly, then closed his eyes and kept singing. Their hands stayed linked together.

As it will, friendship turned into something else. And on his sixteenth birthday, Ace gave Starchild a gift.

“Close your eyes, Starshine,” Ace said to him. Smiling slightly in anticipation, Starchild obediently shut his eyes.

He felt Ace take his hands, and his heart began to quicken slightly. And it beat ever faster when he felt Ace press his lips to his own in a kiss.

When Ace slowly pulled away, Starchild half-wanted to pull him back and kiss him again. Ace smiled at him, in the way that made Starchild’s heart flutter. “Y’know what that was, Starshine?” Ace asked.

“What was it?” Starchild breathed.

“That… was true love’s kiss.”

Starchild’s heart swelled. He leaned in and kissed Ace again, eyes fluttering shut once more as the sun set behind them.

Ace told him it was true love’s kiss.

But it was not to be.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 4

And we’re back with Green Wounds! Here’s hoping Tumblr makes it easier to post this one... because I swear to God it should not have been that hard to post the KISS Unsolved story. But we’re not here to gripe about Tumblr. We’re here to see what’s up with Starchild! 

Hoo boy, I am actually excited for y’all to read this chapter. Some heavy shit goes down in this chapter and it was insanely fun to write it! If you guys have seen Maleficent, then you already know what’s gonna happen... 

Read on and enjoy! 

Starchild stayed in the ruins for a month, sending Peter every day to spy on the ongoings of Jendell. King William died after a fortnight—at which Starchild felt a rush of satisfaction—and his successor was to be crowned in some weeks after his marriage to the king’s daughter, Jeanette. But Peter never saw anything of Ace.

Peter flew down behind Starchild, who was staring out in the direction of Jendell. He was often staring out at the kingdom whenever Peter saw him. He wasn’t sure what Starchild did while he was off spying for him, but he hoped it wasn’t just staring out obsessively at the kingdom.

Starchild waved a hand and turned Peter back into a man. Peter immediately crashed painfully to the ground, letting out a groan of pain. He really hated being a bird—it felt like a betrayal to his feline species to have the form of one of their favorite animals to hunt. “Why do I always have to be a bird?” he grunted to Starchild as he picked himself up. “Can’t I be a cat?”

“Flying is faster,” Starchild replied bluntly, not turning around to him. “Did you see anything?”

Peter shrugged. “I saw a bunch of servants carryin’… carryin’ multicolored skin? And some of it looked like animal fur. What was that?”

“Probably clothes. Did you see what they did with them?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. Other than that, I didn’t see anythin’ else.”

“Did you… see Ace?”

“Uh… no. I didn’t see him.”

He couldn’t see Starchild’s face, but from the way he spoke he sounded like he was frowning. “Fine. Go get some rest, and go back in the morning.”

“What do you even want to know about this Ace guy, anyway?” Peter asked, by this time very curious. “I thought you didn’t like humans.” Why would he? Humans were dirty, inelegant creatures. Not at all like the sleek, civilized superiority of the cats. “Plus, he stole your wings. I would think you wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

Starchild finally turned to look at him over his shoulder, and Peter was treated to an icy glare. “I don’t like humans. And I also don’t employ you to ask me ridiculous questions,” he said just as icily. “I have my reasons.” He turned back around. “Just… Just leave me alone. Go hunt or something.”

“… Could you turn me back to normal again?”

Without replying, Starchild waved his hand and Peter was (thankfully) turned back into a cat. Peter quickly slunk off to hunt, not wanting to be around the faerie longer than he had to be. 

-*-

What Peter was unaware of was that Starchild did not actually spend all day on a ledge in the ruins, staring out at Jendell. His days were usually spent going around the ruins, sometimes exploring and other times simply wandering. Occasionally he ventured out of the ruins into the fields.

On one such time, he was wandering along the edge of a field nearby a forest when suddenly rustling made him turn his head. There coming out of the forest was a red fox. When Starchild saw the tip of one of the fox’s ears burned off, he realized it was the fox he had encountered at the glade. Had it been following him?

Starchild frowned at the fox. “I thought I told you to go away,” he said to it, even though in the back of his mind he thought, You’re talking to a fox. A FOX.

The fox tilted its head and stared at him, with the same piercing, exposing stare. Starchild wanted to hit the fox with magic again, but this time stopped himself. Instead he tightened his grip on his walking stick and glared back at the fox. For a long, long moment, neither fox nor faerie moved. Then Starchild curled his free hand into a fist, his hand glowing dark purple, and ground out, “Go. Away.”

After a moment, the fox lowered its head, turned around, and disappeared back into the woods.

Starchild turned and walked back towards the ruins. He wasn’t sure why that fox had appeared to him again, but he didn’t like it at all.

As Starchild spent more time alone, away from the Moors, and as his mind descended further into obsession, he gradually began to lose more of the faerie he had been before Ace stole his wings. And as summer turned to autumn and the world turned steadily colder, so did what remained of his heart.

-*-

Finally, after a month of hearing nothing and seeing no sign of Ace, Peter saw something.

He was perched on a window that looked into a gigantic room with a platform on one end, the platform housing two regal-looking chairs. A huge crowd of elaborately-dressed people was gathered in the room, waiting for something.

After a while, the doors to the room opened, and the crowd parted, leaving a path through the middle of the room to the chairs. Men wearing armor marched into the room first, then stood in line on both sides of the path.

Then a beautiful dark-haired young woman entered the room wearing a lavish dress that, honestly, made Peter wonder how she didn’t trip and fall in it. All the people in the room bowed to her as she passed, and Peter couldn’t help but notice that the young woman seemed a little out of her element as she nodded her head in return. She walked up the platform to the chairs and sat down.

More footsteps filled the air, and Peter turned to look at the entrance again. His eyes widened slightly.

It was a man, with dark hair cut to his chin and a rather odd face. He was wearing the lavish clothes and animal furs that he had seen before, but Peter recognized him immediately. This was Ace, the man his master was so obsessed with.

Ace walked up the platform, but instead of sitting down in the other chair, he instead went to stand between them. Another man came forward, carrying a golden crown in his hands, and as Ace knelt down Peter realized what was happening.

The man placed the crown on Ace’s head then stepped back, bowing his head. Another man spoke. “I present to you, the first of his line,” he said to the crowd as Ace stood up. “His Royal Highness, King Ace.”

Excited murmurings went up in the crowd. Ace looked out at the crowd and briefly nodded his head to them, then turned to sit down in the chair alongside the young woman, obviously the Queen.

Peter turned around, spread his wings, and flew off back toward the ruins. A large part of him didn’t particularly want to tell Starchild what he’d seen, but he really had no choice. At the same time, Peter also remembered the story his master had told him, about that Ace taking his wings, and actually felt a twinge of indignation. Taking a faerie’s wings so he could have some crown on his head? That was just low, even for a human.

-*-

Starchild had gone very, very still by the time Peter finished his report.

“Someday, y’know, I’ll live there, in the castle,”

Of course. How could he have so stupidly forgotten the one thing Ace had always wanted?

He finally spoke, his voice shaking… with what, he wasn’t sure. “He did this to me… so he could be king?”

He didn’t want to cry anymore. He had cried more than enough tears over Ace and his betrayal. What he felt now was rage.

Deep purple magic began to materialize around him as his anger rose higher and higher. His breathing turned ragged and his shoulders shook. The grip his hands had on his walking stick tightened until his knuckles turned white, and for a moment he imagined it was Ace’s neck.

He turned his head to the sky, and let out a long, primal scream.

The deep purple magic shot up into the air and broke through the clouds, twisting into a column of purple light. Purple lightning bolts shot out of the column and struck stones around the ruins, exploding them all to rubble. For a moment, Starchild stared up at it, frozen, eyes blazing.

Then he lowered his head, and the magic dispersed. Sheer rage was still surging through him, and inhuman growling came from the back of his throat as he breathed raggedly.

I’ll never hurt ya Starshine This is true love Starshine Let me help you I’ll keep you safe

I love you, Starshine.

Lies. All of it had been nothing but lies. And he’d fallen for all of them.

Behind him, Peter spoke up. “What now, Master?”

Snarling like an animal, Starchild turned around, his eyes wild with rage. He wordlessly waved his hand, turning Peter back into a cat, and stormed off. With every step, stones flew out of his path, and as he passed under a still-intact entryway, the entire entryway broke apart and flew in all directions.

“Well, when I become king, we can change all of that.”

“We could really unite the two kingdoms?”

“Sure! We’ll do it together, Starshine!”

He wanted to travel back in time and berate his child self. How could he have been so naïve as to think Ace would be any different than all the other arrogant, selfish humans?

As Starchild left the ruins with Peter bounding after him, leaving them in much worse shape than when he’d arrived, the one coherent thought that broke through the anger consuming his mind was Get back to the Moors.

He couldn’t live like this anymore; hiding away in pitiful ruins (human ruins), scavenging for food, waking up screaming and crying every night from the same dream… and letting Ace go unpunished for what he’d done.

He was tired of humans controlling his life. And he was not going to let another human shatter him again, or take away anything else he cared about.

Get back to the Moors.

-*-

He walked all through the night, and would have continued into the day if Peter hadn’t insisted on stopping to rest. So he begrudgingly stopped and let Peter take a brief nap, before setting off again. The entire time, his anger never faded, not even a little. If anything, it increased. The ground would lightly rumble under his feet, any plant growth he passed would burst into dark purple flames and die, and dark clouds seemed to follow him overhead. He passed between two small divides made of stone, and with every step he took the stones were flung out of formation into all directions behind him.

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally, Starchild saw the familiar standing stones up ahead. He was nearly there. He came to the boulder he had perched on just over a month ago, and climbed to stand atop it. He opened his mouth and began to shout in the tree language, his voice projecting out into the forest. “Border guards! I summon you here now!”

For a long moment, there was nothing. Then he heard rustling and heavy footsteps, and turned just in time to see Gene appear from out of the trees. Upon seeing him, Gene froze in surprise, then began to growl at him, demanding to know where he’d been. Starchild ignored him and looked out into the forest, watching as more and more of the border guards emerged. When they saw him, they all began asking him where he had been, what had happened to him… and what had happened to his wings. They were all especially shocked to see him without his wings.

Their constant questioning about his wings did the most to make Starchild’s rage flare up again. His hand tightened around his walking stick, glowing faintly purple, and he raised it up in the air then banged it down against the boulder. “QUIET!”

Purple magic shot out from the tip of his walking stick, hitting all the border guards. There was instant silence.

Starchild looked out at them all, then began to speak, his voice the most powerful it had ever been. “I know you all have many questions. You ask what happened to me, and my wings? I will tell you what happened. They were taken from me… burned off my back by the same filthy human that now sits on the Jendell throne! He tricked me, made me think he wanted to help me, even made me think he loved me,” he spat out the word like it was poison, “all so he could steal my wings and become the king! He blinded me with all his lies, but I see him now for what he truly is—a greedy, selfish, arrogant piece of filth, just like the rest of his kind! Have any of you ever wondered why we continue letting humans invade our home? For centuries, it has been war after war after war, with the greedy humans forcing us to defend ourselves. At the end of every war, they say there will be peace, but they lie! Not even a month ago they tried to take the Moors again, not even thirty years after the war that took my parents’ lives! They don’t stop… they will never stop!

“Why do we let them attack, and always force us to defend? We have always been nothing more than sitting ducks! Well, I say, not anymore! The Moors cannot survive with us simply trusting in one another; we need clear and strong leadership. And although my wings are gone, I am still protector of the Moors. I can give us that leadership! But I cannot do it by myself. You have all fought by my side in defending the Moors, and I cannot think of anyone better to help me! Join me, and I will make sure the Moors are never defenseless again!”

Starchild looked out at all the border guards. “What say you?” he asked of them. “Who will stand with me?”

For one long moment, there was silence. None of the guards moved, or spoke, only stared at him.

Then…

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Starchild turned his head. At the front of the group of guards was none other than Gene. He held his spear out in front of him, and was banging the end of it against the ground. Then Starchild heard another tapping spear join Gene’s, then another, then another… until every single one of the border guards were banging their spears against the ground.

The corner of Starchild’s mouth quirked up into a miniature smirk. He turned around and walked out of the clearing, the border guards falling into step behind him.

-*-

Clouds rolled over the sun, and the sky went utterly dark over the Moors as thunder rumbled. The glowing lilies floating in the lake one by one winked out. The Fair Folk looked around in surprise and confusion… then turned and froze when they saw Starchild come out from among the trees, the border guards behind him. Gasps went up when they saw the faerie, and someone cried out, “His wings!”

For their protector no longer had his large black wings. And although he looked the same, save for a black jacket and black boots, his features were no longer soft and gentle, and kindness no longer radiated from him. His features were now sharper and cold, and what the Fair Folk felt from him now made them all incredibly afraid.

He walked past them all toward the very center of the large lake island. As he did, the branches on the trees grew longer, growing and connecting with branches and vines that grew out of the ground. The branches and vines twisted together, forming the back and seat of a makeshift throne.

Starchild walked towards the sprouting throne with his head held high, and the look on his face perhaps would have been solemn if his features weren’t so cold and stony. Each step was slow and deliberate, to better make the Fair Folk realize what was happening. He didn’t bother turning his head to look at them as he passed, but could feel the shock and terror radiating from them all.

When Starchild lowered himself to sit on his throne, he understood for the first time in his life why humans loved power so much. He ruled over the Moors now, had a different power that wasn’t magic, that would allow him to get what he wanted… and knowing that made him feel more powerful than he’d ever felt in his life.

Peter jumped up onto a stone beside him, and Starchild lifted a hand to run his fingers over Peter’s fur. He finally turned his head and looked out at the Fair Folk, taking in their intimidation and fear. Every movement was smooth and calculated, and every inch of Starchild gave off the impression that he could easily rip them apart if they even thought about protesting this new reality. To his satisfaction, the Fair Folk all averted their gazes whenever his eyes met theirs.

To his left, Gene pointed his spear at the Fair Folk and growled threateningly, the other border guards following suit. Shaking in fear, one after another the creatures began to bow, until all of them were bowing in respect to Starchild.

Starchild looked out at them all, and for a moment, he felt a flash of something akin to guilt. The old Starchild would have been appalled at the thought of doing this, and would (ironically) rather cut off his wings than impose his own authority on the Moors.

But that Starchild was a fool; a naïve, starry-eyed fool who thought he’d been given true love’s kiss. He had been content to cry, wanting nothing more than to wallow in misery and sob over Ace stealing his wings and ripping his heart to pieces. That Starchild was dead. And this one, this new Starchild, did not want to cry. He would not cry anymore.

What he wanted now was vengeance. 

And he would get it, one way or another.

Lightning flashed, illuminating Starchild’s cold face.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Green Wounds, Ch. 6

Alright, we’re back with Green Wounds! I gave you guys a short filler that ended on a bit of a cliffhanger last time, but I promise this’ll make up for it! At least, I hope so lol. I’m actually seriously excited for you guys to read this chapter; it’s the first thing I wrote for this story, and it’s quite possibly my favorite scene out of the whole dang thing. I really really hope I did this scene justice, but I guess I’ll find out. Also on a side note, this picture is my favorite so far lol I love it.

Now without further ado, read on and enjoy!

All manner of folk came to the baby prince’s christening, even a trio of pixies who sought to foster peace and goodwill.

The christening had been wonderful so far for all parties. Gifts had been given for the baby prince throughout the day, and at the moment a crowd of people from all over the kingdom was gathered in the throne room, dressed to their finest, while King Ace and Queen Jeanette sat on their thrones. Off to the side, on a lower platform, was a bassinet, and inside the bassinet was the baby prince himself.

He was a month old now, so it was still a bit too early to figure out where he had inherited most of his traits from, but most people who had seen him said he looked rather like his mother. He was a bit small for a normal baby, but other than that was healthy and happy. His parents had named their newborn son Eric, and Eric had spent most of the day either dozing or blinking up at the people who looked at him.

Many in the kingdom had left gifts for their new prince. But there were those who had decided to bestow gifts from outside the kingdom as well.

Tiny male voices floated into the room, and the King and Queen, as well as the crowd, looked up as three pixies flew into the throne room, dressed in pink, green, and blue. Two of them, the pink and blue pixies, seemed to be bickering, while the green pixie was looking around in fascination.

As they flew closer to the King and Queen, the green pixie’s eyes fell on the cradle, and he grinned excitedly. “Look, there’s the baby!” he said to the other two, pointing to the bassinet. “I love babies!”

“Yes, I know, Erik, but concentrate, please,” the pink one said to him. “I’m not telling you again.”

Queen Jeanette smiled welcomingly at them as they hovered in front of the thrones, while King Ace gave them a look that seemed rather… impassive.

The pink pixie, who seemed to be the leader, went first. “Greetings, Your Majesties. I am Vinnie of the Moorland Fair Folk.” He bowed to them.

The blue pixie went next, also bowing. “I’m Tommy, Your Kingship… and, Queenship.”

The green pixie bowed next. “And I’m Erik, Your Royalnesses.”

Queen Jeanette looked at him. “Forgive me, but your name is Erik?”

Erik looked rather surprised at being directly acknowledged, but after getting a gesture to reply from Vinnie he bowed his head again. “Uh, yes… ma’am. Erik with a ‘K’.”

Queen Jeanette smiled slightly. “How funny—that is the name of our son.”

The pixie now was incredibly surprised. “Really?”

“Indeed… though his name is Eric with a ‘C’.”

Erik smiled. “Huh,”

Queen Jeanette turned to her husband, who was still looking silently at the pixies. “They bring gifts for our son, I believe,”

“We do,” Tommy said, smiling eagerly. He made excited gestures with his hands. “But these are not just any old gifts. For you see, we are magic!”

“And very good with children,” Vinnie couldn’t help but add.

King Ace seemed to be considering how to reply, and for a moment the pixies wondered if he would turn them down. But then he nodded and waved his hand. “Very well. Go on.”

The pixies grinned at each other, then flew over to the bassinet. Vinnie went first, smiling down at Eric and waving his hands, sending wisps of pink magic over the baby boy. “Sweet Eric, I wish for you the gift of kindness,”

He flew to the side and let Tommy go next. Twisting blue magic cascaded over the prince. “My wish is that you will never be blue, only happy, all the days of your life,”

Last to go was Erik. He smiled eagerly and let light green magic curl around his hands. “Sweet baby, my wish for you, is that you find—”

He never finished.

A powerful gust of wind tore through the room, blowing out all the candles and making the chandeliers groan and creak as they swayed dangerously above everyone’s heads. Grey clouds rolled over the sun, dimming its cheerful light and throwing the throne room into a light shadow. The powerful wind threw some of the people off-balance, and the three pixies were forced to grip the edge of the cradle so they wouldn’t be blown away. Cries of fear went up.

Then a dark shadow appeared on the wall, and footsteps echoed through the hall along with the constant, rhythmic tap of a walking stick. The cries died down to shocked, fearful murmurs as the crowd parted to make way for the surprise guest and the inky-black cat that followed at his heels.

Despite his best efforts to stay calm, Ace’s entire face went pale. In her throne beside him, Queen Jeanette could only stare blankly, though she was looking rather intimidated. The eyes of the three pixies widened and they whispered in panicked voices, “Starchild!”

A few more steps toward the thrones, and the dark figure came into the partially-dim sunlight.

It was indeed Starchild. Compared to the humans surrounding him, the faerie was perhaps of average height. But what he lacked in stature he made up in appearance. His paper-white face, the black star over his eye, and his blood-red lips all made for an off-putting look, combined with the look of cold, mild amusement on his face, as though the fear of the humans was simply rather entertaining. He wore all black—a black jacket with silver-studded collar and cuffs over a black and silver very-low-cut vest, black leather pants, and black platform boots that raised him up a few inches, all underneath a long black cape that showed off scatterings of silver glitter when he moved. In his left hand was his black walking stick, the constant echoing taps making everyone go silent. His entire appearance gave off a sort of poise and terrifying elegance. His cold eyes, which were fixated particularly on Ace as he approached, had a gleam of sinister anticipation—he’d made the right choice in choosing to bide his time. He’d been waiting so long for this day, and right now, it felt so much better than it would have been if he had just destroyed everything at once.

Not that he planned on doing that at all, however. Oh no; he was going to make sure everything Ace had worked for his entire life would slowly and systematically crumble.

When he had neared the steps to the platform where the cradle was, he finally stopped, with one final echoing tap of his walking stick. Starchild kept the cold look of amusement on his face. “Well, well,” he said pleasantly, as though this all was simply mildly yet pleasantly surprising. He let a sinister smile creep onto his face as he glided up the steps, his cape trailing behind him and Peter following.

“What a glittering assemblage, King Ace.” His tone was clearly mocking, and the fact that he was speaking directly to Ace made Queen Jeanette’s head turn to look at her husband. Peter jumped up to sit on his shoulder, and Starchild raised a hand to idly stroke his fur as he looked around at the crowd in pretend-interest. “Royalty, nobility, the gentry, and…” He turned to see the pixies by the cradle, Vinnie trying to glare at him. His smile widened, now having a tinge of genuine amusement, and he chuckled. He’d been wondering where the three pixies had disappeared to. “How quaint,” he sneered. “Even the rabble.”

Tommy and Erik sank down slightly, lowering their gazes, while Vinnie bravely stayed where he was.

Starchild turned from them to look back at Ace, and very nearly frowned. His face was still pale, and he looked afraid… but not afraid enough.

Starchild raised his head and projected his voice so that it echoed throughout the hall. “I must say,” he kept his voice light, full of faux-concern, “I really felt quite distressed at not receiving an invitation…” he trailed off, blinking innocently at Ace, as though to imply he wanted an explanation.

Ace finally spoke. “You’re not welcome here.” His voice was curt, but too quiet to be actually threatening.

The expectant look dropped from Starchild’s face, replaced by a look reminiscent of a kicked puppy. His eyes lowered, and he let out whimpering noises, as though he were about to burst into tears.

Then the look flipped into one of cruel humor, and instead of crying, Starchild smiled and began to laugh sinisterly. “Oh dear,” he chuckled. “What an awkward situation…”

Queen Jeanette leaned forward, her face still one of fear. “But you’re not offended?” she asked Starchild, her voice sounding slightly hopeful. Despite how much he was enjoying himself, he felt a quick pang of sympathy for the woman. She couldn’t be blamed for all this, and unlike her husband, she was afraid simply because of his frightening display. It wasn’t her fault she was married to such a horribly selfish man.

But even so…

Starchild turned to her, laughing lightly. “Oh, you silly dear,” he smiled sweetly at her like she was a cute little girl, “of course not. And to show that I bear no ill will… I, too, shall bestow a gift on the child.”

At that, Ace shot to his feet, now as afraid as Starchild wanted him to be. “No! We don’t want your gift!”

Peter hissed at him, and surprisingly, it made Ace fall still as Starchild glided over to the cradle.

“Stay away from the prince!” Vinnie demanded as he neared.

Tommy and Erik flew back up again. “Yes, stay away!” Erik echoed.

Starchild smirked. How adorable. With a simple flick of his hand he sent the pixies flying across the room into a small ornate chest, the lid slamming over them and trapping them inside.

Peter jumped off his shoulder onto the cradle’s canopy, and they both looked down at the baby boy lying inside. He stared uncomprehendingly back at Starchild, making the faerie wonder if he even knew what was going on… or what was about to happen.

Starchild stared at the baby for a long moment, letting out a remarking hum. It was the ever-so-annoying conscientious part of him that was making him pause. Are you really so cruel as to curse a little baby? it whispered, sounding desperate. He’s done nothing to you. It’s Ace you want to harm. If you do this, there’s no turning back.

But then Starchild thought of his wings. His beautiful black wings, the wings he’d never thought to cherish more until he no longer could. The wings that had been ripped away by the man who told him he loved him, all so he could have some meaningless crown on his head.

Starchild lifted his hand and made a slow circular motion in the air, deep purple magic swirling around his fingers. “Listen well, all of you,” he proclaimed, his voice echoing once more. He waved his hand so that waves of the deep purple magic cascaded over the baby boy. “The prince shall indeed grow in grace and kindness… beloved by all who meet him…”

Queen Jeanette, who had stood up alongside Ace, spoke again, perhaps in an attempt to mollify him. “Th-That’s a lovely gift,”

Starchild raised his head to glance at her, then turned his eyes to Ace. Ace shook his head at him, not quite pleading, but still rather desperately. “Don’t do this,” he begged, his voice so low only Starchild could hear.

How funny; he assumed he had a say in the matter.

Starchild raised a finger and pressed it to his red lips, almost playfully. Then he turned to straighten up and step away from the cradle. This was where, to use the human phrase, the other shoe would drop. And oh, would it drop.

But as Starchild turned his head, something in the far corner of the room caught his eye.

It was a spinning wheel, pushed haphazardly into the corner, but placed in such a way that the spindle still caught some sunlight. The tip of the spindle gleamed especially brightly.

Starchild almost grinned as his plan changed. He thought his original plan had been good… but this was even better.

“But…” He stepped away from the cradle so he was in the center of the platform, and lifted his arms. Deep purple magic trailed after his hands and enveloped his body like flames as his eyes gleamed the same purple. “Before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he will prick his finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and fall into a sleep like death! A sleep from which he will never awaken!”

A wave of the purple magic left him and traveled over to the baby boy, washing over him as his curse began to bind itself to the infant.

Whatever pride that had kept Ace from outright pleading was now gone. “Starchild, please don’t do this! I’m begging you!” He sounded incredibly desperate now.

Starchild’s mouth quirked up in a smile. Now that was the reaction he’d been hoping for. But now his mind was turning again. Perhaps he could work with this…

“I like you begging,” he remarked to Ace, his enjoyment in his voice. “Do it again.”

For a moment, Ace hesitated. His eyes left Starchild to look out at the now-silent crowd, who had been watching the entire thing. He didn’t particularly want to kneel, Starchild knew.

He was about to repeat his command when Ace slowly sank down to his knees. His eyes flicked briefly to the men watching from the side, before gazing at him imploringly. “I beg you,”

Starchild smiled wickedly at him. “All right,”

Hesitant relief came to Ace’s expression, but it quickly vanished when Starchild spoke aloud again. “The prince can be woken from his death-sleep. But only by…” he stared right at Ace, “true love’s kiss.”

He turned to look out at the crowd, raising his arms above his head. “This curse will last to the end of time!” he declared, his magic coiling tightly around him. “No power on Earth can change it!”

The magic exploded, flying out over the crowd and sending many to the ground. The crowd screamed in panic as the floor rumbled and the clouds outside darkened until they blocked out the sun’s light completely.

Grinning widely, Starchild walked briskly down the steps and left the hall, Peter bounding after him. He was sure he would never forget this day—it had turned out to be so much better than he could have possibly hoped. Intoxicating joy surged through him, and he threw back his head and began to laugh as he left the hall. It was a loud, wicked cackle that bounced off the walls and bore into the skulls of all who heard it. As Queen Jeanette raced to the cradle to check on her son, Ace stayed where he was, watching Starchild strut away, cackling loudly and carelessly.

And his laughter was all Ace could hear as Starchild swept out of the hall and vanished.