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scattered-irises · 2 years

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Tale VI: The Tale of the Starspun Slippers (Christopher)

I apologize for the late update. Despite everything being complete, I couldn't bear to look at or even think about my stories for the last few days. I have been surrounded by the silence of my new home. Anything that had to do with my time before has been too painful to see.

I thank you for your patience.

Rating: Teen (Like Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone levels of Teen)

Word Count: 12740 (I play no favorites when I write these tales, I promise you. (Very sarcastic))

Characters: Christopher Arclight, Thomas Arclight, Michael Arclight, Tron, Kamishiro Twins, Kaito Tenjo, Vector

Relationships: Kaito Tenjo/Christopher Arclight kind of

Warnings: Witchcraft, Aschenputtel ver of Cinderella inspired, murder, Bitchtopher Bitchlight, gore

Summary: A nameless servant is allowed to ascend to the stars for a single night.

Once upon a time, there lived a noble family with three sons. The eldest loved his mother dearly and stayed by her side from dawn to dusk as a wasting illness slowly took ahold of her. On her deathbed, the mother beckoned to her young son and whispered in his ear.

“Dear child, I must soon depart. Be kind, for the world is a cold place and you must offer warmth to those who cannot,” breathed the good Lady Arclight, her breaths growing shallower with each word.

Young Christopher held her thin hands in his and pressed them close to his chest, fervently nodding.

With a shaky hand, his mother brushed a tear out of Christopher’s eye.

“Listen well,” she rasped, pulling her son close.

“Anything, mother,” said Christopher, for he wished to be a good son.

“In times of strife, call to The Twins. It is better to have two ears listening than one,” instructed the woman. “Do not fall for the promise of glory by The Ram, trifle with the horns of The Bull, trust the words of The Crab, bother The Lion, cavort with the inexperienced Virgin, play with The Scales, drink the poison of The Scorpion, challenge The Archer, anger The Fish-Goat, disrupt the Water-bearer nor call out to the Fish. Those stars cannot be trusted.”

Christopher swallowed, for how was a young boy to remember all of these instructions? His mother shook her head and kissed her oldest child’s cheek.

“If you forget all of my words hence, then pray never forget these…,” she breathes.

With the remainder of her strength, the good woman whispered out the prayer chant of the Twins.

"Cross ice and sea,

Through light and shadow,

Pair of the same face

Bearers of the dual fates,

Prithee come to me in my time of need…"

As if to answer the woman’s prayer, a breeze blew through the open window, whisking away the woman’s soul to the heavens, leaving poor Christopher motherless.

With the death of good Lady Arclight, the family fortunes began to dwindle. Desperate to provide for his sons the proper life of a noble, the father, Byron, one day set off on an expedition.

“They say that in the fairylands, jeweled trees grow out of ruby red sand and the sea is made of diamonds instead of water,” told the father to his sons.

He gave his three sons a conspiratorial grin and winked.

“I’ll be back before you know it!”

Against Christopher’s protests, Lord Arclight ventured off across the ocean towards the fabled fairylands.

Three months later, a messenger dressed in black arrived at the Arclight doorstep to declare to the brothers that their father had been lost at sea. Devastated by the twin losses of their mother and father, the three orphans huddled in their cold mansion for warmth.

When not even a single chair remained in the mansion, Christopher held his brothers by the hands and walked them towards the town’s orphanage. Alone he returned to his mansion, distraught and drenched in rain, his promise to his mother lost to the stars.

⭐

Knock knock.

Christopher jumps up from his tattered seat, clutching his robe close to his chest.

Knock knock.

Who could it be at this hour?

He glances out the window, where bullets of rain hammered against the dusty panes. It was as if they were an army intent on breaking through the glass and laying waste to all that remained within the dilapidated mansion. Christopher scoffs at the childish thought. There was nothing, absolutely nothing left besides the donated bed and threadbare chair that remained. Even the fireplace, with its meager collection of sticks, would soon be reduced to nothing.

A debt collector’s band of hired thugs, no doubt, he thinks as the knocking continues. Come to take me out of my misery.

He has done all he could to ensure his own miserable survival, yet he’s quite certain that there were some dogs in this kingdom that were living better than him. Certainly, there were dogs out there that slept by warm fireplaces while he could only fitfully sleep before dying embers.

Beneath even a dog, he thinks with a disgusted grimace.

Knock knock.

Christopher pulls the doors open and motions to the receiving room with only a bed and a chair.

“That’s the last of all I own, save for the clothes on my back. You may as well take me and be done with it,” invites Christopher.

A flash of lightning illuminates the figures by the door. For a moment, Christopher is taken back to the past. He stiffens, the frigid winds no longer biting at his skin. The figure in the middle steps forwards, its face covered by a cage-like helmet.

“Is that how you greet your family?” chuckles a child’s voice.

Christopher narrows his eyes.

“The only family I have left are my uncles and their drinking debts,” replies Christopher bitterly.

A strong wind rushes through the foyer and into the living room, where the fireplace roars to life. Christopher’s heart skips a beat and he forces himself to look down at the child and the two figures behind him once more.

“They are not your family, then?” drawls the child.

With hands gloved in fine silk, the child claps their hands. The gas lamps that had languished over years of disuse burst to life one by one, their lights emitting a warm glow across the frigid mansion. Christopher gasps as the lights by the front doors flicker to life, revealing the two faces of his younger brothers.

Aged by years of hardship in the orphanage, they stare at him with frigid eyes and thin mouths.

“Thomas…Michael…!” exclaims Christopher as he takes a hesitant step forward. “I thought that you…”

“Died?” sneers Thomas. “Of course not. We were waiting for you to return.”

The youngest brother, Michael, shakes his head.

“When we realized that you had no intention of returning, Father came to us.”

Christopher’s blood turns to ice as he stares down at the masked child.

“Impossible,” he breathes.

The child lets out a titter.

“That was what I had said when I arrived at the fairy shores after my ship was wrecked.”

Walking past Christopher, the child looks around the mansion’s stained walls and dirtied floors.

“While you were trying to better your own living conditions, I was being tended to by the fairies. Did you know that they have no mouths?” begins the child. “And that they are known as demons in other languages?”

A giggle escapes from him. He runs his finger across the walls, showing Christopher the dark stain that appeared on his spotless glove.

“They taught me many things during my stay there…Like how the world must always remain balanced. That for every spell, there must be a cost.”

The child turns back to Christopher, aureolin eye peering at him from top to bottom.

“You’ve failed your purpose as my heir, have you not?” he whispers.

Christopher stiffens, trying to quell the fear that was threatening to swallow him whole.

“The mansion still stands,” he protests.

He was answered by a headshake.

“It may as well be a heap of plaster and wood from your upkeep,” sneers the child.

He raises his hands and tosses his silken gloves to the floor, revealing blackened hands with red claws.

“No, I believe it is time for us to start anew,” breathes their shrunken father.

A wind began to emanate from beneath his cloak, causing the gas lamps to flicker. With each word that he spoke, his voice grew louder and deeper. Before Christopher, his father seemed to grow before his very eyes.

"Jewels of the Red Wastes, I call upon thee to make haste!

Gloom to gas, glass to silver, dust to silk, rust to revival

Erase our hardships and return to us our honor

Upon the mouthless fairies I swear, to free me of this mask I wear

Silent fairies beyond the red yonder,

Tangle up the stars’ designs

And return to me what was rightfully mine,

And a silver hair shall I pay to thine!"

Slowly removing his hands from his face, Christopher opens his eyes to a blazing fire and a mansion filled with luxurious furniture. The chandeliers twinkle with hundreds of diamonds while the gramophone plays one of his mother’s compositions. Restored to his former glory, his father looks down at him with disdain.

“How…?” whispers Christopher.

“With you,” replies his father, his deep voice echoing across the mansion.

“I don’t understand…”

His father scoffs and removes his coat, hanging it on the polished wooden coat rack. His two brothers, now dressed in furs and silk, silently file in without glancing at him.

“The tragic young Lord Arclight no longer exists,” announces his father. “There is only I, Lord Arclight, and my two sons, Thomas and Michael.”

He glares at Christopher, the ice in his gaze piercing through Christopher’s heart.

“For allowing the Arclight name to fall into ruin and for abandoning your brothers, you are no longer my son but a servant.”

⭐

“V!”

“V! Get in here!”

That was his name now. V clenches his fists as he drags his mop into the piano room, where his brothers called.

“Finally!” snaps Thomas. “What are those long legs of yours for?”

V averts his stare to the floor, trying not to glare at his brother. The first and last time he glared at his brothers resulted in their father blinding him for a day. Now he’s learned to keep his lips shut and his eyes glued to the floor.

Scoffing, Thomas motions to Michael’s book.

“There’s sooty fingerprints on his pages. Did you touch it?” asks Thomas.

Reluctantly, V comes closer towards Michael. His brother motions to the three sootstained fingerprints that were left on a dog-eared page. V winces at the crease.

“I would never crease a page like that,” he mutters.

“Answer my brother’s question,” demands Michael.

V stares at the three blackened fingerprints marring the otherwise snow-white page. He looks down at his own hands and clothes, perpetually covered in soot. His eyes scan the page, detailing the rise and fall of the Aztec Empire.

“No,” he replies.

Michael slowly blinks and then turns to Thomas.

“Brother Thomas, is there anyone else in this house who sleeps by the fireplace and rolls in its ashes?”

The edges of Thomas’ lips twitch and his eyes glimmer with glee.

“Not that I know of,” he drawls.

He meets V’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes. Immediately, V knows that it was him. He turns to Thomas and his eye twitches at his brother’s smug expression.

Thomas shrugs.

“We’ve had our time playing in the ashes at the orphanage. Just admit it. You like to sneak up here at night and read Michael’s books. That’s why you get up so late,” continues his brother.

Michael shakes his head.

“I’d like to politely warn you to stay away from my curated collection. It contains some rather costly pieces. Besides…I have to agree with Brother Thomas. You’re utterly sluggish in the morning,” adds Michael.

The rage in V’s chest threatens to burn up his throat and out his mouth. Never has he had a single moment to himself to peruse those damned books. He has woken up two bells before dawn without fail each day for the last few months to tend to the fires and prepare breakfast. At night, their father has him walk through the woods for kindling until he returns with bloodied arms and legs. Despite all of his prayers for the wolves to claim him, he has yet to hear or see any animal at all near their mansion.

It’s as if even they knew that a demon dwelled here.

“Speak, V,” commands Thomas.

V grits his teeth.

“Are you telling me to lie?” he utters.

Thomas feigns hurt, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Are you—the man who promised that he would return for us at the orphanage and never did— you are saying that you do not lie?” he says mockingly.

V flinches at the reminder of his sins. He had intended to return for them. When he finally got a large-enough bed. When he finally had enough kindling. When he finally paid off his relatives’ debts…When he could finally afford a coat. Someday…he would have.

Michael scoffs.

“It was kind of father to erase V’s existence. No one needs to remember such a pathetic Arclight,” the youngest brother says, flipping the page.

Thomas nudges V’s bare foot with his boot.

“Well?” he prompts.

He raises a bushy brow, a challenge in his eyes. V grits his teeth and digs his nails into the handle of his mop.

“I did it,” he forces out.

Thomas’ lips curl into a smile.

“See? That wasn’t hard,” he drawls. “An apology would be nice as well.”

V takes a deep breath and pushes his anger back into his stomach. Sacrificing a bit of his pride was better than being punished by his father.

“I’m sorry,” he utters. “I won’t touch your books again.”

Michael looks up from his book and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I accept your apology. I’d like some fresh mutton pie for lunch as recompense,” he says.

V forces himself to bow his head, already wondering if the butcher still had mutton at this time of the day.

“Consider it done.”

Without another word, he begins to walk out of the room.

“I didn’t excuse you,” calls Thomas.

V nearly stamps his mop onto the tiled floor in response. Instead, he forces himself to remain still. In the silence that follows, he could almost see Thomas licking his lips with glee.

“While you’re at the market, get me some of Madame Pearl’s raspberry tarts. I know that they’re usually sold out around this time, but you’ll find a way to get them, won’t you?” requests Thomas.

“And if I don’t?” counters V.

“I suppose you wouldn’t miss your starmap, would you?” begins Thomas.

Immediately, V turns around, eyes blazing with hatred. Despite all of the hardships that he had experienced, he could never bring himself to part with the map. He had tucked his father’s gift to him deep beneath the floorboards, far away from the damaging sunlight and rain. During lonely nights, it could have fed him for years. With the correct merchant, it would have even bought him a small cottage in the woods. It could have even provided for him and his brothers to live in relative comfort for a few months. Yet he had refused to part with his treasure.

His breath is stuck in his throat as he looks at Thomas’ twisted smile.

“Oh yes, I knew all about it,” chuckles Thomas. “It always made me wonder how such a flimsy piece of paper could be so burnable yet so stupidly valuable at the same time.”

Dropping his mop, V rushes down the stairs and throws on his threadbare coat. His hands fly into his pocket, where the ever-full pouch of coins jingle. Only when he attempts to buy something for himself was the pouch empty.

Slipping on his shoes, he makes his way out the door and down the winding estate path.

Dong! Christopher curses under his breath at the sound of the distant clock. Lunch would be in an hour.

⭐

“The king’s son is finally home from the Stardust Continent!” exclaims a village girl dreamily.

Her companion pats her on the back.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see him at the celebration next week?”

The village girl beams and grabs one of her friend’s braids, playfully tucking a flower in it.

“I’m more interested in the food, honestly. But if you have plans to see him, then I’ll do my best to look the ugliest so you can stand out besides me!”

“Oh, stop it, you!”

The girls run off laughing while Christopher scoffs at their conversation. What did simple village girls know of going to the palace?

He doesn’t particularly enjoy going to the village marketplace, what with its loud noises and crass inhabitants, however, it’s one of the few rare places where he can consider himself a person. In one hand, he holds a wrapped cut of mutton while the other is shielding his eyes from the glare of the bright afternoon sun. It would be almost impossible to get his hands on the raspberry tarts at this hour. He searches the crowds, hoping to find one of the bakery’s red boxes. Perhaps he could pay someone for their tarts.

Madame Pearl’s bakery had closed just before he arrived, the baker in the window shrugging at him helplessly. The few customers that he had stopped had either purchased cakes or muffins. He blows his bangs out of his eyes and reluctantly scans the crowd one more time. Tarts…tarts…tarts…

Perhaps he could go back to the bakery and beg one of the bakers to make him the tarts. He could bribe the baker and then have them specially delivered to the house. Although it would be late, he’s certain that the specially made, warm tarts would make Thomas forget that they were delayed. Although the thought of begging someone makes him sick.

Groveling on his knees like he truly was a person of the lower class…His lips curl in distaste.

“Knave ran off with your tarts?” calls a voice from behind.

Christopher ignores the voice and continues to scan the crowd.

“Sir, I’m talking to you,” continues the voice.

Hissing in irritation, Christopher turns around to see a young boy holding two of Madame Pearl’s boxes. His eyes widen in surprise. Picking up on Christopher’s surprise, the boy gives him a grin and holds the boxes closer to his body.

“I saw you asking around for some raspberry tarts…,” begins the boy.

Christopher reaches out for them, only for the boy to pull away at the last moment.

“Too bad these are for my sister,” continues the boy.

After a few moments, he cocks his head, violet curls playfully bouncing in the wind.

“What? What is it that you want?” asks Christopher, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I’ll give you anything that you want.”

Judging from the boy’s simply-spun clothes, he must have been from the nearby village. No one wealthy, no one particularly well-educated. A simple village boy who would probably die only a few paces from where he was born. Christopher could almost pity him.

“I don’t want your money,” says the boy, eyeing Christopher’s hand going into his pocket.

“Then what? Fruits? Clothes? Shoes?” presses Christopher.

He’s answered by a derisive snort.

“You must think I’m truly dumb and simple, don’t you?” teases the boy. He shakes his head. “I’d just like for you to make a promise to me and my sister.”

“A promise?” echoes Christopher, his eyebrows raising.

“Yes, a promise,” mocks the boy.

“Of what sort?”

An easy shrug rolls off of the boy’s shoulders.

“Resume your prayers, won’t you?”

Christopher’s eyes widen.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks.

“You heard me the first time. So is it yes or no?”

Christopher looks at the red boxes desperately, even more so when he sees that the tops have been marked with ‘raspberry tarts.’

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Do you promise?” asks the boy, edging the boxes closer to Christopher.

Christopher swallows a lump in his throat.

“I promise.”

“Take one, then,” says the boy as he hands Christopher a box.

Christopher almost drops the mutton as he reaches for the red box. When it lands safely in his hands, he sighs in relief.

“Thank you,” he utters.

Yet the boy has already turned his back to him, disappearing into the bustling crowd. Sighing, Christopher walks back towards the village square, where the villagers were gathered around the official notices. He rolls his eyes and carries on, unaffected by the excitement.

“Mama, does that mean that I could go?” asks a young child. He points to the parchment paper with the royal seal upon it. “It says that all sub…subjects! Are invited.”

So that was why the village girls from before were so excited. Christopher slightly slows his pace to listen in on the conversation.

“You could! How about we all go?” offers his mother.

“Big Sister too!” adds the child.

“Of course! The prince is looking for suitors, after all. Wouldn’t it be great if Suzy became a princess?”

“Yeah! And Big Sister is so pretty too!”

Crass, thinks Christopher. As if they have a chance. He hurries through the crowd, clutching the mutton and tarts close to his chest.

“Oh, to be by the prince’s side!”

“Can you imagine me, in silk and lace all day?”

“I’ve been saving up for this occasion!”

The conversations swirl and swim around Christopher until a kernel of an idea begins to form in his mind. He gazes at his passing reflection in a storefront window, taking in his sootstained face and unkempt hair. As if, he thinks bitterly.

Hurrying home, he curses under his breath when the clock chimes twice.

⭐

“You’re late,” notes Byron.

“I apologize,” murmurs V as he brings out the mutton pie and tarts.

“Oh, do be kind to him. I’m quite certain he had to be on his back to get those tarts,” snorts Thomas. “And I doubt that any of his partners would be able to reach their zenith quickly with his corpse-like body.”

V almost slams Thomas’ slice of pie onto his plate before he forces himself to take in a deep breath and bite down on his tongue.

“Explain, V. Why were you late?” asks his father.

“There’s to be a ball,” replies V, the excuse surprising even himself. “The crown prince has returned from the warfront.”

“Barbarians, the lot of those Astralians,” mutters Thomas. “I hear they go around naked as the day they were born!”

“Actually, that was just their purported Savior. They’re meant to be naked. The rest of the Astral Beings wear clothes just like you and I,” corrects Michael.

Thomas sneers and points his fork at Michael.

“ Don’t compare us to those blueskins,” he says with a full mouth.

“All subjects in the kingdom are invited,” continues V. “The prince is searching for a suitor.”

Byron’s eyes slightly widen. Thomas stops chewing. Michael puts down his fork and knife. Slowly, Byron’s eyes turn to Thomas. His son’s shoulders stiffen. Despite that, Thomas swallows his bite of mutton pie.

“Isn’t that interesting, Thomas?” breathes Byron.

The sparkle in his brother’s youthful eyes dies and he stiffly turns to his father.

“Quite,” he replies.

Their father slowly blinks and cuts into his mutton pie.

“The prince deserves a consort with charisma such as yours,” he remarks in the now-silent dining room.

Thomas stares down at his tart in silence. He picks one up and rolls the raspberry around the custard surface. With a disapproving twitch of Byron’s lips, the raspberry falls onto the white plate.

“He does,” utters Thomas after a few moments.

V watches the entire exchange from the corner of the room, unnoticed like a shadow. The kernel of an idea has expanded into a seedling. He could be the one. If he could wash his face, properly brush out his hair and dress in some fine clothes…

“Could I?” utters V.

Thomas reluctantly turns his gaze towards V while their father raises a brow.

“Could what?” asks Byron.

“Go to the ball?”

Thomas scoffs before Byron could respond.

“Y-you? Go? In what?” he asks incredulously. He points a fork at his brother. “You would ruin any chances we had at going with your dirty face!”

A hint of desperation strains Thomas’ voice. The fork in his hand wavers.

“Don’t even think about it,” continues Thomas.

“Yes, V. Don’t. Stay home and tend to the hearth,” adds Michael.

He looks at V and Thomas with furrowed brows.

“It’s where you were meant to be,” finishes Michael, his voice wavering at the end.

In silence, Byron continues the rest of his meal, his golden eyes not even sparing V a single glance.

⭐

“Careful with that!” snaps Thomas as V runs a brush through his hair.

As far as V knew, there had been no snags in Thomas’ hair to have elicited such a reaction. In silence, he continues brushing Thomas’ hair, trying to straight out the golden and maroon strands. Once he’s done, he takes out a jar of pomade, only for Thomas to steer away from him.

“I don’t want that,” he hisses.

V sets down the jar, despite clearly remembering Thomas demanding that the exact same pomade be purchased at the market yesterday. Thomas grabs a ribbon from the desk and hands it to V. The silk is stained and slightly torn, earning a frown from his brother.

“Father would—”

“I like this one,” presses Thomas.

“Thomas, you can’t possibly—”

“Tie my hair with it!” he demands.

Christopher looks down at the worn ribbon and sighs. He holds his brother’s gaze in the mirror, taking in his stormy expression and shaking hands. The coat he wears is cream, edged with golden thread embroidery. His cravat pin boasts of a polished diamond, its brilliance seen from even across the room. Usually, Thomas would have preened in front of the mirror for hours dressed in this sort of finery.

“Why don’t you want to go?” asks V.

Thomas’ lips tremble before he hides it with a scoff.

“Are you mad?” he asks. “Only an addled idiot like the one who fell into Wonderland would think that I wouldn’t want to go.”

“Answer me,” breathes V.

Thomas avoids his gaze in the mirror, just like when they were younger and he had confronted Thomas about stealing Michael’s cakes.

“I don’t have to. You’re just a nameless servant,” replies Thomas bitterly. “What would you know? Now go and help Michael.”

“Thomas…”

“Go.”

When Thomas continues avoiding his gaze, V sighs and leaves his brother’s room. Knocking on the door beside Thomas’, he gazes at the grandfather clock. One more hour.

“Enter,” calls Michael.

V opens the door and sees his brother setting down his book. He has already dressed himself in a crimson waistcoat and tied his cravat. Walking over to the vanity, he pauses before he sits down.

“You don’t have to do much,” he says.

“Father would still like me to help.”

Sighing, Michael sits down and hands V his hairbrush.

“I know.”

In silence, V begins to run the brush through Michael’s curls, marveling at their softness. He has always preferred Michael over Thomas. His younger brother was quieter and easier to get along with. Rarely did he and Michael’s conversations erupt into quarrels. Although they didn’t share the same interests, he could respect Michael’s scholarly dedication to his historical pursuits.

“You’re staying, aren’t you?” asks Michael after a few moments.

V purses his lips.

“I want to borrow one of Father’s old clothes and come along.”

Michael twists his lips.

“Don’t,” he utters through gritted teeth.

V clutches the brush tighter.

“You two must truly hate me if you won’t even let me tag along in borrowed clothing,” he mutters.

A flicker of dismay fills Michael’s expression before he pulls away from V’s brush and glares at him.

“So what if we do?” he snaps. “You didn’t do anything for us! If it weren’t for Father, we’d still be in that bloody orphanage!”

V sets down the brush and holds Michael’s gaze.

“Be that way then,” he breathes. “I’ll ask him myself.”

“Ask what?” asks Byron, a cool breeze blowing through Michael’s room.

V straightens his posture and turns to face his father. Dressed in resplendent shades of green, Byron gazes down at V’s ragged clothes with disdain.

“I’d like to borrow your old clothes and come along,” requests V.

Just to regain a sliver of what he had lost. Just to experience being someone again. Silk on his skin and proper shoes on his feet…People who would actually look at him instead of seeing through him like a shadow.

Much to his surprise, his father removes his brocade coat and offers it to V.

“But Father…!” exclaims Michael.

“Have patience,” breathes Byron.

Hesitantly, V walks up to the emerald green coat. He looks to his father’s face for any signs of deception, yet Byron’s expression remains as unmoving as a rock. It’s been so long since he has worn brocade…He wonders if his sootstained clothes would sully the coat.

“I don’t have all night, V,” warns Byron.

Gathering up all of his courage, V slips his arm through one of the coat’s armholes, only to have the coat disintegrate into ashes. He looks up at his father to find that the coat was once again on his body.

“Do not ask again,” says Byron as he turns away. “You will be no one for the rest of your days.”

V looks after his father in dismay. He can feel the beginning of his knees weakening beneath him as the memories of all he had to endure fill his mind. First his father’s disappearance. Then parting ways with his brothers. Then the dreadful years of barely surviving in the drafty Arclight mansion. His father’s return had been the final nail in his coffin, taking away his remaining possessions.

A chasm opens up in V’s chest. He would be sweeping and cleaning the floors until his hands were gnarled and spotted. His so-called family would continue to ridicule and step on him until his dying day. The only thing that would eventually remain with him would be the distant memories of a warm and happy childhood. Eventually, he doubts that he would remember his own name.

In short, he was already dead, forgotten by the world and left to be rent asunder by the people that had one day appeared at his doorstep, claiming to be his brothers and father.

“Leave,” calls Michael softly. “I put a book on the hearth. I thought of burning it because of its inaccuracies, but thought better.”

Without meeting Michael’s gaze, V rushes out of the room.

⭐

In the distance, he can hear the sound of carriage wheels rolling away. Despite the garden being the farthest part of the house, he can still hear Thomas’ boisterous laughter. He presses his palms into his eyes, trying to stifle a fresh wave of tears. Pulling away, he is met by the wide expanse of the starry night sky.

Despite the low probability of meeting the strange village boy again, he had decided to resume his prayers to the twins. It helped take him back to simpler times by his mother’s side, when all he had to fear was if he would ever see the stars again. He clasps his hands together and closes his eyes, naming the twins’ stars in his mind. Pollux…Castor…Alhena…Mekbuda…Tejat…

His lips form the twins’ sacred chant, despite knowing that they were nothing but distant flickers in the sky.

Cross ice and sea,

Through light and shadow,

Pair of the same face

Bearers of the dual fates,

Prithee come to me in my time of need…

A cool breeze blows through his hair, carrying the salty smell of the sea. V smiles, remembering a childhood trip to the ocean and how he had marveled at the sunset.

“Through ice and sea,” says a young girl’s voice.

“Through light and shadow,” replies a boy’s voice.

“Us pair of the same face,” adds the girl.

“We, the bestowers of the dual fates,” continues the boy.

“Have heard thy pleas and arrived to offer our blessings,” says the two voices in unison.

V jumps in surprise at the voices. He turns around to see a pair of children ascending from the sky, two long branches held in their hands. Gossamer wings sprout from their backs and their clothes shimmer in all hues of the sky. Their skin glows with an ethereal light, as if they were alight from within. Underneath the night sky, their eyes shimmer like stars.

When the two alight, V stifles a gasp as he turns to see the village boy, who gives him a smirk in return.

“You’ve kept your promise, it seems!” exclaims the boy.

He exchanges a cocky smile with his sister, who merely rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t even want your silly chocolate creams,” she replies tersely.

“Castor…Pollux…,” utters V as he falls upon his knees.

He had never been particularly religious, but before the celestial twins, he finally understood what it meant to stand before a holy figure.

“Now, none of that,” snorts the male twin. “We’ve decided to go by Rio and Ryoga for the week. Next week, it will be Rio’s turn to pick what names we’ll go by.”

“I’m thinking Star and Sky,” his sister responds with a grin.

Her brother lets out a sigh.

“I suppose there’s dumber things to be named.”

“I think they’re perfectly tame!” protests Rio with a huff.

Taken aback by the twins’ nonchalant response, V peers back up at them. The twin sister beams at him. Her bright blue hair is gathered beneath a wreath of summer flowers. Her dress made of petals trails to the ground, changing from various shades of indigo to light blue. Flowers of the same shade seem to bloom from her bodice. A flowery scent wreathes around her as she approaches V and helps him stand.

“Have you nothing to wear for the ball?” she asks softly, sympathy filling her wise yet youthful features.

“Are you too tall?” teases her male counterpart.

Unlike the simple garbs of the villager boy from before, Ryoga wears a magnificent violet jacket embroidered with silver waves. Gems of all sizes adorn the jacket, twinkling like starlight. Beneath the jacket is a waistcoat with peridot buttons, accentuated by a golden belt. He slyly readjusts his stance so that the gems can catch the moonlight, further dazzling V’s eyes.

“Please, just for one night, make me someone again,” blurts out V.

Rio exchanges a glance with her brother. She taps her chin with the tip of her wand.

“It’s going to be quite a journey, from no one to someone,” she muses.

“We’ll need a few things in order to get the job done,” says Ryoga.

The twins exchange another glance. A salty and frigid breeze blows through the courtyard. Shivering, V wraps his hands around his arms, wondering if this was the beginning of a strange dream.

“A pumpkin? Round? Flat?” consults Rio.

“A round one, I like that,” decides Ryoga.

“Six mice?”

“That would be nice. And lizards alongside a dog.”

“A dog?!” exclaims V.

He had sold the dog soon after he had given away his brothers to the orphanage. Noticing his distress, the twins shake their heads.

“Frog,” amends Rio.

V makes a face.

“We’re trying to make do with what we have,” says Ryoga tersely.

“We just took out the calves,” mutters Rio.

It must be a dream. Soon, he will awake beside the floor of the kitchen with a face stained by soot and tears. Resigning himself to the dream, V sits down on a nearby log and listens to the twins babble. After a moment of debating whether to have a rag or a threadbare coat on hand, the twins exchange nods and turn back to V.

“In order for the wish to be fulfilled,” begins Rio.

“We would like a round pumpkin from the nearby mill,” instructs Ryoga.

“Then, six mice from the nearby hill. And then three lizards and a frog,” continues Rio.

“Last of all, we would like to have your starmap and a pair of clogs.”

V looks at the twins for a few moments, wondering when they would disappear. Yet when they remain staring at him with matching haughty expressions, he lets out a sigh.

“What? Too high of a demand?” asks Rio snappishly.

“We tried to do as you planned!” grumbles Ryoga.

If he wanted this dream to hurry along, then he must do as the twins commanded. It was the basic rule of dreams, after all. V bites the inside of his cheeks and forces himself to stand.

“I’ll retrieve the items,” he mutters.

After all, it was nothing but a silly dream.

Trudging towards the mill, he sees an orange pumpkin growing in the middle of the patch. He harvests it and deposits it at the twins’ feet. Nodding in approval, Ryoga motions to the hill beside the mansion.

“There’s quite a few burrows over there.”

“And I made sure to tell the mice that we would treat them with care!” adds Rio. “They won’t be frightened by you if you’re not frightened by them!”

True to her word, V comes upon a mouse burrow the moment he arrives at the hill. Crouching down, he rolls his eyes. What was he supposed to do now? Fish them out with his bare hands? His stomach flips at the thought of touching vermin.

Beside him, someone clears his throat. V jumps and wildly looks around.

“Down here, sir,” says a small voice.

Oh, of course! This was a bloody dream! Mice here can talk, just as well as mock-turtles and dodos can!

V turns down to see six mice, a frog and three lizards peering at him with wary eyes. He could almost laugh at the absurdity of his situation. Perhaps he had gone mad from living under his father’s magic.

“Why, hello there!” he says with a joviality that borders on hysteria.

What was next? They’d all gather around for a tea party?

“May we climb into your hands and pockets to meet the twins?” asks the same mouse.

He looks up at V with glimmering eyes, hesitantly brushing out a whisker.

“You see, we were chosen among the finest of our kind to accompany you,” explains the frog.

With a ribbit, the frog takes off a hat and dips his large head.

“Hoppington Creeford the Third, at your service! But you can call me Hops- ura .”

Why not? laughs a voice in V’s head. Bring the whole bloody forest with you!

“But of course!” agrees V as he opens up his palms and pockets for the creatures to climb in. “When did you suddenly start speaking?”

A lizard scuttles into V’s hands, basking in the warmth that his skin radiated.

“‘Tis a magical night tonight. The Fairy Moon is waning while the Celestial Moon waxes! We’ve always been talking, but borders between the living are more looser tonight,” explains the lizard with a wink.

“I see! Thank you for explaining,” says V as he walks back to the twins.

When he arrives in the garden, he sets down the animals with a smile that wasn’t as forced as before. It would be a bit of a pity to wake up from this dream. No one has spoken to him this kindly in years. He heads back into the kitchen where the hearth continues to blaze. He looks at it with a hint of melancholy, knowing that he would soon awaken before it.

Running back upstairs and into the receiving room, he counts the boards until he arrives at the fifteenth plank. Carefully, he pries the plank from the floor and gingerly takes out the tube that contained his starmap. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walks back into the kitchen, picks out a pair of his clogs and walks back out into the garden, presenting the final items with a proud smile.

“Better than we thought,” says Ryoga with a nod.

“Without further ado, let’s start,” says Rio.

The twins gather the animals and pumpkin in a circle. They procure their wands from the air, two rods of silver and blue. Touching their tips together, the twins begin to walk in a circle around the objects.

Pure hearts beg and whisper,

Heard by the brother and sister,

Pumpkin to gilded silver,

Making mice shiver,

From fur to bare flesh,

From scales to shimmering coats,

A spell of time to enmesh!

The stroke of twelve will then wash away what we have wrote.

Before V’s eyes, Hops begins to stand on his own two legs. His green skin soon turns into a magnificent emerald coat and his webbed limbs soon stretch out into elegant fingers. Hops’ large eyes then recede into his skull, a pair of spectacles now perched on his pert nose. A short young man soon stands before him, offering his hand.

“At your service- ura ,” says Hops with a cheeky grin.

His greeting is echoed by three other youths in dazzling coats. The three attendants admire each other’s forms and then saunter towards the carriage made of silver and gold. Seemingly a palace in miniature form, brilliant lights shine from within, illuminating the once-gloomy garden. Peering into the window, V sees velvet cushions and a cake awaiting him. His attention is then taken by the six white horses at the front. They proudly neigh, their heads adorned with white feathers.

The twins exchange pleased glances as V stares at their handiwork in awe. With mirthful eyes, they begin to circle V.

“To tell you the truth, we’ve heard your pleas all of these years,” begins Ryoga.

“Then why…”

“Because dark magic fills us Stars with fear,” replies Rio.

The twins’ eyes narrow. Ryoga clutches his wand tighter.

“Your father is nothing but a creature of the shadows.”

“Nowhere would we want our magic to be tallowed,” says Rio, nodding.

She then gives V a grin.

“But now he isn’t here!” says Ryoga, raising his wand.

“So have no fear,” soothes Rio.

The twins cross their wands and circles V, taking turns to chant out their spell.

“For a no-face to don a splendid mask…”

“Truly is no simple task.”

“For one night only will we interfere with the Fates’ design…”

“And a lowly servant you shall resign.”

Parting their wands, the twins chant in unison,

“And to a noble of the highest honors you shall ascend!”

They touch their wands to V’s shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine.

Cinders and ashes, we take away the sting,

To ensure that a splendid robe will take wing

Beneath the Celestial Moon, we twins free,

The miserable shadow trampled by three

Gems of beaded starlight, silks from the clouds, shoes of spun stars and roses of earthly bloom,

Your presence shall be known to all in the room!

The sound of the ocean fills V’s senses and a cool, yet welcome breeze blows across his body. A reassuring weight falls upon him and he immediately recognizes the caress of silk. He opens his eyes to see that he is swathed in hues of rich blue and white, just like the ocean. Delight fills his chest at the prospect of wearing finery again until he realizes that he is not wearing a magnificent coat studded with gems but a woman’s court dress. Behind him, the twins stifle snorts.

“What is the meaning of this?!” snaps Christopher as he turns around to the fairies.

His hands travel to his bodice, bedecked by three large bows. Lace of the finest quality spill from his sleeves. The skirts of the dress part to reveal a petticoat of white silk, tastefully decorated in flowers. He can feel his cheeks burn at how ridiculous he must have looked, his hand rushing to his head to support the tower of curls that his hair has been gathered into. When his hand meets the model Dyson Sphere tucked in his hair, the annoyance that fills his expression increases the twins’ giggling.

“You little…”

He takes a step forward, only to gasp at the unfamiliar sensation of the shoes beneath him. Pulling up his skirts, he finds that his feet have been put in a pair of radiant glass slippers.

“We gave you an identity, did we not?” chuckles Rio.

“All we see but a gorgeous princess from a faraway kingdom! Isn’t that hot?” teases Ryoga.

V glares at the two twins. True, the gown was made of the finest materials, but…

“Your mother requested us to help you tonight,” says Rio in a more serious tone.

“Due to her good soul, we obliged. It’s something we can’t fight,” explains Ryoga.

All laughter has dissipated from the twins now. Their expressions are stern and frigid, betraying their true age and position.

“You are not pure of heart,” intones Rio.

“Although there is good in your soul, you still have quite the journey to chart,” continues her brother.

“And therefore, we have played this small prank to teach you about the graciousness that befits your rank.”

Ryoga nods and glances towards the moon. He places his hand on his hip and takes a step onto the air.

“At the stroke of midnight, our spell will be quelled,” he says.

“Treat your mother’s wish well,” adds Rio, taking her brother’s hand.

The twins squeeze each other’s hands and then flutter their wings.

“So heed us well and farewell!” they say as they leap into the night sky.

Staring down at his grand attire, Christopher sighs. It was only a dream. He might as well.

⭐

“Introducing the Princess of Sondy! Her royal majesty, Altair!”

The murmuring in the expansive ballroom stops in ripples. First the commoners in their Sunday best pointed and stared. The servants tending to the guests paused midway through serving their drinks. Aristocrats irritated with the interruption followed the servants’ gaze. They nudged their fellow companions and stared at the scintillating figure slowly descending the stairs.

Even the king, yawning to the gossip of his advisor, stiffens at the sight. Upon seeing the Sondy princess’ grand attire and proud posture, he nudges his sullen son beside him.

“Look at her!” marvels the younger prince, tugging on his brother’s sleeve at the same time.

Shaken from his boredom by both of his father and brother’s nudging, Kaito looks at the figure swathed in deep blue silk. His eyes widen at the massive decoration in her hair. To inexperienced eyes, it appeared to be a flower with five petals bedecked in jewels. But to Prince Kaito, who had ventured far and wide, he had immediately recognized it as the fabled Dyson Sphere. Finally. Someone that he could talk to about the heavens.

Christopher feels a wave of trepidation wash over him as he descends the stairs. Was he that strange? Did everyone see through his disguise? He supposes that an anagram of his favorite celestial object and the name of a star associated with a female figure took a bit of thinking to see through, but a small voice tells him that it was still far too obvious. Perhaps any time now, Thomas would shout amidst the whispers and reveal Christopher for what he truly was.

The crowd of silks and jewels part to reveal the young prince making his way through, eyes shining with interest.

“You…that’s an entire model on your head, isn’t it?” asks the prince in awe.

Awkwardly, Christopher bows, mindful of the Dyson Sphere slipping off.

“It is,” he confirms in a quiet voice.

How could a mere dream make him shake this much?

“That’s quite brave of you,” says the prince, offering his hand. “I’d like to personally welcome you to my father’s kingdom.”

Christopher stares at the prince’s offered hand, his gloves so pristine and white. Was this a lark, just like what the twins had done? Looking around to see an array of astonished and envious expressions, Christopher meets the prince’s eyes with a small smile and takes his hand. The room seems to let out a breath as conversations bubble up.

Christopher tenses, waiting for Thomas, Michael or even their father’s incredulous shout. When he hears nothing but the continuous stream of quiet murmurs, he takes a deep breath and gives the prince a larger smile.

“It is an honor to be here,” he accepts warmly.

They walk back towards the center of the ballroom, where Christopher sees Thomas and Michael’s pale expressions. Their faces are filled with shock while Byron’s expression remains placid. He places his hands on his sons’ shoulders, as if to reassure them. Christopher forces himself to look away from them and return to the prince.

“How much do you know about the stars?” asks Kaito, eyes trailing down Christopher’s dress.

Would he care if Princess Altair revealed herself to be a man? Christopher hears the orchestra begin to play. He would only make a fool of himself if he tried to disguise himself any further.

“Many things. It’s the theories that excite me the most,” he replies after a few moments.

Yet the prince responds with a smile, revealing not a single hint of surprise. Perhaps this truly was an odd dream.

All will see but a princess from distant lands, intones Ryoga’s distant voice.

Christopher’s shoulders lower in relief. Then truly, he had nothing to lose. He breaks into a genuine grin, meeting the prince’s pale blue eyes.

“I think we’ll be together for quite a bit, then,” says Kaito with a small smile. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Delight sparks in Christopher’s chest. He can’t remember the last time he had anyone to speak to about his theories and fascination with the stars.

“No. Not at all,” he breathes.

The two pass their time debating and pondering the wide expanse of the heavens, the melody of the orchestra quickly drowned out. Kaito eventually leads them deep into the palace gardens, where they sit side by side, glancing up at the stars.

“I’ve always wondered what the personalities of the constellations were like,” begins Kaito.

Christopher stifles a snort.

“They aren’t the solemn figures that we see in the Starbooks. I can confirm that the twins are quite the pair of troublemakers.”

Kaito raises an eyebrow.

“And how do you know this?” he asks with a bemused smirk.

“Firsthand experience.”

A snort answers him and Christopher laughs at the un-princely action.

“You’ll have to introduce me to them sometime,” says Kaito.

“Oh, they’re quite elusive. I’ve only met them—”

DONG!

Christopher’s eyes turn to the distant clocktower and his heart falls. Both needles were pointed towards 12, heralding the arrival of midnight. Immediately, Christopher jolts up.

“Apologies. I must go. Thank you—for everything,” says Christopher hurriedly as he grabs his skirts and runs.

Taken aback, the prince is slow to pursue him. Christopher tears through the ballroom to astonished gasps, the world a blur of bright colors and sounds. He can hear Kaito’s shouts behind him as he bursts through the ballroom doors and into the hall. As he rushes down the stairs, he gasps when he feels himself slip. The slipper tugs off his feet and he bites the inside of his cheek. There was no time to put it back on.

At the entrance of the palace awaits his carriage. A burst of energy fills his legs and he leaps through the open door and motions for Hops to rush away. The final thing he sees is Kaito, forlornly holding his dropped slipper.

When he awakens, he lets out a cough as he breathes in the dry air of the kitchen. He looks down at his sootstained hands and ragged sleeves. His shoulders lower in disappointment until a shimmer from the mantle catches his eye. Rubbing the sleep from them, he pulls himself up and feels warmth rush to his chest upon seeing the golden slipper.

Gingerly, he takes it into his hands. Not a single speck of soot sticks to the radiant surface, no matter how long he holds it. Carefully, he tucks it into his pocket and settles back down in front of the hearth.

For just a small moment, he had been someone again.

⭐

A gray cloud seems to loom over the breakfast table, with Michael and Thomas staring sullenly at their toast. A spark of perverse joy fills V’s chest as he hears his brothers sigh.

He steps over to refill Byron’s tea, only to have his father grab his sleeve and sniff. In a manner similar to a predator, Byron’s nails dig into V’s arm and a spark of ferocity flashes past his eyes. Silently, he lets go of V’s arm and pours his own tea, his lips twisting in disdain.

“You reek of starlight,” utters Byron.

V remains silent, walking back into the shadows. It was just once. He swallows, a small seed of hope lingering in the pit of his stomach. No, the prince wouldn’t search for him. It had only been for a few hours, after all.

And yet, it felt as if he had known the prince for years, their entwined interests passing away the hours at the speed of lightning. Perhaps they had just been two lonely souls, searching for a temporary companion to fill the silence. He would find others and his Princess Altair would soon fade away like the murky outlines of a dream.

Because that was all it had been. Dressed in starlight and the sweet lies that the twins had whispered into his ears, Princess Altair had been nothing more than an illusion.

With a huff, Byron opens up his newspaper, eyes scanning the black and white pages. After pausing to read a certain article, he sets it down and gazes at his sons.

“I believe we should prepare the house for some royal visitors today,” he drawls.

V almost lets out an audible gasp until Byron’s icy glare freezes him.

“The prince is toting around the mysterious princess’ slipper in hopes that a maiden will be able to fit it,” his father continues.

He makes a scoffing noise and turns to the next page.

“Foolishness.”

That afternoon, Christopher polishes the banister and cleans the floor until the skin peels from his fingers and his knees are bruised in shades of indigo. A small smile fills his lips as the slipper jostles about in his pocket. Soon, he would show them all. This was what he was destined for, not a life in obscurity. Everyone in the kingdom would soon hear about his father’s beastly cruelty and his brothers’ abuse.

He gazes at his reflection on the polished floor. More soot. More bruises. He would present himself as the much-abused servant of the Arclights, deprived of all he had deserved. And the prince would only pity and love him more. He wrings the rag in his hands, a small smile filling his lips at the blood that was beginning to bead from the areas where his skin peeled. He had never been made for menial labor, with hands as pale and delicate as this.

“V,” breathes Michael.

V turns to look at his brother from the top of the stairs.

“Yes?”

Michael looks around fearfully and then hurries down the stairs, grabbing at his brother’s arm.

“Please don’t leave us again,” he begs. “It was you, wasn’t it? The princess with the slippers?”

V pales and holds his brother’s desperate gaze. Michael’s lips tremble and he gazes at his brother with terrified eyes.

“What does it matter to you?” scoffs V, pulling away from Michael’s grasp. “You and Thomas have everything.”

His brother wets his lips and blinks, tears beginning to fill his eyes. V sneers.

“And now you wish to ingratiate yourself to me?” he hisses. “Go and torment someone else.”

“We want to say your name again, but he won’t let us,” whispers Michael. “Please…take us with you.”

“V!” calls Byron, draining all the blood from Michael’s face. “Come to the kitchens at once.”

Michael pulls away from his brother and hurriedly kicks over his bucket of filthy water. A sneer fills his face, yet his eyes betray his desperation.

“You seemed to have missed a spot!” he says as he walks back up the stairs.

Reluctantly, V trudges towards his father after mopping up the remains of the bucket.

“Yes?” he asks.

Byron looks out at the polished floors and V’s bleeding hands. Disapproval fills his eyes.

“Go to the kitchens and shut the door behind you. I want dinner made early,” utters his father.

A protest threatens to bubble up V’s throat, despite the predatory glimmer in his father’s eye. The slipper in his pocket brushes against his thigh as if it were warning him to hold his tongue. He forces himself to bow his head and make himself scarce.

When he descends the stairs leading into the kitchen, he hears the door shut behind him. He rushes back to open the door, only to find that it has been locked. Panic fills his chest and he bangs against the surface. Distantly, he can hear the sound of screams. His heart plummets to his stomach. The screams were far too familiar and he forces himself to descend the stairs into the pit of the kitchen, where he can ignore his brothers’ screams.

A cold sweat runs down his back and he clutches the slipper with shaky hands. What was their father planning? In the dim light of the kitchen, the radiant shoe continues to shine with its own light, an array of whites and golds. V wets his lips as he hurries to a window, hoping to find a means of escape. When he finds that it is locked as well, he attempts to open the door leading to the gardens. It holds fast and the fear in his chest multiplies.

A tomb. That was what he had been sealed in.

He gazes at the table with the ingredients for tonight’s dinner, consisting of chicken, lentils and an array of vegetables. Dreams of silken sheets and being seen for who he truly was slowly begin to fade as he stares at his chore for the night. V . That was all he would ever be. A shadow with only a magic shoe to serve as a reminder of that one night.

His hands resume shaking and he leans against the garden door. He supposes that he had been greedy, wanting more than just one night. It was more than enough, having the privilege to dance with the kind prince and be the object of everyone’s envy. This was already more than what many nobles could ever achieve. Then why…?

The slipper burns in his pocket and he feels the sting of tears fill his eyes.

No, it hadn’t been enough.

Nothing will ever be enough to erase the memories of sleeping on threadbare rugs and ruined sofas. The chill of the empty Arclight mansion and his demon father’s stares will never fade from his mind. His bloodied and calloused hands will never regain their delicate and pristine forms. Even if he was adorned with the heaviest of jewels and the most luxurious of furs, he will never forget the scratchy rags he has been forced to wear.

He lets out a low sob, burying his face in his hands.

No matter how far he goes, he will never be able to rid himself of his father’s curse. The demon will continue to haunt him, standing in the shadows and chasing him in his dreams. And if he stays here, in a place that not even the most fearsome of wolves dare roam near, then he will continue to accumulate those scars. He will continue to be drained of his vitality, living only on regret and impotent anger.

V grits his teeth and bangs against the door.

A cool breeze blows through the window beside him, carrying the smell of the ocean. V stiffens.

“In this world, Stars and Demons bear the same form,” whispers Rio’s voice.

“Underneath the Fairy Moon, mouthless we must conform,” utters Ryoga’s voice.

“Our brothers were the ones who had granted your father his black heart.”

“Thus we have decided to reverse our brethren’s twisted art.”

A stronger breeze blows through the window, forcing it open. V rushes to the window and peeks out in hopes of seeing the twins’ familiar faces. Yet there is no one. He clasps his hands together and sends a prayer of thanks before climbing out. The sound of trumpets heralding the prince’s arrival sends a jolt of energy into V’s legs as he runs barefoot into the garden. He rushes around towards the entrance, no longer caring about the stones that pierced his feet.

“I have no daughters,” declares Byron to the prince.

The sound of the door opening is heard and V breaks into a sprint.

“However, your majesty is welcome to rest here if you please.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. There are still many noble houses that I must visit besides yours.”

V sees Kaito turning back towards his horse. His heart leaps to his throat.

“Wait!” he yells.

Byron’s eyes widen as V fishes in his pocket, revealing the radiant slipper.

“Please, allow me to try!” he cries.

Shock fills the royal entourage as V stops before Kaito, collapsing on his knees, his chest heaving and his cheeks flushed. The slipper continues to be tightly held in his hand, untouched by the grime on V’s skin.

“There was a maiden though!” protests the king’s advisor, ruffling his green hair in dismay. “She sounded like bells and had skin as pristine as snow! Not this…this servant!”

Kaito’s brows knit in confusion upon seeing the slipper. He then picks up the slipper from his attendant and compares it. His lips slightly twist.

“That explains why it was so large…,” he mutters.

“My Prince, you can’t be serious!” exclaims the royal advisor.

Ignoring the bespectacled man, Kaito kneels down and motions for V to present his foot. Realizing that his bare feet had been covered in dust and scratches from running through the garden, V shyly presents them. The royal advisor cringes while the prince stifles a twitch in his lips. Mirth fills his eyes as he slides the shoe onto V’s muddy foot.

“Put on the other one, if you will,” says the prince.

“This is preposterous!” snaps Byron as he walks up to V. “You have deceived the entire kingdom with your witchcraft!”

He angrily whirls upon the advisor and points to V.

“He should be burned at the stake!”

After slipping on his own shoe, V clears his throat and stands. He regards his father with a frigid expression while Kaito looks down at his feet with bemusement.

“If I am to be burned at the stake, then you should as well,” he utters.

He takes Kaito’s hand and gives him a small smile.

“What will you do now?” he asks.

Kaito regards Byron and his advisor’s horrified expressions. He had grown tired of the various suitors that were thrown at him and the crowds of adoring maidens that ran after his horses. He turns to V, whose cheeks were flushed from running and whose eyes were filled with hope. They had been the same eyes as Princess Altair’s, deep blue like the night sky. With a smirk, he pats V’s hand.

“Marry him, of course.”

“You don’t even know his name!” snaps Byron.

“It’s Christopher,” replies Christopher with a triumphant smirk.

His sentence is punctuated by the sound of the royal advisor fainting.

⭐

A shower of rose petals fall from the heavens and the bells of the cathedral ring out in sonorous chimes. Kaito grasps Christopher’s hand and the two hurry down the aisle and towards their carriage. A strong wind suddenly blows and Christopher finds himself tumbling from the steps of the long staircase, only for a young guard to reach out and stop his head from being dashed on the floor. He looks up to see Ryoga giving him a playful wink and then pulling away.

“Be a consort that this country can be proud of,” he whispers as Kaito rushes to his side.

Christopher wildly scans the crowds but finds no sign of Byron.

“Are you alright?” asks Kaito worriedly.

Christopher forces his lips into a thin smile.

“Of course.”

They walk into the carriage without further incident. Letting out a sigh, Christopher rests his head against the velvet cushions.

“You will burn my father at the stake, won’t you?” he asks softly.

After closing the door behind him, Kaito turns to Christopher with an expression of mild horror. Regarding the prince’s silence, Christopher shakes his head.

“Forget about it. Today is meant to be a joyous day.”

Aside from the initial shock of his reveal, the kingdom happily welcomed Christopher after learning about his past as a long-suffering yet educated servant. The king had at first welcomed Christopher with skepticism until Christopher began to inquire about his work. Only the courtiers seemed to sneer at him, calling him a witch behind his back.

Christopher purses his lips at the reminder of the gossip.

Soon, he would show them what a witch truly was. His father, with his eerie spells and cruel punishments, who possessed hands that behaved like claws. He would have Byron burned at the stake for his crimes, relishing in his screams as he had relished in Christopher’s.

The countryside races past them, a blur of vivid greens and golds. His hand seeks Kaito’s, who slightly stiffens. It had been happening more often as of late, the prince gazing at him with slightly wary eyes. Surely though, he would come to understand the anger that Christopher had felt?

CRACK! The carriage jolts to a halt and the horses rear in panic. Kaito peers out of the window and grimaces upon seeing the broken carriage wheel. First the heavy wind that almost dashed Christopher to bits and now the broken wheel. It felt as if something was warning him, amplifying his own doubts about his new groom.

At times, there was a mania in Christopher’s eyes that he couldn’t ignore, clawing and grasping at him. At other times, there was an ambition in his expression that made Kaito check that his doors were locked twice. This man, who claimed to have the Celestial twins on his side and his father, who was said to be in possession of fairy magic…Both of them made him uneasy for similar reasons, the longer he thought about it.

“Do you need help?” calls a young girl’s voice.

A simple cloth covers her blue hair and her dress is covered in patches. Despite her shabby appearance and her missing front teeth, the girl beams as she holds up a carriage wheel. Upon seeing her magenta eyes, Christopher’s shoulders lower in relief.

Rio winks as she bows to the royal couple and then hands the wheel to the grateful driver. As she rounds Christopher’s window, she whispers,

“Your brothers have paid for your fortune. Never doubt their love.”

Her words send a chill down Christopher’s spine. He stares down at his hands as the wheel is attached to the carriage and the driver resumes his seat at the front. Michael’s desperate plea and Thomas’ sullen expression fill his mind.

No, he couldn’t allow them to tarnish his deserved happy ending.

⭐

Vector peers in through the windows of the palace with his binoculars, his lips twisting in distaste. With each day the two had spent together, the more Kaito seemed to shy away from Christopher.

“People! People!” trill his hat.

“Be quiet!” snaps Vector.

“People!” shrieks his hat.

Vector drops his binoculars and yanks the hat off of his head, angrily shaking it. Regardless, he turns his attention towards the palace’s front gates, where two limping figures await. He creeps towards the figures and gives the royal couple one last glance. A guard has arrived in the dining room, alerting the prince of the beggars’ arrivals.

The sniper sneers and flips open a miniature version of his massive storybook, scanning the final pages of Cinderella. His lips curl in distaste as he scans the text.

Picking up his binoculars, he focuses his attention on the two huddled figures. White bandages cover their eyes. The taller one limps due to a lack of a heel on one foot. The shorter one lacks toes on the opposite foot. Vector wonders how hellish his own life would have been if he had two brothers instead of one.

A guard welcomes the miserable pair through the gates, where Christopher awaits, dressed in finery. Upon seeing his brothers, blinded and lame, a flicker of shock fills his expression.

“You,” he utters. “What has he done?”

“Parts of our feet to seal you in the kitchen. Our left eyes to have you fall and our right eyes to prevent you from reaching the palace,” replies Thomas bitterly. “All thwarted by your own brand of witchcraft, it seems.”

“We have nowhere left to go after you burned him at the stake,” murmurs Michael.

Vector’s heart skips a beat as he awaits Christopher’s reply, although he already knows the man’s answer. He could leave right now and allow the three to live in peace, giving them something that he never got to have. He could allow Christopher to keep his promise to the twins and become a just king-consort, shrewdly advising his fearful husband.

Yet he knows that they’re nothing more than gentle lies that he has concocted to himself, just like back then.

“I have no brothers,” says Christopher after a few moments.

He unclasps a pair of diamond bracelets from his wrists and tosses them at his brothers’ feet.

“Take these and leave.”

Without another word, he closes the palace doors behind him. Underneath the pale moonlight, Vector reads the next part of his target’s story.

“Who was at the door?” asked the prince.

“Nothing but a pair of ghosts,” replied Christopher.

Vector shuts the book in disgust. The story ended there but he knew, if allowed to go on, what kind of monster would grow from this. Christopher would become a master puppeteer, slowly wrapping his claws around the court with his sad eyes and demure smile. He would kill his husband in his sleep and then usurp the throne in his lust for power. Kindly, he would lead his subjects, fulfilling his promise to the twins. And then, behind closed doors, he would continue his search for power. There was no other way he could have ended, with a protagonist as selfish as he was.

He grits his teeth and leaps out of the tree that he had been hiding in, plopping his hat back on his head. Rounding the corner, he eyes Christopher’s separate bedroom and climbs up the worn vines that led into it. The smell of heavy perfumes envelope his senses and he grimaces at the vulgar display of luxury. Concealing himself beneath Christopher’s bed, he lies in wait.

When the door finally opens, Vector silently takes the rifle from his back and crawls from beneath the bed.

“Who are you?!” demands Christopher, grabbing a nearby candle holder.

“A cousin,” replies Vector simply.

Christopher sneers.

“I have no cousins.”

Vector easily shrugs and aims the gun at Christopher.

“On paper we are.”

Shoes, wish-granters, princes, and cruel parents. The only thing Vector couldn’t have was a happy ending.

Christopher eyes the gun with unease, slowly backing away.

“Unlike me, you had brothers that genuinely wished for your happiness,” growls Vector.

“Happiness? They treated me like a servant!” snaps Christopher. “Don’t try to tell me my story when you know nothing!”

Vector briefly sets down his rifle and rifles through the fairytale book. When he finds the page that he is searching for, he tosses it at Christopher’s feet.

“Read it,” he commands.

He picks up his rifle again and watches as Christopher’s expression fills with horror upon seeing his brothers illustrated on the page.

“Return to our mansion and you will see what I can do for you,” promised the wretched child. “As long as you refuse to utter your brother’s name, all that we had will belong to you.”

Desperate to see their brother once again, Thomas and Michael agreed. Years of longing had eroded his face from their memories, yet the love that they had felt for him remained, so strong was their loyalty to their family.

“It can’t be,” utters Christopher as he hurriedly flips through the pages.

He looks at Vector with horror as each subsequent page details every minute detail of his life.

“Who are you?!”

“Keep on reading!” barks Vector.

With shaking hands, Christopher stares down at the page that he stopped at, staring at the illustration of his brothers grasping their bleeding eyes in agony.

No longer able to bear their demon-father’s cruelty, the two brothers decided to rebel. They lightened their heavy tongues by uttering their brother’s name, dancing upon their hobbled feet beneath the Celestial Moon.

Blinded the two were for uttering their brother’s name in hopes of freeing him from their father’s curse. One by one, the treasures in the Arclight mansion disappeared into red sand and smoke. Their silks turned to rags and their soft hands grew callused. Free their older brother was, yet doomed they were.

Despite that, they continued to hope for Christopher’s forgiveness and love.

Christopher drops the book with tears in his eyes, remembering Michael and Thomas’ at-times fearful expressions and forced sneers.

“I-it isn’t too late,” utters Christopher, desperately flipping through the pages. “I can save them!”

“Beg, then!” crows Vector. “Beg for me to spare your life, you undeserving ‘hero!’”

At the command, Christopher purses his lips and stares at Vector with a flicker of resentment in his eyes. Vector sneers.

“Just as I thought. While proud and haughty bitches like you greedily hold onto your happy endings, the ones who actually deserve it get nothing! I’ve had enough of this!”

He pulls the trigger more than once in his bloodlust, covering the walls in Christopher’s blood. A bit of blood even makes it onto Vector’s cheek, which he wipes away in disgust. Savagely slamming his rifle back into its compartment, Vector steps over to Christopher’s corpse and proceeds to kick it, relishing in how his bony flesh easily gave way to his steel-toed boots.

“STUPID BITCH!” he screams, grinding his heel into Christopher’s face.

Everything, from the palace to the loving prince to even his repentant brothers could have been Vector’s. Yet it had to land in Christopher’s hands, where everything was twisted to his selfish needs. He slams his foot onto Christopher’s nose with all of his might, feeling the anger of three lifetimes course through his body. The skull caves in with a satisfying crunch , Christopher’s handsome creatures reduced to an unrecognizable pulp.

He should have dragged Christopher home with him, where he could have given him a slow and agonizing death. Cut open his stomach and have rabid dogs rip away the entrails. Peeled the skin from his fingers and force them down his throat. Vector takes out his dagger and plunges it into Christopher’s stomach, dragging it through his flesh.

With his bare hands, he reaches into Christopher’s stomach and tears out the entrails with a wet pllisssh, their red vibrance vivid even in the dim light. He’ll make sure that he sends Christopher to the afterlife in an unrecognizable mess for all he’s done. He continues to pull out the entrails until he’s surrounded by them, his hands dyed a deep red. Tears bead his eyes as he remembers the cold eyes of his brother and stepmother. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

His reflection in a nearby mirror makes him stiffen.

Akin to a temple guardian, his teeth are bared and his clothes are torn from his frenzy. He looks monstrous, covered in his prey’s blood. His heavy breathing fills his ears alongside the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

“S-scary!” croaks his hat. “Scary, scary scary!”

Vector swallows a lump in his throat as he forces himself to stand. The sound of running footsteps fill the corridor. Once again, he regards his bloody reflection, revulsion filling his chest.

So this was what he has become. His stomach twists in knots as he remembers his bargain with the lord of the underworld.

Cleanse the world of sin and finally gain his long-awaited place in the underworld.

Was this what Diêm Vương had actually meant?

A demon, serving by the underworld lords’ side?

He looks at himself in disgust and picks up his fairytale book, tucking it into his pocket. He needs to have a vacation.

#zexal #Christopher arclight #kaito tenjo #Byron arclight #writing from iris #H☆H☆S

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