#about whether or not my dogs tail fur should be braided

[autumnalwalker]

A Dream About An Oil Platform

I am one of a group of people living aboard a reclaimed and repurposed offshore oil platform.  I first arrived as part of an operation to rescue several workers who had gotten left behind on accident when the company pulled out.  I still can’t say why I stayed after sending them home.  

We’re an eclectic lot here, although some of us are stranger than others.  Two of the platforms residents are covered in grey fur and possess catlike ears and tails. They didn’t look like that before living here.  I’m embarrassed at how often I get them mixed up.   I really have no excuse with how distinctive the markings and patterns on their fur are.  Then again, I’ve always been bad with names and faces, whether or not those faces are furry. 

There’s a woman here with dark braided hair dressed as an Old West gunslinger, complete with hat, duster, and bandolier.  No guns in her empty holsters though.  I still haven’t figured out what her deal is and no one seems sure how she even got here, but rumor has it she’s got business with the thing beneath the platform.  Rumor has it that finding that thing at the bottom of the well was the reason the company pulled out. 

There’s a litter of puppies that were born aboard the platform.  Their mother is a golden retriever that was smuggled out here via illicit-but-mundane means back when the platform was still drilling under the company’s direction. We all try not to think about the fact that there were no other dogs on the platform before the pups were born or the fact that they all look a bit… strange.  The closest we come to acknowledging it are the occasional jokes about “immaculate canine conception” and “puppy Jesus.”  More often than not, it falls to me to take the pups for walks.  They’re a rambunctious lot and I often wish someone else would take over the duty for once, but I’m proud to say none of them have fallen overboard on my watch.  Even if they have an inordinate love for scurrying about the platform’s underbelly of support struts. 

Those very support struts are the basis for our self-sufficiency out here.  Beneath the surface of the water, that vast metal skeleton has become an artificial reef swarming with life.  We try not to question the fact that this forest of kelp and coral should not have sprung up so quickly, grateful as we are for the steady supply of fish and edible seaweed.  The coral growths in particular should have taken years, maybe even decades, to reach their current size and complexity.  They were fully formed within a month of the company pulling out and leaving the platform to us and the thing beneath. 

#microfiction #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #dreams #my dreams #dreamposting #dream writing

[puckish-saint]

yooo glad to hear you're feelin' better and ready to accept requests again ^-^ So could I request how Sombra, Reaper, and Widowmaker would do if a young child was brought into Talon, either because they have exceptional combat or tech related skills Talon wants to exploit or they're being held there as a long term hostage to ensure someone's cooperation? Like how would they interact with the kid, if at all? (sorry if the asks a bit long ;-;)

An agent picks the child up fromkindergarten, but it’s Widowmaker who sits in the back of the car,a small handgun cradled in her hands that the girl eyes bothfrightened and awed.

“Do you work for my mama?” she asksas she fastens her seatbelt as if she’s being picked up by randommen in black suits every day. The words stranger danger evidentlymean nothing to her.

“It is more accurate to say that yourmother works for us.” Widowmaker says. At least now she will, sheadds silently. The agent lets the autopilot drive and while the carpulls out of the school’s parking lot together with half a dozen ofother parents with their children, he turns around and waves hisphone.

“Lets take a photo so your mommywon’t worry, alright?” he suggests and whatever else the childmay be, camera shy she is not. She makes faces at the camera, makesthe agent snap picture after picture, usually with Widowmakersomewhere in the background although at least once she sits on herlap and pretends to brush her hair.

“You could braid it,” the girl saysand Widowmaker, whose patience for people who are not targets or herhandlers runs low at the best of times, yanks her hair out of thechild’s grasp.

“I don’t want to braid it.” shesays and hopes that is the last of it.

Amélie and Gérard thought abouthaving kids but never acted on the impulse. Her career was tootime-consuming, his work too dangerous to make child rearing arealistic option. And though she used to make the occasionalappearance before young ballet students her contact with children hasbeen minimal. Thus she had no idea about young children’s lack oflong-term memory.

“You could braid it.” the child,Widowmaker doesn’t bother to memorise her name, says. It’s been alittle over two weeks and the times the girl suggested braiding herhair ranks in the dozen. It’s hard to believe she really doesn’tremember, but that’s how she asks, with the same enthusiasm as ifshe just figured out the potential of tying hair together inappealing patterns.

Once again she pulls her hair out ofreach and hopes the child’s lips wobbling won’t mean it will cryand make a scene.

“I already told you, I do not want tobraid it.”

As if she hasn’t heard the childcontinues, merrily ignoring her lunch that might keep her mouth shutfor a few minutes.

“It’d look really nice with bows init. Down here,” she holds the tips of her hair. “And here, here,here, here,-”“Yes, I get it.” Widowmaker glares at Reaperwho hasn’t laughed but is also very pointedly not laughing. Insteadof helping her deal with this persistent little menace he puts aglass of orange juice in front of the same and goes back to readingthrough the mission data for his next op. It’s his first contactwith the child, not living on base as she does, so he couldn’tpossibly know how annoying the little pest is. She’s supposed tostay in her room at all times, but instead of having her food broughtto her she gets to sit at the kitchen table and count the long longlist of hair accessories she owns.

“And a tie that has three bobbles onit, and another tie that has one big bobble on it, and a clip thatlooks like a fish.”

She stops to breathe and Reaper, thebastard, uses that pause to ask, innocent as can be: “Oh? Whatcolour is the fish?”

“Don’t encourage her.” Widowmakerhisses, but it’s too late, and for the next twenty minutes she hasto listen to the painfully dull conversation only a five year old canlead, about what colour her fish is and the many many differentcolours in which fishes come. Reaper nods and contributes to theconversation, because he gets to leave and kill things soon, whileshe’s stuck here, having to listen to this nonsense all day, everyday. Whatever project Talon needs that child’s mother for, sheprays it ends soon and they can all rid themselves of her.

While Reaper is off somewherereenacting slasher films, Widowmaker gets her first reprieve from thechild that insists on following her around wherever she goes.

“They called me in to work on the newsoftware,” Sombra says, patting the child on the head in a gestureas condescending as it is inattentive. “Heard you have a fan.”

“I’m the fan.” The child saysproudly and receives another pat for it. Widowmaker groans and wishesTalon had a job, any job for her to escape this little monster.

“You will not be so smug once she’sfollowed you around for an entire day wherever you go,” she saysand emphasises, with a glare at the child, “Wherever you go.”

All she gets for her efforts is a widesmile, but at least Sombra provides a little distraction and givesher the first time in weeks off to herself. She’s looking forwardto living up to her name again, to being called her name again,unlike the child who somehow figured out she used to be called Amélieand wouldn’t use anything else to address her. She’s not Amélie,especially not to a snotty brat who has more hairclips than brains.

Sombra, meanwhile, explains what Talonis all about.

“Can’t believe you don’t knowyet. They didn’t even make you take the entrance test?”

“What entrance test?”

While Sombra boots up the computersshe’ll be working on, an internal network not connected to thelarger one that practically runs the base, she lists all the things aprospective agent of a super secret organisation needs to do to provethey’re worthy of being accepted.

“Well, first they have to prove theycan find their way anywhere-”“I can do that.”

“Can you? Well, you’d have to beable to find, say, the officer’s lounge just by askingpeople.”Again the child she confirms that she’s able to dothat. Sombra hums thoughtfully.

“Well, next agents have to prove theyare strong. Someone your size must be able to carry something theweight of … say a sixpack of coke? I think there is some in theofficer’s lounge, but of course, you’d have to find your waythere, and then you might not even be able to lift it-”“I cando it! I’ll prove it, look!”

And off she goes, intent to prove thatshe has the makings of a Talon agent. Sombra sits down at herworkstation and kicks back, laughing at Widowmaker and the troublesshe had with the kid. Amateur.

A sixpack of coke, warm slippers andsilky brushed hair later, Sombra’s genuinely beginning tocontemplate getting Talon to expand into child labour. Nothingsinister or backbreaking, of course, she’s not a monster. But thelittle goblins make for good entertainment if one knows how tomanipulate them.

“... nine apathetic, sympathetic,diabetic old men on-” The kid gasps for air and Sombra shakes herhead and clicks her tongue, as if she’s disappointed and not on theverge of hysterical laughter.

“You’ll have to do better thanthat. A real secret agent can do the whole thing in a single breath.”she says and sends the child off into another attempt to pass hermade up test, allowing her to work quietly and with a steady supplyof soft drinks.

Gabe takes the child away from herhours later when he returns from his mission, undoubtedly to get herto fetch his own slippers. Maybe the newspaper. Could she teach hertricks if she got treats from somewhere?

She shouts the suggestion after Gabewho gives her the finger, probably in no small part because she keepscalling him Gabe.

She keeps working and doesn’t thinkmuch of the child until much later that night when she wanders intothe kitchen to find Widowmaker, enjoying her first yoghurt in weekswithout having to yank her hair back from curious fingers.

“Hey, you see the goblin?”

Sombra falls silent when Widowmakerholds up her finger and shakes her head.

“I just forgot about it, what reasoncould you possibly have to remind me of its existence?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I wanna see how much gross stuff Ican make it eat.”Widowmaker sighs and rubs her temples, wavingin the general direction of the door.

“The bosses foisted the thing onReaper last I knew. When he complains remind him he encouraged it.”

Sombra makes it her business to knowthings, it’s her trade, her passion, her overarching goal in lifeto know more than anyone else. That’s why she knows Reaper’s realname, and Amélie Lacroix’ birthday, and that Gérard Lacroix wasinfertile but never told his wife. She even has a copy of theadoption papers that were found in his desk after his death, halffilled out and hidden underneath case reports classifiedintelligence. She understands Widowmaker’s distaste for children,something she doesn’t share with the woman she used to be. And sheunderstands, or thought she understood, what Gabriel Reyes is allabout. A family lost or never had didn’t feature in the equation.If he wanted one or not, he’s lying in a bed half his size readinga silly story to help a young child fall asleep in a room that’snot hers, cared for by people who are not her family. Sombra watchesunseen as the child curls up closer against his side like it’s themost natural thing, like the monster seeping dark tendrils when hedoesn’t pay attention is supposed to be there.

“Is Mama fine?” The child asks whenGabriel pauses to turn the page. It must have been on her mind forsome time, but she wouldn’t have asked Widowmaker who’s annoyedwith her, or Sombra who messed with her. She waited for the ghosthaunting this place to come home and read her a bedtime story.

“She’s fine,” Gabriel says andnot even the hoarse rasp of his voice bothers her. “Her work isdangerous, but we’re looking out for her. And for you, so no badguys can get to you.”

Even Sombra almost believes they’renot the bad guys the child needs protecting from. She slips awayquietly, suddenly no longer interested in messing with the kid.Gabriel’s voice, picking up the story from where he left of,follows her long after its physical echo has faded.

#overwatch imagines #widowmaker #sombra #reaper #no reader #the hair braiding thing may or may not be related to a conversation #i have at least once a week with one of the neighborhood kids #about whether or not my dogs tail fur should be braided #Anonymous

[stray-kids-react]

You go into little space

Masterlist

...

Bang Chan

* Protective caretaker mode has been activated, no matter what the situation is. *

° Chan came home from work, throwing his keys onto the kitchen counter. Soon noticing a cute crayon note stuck to the fridge with a magnet, 'Hi daddy! I hope work was good. I am in the room drawing, come join me!'

* Chan knew about little space, and understood that it was a way of you calming down from any stress. He was always willing to take care of you, and never got annoyed or weirded out like some people did. *

° Chan walked into the bedroom, noticing cute little stick fairies stuck all over the walls. Your tongue stuck out as you focused on coloring in one of the fairies dresses. Too focused to notice your care taker admiring you from afar.

"Hey princess/prince charming, did you draw these?"

° You nodded shyly, looking at the floor worried that he would be upset at the new decorations. But you relaxed when he cupped your face, pecking the top of your head softly.

"They look amazing y/n, which one is your favorite?"

° You pointed to the glittery blue fairy with large pigtails, unsticking it from the wall to hand it to him.

"That's mine too! I love the glitter, that was a nice touch."

Lee Know

* Is already whipped for you, but becomes even more soft when you go into little space*

° You were in the middle of shopping, when he noticed you shift into a more clingy and innocent faze. Minho looked at you with softened eyes, asking if you were alright. "Can we visit that store, please daddy?"

*Once Minho found out that you would sometimes go into little space, he researched everything about it to make sure he knew what to do. Constantly praising you for not being bratty or a bad girl/boy. *

° Minho guided you to the pajama store, wrapping his hand around your wrist gently. You skipped towards the sleeping masks, passing him a panda one and grabbing a cute glittery cat one for yourself.

"Does daddy look like this mask? Or do I look more like yours?"

° You tugged at the panda one, jumping up and down on the floor. Giggling excitedly when he would poke his face out from the mask, sometimes sticking his tongue out at you and making derp faces.

"Can we please get them? I really like this one~" You begged, pouting slightly.

° Minho loved seeing your bright smile, so he took it a step further and let you pick out one more. Chuckling when you clapped in joy.

"Let's go to the cash, and then we can go get some donuts. How does that sound munchkin?"

Changbin

* Changbin adored when you went into little space, always playing around with you. *

° You knew that Changbin was coming home in a couple minutes, and you decided to hide from him wanting to see if he could find you. Grabbing a flashlight, so you wouldn't be scared of the dark while in the closet.

*Changbin was really curious about little space, and let you explain everything to him. The next day, buying you a whole bunch of stuffies and glittery stickers. Letting you put one on his laptop, not planning on removing it anytime soon. *

° He walked in, noticing the empty bowl of ice cream with sprinkles left over. Changbin clued in that you were probably in little space, and played along with your hide & seek prank. Even though he could hear your small giggles from the closet.

"I wonder where my cutie pie went? Is she/he in the kitchen?"

° You jumped out of the closet with a cute rawr, making him "scream" in "fear". Placing a hand over his heart dramatically, he repeatedly praised you for being so "intimidating".

"I practiced my rawring all day, I wanted to surprise you daddy."

° He adored when you got all giddy after getting a reaction out of him, only encouraging him to be more dramatic each time. Sometimes even falling to the floor when you jump out of an obvious hiding spot.

"Get ready for supper cutie pie, I bought you your favorite pizza."

Hyunjin

* Loves when you go into little space, Becuase you both play around and he gets extra cuddles*

° You just woke up from a nap and wanted some attention, and you just so happened to jump into little space when you woke up. So you secretly grabbed one of your tiaras and planned on secretly placing it on Hyunjin.

*Hyunjin didn't know what little space was at first, so he let you guide him through all of the facts and duties of being a caretaker. He enjoyed when you became clingy, and used your light baby voice when asking for stuff. *

° Hyunjin immediately got into the character of a prince, assuming you were in little space. Voicing some of the barbies you brought out, and kissing a soft frog stuffed animal so it could turn back into a human.

"As prince of Amercanodale, I declare that Ken shall be released from jail."

° You soon grabbed different doll clothes, asking Hyunjin which one your dolls should wear. Asking for help with braiding the doll's hair, which he happily did along with some of his own hair.

"Can I bedazzle your hair? I have cute clips to use in it!"

° Hyunjin always allowed you to play with his hair, whether you be in little space of not. Loving that feeling of you stroking through his locks, and looking at him with only admiration and love.

"Use as many clips as you want beautiful, you can even use that hair chalk if you want."

Han

* Accidently found out about you going into little space, when he found your sticker stash*

° Jisung noticed your small pout throughout the day, noticing that you ran out of stickers and were in little space. He wanted to cheer you up so he took you onto a trip to the nearest dollar store, letting you pick out some stickers.

* Jisung knew about the basic things of Little Space, but never really looked into it until he found out that you used it as a stress relieving mechanism. He won't tell the members unless you are comfortable with it*

° You specifically picked out a pack of animal stickers that included some squirrels, sticking one on his cheek once he bought them for you. Pointing out that he reminds you of the sticker that you stuck on him.

"I look like the squirrel?... As long as you like squirrels than it's okay. *Chuckles*"

° You kissed the sticker on his cheek, and soon went on a rant about how much you love squirrels. Mentioning their fluffy tails, and cute cheeks that hold so much food. Not realizing how long you were ranting.

"Do you like Squirrels? Or are you more of a chipmunk lover?"

° Jisung thought wisely about which option would offend you the least, soon going with the most neutral answer. Explaining that he likes both and finds them just as cute as you do, loving the way your eyes sparkled in joy.

"Even though they are both cute, nothing can compare to my little squish y/n."

Felix

* The cutest and cuddliest caretaker ever, loves when you become his own personal backpack and pillow*

° You were both heading home from dinner with the boys, and by the last ten minutes he noticed you switch into little space. Getting hints by your constant clingy hugs, and never letting go of his hand.

* You told him about your shifts little space when you were serious enough in the relationship. Letting all of the anxiety you had leave your body, when he simply nodded and sent you a soft reassuring smile. *

° Felix tucked you under the soft sheets of your shared bed, brushing away any stray hairs from your face. Letting you choose a bedtime story to read to you, rubbing a soft circle across your stomach as he read aloud.

"The prince left a soft kiss upon aurora's lips, watching as her lovely eyes fluttered open."

° Felix constantly glanced at your increasingly tired state, thanks to mixture of his deep soothing voice and soft delicate hands. His hand trained up to your cheek, pressing his thumb against the corner of your lips.

"Before I go to sleep, can I have a goodnight kiss? Pleeeaassee~"

° Felix giggled at your dramatic begging, but caved into your needy yet calm cuteness. Placing small playful pecks all over your face, before landing his last one across your smile gently. Staying on your lips for a couple seconds longer than the rest.

"Goodnight sleeping beauty, wake me if you need anything. Even if it's just cuddles."

Seungmin

* Spoils you when you are in little space, just because you are too cute to say no too. *

° Hyunjin won a bet against Seungmin, so he had to go out and buy a toy for Kkami. You tagged along because you wanted to spend time with Seungmin and see some cute kittens. But you shifted into little space while looking at the kittens and babying them.

* Seungmin clued into small habits and hints you showed while going into little space, such as changing your voice, pouting, & being 10× more hyper than usual. Soon bringing emergency toys, just in case. *

° Seungmin asked an employee if you were able to hold one of the kittens, soon getting an answer when he unlocked the cage that the small kitten slept in. You held it close to you, making small baby noises during it.

"I wonder if Hyunjin would get mad if we came home with a kitten instead of a toy."

° You heard his sentence, but you were too focused on making the kitten purr louder for affection. Soon exclaiming in joy when it cuddled into your hand, making Seungmin comb his fingers through the soft fur.

"I think it likes me! Or maybe it just wants food... Either way I'm getting cuddles~"

° Seungmin saw the kitten a while back when he went shopping with Hyunjin for dog food, and knew that it needed someone who would love it unconditionally. So he ended up driving home with and furry lump asleep on his lap.

"We're home and brought something extra special, I hope Kkami doesn't mind cat fur."

Jeongin

*The only time he will let you call him oppa or daddy, understanding it's part of Little space*

° You were terrified of the loud storm that was happening outside, so you rushed to your boyfriend's dorm to try and calm down. Bringing a couple extra presents while in your child like splurge of ideas.

*Jeongin enjoyed playing with you, loving the innocent gaze you gave everytime he used a big word. Sometimes he would shift into little space with you without realizing, but he secretly enjoyed the feeling *

° Jeongin turned on a couple flashlights while strapping on the adorable hat you brought, asking if your wanted any drinks or snacks. Holding your hand while walking to the kitchen for some chips and soda.

" You don't have to be scared of anything, oppa is right here and won't let anything happen."

° You nodded still a bit cautious thanks to the booming thunder outside, but that only led to him holding onto you closer while walking back to the room. Shooing your irrational scary thoughts away.

"You're the best oppa ever Innie, thanks for the yummy snacks and cuddles."

° He played music off of his phone to try and distract you from the loud storm outside, feeding you chips and giving a cute bendy straw for your drink. Chuckling silently when you fell asleep with crumbs all over you.

"You such a cute little sunshine y/n, have a good rest cutie."

#stray kids #changbin #kpop #hyunjin #jeongin #lee know #skz scenarios #stray kids reactions #bang chan #han jisung #skz rp #skz requests #skz reactions #skz room #skz smut #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz seungmin #lee felix fluff #little space #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x reader #stay

[belettewrites]

Some mountains and a dog part 9

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He didn’t know whether Jaskier would be awake when he’d be back. It was quite late, now, and the stars that they had gazed at a few nights before were softly shining above him. Despite the fact that the night had fallen, he could see almost perfectly – mutations notwithstanding, the moon was casting a bright light, brighter than he was used to seeing; but after all, he was either in a room at an inn or sleeping outside in a forest, so he hadn’t that many occasions to see the moonlight.

To his surprise, there were still lights in the main room of the house. Someone was up, then – he hoped that it was Jaskier, as much as the thought unnerved him. Talking would be hard, but the thought of having to share a room with his friend without having apologized first was worse. Geralt really didn’t know what he would do if Jaskier was already asleep; ask for another room? Or go sleep with Roach in the stables.

Actually, going to see Roach didn’t sound like a bad idea. He hadn’t seen her all day, hadn’t even made sure that she had eaten before he left, which just showed how troubled he must have been. But he trusted Jaskier to take care of Roach – the other man obviously loved the horse almost as much as Geralt did, always sneaking her sugar cubes and carrots when he thought he could get away with it.

Knowing that it was a way of delaying the inevitable, Geralt decided to first go check on Roach and then see who was still awake at such an ungodly hour. Maybe it was Jaskier. He always tried to stay up as late as he could when Geralt was out on a contract – though the situation was a bit different, considering how he had left.

Roach was seemingly asleep but opened her eyes when she heard him, neighing softly.

“Hello, girl,” he said quietly, lovingly petting her nose. He had missed her, her quiet and steady presence. He looked at her, checking for – anything, really. An injury, or a knot in her mane that would justify him staying here a little longer, delaying his confrontation with Jaskier. But her chestnut fur had been brushed, and her mane had been braided – there even were flowers in there, daisies that somehow hadn’t wilted.

Someone – Jaskier – had taken care of her while he was away, making sure she was fine, no doubts making sure that her legs were still fine.

“I fucked up, Roach,” he admitted quietly as she looked at him. “I- I fucked up.”

The mare obviously didn’t reply but gently nudged his shoulder.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “I should stop being a coward and go, and- face the consequences of my actions.”

He had decided on the way back that telling Jaskier that he loved him needed to be a part of his apology. Not the first one, though, because it would sound as if it justified what he had done, that his love for Jaskier was enough to cancel the fact that he had almost kissed him without his consent, and that was just – no.

He needed to tell him, though. If Jaskier was going to leave him, he should at least be honest with him until the end. And maybe- maybe at some point during their unnaturally long lives, Jaskier would be able to forgive him, and would join him for just one last adventure together.

But Geralt was getting ahead of himself, thinking of the future when he hadn’t even apologized yet.

Roach sighed, and he smiled at her.

“I’ll let you sleep, girl. And I’ll- I’ll go apologize to Jaskier.”

She flicked her ear, having recognized the name. He pet her one last time before leaving, wishing he could stay here with her, where everything seemed simpler.

***

It was unfair how peaceful the night was. The wind was so light that it was almost as though it wasn’t there, and the clouds in the sky were so thin and so scattered that they didn’t hide the star-speckled sky. The violet flowers under the windows seemed to be glowing; the place looked like a dream, not like the battlefield on which Geralt was about to watch his dearest friendship die.

Charcoal was sleeping outside, and he raised his head when he heard Geralt approaching, his tail wagging lazily. Geralt chuckled, and removed one of his gloves, squatting down to pet him. Thankfully the big dog didn’t lick his hand, and simply nudged it with his snout when Geralt stopped petting him. He whined, and Geralt smiled.

“Keep quiet,” he said, “you’re going to wake them up and I’ll have to justify myself.”

Geralt stood up, considered putting his glove back on but ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth it, and removed the other one. He took a deep breath, and opened the front door of the house, trying not to jostle the bells to avoid making noise, bracing himself for what – or who – he would find inside.

He didn’t dare to look at who was sitting at the table, but he didn’t need to; he would have recognized that heartbeat in the middle of a crowd. There, sitting on one of the benches by candlelight, a glass of wine to his right and papers scattered around the table, was-

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed out, and forgot all he had wanted to say.

His bard- his friend- Jaskier turned around at the sound of his voice, knocking off the glass of wine in the process. The wine spilled on the table and Jaskier jumped to save the papers he had been working on while Geralt dropped his gloves on the ground and hurried to find something to mop it up.

“You’re back!” Jaskier cried out, clenching the papers against his chest, looking at Geralt up and down. “And you’re… uninjured, aren’t you? Geralt, are you hurt?”

Knowing that Jaskier was about to fret over him like he did every time the witcher got back from a hunt, Geralt stopped to look at him with what he was hoping was a reassuring face.

“I’m fine, Jaskier. I’ll tell you about it, if- if you want to hear it. But I have-” he put down the towel he had been using, and straightened up. “I have to- can we talk, first?”

He didn’t like to talk, least of all about his feelings, but he had to do this. He owed it to Jaskier.

Jaskier’s heartbeat sped up and Geralt hated himself for being the cause of such distress, for putting Jaskier in such a situation.

“Of course, darling,” Jaskier replied, and Geralt tried not to show how much it affected him to hear that Jaskier was still using his favorite term of endearment for him. Maybe everything wasn’t lost?

“We could- talk outside?”

“Of course.”

Jaskier picked up Geralt’s gloves that had fallen on the ground and put them on the table along with the papers he had saved from the wine.

Geralt didn’t know why he had asked for them to talk outside. It wouldn’t change anything, but – at least outside he wouldn’t feel as though he was trapped. It was a ridiculous thought, because they couldn’t be any more safe inside the house, but the room that had seemed so welcoming earlier now made him unable to breathe. Or maybe it was the nervousness caused by what he had to say.

He didn’t get anxious, as a rule. He felt uneasy in crowds and at banquets, but this was a whole new other type of nervousness that he hadn’t really felt before, not even on the mountain. Apologizing on the mountain had been easy, because it was either begging for Jaskier’s pardon or losing him. Which… wasn’t so different from the current situation, actually.

Charcoal didn’t even raise his head when they came out of the house; he just opened his eyes, wagged his tail twice, and went back to sleep.

Geralt glanced at Jaskier. They were standing in front of each other, and with the soft light of the moon falling on him, Jaskier looked ethereal, something from a fairy tale. He was silent, not moving, watching Geralt, the wind gently playing with his hair.

The night was warm, and Geralt hated that his thoughtless action had ruined such a beautiful evening.

“I apologize,” he said quietly, not quite looking at Jaskier, his gaze fixated on the flowers right over the other man’s shoulder. “For what I’ve done earlier, before leaving. For-”

Say it.

“For kissing you without your consent, for leaving without saying anything because I hadn’t realized, I wasn’t thinking – but I know that it doesn’t excuse what I’ve done, Jaskier, I know-”

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupted him, one hand reaching out to him but not quite touching him. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt blinked, freezing. Jaskier was looking at him with his serious face – he wasn’t joking. He wouldn’t – Jaskier wouldn’t leave, despite Geralt fucking things up once again?

“You aren’t?” he blurted out, not really thinking, still focused on the fact that Jaskier wasn’t going to leave.

“Well, no? Darling, I’ve stayed after seeing you covered in monsters gut, I’ve stayed after the mountain, I’ve stayed after Cintra fell, I took care of the newest addition to your family – why would I leave now?”

“Because I-”

“Geralt. I know you didn’t mean to. And it’s alright, I forgive you. I know you did it because of some – reflex or I don’t know. I know it was not me you were seeing.”

Jaskier ought to be more pissed at him. It wasn’t healthy, to react in such a way, to be so forgiving. Jaskier needed to want better things for himself.

“But I- Jaskier- Wait.”

What had Jaskier just said?

“Wait, Jaskier, I- it was you.”

That wasn’t how he had planned to tell him, but that would do. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t really thought about how he would tell Jaskier that he loved him. He had just known that he would do it.

“What?”

Jaskier looked lost, and sad. Geralt ached to take him in his arms, but knew he couldn’t. It seemed like he had to explain himself, so he took the time to choose his words, thinking that, somehow, telling Jaskier was both extremely difficult and as easy as breathing.

“I- seeing you, earlier, when you were so obviously happy and- and the picture of innocence, it just- reminded me how much I love you. And- when you read to me, or when we watched the stars – I- I said that it reminded me, but in reality it’s more like- like the feeling never leaves me.”

Geralt was no longer looking at Jaskier’s face; he was looking at the bard’s hands, with which the bard was nervously playing, obviously distressed by the confession. But Geralt had to say it – Jaskier had said that he wouldn’t leave, but that was before he actually knew, but Geralt didn’t care. He had to tell him the entire truth to let him decide.

“And I know,” Geralt went on, “I know you’ll never feel that way about me – but it’s okay. Being your friend is more than enough, and I-”

“How long? How long have you known?” Jaskier interrupted him, tears in his voice. Geralt felt a pang of guilt, hearing it. He had done it again, had caused the most beautiful voice in the world to sound heartbroken. But Jaskier had asked him something, and the least he could do was answer. Or try to.

“I- I don’t remember. Though I think-”

Geralt fought to find his words, because even though he had become better at this, this was a moment he needed to not fuck up. Well. Not to fuck up more.

“-I think- I’m sure that after the mountain I knew. I had said those things, and you turned around and I felt cold for the first time, I had been warm without even realizing it, because you were in my life, and then it just- I had to stop you. And I think- that night- when you still slept next to me, as trusting as ever, how you had told me goodnight- I knew.”

He tore his eyes away from Jaskier’s hands, from the rings that were glinting in the moonlight. He watched as the flowers that had bloomed for the night danced under the wind. An owl hooted melodiously somewhere deep in the forest. Apart from that noise, everything was silent around them, his confession the only thing disturbing the quietness of the night.

“It took me more than twenty years and almost losing you to realize I loved you. More than I thought myself capable of loving.”

Jaskier gasped, and Geralt found himself looking at the bard’s hands again, wishing that he could hold them, maybe softly kiss one of them, to show the bard how much he meant it. He hoped Jaskier would still let him be gentle with him, even knowing that Geralt loved him.

“Geralt-”

“Wait, please,” Geralt begged. He had been keeping this for too long, he needed to tell him. “And then-” he went on, “with Ciri- you stayed. You loved her like you would your own daughter, and she is, Jaskier, you have to know- she’s as much your daughter as she’s mine. You are- I- the path is better with you.”

He paused, then added.

“Cleaning the stables at Kaer Morhen was better with you, repairing the keep was better with you- Jaskier,” he glanced up, looking at those blue eyes that were shining with tears, “Julek, everything's better when you’re here. And I know- I know I fucked up, and that- that I overstepped my boundaries, fuck but I did, and-”

He was interrupted by a hand taking his.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, squeezing his hand. “I love you too.”

“What?”

He couldn’t have heard right. He couldn’t have.

“Oh, Geralt – I’ve loved you for years, too. Well before the mountain, darling. And I wouldn’t have said anything, I would have been glad to stay by your side as just your friend – because that’s what you are to me first. My friend. And- and I love you, how could I not?”

Geralt was at loss for words, which usually didn’t bother him; but right now he had to say something, anything, because Jaskier had just said that he loved him back and-

“So can I- can I kiss you?”

“For real, this time?” Jaskier giggled, Geralt’s hand still in his.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, just because it would amuse Jaskier – and maybe because he didn’t know what to say.

Jaskier’s lips quirked up, and Geralt came closer just to taste that smile.

It didn’t feel like fireworks, as romance books that Geralt definitely didn’t read always said. It felt more like coming home, like something as natural as breathing – like something they had been doing for years, and didn’t just start doing that evening.

Geralt’s hands fell on Jaskier’s hips, and he used it to bring the other man closer to him, breaking the kiss to simply enjoy holding him like he had been dreaming of. Jaskier’s arms hugged him back, and the bard kissed him lightly once again.

“I hope you know,” Jaskier whispered next to Geralt’s ear, “that I’m never going to stop doing that now that I know I can.”

Geralt chuckled, still holding him. He would get to kiss Jaskier’s hands, it seemed.

“Please never stop,” Geralt replied. Then: “How about we don’t say anything to our family until next winter?”

Jaskier pecked him on the cheek, half laughing.

“You are a terrible man, Geralt of Rivia,” he said, and Geralt hummed. “I say, we wait until everyone is gathered for dinner and then we snog each other.”

“Hmm,” Geralt considered the idea. It didn’t sound bad, actually, but- “Think of Ciri.”

“Oh, right, right. Then-” Jaskier thought out loud, “then we should-”

“Just kiss?” Geralt suggested. “When we arrive at the keep, we’ll need to make sure to be late enough to be the last ones. Everyone will be here to welcome us, so I would- help you get down from Roach, and then I’d kiss your hand, and you’d kiss me.”

“I had no idea you were such a romantic, darling,” Jaskier said fondly, “let’s do this,” he chuckled, “I can’t wait to see Lambert’s face, it’ll be hilarious.”

He then yawned, which reminded Geralt of their current situation. The stars were still shining above them, the moon still glowing – the night had fallen hours ago, and they were both still awake.

“Julek, you should go to sleep,” he said gently.

“So should you,” Jaskier smiled, “and you still haven’t told me about the hunt.”

“How about,” Geralt started, considering taking Jaskier in his arms bride style, but giving up the idea at the thought of the plants on the staircase and how treacherous they made it, “we go to sleep, and I tell you next morning, along with Violet and Lila?”

Jaskier seemed to think about it for a moment, then he pecked him on the cheek again. Geralt could get used to that kind of affection, really.

“That’s a deal,” Jaskier smiled.

Charcoal didn’t react when they made their way back into the house, careful not to make any noise to avoid waking Violet and Lila up. Geralt almost crushed the succulent on the stairs, which prompted Jaskier to gasp about his “poor plant”.

Their room was as Geralt had left it, the bed still made, Jaskier’s lute still in the same place. Jaskier, who had taken the papers he had left on the table in the main room, put them in his journal, making sure not to wrinkle them. Geralt took off his armor, grateful that he didn’t have to clean off blood, and put himself into bed. Jaskier joined him not too much later, immediately snuggling against him. Geralt pressed a kiss against his head.

“Goodnight, Julek,” he whispered, still amazed by the fact that it was something that he could do.

“Goodnight, darling,” Jaskier yawned back, sleepily blinking up at him before closing his eyes.

His breathing evened out, but it took a long while for Geralt to find sleep, even as tired as he was. He simply held Jaskier in his arms, eyes closed, enjoying the tranquility of it all, allowing himself to feel happy. Tomorrow he would tell them what had happened on his hunt, what he had discovered, and then he and Jaskier would leave. Maybe Jaskier would want to stay here, in the mountains, a little bit longer; or maybe he would want to go to Oxenfurt because there was a bardic competition there. Geralt didn’t really care where they went, as long as they were together.

He was smiling when he finally fell asleep.

#Geraskier #The Witcher #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #geralt x jaskier #mine #I proofread this while rewatching the last episode of She-Ra #if there are any mistakes ti's because of the tears in my eyes #nothing to see here #anyway #one part left! #now I'll go back to my sobbing

[sidhewrites]

Chapter 2a. Previous Installment found here, summary page found here. Approx. 1450 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about. 

Trigger warnings for minor animal body horror.

Noski snored gently, oversized ears twitching. Most likely dreaming of catching mice, or swallows, or whatever it was that useless cats dreamt of. Zorya would be tempted to wake him, if it didn’t mean he’d then be chasing after the loose threads and strings hanging from her coat.

Evening was getting on. By six, most of the witches had completed registration, all lined up single file in the main hall. Tradition stated that the proper examination was to begin at dusk -- approximately seven in the evening at this time of year. But the sun was long since set, nearing eight. The Lesser Witches knew not to break formation or chatter. It simply had to be another test, simple as that. Patience and endurance were necessary for any walk of life, not just magic, and Zorya wasn’t about to shame herself by walking out now.

She ran a hand through his short black fur for luck. He stirred just long enough to let out a low, rasping purr, and go back to sleep.

One of the dogs barked.

A bird relieved itself on its witch’s shoulder.

The candles in the hall flickered, dripping wax onto the floor. 

They weren’t to break formation unless dismissed, though Zorya could see a man hesitate, glancing at the mess. A cleaning witch, no doubt.

As the sun set lower in the sky, the Lesser Witches all began growing impatient, some whispering to each other in confusion and concern. The exam was meant to begin when the evening star first appeared in the sky, and end as the sun dipped below the horizon. Even the attendants at the door seemed unsure of what to do.

Finally, finally, the massive wooden doors slid open, letting golden light spill in from the rooms beyond. All eyes lit up with anticipation as a backlit silhouette walked into the room -- but it was smaller than the Grand Magician ought to have been. More feminine. And there was neither hat nor coat nor shimmering golden brooch that denoted the Grand Magician’s status.

A woman walked in, with heels clacking on the marble floor. She dressed plainly, though a purple collar stood out against her white blouse. An attendant to the Magician. A messenger.

She moved to the dais in the front of the hall and cleared her throat, hands clasped behind her back. “The Grand Magician sends his regrets. The exam shall reconvene tomorrow.”

The attendant nodded, walked back down the length of the hall, and left.

Zorya fled before the uproar began. Seven years since the last exam, and they were asking the witches to wait one more day? The indignance was palpable, even as she slipped out the door and slipped into the alleyways of Moscow.

Gas lamps lit the cobblestone streets, casting a warm glow over the late summer chill. The train station wasn’t far from the hall, at least, and Zorya’s room was one of many provided for the workers. She took shortcuts, back alleys mostly, allowing her to cut corners and stay out of sight, should any visitor decide to strike up a conversation. Of course Zorya knew where the best bars and dance halls were. But so did every other young woman in the city with half an interest in vodka and jazz.

Zorya found herself almost hoping to run into trouble just to blow off some steam. The long wait had frustrated her just as much as the other Lesser Witches, whether she wanted to admit it or not, and her hands itched to be put to use. But she knew better than to seek it out herself, especially with how little time she had before work.

Ever since they started using trains on the regular a few decades back, the station’s windows and ceilings had suffered for it. And it wouldn’t do to accept visitors in a blackened train station like they did in smaller cities. And nothing was better for a soot problem than a sootwitch.

Zorya pulled her dark hair free from the elaborate, traditional magician’s braid as she walked, tying it back into something far more practical. It was all senseless waves and curls, impossible to deal with, and made her sallow, freckled skin look all the paler. The movements jostled Noski awake, and he stirred with a sleepy, rasping meow.

“Oh, good,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and shuffling him about more. “You’re finally awake.”

He grumbled at the shaking, and hopped to the ground indignantly, letting out a long and dissatisfied meow. It was as unpleasant sounding as he was unpleasant looking -- more like a goblin out of a story than a cat, truth told, with his too-long face and too-long legs and many snaggled teeth. His fur was black as Zorya’s hair, short and sleek save for his white paws -- thus earning him the name Noski. Socks.

“You’re complaining?” Zorya braced her hands on her hips, scowling as the cat stretched with a long, loud yawn. “Shut up. Maybe if you bit the doctor instead of just making me look like I dragged some stray cat out of the gutter, we wouldn’t have even had to wait.”

Noski paid her little mind. He looked around the narrow alleyway, ears swiveling in search of any stray footsteps. There were no onlookers, no windows, no chance of being seen. So he stepped forward, out of the shape of a cat and into the shape that had earned him his title. Nezhit. Undead.

He was solid as smoke now, long and thin, something that Was Not and Had Never Been a cat. Almost humanoid, though he was dark as night, save for his bone-white hands and feet, each with too many long fingers and toes. He tilted its cat-skull head down at her, curling its two rope-like tails in curiosity. His pale eyes blinked open out of the darkness, all six turning and rotating in the air around the skull until they found focus on Zorya’s face.

“Good morning.” His voice was nothing more than the whisper of wind through a narrow alleyway, footsteps scuffing on cobbled roads. 

“It’s dusk.” 

“Hm.” Noski’s eyes glanced upwards while he turned his head this way and that. “Lovely moon tonight. Crescent. Excellent for wyrdwork. You should go home.” 

“You should have just bitten the doctor if you wanted me in bed before dark.”

“Oh, now there’s an idea.”

“Thank you, by the way, for making me look like some filthy street rat who dug my familiar out of the gutter.”

“They’d take me away if they knew the truth of me.”

“It’s times like that where I almost wish they did.”

Noski wound his neck once, twice, and half over again until his head was upside down, eyes cast downwards, save for two that were looking her way. Pouting. ”I think only of your safety, little Kotyonoka. Speaking of which...” Two of his eyes rolled upwards, though his head remained still. The moon reflected against them almost as brightly as if they were a mirror. “The moon, my dear.” His final eye focussed back on Zorya, floating in place.

 It was almost enough to make her forgive him for earlier. Almost. Noski spoke the truth — he did care for her above all else. She wouldn’t have survived her childhood without him, much less the war. It was enough, at least, to make her half-sympathetic to his worries, and put a reassuring hand on his too-thin arm. “There’s less than five wyrdwitches in Moscow, Noskenkya. I’m not going to run into one tonight.”

“Most witches listen when their familiars have a bad feeling in their gut.” He righted his head, stepping forward and into the shape of a cat once more.

Her sympathy fled the second he looked at with that smug, feline face of his, and scoffed. “Most familiars actually have guts. And they don’t talk.” Or metamorphose. Or live centuries past their original witch. They were to serve as an anchor to the mundane, a tether to keep their mind in their heads, instead of casting it out alongside the spell. They also tended to look rather more regal as well.

Noski looked more like a goblin out of a story than a cat, truth told, with his too-long face and too-long legs. His fur was black as Zorya’s hair, short and sleek save for his white paws -- thus earning him the name Noski, and his true form had earned him the title Nezhit. Socks the Undead, more or less. She’d always giggled at his name as a child, ruining any intimidating mystique he might have once held for her.

Noski hopped onto her shoulder with a meow, then off once more, stalking around the alleyway in search of something to eat. Zorya sometimes wondered if he even was her familiar -- or if, perhaps, she and her father before her had always been his.

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[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 31 - Arrival

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Fifteenth day of Justinian, 9:32 Dragon 

It took the Siren’s Call another two days to sail around the northern points of the Storm Islands and reach Dunedyn, stronghold of the Clayne. The weather had stayed clear, with stiff winds that pushed the ship onwards through waters that grew ever busier with foreign ships, traders and humble fishing vessels alike that gave them a wide berth or yelled cheery halloos across the white-tipped waves. Now, anchored south of the hold in the deep, sheltered waters of the Lee, the settlement’s brightly painted buildings stood out like jewels against an emerald hillside, the rope of a rich necklace draped over contours of rock leading down towards the harbour. That would be the ship’s final destination, but only once the most important members of the delegation went ashore and made their formal greetings to the Storm Giant and his retainers. 

Already dressed in her finery, Rosslyn stood by the bowsprit, her eyes cast out over a trio of fishing trawlers closing their nets around a shoal of mackerel, and the birds above them taking advantage of the easy meal. Lilac and gold, the morning sky warmed her face, wrapping her in isolation from the commotion on the deck as the longboats were loosed from their moorings and lowered over the side. Somewhere close by, Cuno, roused from his torpor by the activity, was barking at a seagull that had had the audacity to perch on one of the port lanterns. She paid him no heed. In less than an hour she would be face to face with her grandfather again, would have to look him in the eye and remember she was the one who had gone chasing glory and left the Seawolf to die. 

“Guess that answers my question,” said a voice at her elbow. She blinked and turned to see Tabris, her hair braided and clothes washed, but still with bare feet stained by streaks of tar. ”No one with a face that puckered like an arsehole ain’t nervous.” 

Rosslyn scowled at the description, but shrugged it off and turned away. 

“Riiiiight,” the elf huffed. ”Reassuring, that is.” 

Rosslyn’s mouth quirked in a humourless smile. “I wouldn’t have thought I’d be your first choice for reassurance.” 

“You know what they say about beggars,” came the tart reply. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

There was a pause as Tabris clambered onto the rail, chewing her lips in a rare show of deliberation as she decided her answer. Even despite the added height, she came in almost a head shorter than the human woman. 

“See, I’ve been tryin’ to figure,” she said once she was settled. “You shems have got enough fancy words and blood ties between you, you don’t need me to get your ships. So what am I doin’ here? You got me out of baldy-whatshisface’s clutches, and I heard the tellin’-off you gave the princeling, but don’t go thinking I’m fooled that you’re doing this for the elves.” 

“You’re right, I’m not,” Rosslyn answered bluntly. “I’m doing this to get revenge on the cur that murdered my family, and to stop Loghain bringing in reinforcements that he can use to win the war, so that I won’t be hanged at the end of it.” She tilted a wry look at over her shoulder when the elf opened her mouth to speak and closed it again just as quickly. ”Was that not the response you expected?”

“Got the arrogance about right.”

“What does it matter if I care, so long as our goals align?” she asked. “You care, and that’s why you’re here – it’s why you tried to rescue your kin and then ran all the way to Redcliffe, through a war-torn country, on the off-chance the king would help you when you couldn’t do it alone. The Clayne will listen to you, don’t worry about that.” 

“I’m worried about after,” Tabris sneered when Rosslyn once more turned her attention to the sea. “What happens to me after I’ve cheeped like a sparrow for you to get your soldiers? I killed a shem lordling.”  

“The king has pardoned you.” 

The elf scoffed and tossed her hair out of her eyes. “And of course that makes all this –” she gestured vaguely to her ears “– magically disappear. You lot have no clue – and don’t think I didn’t notice about not being invited to this little beach party you’re having. What are you even looking at out there?” 

With a sigh, Rosslyn raised her hand and pointed to a speck above the circling gulls, which grew out of the glare of the sun like an after-image. “It’s a gwyrling – they’re like griffons, but smaller. It’s rare to see one, especially at this time of day. It must have hatchlings in the cliffs.” 

The speck solidified into a creature with narrow, barred wings and a wickedly curved beak. In the space of a heartbeat, it swerved on a point and dived among the flock of gulls and they scattered, screaming in alarm. One, weighed down with the prize of a fish between its claws, dodged too slowly, and didn’t even have time to cry out as the gwyrling punched down and struck it across the back of the neck. The bird went limp, the fish wriggled free and splashed back into the water, and the gwyrling beat back up into the air with a flick of its long, leonine tail. 

“That was really something,” Tabris drawled. 

“The Clayne have augurs who would certainly think so,” Rosslyn replied, betraying a hint of impatience. “They read patterns in the flight of birds and use it to interpret the will of the Lady of the Skies.” 

“You believe in that tosh? What future gets predicted by that?” 

“That would depend.” She smirked. “Are you the gull, the gwyrling, or the fish?” 

“Your Ladyship!” Morrence hopped up to the deck, looking small in the light leather armour she and the others had adopted for the journey. Her hair too, was braided out of her eyes, a far cry from the practical tail she usually wore. “We’re almost ready to go, but His Highness is still below.” She spared a cool glance for Tabris and back to wait for orders. 

Rosslyn glanced to see the first of the boats being lowered over the side. “I’ll see what’s keeping him. And as for you,” she added, lowering her voice as she turned back to Tabris. “The sea doesn’t care what you are, and the gods don’t care if you believe in them or not. They help those who help themselves, and out here, there aren’t any alienage walls to hold you back.” 

“Surprised you managed to get all those fancy words out around that silver spoon stuck in your gob.” 

Alistair stood in front of the mirror borrowed from the captain’s quarters, trying not to sweat in his new clothes. The stuffy cabin didn’t help, but it was Brantis fussing with the lay of his sleeves, shooting questions about what he should do in increasingly specific and unlikely situations, that really had him agitated. With the outcome of the war hanging on the success of the mission, and Rosslyn’s grandfather being the person he had to impress, anything shy of tripping over his own boots and falling flat on his face would be reason to celebrate.  

“And with which hand should you give an item on the table, should you be asked for it?” Brantis asked in his reedy voice. 

“Is that a likely scenario?” How many people just casually asked royalty to pass the salt? 

“It does to prepare for all eventualities, Highness,” came the officious reply. 

 Sighing, Alistair turned his attention back to his outfit, to the contemplation of whether the rose pattern stitched into his jerkin was too much. As far as he could tell in the dim light, the red and gold suited the tone of his skin, and set off well against the bright cream of his shirt. He had already tested the practicality of the ensemble. Given that it lacked the ostentation favoured by those like Franderel, he still had enough range of movement to be able to fight without tearing a seam if the situation called for it, though the heavy, fur-trimmed mantle he had been forced into might make him choke with the heat first. 

He paused on his reflection, letting his eyes drift over the snarling shapes tooled into the rich leather. He never thought to sport the War Dogs, the symbol of the bloodline that had once discarded him, and yet there they were, one on each shoulder, offering a legitimacy that for the first time felt like something lighter than a curse. 

Brantis was still fussing. 

“Surely I’m ready now? I’m really not sure how much more preparation I can take. Surely it would be better to… uh…” 

Rosslyn stood in the doorway. His eyes dragged up and down her form, drinking in every detail. 

“How are things proceeding?” she asked as she glided into the room. A varnished box canted against her hip, tucked under her arm. 

“Quite well, Your Ladyship,” Brantis replied. “Quite well. His Highness will do us proud, if he will remember his manners.” 

Alistair blinked. “What?” 

He had been too busy staring to listen. The grey shimmer of her light coat brought out the sharp colour of her eyes, the cut of the material flared out from swaying hips, the deep blue inner lining a backdrop for white doeskin breeches that clung to deep curves and lithe, strong legs. When he managed to pull his gaze from that sight, it caught instead on the set of her shoulders and the way the open collar accentuated the fine tendons of her throat. She turned her head and her hair, pouring artfully over one shoulder, gleamed gold where a wreath of aurum leaves curled around from a knot at the nape of her neck. The whole effect was understated but striking, a casual display of power leagues away from the ill-fitting dress she had worn on Summerday.  

“… and your esteemed grandfather will of course have the final word.” 

They had carried on an entire conversation without him. Glancing between Brantis’ sidelong, exasperated looks and Rosslyn’s dry amusement, he felt heat flare all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Will you leave us?” she asked the chamberlain, with a touch of pink in her own pale cheeks. 

Brantis bowed and hobbled away, and the two of them were alone. She crossed to a bulkhead and set down the box she had brought with her, which had completely slipped his attention in his ogling. Curious, he made out her personal sigil on the lid – a Falcon gripping a Laurel branch in its talons – but she had already crossed the space to stand in front of him and his throat dried up too much to ask about it. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. 

He tried to laugh. “Well, right now I’m not quite sure whether the eels rolling around in my stomach are there because of seasickness or nerves…” Or how stunning you look. He swallowed. To cover the treacherous line of his thoughts, he turned back to the mirror and brushed his hands down his front. “This lot could feed a family for a month – I feel like such a fool in it.” 

“Ah, but you don’t look like one,” she pointed out, grinning. “That’s the important thing.” 

“Ha-ha.” 

Fighting back her smirk, she appraised his attire with a critical eye, then came forward to readjust the seams Brantis had been playing with for half an hour, loosening them enough to give him room to breathe again. In theory. 

“It suits you.” Her hand lingered on his chest, the heat of her palm seeping through the fabric. 

He coughed. “There’s, uh, not as much gilt as I was expecting.” 

“Only merchants and Rivaini aristocrats weight themselves down with gold,” she chided gently. “Nobility should be seen in how you carry yourself, and there’s more besides – patronage of the arts, appreciation of craftsmanship, the cultivation of taste… actually, on that note, I have something for you – a gift.” Her glance darted away to the box on the bulkhead and he found himself following her as she went to retrieve it. 

“Rosslyn…” 

“I meant to give it to you later, on the island, but I thought… it might give you some extra confidence.” She chuckled, the smooth certainty of a moment before faltering as she held it out to him. “It seems silly to say that out loud.” 

“Not at all! This – this is for me?” he checked. “Really? I – wow, I don’t – I mean…” He could count on one hand the number of gifts he had received in his life, and the number that had come unprompted… well, that required significantly fewer fingers. 

She shrugged, flustered. “It’s nothing too grand, but it’s a tradition for vassals of the realm to give a gift to the heir apparent once their status is made official, and when we were delayed in Invermathy, I realised it completely slipped my mind. There’s an artisan there who used to work for my family and –”  

He reached out to touch her shoulder, to snap her out of her sudden nervousness, and the edge of his thumb accidentally brushed her neck – he never expected the skin there to be so smooth. 

“You still need to open it,” she said in a small voice.  

He started, cleared his throat, snapped his gaze to the box resting on his palm and bit his lip as he flicked the catch on the lid. A gift, entirely for him. 

He stared. Nestled in a cushion of blue velvet was a pair of leather vambraces embossed with intertwining shapes dyed in a multitude of colours. He recognised dragons, and eagles, and forefront of them all a red War Dog rampant with a gold-petalled rose caught in its snarling teeth. The workmanship was exquisite, almost too perfect to wear for fear of damage, the tooling so precise it seemed as if the figures had been persuaded rather than worked into the leather. 

“These must have been expensive,” he blurted.  

Rosslyn’s face, an instant before so open and anxious waiting for his approval, closed off, a sour line pulling at her mouth. 

“A gift is worth more than its base value, don’t you think?” she asked.  

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to imply – I mean, I know with the war and everything you’ve had to –” 

“The condition of my finances is none of your concern,” she snapped. “I wasn’t thinking of the expense.”

“No, I know - Rosslyn…” He sighed, staring across the chasm of space that had suddenly risen between them, without her moving a muscle. “I’m sorry I offended you. So much for the start of an illustrious diplomatic career, don’t you think?”  

She searched his face, stung pride warring with doubt and something else that flitted by too quickly for him to name. 

“What did you mean to say?” The question was teased out slowly, deliberately. 

“Only that…” Maker, let him get the right words this time. “Nobody’s ever thought of me enough to – to do something like this for me. I only ever got things that were practical before – I used to go to bed at night and pray to the Maker to make me grow taller so the housekeeper would be forced to make me a new shirt, but it didn’t work nearly as often as I hoped.” He chuckled, but the tale only made her brows contract. “This… I am truly grateful – truly – I don’t know how else to express my gratitude, I…”  

“You like them, then?”  

He nodded. “They’re… Would you help me put them on?” 

She smiled, the tension disappeared from her shoulders, and everything was alright again as she raised her hands to take the box from him. The vambraces lifted easily out of the velvet pile, stiff and polished and smelling of beeswax, with just the right amount of give in the straps. Rosslyn returned and brushed his hands away so she could do up the knots for him, working the laces through the eyeholes with a deftness that had Alistair transfixed. When the first one was fitted to her satisfaction, she turned to the other, and his free hand settled on her waist, supple leather and samite warm under his fingertips. 

“What is that?” he asked. 

She glanced up. “What?” 

“That smell, some kind of flowers – in your hair.” 

“Oh.” She tucked a phantom strand behind her ear, biting her lip. “It’s jasmine.” 

“Jasmine,” he repeated as she went back to her task. “It’s nice.” 

“Thanks… All done.” 

He held up his hand to view her handiwork. The knots were neat, the vambrace itself well-fitted - not long enough to impede his movement but not so short that it made his arm look overly brawny. Rosslyn was smiling at him, patient, bemused by the childish enthusiasm he betrayed in his admiration of the War Dog snarling on his arm. 

“I know you didn’t expect anything,” he admitted, swallowing past the lump in his throat, “but I think I’m a little bit sorry I don’t have anything for you in return.” 

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything for this.” 

But her gaze flickered to his mouth, just a tiny movement of her eyes which he caught nevertheless, and he wondered if perhaps she was daring to ask for the return in a kiss. He wanted her to ask. They stood so close she had to tilt her head back to see him properly, so close his hand still on her waist felt the soft swell of her ribs as she breathed, the tension running like corded rope through her limbs. Beneath them, the ship pitched in the swell, tilting them further into each other’s space, and he realised if they did this now he wouldn’t want to stop. 

“We – we should go,” he managed, to keep himself from staring. 

She loosed a breath – relief? disappointment? – and stepped back. “We – yes. The tide will turn soon. It wouldn’t be a very good first impression to keep the Storm Giant waiting seven hours for it to turn back.” 

“Right. Yes, of course, just let me…” He reached past her for his sword belt and buckled it while she waited, and then followed her out of the cabin. They kept a careful distance as they strode up into the light and bustle of the deck, to Isabela barking orders so she could be heard over the noise of the dog, and Morrence already setting Connor into the first longboat next to Wynne.  

“Your turn next, Your Highness,” she said as they approached, offering a hand to help him over the rail. “Don’t think about the drop.” 

“You could have told me that before I looked,” he replied, and peered dubiously over the side. The longboat floated fifteen feet below, still lashed to the hull of the ship but rolling against the moorings like a horse tossing its head at flies. One false step on the frankly perilous ladder and he could easily fall between the two barks and be trapped underneath, dragged down into the depths by the weight of his fancy clothes. 

“There’s nothing to it,” Rosslyn reassured him with a squeeze of his shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and guide you down.” 

The tails of her coat flared behind her as she swung over the side, almost as nimble as one of the sailors. Only Alistair saw the white grip of her knuckles on the ropes, and the careful frown as she judged the last step between the ladder and the boat, but she smiled encouragement up at him. 

“Move one limb at a time,” she instructed. “Like you’re a lizard.” 

“Am I a handsome lizard at least?” 

She only rolled her eyes.

“Is the Storm Giant scary?” Connor asked, when Alistair had finally inched the last few steps into the boat. “I heard he can kill someone he doesn’t like just by looking at them.” 

“What nonsense,” Wynne chided next to him. “Not even a basilisk can do that.” 

Rosslyn shifted in her seat and winked at the arl’s son. “The Storm Giant isn’t a basilisk.” 

A shout came from above and the lines holding them to the Siren’s Call went slack, gathered in by two of the crew, who scrambled down the ladder and took their places, one in the rowing seat and one by the tiller. With a final salute to the captain, the rower pushed off from the side with the butt of an oar, with enough force to drive them out into open water. The second boat with their guard-captains and herald followed shortly after, two motes of dust on a clear blue slate. Though the water was mostly calm, spray curled back at them from the oars, and once a rogue wave slapped against the hull, rocking them all sideways. Rosslyn flinched, a muttered curse hissing under her breath, but gentle fingers wrapped around hers where they clung to the board, and she shot a grateful smile to Alistair next to her. 

 They made it through the breakers mostly unsoaked, though the moment they touched solid ground jarred hard enough to make Alistair fall forward and smack his knee against the hull. Rubbing out the tingles, he straightened and stepped out onto a beach of black pebbles, unable to help craning his neck at the sheer basalt cliffs warding back the sea. The ground swayed beneath him, but no, it was just his balance reasserting itself after so long on the water. 

“Is landsickness a thing?” he asked Rosslyn. “Because I think I have it. This feels weird.” 

“You’ll get used to dry land again, just in time to make the crossing back,” she laughed as she stepped out next to him. 

“Who’s that on the path?” Connor called from the boat.  

The rest of the party turned to where he was pointing. A set of rough stairs had been cut into the rock, commanding a view over the whole bay as it carved down from the emerald cliffs above. There was no other way up, at least not that Alistair could see, and he tried not to think about the potential consequences of a bad first impression; the tidemark stained the rock a full armspan above his head, and with no other shelter from the waves, the defenders would only have to wait.   

And there was the Storm Giant himself, Lord Fearchar Mac Eanraig, bearing down on them. Tall, with a shock of flyaway white hair and broad shoulders wrapped in dyed plaidweave, he marched at the head of his retinue with the pride of a full-crown hart, an enormous spiked mace girded at his hip. Without quite thinking about it, Alistair drew closer to Rosslyn’s side as their host descended the last few strides towards them. She noticed, and brushed her hand along his thumb in a brief show of reassurance. But when he caught her eye, she wasn’t smiling.  

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #da:o #dragon age au #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #cousland #rosslyn cousland #tabris #ferelden #thedas

[bumblingbrujo]

California Pizza Kitchen || Ciara & Miguel Chatzy Log

The High Priestess calls on Miguel and Ciara. 

@thatwhichbindsus

Miguel didn't have time to be a mope by himself. There was too much to do, too many other people to take care of. He told Dr. Melon and Dr. Hoyt that he needed time off to go deal with coven business, they were understanding - the joy of working with other witches. And he found himself at Ciara's place, Molly at his side, knocking on the door with an uncharacteristically sour expression on his face.

Ciara had a love potion brewing on the stove, and almost groaned with frustration when someone knocked. She was busy! For once! Not even dealing with subterfuge and killing people anymore, but something genuinely pleasant. Her hair was twisted back into a braid that curled around the side, neat and out of the way, and off her neck with the humidity of the room. She walked over to her door and pulled it open, and a delightful wave of cool air blasted her face. That enjoyment was only momentary. "What's wrong?"

Miguel's face twisted into surface amusement and he chuckled lightly. "So easy to tell?" He shook his head and Molly wagged her tail. She didn't care what was happening with Lupe, she was just happy to see Ciara. "Lupe needs us. Both of us."

Ciara nodded. "Unfortunately." She looked down at Molly then, her fluffy tail wagging sweetly. "Hey girl," Ciara said with a grin, reaching over to ruffle Molly's ears. "Come in. The fumes should be harmless. Or at least I've been working on that theory for the last two hours. What does she need?"

Miguel smiled, a real smile. When he walked in the smell hit his nose and it wrinkled. "Is this... a love potion?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. Molly looked so content, she trot in, unconcerned by the smell of the potion. "She's... pregnant. And it's not going well. Anemia being the biggest concern." He squirmed uncomfortably in the kitchen. "She could use a healer and a blood witch."

"Yes - sort of. It's a Quickening of Love Confession potion. My client's being trying to propose to their girlfriend for months, they're hoping it'll give them the courage." Ciara explained, dropping to the floor the cushion that Molly had once fallen asleep on and so was now forever hers. Ciara turned back to Miguel and leant on the counter, her arms deeply crossed as she frowned. "How far along?" She asked softly.

"Ah, that's one way to do it. I wish them luck." He glanced down as Ciara pulled down the cushion that had a lot of Molly's hair on it. He wondered when Ciara would get her own familiar, it was obvious to him that she wanted one. Even if she said otherwise. "Still in the first trimester," he told her. "She wants to fix this before it gets along further." Miguel grumbled a little. It wasn't his job to provide the coven with heirs, he took himself off that list years ago. And yet there Lupe was, pulling him back in to help her live up to the expectations of the coven, to further her position as their leader, by becoming a mother.

"If it's serious enough to require the both of us, then it isn't something so easily fixed," Ciara replied, watching him carefully. "What's on your mind, Miguel?"

Miguel shoved his hands in his pockets and his shoulders bunched. "Not easily fixed, but if both of us work on it, I'm sure we could fix it. I can break curses, if that's what this is, and stimulate her body to make more red blood cells. And you can... I'm not sure what you can do with blood, but I assume anything your heart desires." He crouched down on the floor to get away from the fumes and to pet Molly. "On my mind?" He raised his eyebrows and his hand tightened in Molly's fur. "It's just a lot. To find out she's pregnant and that she's having trouble..."

"I've helped a couple folks through a pregnancy before," Ciara said. "So whatever I can, I guess." She felt mildly certain that she'd fail her High Priestess, but that was a guilt from a different lifetime. Someone else she'd hoped to impress. She watched him crouch, opened her mouth, then closed it again. It wasn't really her place to push. It may be her coven, but it wasn't her family. "Yeah, I understand. When do you want us to leave?"

"Soon." Miguel took a deep breath. "Finish up any business you have in Soapberry, we can leave next week." He continued petting his soft lovely familiar.

Ciara nodded, and turned off the stove top. Running her hands down her jeans, Ciara knelt beside him. "Okay." She had plenty of business to finish, this potion the least of them. She remembered so clearly when she'd heard the news of the docks - oh. Maybe this was what weighed on his mind. "Do you want to talk? About last week?"

Miguel blinked at her. It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about. "Oh, you remember that?" He paused and quickly took inventory of his memory. There wasn't anything in particular he had to apologize to Ciara about. After all he hasn't slept with her, or her spouse, or betrayed her, or killed her. Fucking Soapberry Springs. "It was weird, and now everything is weird here. Memory is a farce and autonomy a lie." He shrugged. "At least Iann isn't too mad at me for killing him with a plague so that's most of what I was worried about. How about you, are you okay?"

"I'm sorry that you experienced it, all the same," Ciara said softly, running a finger down Molly's nose. Not as sorry as she was that it hadn't truly surprised her, when all was said and done. "He wouldn't be mad," she added, and said little more about that. She was still... processing. "Yeah. I... It's strange. Almost everything that went wrong was somehow my fault but... I liked that version of me. Not that it matters now."

Miguel raised an eyebrow and looked up from Molly, into Ciara's face, looking for an answer there. "I don't see how any of that was your fault. If anything, Cassie and I were the ones at fault." He chuckled a little at that, thinking of his soft darling librarian sister-in-law as a ruthless Queen. "I liked that version of you too," he said with a soft smile. "Because she seemed close enough to the real thing. Only her motivations were slightly different... you can tell me to shut the hell up if you want." He looked back down at Molly, the corner stone of his stability, and continued running his hands through her soft fur.

"I was the spy master, Miguel. The Master of Whispers, or whatever," Ciara chuckled. "A lot happened, whether visibly or not, that was because of my decisions." It was the land of make believe. No one was truly dead or harmed, so while the feelings lingered, it meant little to her. Or so she believed. She smiled at his smile, brushed her hand over his as a small touch of reassurance. "Yes, that me only murdered lots of people in the name of peace and love." She looked away, less self mocking now. "It was good to have... purpose. Something to believe in."

"Why not build something to believe in here? Or join something. Could be as small as the community garden." Miguel rubbed Molly's silky soft ears with both hands. "You're not in this alone, you have a whole coven behind you now. But even beside them, beside us... Soapberry Springs is a nice place when it's not trying to kill you. There are loads of higher callings waiting." Miguel made a pile of all the dog hair he could grab so it wouldn't infect every inch of Ciara's home. "Besides, peace and love are better reasons to kill than jealousy and power."

"Right, of course. I didn't mean to dismiss that importance of the coven in my life, you know I am so grateful," Ciara replied, sitting up slightly, in what Iann often called her formal voice, how she spoke when she would retreat. Of course, thinking of Iann made her want to retreat even further, even as she reached under Miguel's arms to rub her belly. "Well, your reign of terror wasn't going to last much longer anyway. Try to be kind with yourself, okay?"

"No, Ciara, that's not what I meant." Miguel watched her turn cold, her formality spread like ice, turning her from a friend into a subordinate. "Have you been to the community garden? You'd like it..." he would have offered to go with her, but sometimes he thought Ciara needed time away from him, to untangle herself from the Desert Leaves. Miguel lifted his arms so Ciara could have easier access to that soft familiar belly. He inched back, going from his heels to his butt on her floor. "My reign of terror ended," he said. "I remember Fane ending it."

Ciara quirked her lips at him in what was almost a smile - she wasn't as committed to subterfuge as she had been in that other place. "I haven't, no. I'm sure there are plenty of plant nymphs and earth witches who tend it wonderfully, though. There's no reason for me not to go." Molly half lifted her leg as Ciara rubbed her belly, fast enough to tickle. When she stopped, Molly nudged her. But Ciara was staring at Miguel. Lord Savin - Fane - had been a rage of fury. She'd known it would be brutal. "Oh." Ciara said, and thought of that mockery of Cassie that the demon had shown her so often. "Are you alright?"

Miguel would have to hope that Ciara took his suggestion, he wouldn't push her, he wasn't responsible for her. Molly gave up on Ciara and rolled toward her dad, hitting him in the legs with her big fluffy body. Miguel put one hand on her to still her, and she quieted at the change in mood. "Death is no stranger." His free hand went to the back of his neck and rubbed the glyph there. "Sorry," he chuckled. "I'm still trying to talk like a normal person. But uhm, yeah I'm okay." The memory was raw and painful but it delighted Miguel in some sick way - maybe those two feelings cancelled out.

“Okay,” Ciara echoed, and put her hand on his, just briefly. “I’d offer an apology, but I’m not sure it’d be appropriate. I’m glad to have you, this you, back though.... that and modern technology.” She looked back to Molly and began petting her idly then. By the blue moon though, there was something from that world she missed dearly.

Miguel turned his hand to hold Ciara's a moment, to give it a little squeeze. He closed his eyes and let their magic connect - two pieces of the same ley, filtered through their humanity. It was like coming back to earth, after months in space, cold and isolated and alone. Having his magic back was better than having hot water. "Thank you, Ciara." Letting their magic touch was on par with Molly's soft fur, for things that could calm Miguel. "It's good to have you back too... and showers." He let go of her hand and stood up, a ball of fur hastily shoved in his pocket. "We'll let you get back to your potion."

His magic warmed her hand and her arms, soft and soothing. It was no longer frightening to feel the similarities between them, like it had been the first time Miguel had grabbed her in that convenience store. “Oh, urgh, and dental hygiene,” she laughed, and the moments had passed. “Okay. I’ll be ready by the weekend, so after that whenever you wish to leave.”

#ciara #chatzy

[ericsonclan]

Singing in The Rain

Summary: Prisha and Violet go to a musical and afterwards Prisha gets caught up in her love for musicals while its raining.

Word Count: 2110

Read on AO3:

“That was spectacular!” Prisha smiled brightly as she walked out of the theatre hand in hand with Violet. The blonde looked up at her fiance with a soft expression.

“I’m glad,” Violet felt her heart grow warm at the sight of Prisha’s happiness. She had worked to save up money and surprised Prisha with two tickets to a showing of Singing in The Rain. Prisha was beyond excited when Violet had revealed the tickets and her eyes shone with joy as she watched the musical.

Violet wasn’t exactly sure what the whole plot had been; she had ended up getting distracted by Prisha during the showing. How Prisha bounced lightly in her chair as the musical numbers happened, how the smile never left her lips, how she kept looking over at Violet and pressing kisses onto her hand. The date had turned out amazing.

Prisha gently swayed their joined hands back and forth before taking out the two small umbrellas she had grabbed before the musical. The weather app on her phone had warned of rainy weather and Violet was really glad Prisha had listened. As soon as they had stepped outside they could hear the heavy rainfall and feel the cool chill of the evening that came with it. Violet poked her head out from the shelter of the awning in front of the theater. Rain came pouring down in sheets.

“It really is raining cats and dogs,” Prisha commented as she passed over the black umbrella to Violet. Violet gave a small thanks then worked to open it.

“Yeah, kinda shitty that we parked a few blocks away,” Violet leaned the umbrella handle on her shoulder. Glancing over, she saw that Prisha was double checking that the keychain Violet had bought her during intermission was secure and safe in her pocket. Prisha quickly opened her yellow umbrella before immediately intertwining her fingers with Violet’s once more.

“Lucky for me, I have wonderful company for this walk,” Prisha’s words made Violet’s heart flutter.

“Not as lucky as me,” Violet took the first step out from the safety of the theater and felt the raindrops splattering on top of her umbrella. The two walked in peaceful silence as the raindrops kept falling down. Prisha took a deep breath, a warm smile pulling on her lips as she hummed a tune from the musical. After they were nearly halfway there, Prisha began to sing the song.

“I’m singing in the rain, just singin’ in the rain

What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again!

I’m laughing at clouds so dark up above.”

Prisha let go of Violet's hand and spun around to smile lovingly at her. “The sun’s in my heart and I’m ready for love!”

Violet’s face grew warm at those words as she watched her fiancee get more and more lost within the song. Prisha spun her umbrella, causing the raindrops to fly off as she continued to sing.

“Let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place.”

Prisha saw a lamp post and ran toward it. With a hop she gripped onto it with her left hand and spun around as she let her right move the umbrella down to her side.

“Come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face!

I walk down the lane with a happy refrain,”

Prisha strolled forward towards Violet with a carefree smile.

“Just singin’, singin’ in the rain,” Prisha placed down her umbrella, the rain pitter pattering against her head as she grabbed Violet’s hand. Her eyes locked with Violet’s and it was clear what she wanted Violet to do. Prisha wanted Violet to join her.

“Dancing in the rain,’ Prisha spun Violet around with a joyful tune, causing the blonde’s umbrella to twirl and raindrops to fling off of it. “I’m happy again!”

Prisha continued to hum and dance happily and Violet couldn’t help but fall more in love with her. Soon Violet decided to let loose and join her. Placing down her umbrella, Violet took both of Prisha’s hands and they spun around together in a circle.

“I’m singin’ and dancing in the rain,'' Prisha guided them forward while her warm voice continued to hum the tune. The two of them spun on the nearby lamp posts together before they got distracted and began to splash around in the puddles together. After a few minutes of laughing together and getting lost in the moment, Prisha gently took Violet’s hand. Twirling her around, Prisha pulled Violet close to her.

“I’m dancing and singin’ in the rain….” Prisha held the final note, her soft, comforting voice lingering in the air before she leaned forward and kissed Violet tenderly. Violet deepened the kiss and became lost in it till she finally had to pull back for air. Her own eyes were lost in Prisha’s warm brown ones. Prisha seemed just as lost in Violet’s eyes. After a few moments though they both realized how soaking wet they both were.

“I suppose I got lost in the moment,” Prisha smiled over at Violet, somewhat guilty.

“It’s fine, I love it,” Violet’s words made Prisha’s eyes sparkle and she stole a quick kiss. Leaning over, Prisha grabbed the umbrellas for Violet before grabbing her own.

“Well, we definitely need to get home and get out of these sopping wet clothes,” Prisha smiled at Violet then began to lead the way forward. She quickly began to hum the tune again, completely happy as she swung their joined hands.

Violet quietly watched Prisha for a moment. She really did love Prisha, her dorky musical side and all. The two immediately became lost in the simple joy of walking together back to their car. Soon they were in the car and Prisha got the heat going right away. As Prisha started the car and began to drive home, the couple spoke about their favorite parts of the musical and date.

Time flew by whenever they were in each other’s company and that fact still held true on this drive home. They were home before they knew it and were immediately greeted by Sir Tubbs who gave a smokey meow as he strolled forward. He instantly flopped over by Violet’s leg, expecting pats and cuddles but instead was greeted by the surprise of water droplets on his fur. His eyes grew large and he shifted his tubby body up to run away and protect himself from any more horrible water pellets. Prisha and Violet shared a look and began to laugh as Sir Tubbs angrily looked at them from his perch on his cat tower. His gray tail whacked around as he hid in the small shelter in the middle of the tower.

“Well, I shall get started on some tea,” Prisha planted a kiss on Violet’s cheek. “I’m guessing you want chamomile, love?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Violet smiled lovingly over at her fiancee then looked down at the ground. She was starting to form a puddle. It would be best if she got a towel for that then took a quick shower. Jogging over to where the towels were kept, Violet grabbed three of them. The blonde placed one on the ground then made her way over to the bedroom to grab some clothes. She pondered her options for a moment before deciding to grab one of Prisha’s shirts to wear.

“I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll leave a towel for you so you don’t have to worry about that,” Violet called out to Prisha who was busy getting the tea ready.

“Sounds perfect,” Prisha responded as she got the cups down.

Violet scampered off and quickly took a shower to warm up. By the time she was done her tea was ready and on the kitchen counter. Prisha smiled over, her eyes flickering with surprise for a moment when she saw Violet was wearing one of her shirts. Her heart fluttered happily in her chest. Violet looked so cute it felt overwhelming.

“You look adorable,” Prisha’s words made Violet blush lightly. “I’ll be back soon,” Prisha reached out and squeezed Violet’s hands then wandered off to grab clothes and take a shower. A few minutes later she walked out with a towel draped over her shoulders so her damp hair didn’t make her shirt wet. As she walked over to join Violet on the couch, Prisha thought about how lucky she was to have found someone who truly loved her. Her heart warmed as she was reminded once more how much she loved Violet as well. Sitting down, the two curled under the blanket and quietly enjoyed their tea.

Once they had finished their warm drinks, Prisha spoke up. “How about I grab the hairdryer and brush and we can dry our hair so we don’t have to worry about catching a chill?”

“Okay, I’ll help,” Violet got up and the two worked together to grab the hairdryer, some hair ties and a brush. “I’ll dry your hair first,” Violet offered as she plugged in the hairdryer.

“Okay,” Prisha sat in front of the couch and Violet turned on the hairdryer. The steady thrum of hot air was the only sound in the apartment as Prisha sat on the ground and enjoyed the warmth of the hairdryer. Once Prisha’s hair was dry Violet began to brush it. Prisha hummed happily and the two quietly conversed.

“Alright, I’m done,” Violet paused for a moment after that statement and wondered about whether she should say something or not.

The sudden silence made Prisha glance back at Violet. “Everything alright? Are you feeling cold?” Prisha’s tone held concern as she looked up at her fiance.

“No, it's not that. I was just wondering. If you wanted I could braid your hair. I know it's kinda late but still,” Violet awkwardly scratched the back of neck.

“I’d love that! I can do a cute hairstyle for you after I dry your hair too!” Prisha’s enthusiasm made Violet’s grow.

“Alright,” Violet ran her fingers through Prisha’s long hair before beginning to braid it. She had definitely gotten better over her time when it came to braiding hair. Still, that didn't mean she was immune from making mistakes. Violet swore softly here and there when she messed up.

“Shit, shit, fucking shit,” Violet muttered angrily when she messed up a section.

“I’m sure it will look pretty,” Prisha tilted her head back to look at Violet.

“You should say shitty,” Violet’s response made Prisha frown slightly.

“I highly doubt that,” Prisha returned her gaze to the wall ahead so Violet could continue to work. After a few minutes Violet had finished up.

“Okay, I’m done,”

Prisha pulled the braid forward and examined it. “It looks great,” She reached back and pulled Violet’s hand forward so she could press a soft kiss to the top of it. The romantic gesture made Violet’s heartbeat quicken.

“Okay, my turn,” Prisha hopped onto the couch then patted the ground for Violet to sit down. Violet slid onto the floor and Prisha happily began to dry her fiance's hair. It wasn’t long before that step was finished. Prisha immediately worked to gently brush Violet’s hair. Once she was done Prisha gently stroked it. “Your hair is always so soft,”

“Thanks,” Violet fidgeted with the hem of the shirt she was wearing as Prisha began to debate on what hairstyle to try. After a minute Prisha decided on a simple one that she knew Violet would like. Her hands gathered up Violet’s hair and using a hair tie she put Violet’s hair up into a small ponytail.

“All done!” Prisha chimed and Violet moved her hand up to feel her hair to try and guess what style Prisha had gone with. It only took her  a second to figure out.

“A ponytail?” Violet crawled back onto the couch and slid under the blanket.

“I think it makes you look even cuter,” Prisha’s words made Violet grow red once more. Silently she scooted closer and wrapped her arms around Prisha’s waist. Shifting around, Violet soon got into a comfortable position as she continued to hug Prisha’s waist. Prisha stroked Violet’s hair and played with it for a minute before speaking up.

“Shall I continue the book? I think we were just getting to the interesting part.” Prisha’s hand wandered over to the coffee table where Howl’s Moving Castle lay.

“I’d like that,” Violet nuzzled her face against Prisha’s neck and let herself melt into her fiance’s warmth. Prisha leaned forward and kissed Violet’s head then focused on getting to the right section. Soon her calming voice filled the apartment as the two enjoyed the peaceful, perfect moment.

#twdg #twdg violet #twdg prisha #twdg sir tubbs #twdg privet #fanfic #ericson's diner au

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Chapter 1- The Sacrifice

             I don’t think I ever fully understood what was supposed to happen to me but everyone else seemed to know all about it from the day I was born. Every morning when I was a child, I was dressed in fine clothes by my mother and her handmaidens. I wore long flowing dresses and intricately designed golden jewellery which looked too expensive for someone like me to be trusted with. I would ask why I was the only boy to be dressed in feminine clothing. None of the other boys I knew wore dresses, not even my brother, but whenever it was explained to me, it didn’t seem to make sense.

             “It’s to do with your power, Fox,” my mother would say. Then she would ask me to show everyone in the room what I could do.

             All I had to do was concentrate and suddenly a golden light would encompass me. It was so bright that everyone had to shield their eyes as I transformed. When the light faded, I was no longer a human but an animal; a dog-like creature with red fur and and bushy tail. I was an actual Fox. Everyone was always silent in awe, even those who had seen it already. Then they would applaud. I’d run around the room for a while and then transform back into my human form; a boy with long curly red hair and blue eyes.

             “But what does my power have to do with what I’m wearing?” I would then ask.

             “Well, that power is a sign that you’re someone very important, Foxy,” my mother always replied. “The fox is the animal form of the goddess Rua, the protector of Saint’s Isle. It is said that she returns to earth in the form of a human every 100 years or so, usually as a member of royalty, bringing with her good fortune and an abundant harvest.”

             “So what?” Everyone laughed when I asked that.

             “So, if the teachings of Rua’s followers are true, it means you are her human form! It’s only fitting that you should look the part.”

             “But I don’t feel like a goddess. Wouldn’t I know about it if I was?”

             “That’s the part I find confusing too but the priests say Rua’s spirit should become more apparent in you as you grow up and her memories will return as well.”

             No matter how many times it was explained to me, I always had more questions and many of them were answered with ‘only time will tell’. It frustrated me, especially when I was younger but I learned to live with the idea as I grew up, even if I didn’t understand it.

             One of the things I didn’t learn to live with, however, were the visits to the priests. My mother and I found them both strange and boring but my father was highly religious and wouldn’t let us turn down a request to see us. Even if he did, we’d probably have to go anyway as although we were the royals, the priests were the ones with the magic, the physical power, and so most of Saint’s Isle’s decision making went to them.

             As far as anyone knew, I was the only human other than the priests and priestesses who had any kind of magic power which was probably one of the reasons why they wanted to keep an eye on me. When we went to the temple, they always asked me to transform into my fox form to check I still could. Then they would ask if I could remember anything from my past lives on earth or about my life as a goddess. Sometimes they showed me portraits and tapestries of people I’d supposedly known in my past lives and asked me if I recognized them. I never did.

             They were always very respectful towards me in person but I occasionally overhead them saying to each other that I didn’t seem fit to embody Rua. I was a boy for one thing and apparently all of her previous incarnations had been female. Like me, they were clearly wondering whether I was really the goddess or not but all the signs seemed to suggest so. There were no records of anyone else other than incarnations of Rua who could transform into foxes, and when I was born, crops started improving just as they had with the others. During my teens I also developed a liking for music which was another thing associated with Rua and I quickly learned to play the harp which many of the other incarnations had done as well. Despite all this, the priests still seemed to have their doubts and so did I. I certainly didn’t feel like had any control over the harvest and yet each year was more bountiful than the last. Farmers would often come to the castle to thank me but from my perspective, it just seemed like a coincidence.

             Generally, I preferred not to dwell on it. I liked to keep to myself whenever possible or else just spend time with my younger brother Maple or Shawn, Lorcan and Eoin, three servant boys who I’d known all my life. I never considered them as servants though, to me they were my friends. None of them fussed over me like everyone else. They didn’t ask for divine knowledge which I couldn’t give and I felt able to just be myself around them. On the rare occasion where I didn’t have any social obligations, I’d wear normal, more comfortable clothes and we’d play music together and sing. Sometimes we’d go horse riding which was another one of my favourite pastimes.

             My horse, Cuchulain, was my other best friend. He was a tall, dark brown stallion, faster than any of the others in the stables. I got him for my birthday one year when I was a child and he was still a colt. Since then we’d been inseparable which was lucky as he would come to play an important part in my future.  I think I’d define the starting point of my future as the night of the Feast of Rua. I would be 21 in the autumn of that year and more pressure was being put on me to start embodying her spirit.

             The Feast of Rua was my least favourite day of the year. Taking place in early spring, the event included various rituals which were meant to appease Rua in the hope that she would continue to bring successful harvests, so naturally I was fussed over more than ever. Everyone in Saint’s Isle who was able to attend made sure to do so. To most of them, this was a momentous occasion which gave them hope that things would improve after the harsh winter. To me, it was hours of tedious formalities followed by brutal sacrifices which caused me to feel sick to my stomach, making sure I had no chance of enjoying the feast afterwards.

             The sacrifices were the most awful thing I ever had to experience. There were other events during the year where only animals were sacrificed and that was bad enough but here, a human was given as well. Every year I pleaded with the priests to stop it. As king and queen, my parents tried to stop it as well but the priests just accused them of heresy and said they’d be considered traitors to Saint’s Isle if they continued to protest. The worst part was that these sacrifices were in my name. It brought me to tears to think that at least 20 people so far had been killed in exchange for changes to the world which I didn’t have the power to make. Whether or not they volunteered themselves for sacrifice, I didn’t know. If they did, they must have been brainwashed by the priests. If not, I can only imagine how much they hated me. Their families probably dreamed of getting their revenge, thinking that I was the one who demanded the death of their loved one. It was a thought that haunted me every day.

             About an hour before the feast was supposed to start, my mother and I prepared ourselves for the uncomfortable night ahead. We were in one of the many tents which had been set up in the vast field where the event took place and we decided to keep the entrance part closed so that we didn’t have to watch the priests gathering ominously around the area. My mother braided my hair for me in front of the mirror even though I could do it myself. I think maybe it gave her something to focus on. I picked up my golden disc earrings from the dressing table and tried to put them in but the holes had started to close up. This happened often as I only wore jewellery when I had to appear in public. I just re-pierced them with the hooks and ignored the pain. It was nothing compared to what was about to happen.

             “Are you alright, Foxy?” my mother asked. She must have noticed my expression as I put my earrings in. We both knew I wasn’t.

             “I will be when all of this is over,” I replied and reached for one of two elaborately decorated necklaces I was expected to wear.

             “You know your father is talking to High Priest Quintus as we speak. There might be a chance he’ll convince them not to go through with the sacrifices?”

             I almost scoffed. “The day father argues with Quintus is the day the stars align,” I said. “He may be good at negotiating with other nations but he’s a complete push over when it comes to the priests.”

             My mother sighed. “It’s not so easy to talk back to them when you’re not their goddess, you know.”

             “It’s not easy for me either,” I replied. “They’re not even sure if I am their goddess.”

             There was a moment of silence between us before my mother spoke again.

             “They said once that you’ll demand more sacrifices when you fully embody Rua.”

             “I’d never!” I cried. This was the first time I’d been told of this.

           “I know. And doesn’t it seem strange that a goddess of nature and life would want anyone to die? Whether you’re Rua or not, it seems out of character for both of you.”

             “Did Sionnach demand sacrifices when she embodied Rua?” I asked. I was almost afraid to find out but I needed to know. More than ever, I was scared of what I would supposedly become.

             Sionnach was the last incarnation of Rua before me. She lived almost 100 years ago and would have been my (many greats) grandaunt on my father’s side. That was pretty much all I knew about her. Whoever I’d previously asked about her seemed reluctant to tell me anything. All I knew was that she died rather young and that her sister became queen and went on to continue the royal lineage.

             My mother looked like she didn’t want talk about Sionnach either. She sighed again.

             “Well…I suppose you should have the right to know. As far as your father and I am aware, Sionnach never fully embodied Rua. Like you, it was uncertain whether she was the goddess at all but…she died before anyone could find out.” She looked so sad all of a sudden as she told me this.

             “Are you alright, mother?” I asked.

             “I’m fine, Foxy but I’m worried about you…and about your future. It’s all so uncertain and I don’t want you to end up like…like Sionnach.”

             “Why, how did she die?” I asked, concerned.

             Mother just shook her head. Tears were beginning to surface in her eyes and I was afraid I’d asked too much.

             “I don’t want you getting any ideas,” she managed to say quietly.

             “You mean…she didn’t kill herself did she?” I probably worked that out a little too quickly. Mother pulled me into a hug.

             “She thought she couldn’t do what everyone expected of her and couldn’t bear the pressure,” she cried. “Promise me you won’t do such a thing, Foxy. Goddess or no, you’re my baby and I need you.”

             I hugged her tighter reassuringly. “Don’t worry Ma, I’m not going anywhere,” I replied. If there ever was a day I would have felt bad enough to die, the Feast of Rua would be it but there was no way I would leave such a wonderful person as my mother.

             She kissed my forehead. “I love you.”

             “I love you too.”

             Then mother dried her eyes and tried to calm down. I felt bad for making her cry even though I didn’t mean to. My role as the supposed reincarnation of Rua affected everyone around me, not just myself and that was one of the most painful things about it.

             “Surely the other incarnations didn’t all die the same way?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. “If they did, then none of them would have embodied Rua and no one would know that it was those with the transformation power who were connected to her?”

             “That’s true I suppose,” mother agreed, wiping her eyes. “We don’t know much about the others either. The priests are of course the ones who own all the scriptures and even the royal family has never been allowed to read them.”

             “Typical,” I sighed.

             I put on the rest of my jewelry. There were twelve items all together including my crown; that was twelve too many in my opinion. As nice as my hair looked braided with a golden flower-shaped hair ornament in it, I much preferred to wear it long and loose. Although the amount of jewelry I had on was the least of my worries, it was still heavy and uncomfortable.

             My dress on the other hand was made of a light green flowing material. It was long but it only covered the front and back with nothing at the sides which made my legs more visible than I would have liked. I wondered whether this was the sort of thing Rua actually wore or if it was just what humans thought she looked like. People always said I looked beautiful like this and I have to admit, I always felt flattered to be told so. I didn’t mind appearing feminine but like Sionnach, I just wished I could be myself without everyone expecting me to be this divine and powerful being. Whether I was Rua or not, I certainly wasn’t the people’s interpretation of her, nor the priests’. Unless my personality was to change entirely once I embodied her, almost as if I was possessed, then I wouldn’t be all-knowing, all-powerful and magnificent. I wouldn’t be able to make miracles happen and I definitely wouldn’t demand a single sacrifice.

             A servant came in and informed us that it was time to make our way to the ritual area in the middle of the field. As we stepped out of our tent, I noticed my father riding past on his horse. I called him over.

             “Any luck?” I asked, not expecting anything.

             “Well they said Maple doesn’t have to watch but the sacrifice is still going ahead and the rest of us have to be there for it,” he replied.

             It was just as I thought but I was grateful that at least my innocent little brother didn’t have to witness the same horrors that I would. With heavy hearts, we went and took our seats at a long table on a raised platform in front of the sacrificial alter. I sat in the middle with my parents either side. The other seats were taken up by various nobles who I didn’t know particularly well. Smaller tents circled the area in which sat other important guests and what must have been the rest of the population of Saint’s Isle huddled in between them. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be here but there must have been thousands of them.

             The sun had set by now. I noticed lesser priests lighting the braziers around the alter. So it was beginning then. I tried to close my eyes and think about something else, anything else. I imagined I wasn’t here. I was in my room playing my harp or maybe running through the woods, wild and free in my fox form. It was impossible to distract myself though; once the priests started chanting, I couldn’t keep the noise out of my head. High Priest Quintus stood in front of the crowd and raised his arms towards the sky.

             “Rua, protector of Saint’s Isle, goddess of the earth and all the life knowledge within it, hear our prayers and may you once again, inspire every seed that is planted to grow to its full potential, granting us yet another bountiful harvest!”

             After hearing it every year since I was born, I knew this speech almost off by heart now. It went on for ages and it only made me feel worse hearing all the things I was supposed to be able to do while still dreading the horrific scene that would follow. Part of me wanted them to just get on with it. I was sure the person due to be sacrificed would be feeling that way too, but still it continued.

             “…Make this land’s defenses strong and protect us from invasion! May the surrounding seas become stormy when enemy ships approach!”

             I remembered that as being one of the last things mentioned in this prayer. All of them seemed to have been fulfilled by luck so far but I was always scared that one day that luck would run out and I’d be blamed for anything that should happen to Saint’s Isle. Next Quintus turned directly to me and bowed low before looking at me with glowing green eyes.

             “And now, great Rua,” he said, showing not a single shred of guilt for what he was about to announce, “As thanks for your protection of this beautiful and holy land, we offer you this sacrifice in the hope that it might please you.”

             “It most certainly won’t,” I muttered in reply but Quintus ignored me and gestured to the other priests to bring the person who was to be sacrificed.

             The first thing I noticed straight away was long blue hair. I’d never seen anyone with hair in an unusual colour before but it was amazing. It was difficult for me to focus on him though as he was struggling from the two priests who held him by the arms. I thought he was female at first but when he looked up at me, I had just enough time to pick out his more male features. He looked about my age and he was beautiful. Perhaps it would have been better if I didn’t see him. Now that I had, I knew he’d be a part of my nightmares forever after.

             The priests pulled him towards the sacrificial alter. I wanted to cover my eyes. When I was younger, my mother used to hug me so I didn’t have to see. I’d just bury my face in the material of her dress. I wished I could still do that but she was currently crying into a handkerchief. I wanted to comfort her but I didn’t know what to do. The boy’s cries drew my attention back to him instantly. They’d managed to struggle him onto the alter. It took about four of them to hold him down and I’d never seen a sacrifice put up quite this much of a fight. I could see the tears streaming down his cheeks as he futilely begged for them to unhand him. A priest in a black hooded robe lifted the sacrificial dagger, ready to strike down. The boy looked up at me helplessly. I felt his fear.

             “STOP IT!” I cried. The priest with the dagger froze but Quintus just laughed.

             “Honestly boy, you haven’t tried to disrupt the proceedings like this since you were a child. I hope, as our goddess, that you’ve at least grown up a little since then,” he said.

             Then he looked like he was about to tell his subordinate to continue but I didn’t give him the chance. I climbed over our table and jumped down from the platform. Why I hadn’t done this before, I didn’t know. Perhaps I didn’t have the courage but here I was now, trying to push off the priests who were holding the boy down.

             “Let him go!” I demanded. Anyone other than the priests would have obeyed me but Quintus just waved his hand and suddenly two guards in full amour appeared out of thin air. They pulled me back but I transformed into my fox form which freed me from their grip. The blinding light distracted everyone for a second as they tried to cover their eyes, including the priests holding down the boy. In that moment, he cleverly rolled himself off the alter but not before the hooded priest attempted to stab him. He missed anything vital but as the boy stood up, I saw he now had blood dripping from a cut his right arm. Quintus waved his hand again and more guards appeared behind us. I turned to the boy.

             “Run.”

             We went for the crowds of common folk who were all very confused but they parted for us and we ran to where the family horses were grazing just beyond the ceremonial grounds. I found Cuchulain and jumped up onto his back. The guards were getting closer and they were now riding horses of their own which materialized just as quickly as they had. I quickly gave the boy my hand and helped him up. Then we were off at full speed.

             “Where are we going?” the boy asked, trying his best to hold on with his arm still bleeding.

             “Somewhere that’s not here!” I replied.

             The wind whipped at our faces as we sped through the endless fields. I had no idea where we were going but I knew we’d eventually reach the coast and then we’d have to turn around. I didn’t know what I was doing and I could only imagine what the consequences might be. What did my parents think of what I just did? What about the common people? Would their attitudes towards Rua change? I had no way of knowing.

             After we covered what must have been at least ten miles or so, the guards and their horses seemed to vaporize into the air. Just to be sure it wasn’t a trap though, we didn’t stop running for a good five miles more afterwards. I’d heard about magic that could only work within a certain distance of its user, perhaps this was it?

             Eventually we reached a forest where we finally decided to stop. We found the densest area of trees and hid ourselves among them. It was cold and completely dark by now but luckily Cuchulain always carried a blanket in his saddle bag for long journeys. I thought we should start building some sort of shelter then I remembered the boy was still injured. I noticed he’d torn a strip of material from the white dress he was wearing and tied it round him like a bandage.

             “How’s your wound? Is it deep?” I asked.

             He shook his head. “It hurts a little but if you hadn’t saved me, I’d be much worse off than this though so thank you.”

             “Well I couldn’t just sit there and watch them kill you. Please know that I had nothing to do with it, by the way. My family and I try to stop the sacrifices every year but the priests never listen.” I felt that it was important that I told him this.

             “I know,” he replied. “I overheard the king’s discussion with the High Priest.”

             He still looked rather shaken after what had happened and I couldn’t blame him; I was still coming to terms with it too. I was constantly wondering what was happening back in the field but I tried not to think about it as so far, I could only imagine unpleasant scenarios. I decided it would be best to focus on the situation at hand so I laid the blanket down on the grassy earth of the forest for us to sit on.

             “I never got your name,” I said as we tried to make ourselves comfortable (which was rather difficult on solid ground).

             “It’s Florian,” he replied with a weak smile, “Florian Hope. And I suppose I already know who you are, your highness.”

             “Please, just call me Fox,” I said. “Fox Troxelle.”

             “Fox Troxelle,” Florian repeated. “Do your friends call you Foxtrot?”

             I sighed. “All the time. I’ve been called Foxtrot, Foxy, Foxydoodle…still I suppose they’re all better than Rua.”

             “You don’t like being Rua?” Florian asked.

             “Why would I? It only means being fussed over all the time and having to deal with people coming to visit me, seeking divine knowledge which I don’t have while I’m just trying to get on with my day. And then I have days like this to deal with!”

             Florian looked like he was sorry he asked which made me feel bad for ranting.

           “Well at least your transformation power seems useful,” he said.

             “That’s true,” I agreed. “It certainly came in handy today…and I suppose it’s rather fun too.”

             “I can imagine. I wish I was able to do something like that. I’ve tried but I can’t even do so much as conjure up a single flame.”

             “You’ve tried to do magic?” I asked, surprised.

             “Yes, but only a couple of times in the past year. I don’t get much of an opportunity to practice and so far I’ve had no luck but I thought it might help me escape the priests,” Florian replied.

             I was suddenly concerned that there was more to all of this than I realized. “You mean you were in their custody for a whole year?” I asked.

             “A lot longer than that. I’ve been working for them for more than half my life now,” Florian sighed.

             “Half your life?! How did that happen?”

             Florian sighed again and looked down at the ground sadly. “I was from Gallia originally. My twin sister and I were taken from our home when the Anglicans invaded 10 years ago but the ship that was supposed to take us back to Anglia got washed up in a storm onto the shores of Saint’s Isle. Then the priests found us and took us in. They gave us food and shelter in the temple but then they never let us leave and we had to work to pay off our ‘debt’ to them.”

             “Oh my god…I’m sorry,” was all I could manage in reply. I could hardly believe it. How could I have been kept in the dark about something like this going on in the same temple I’d been called to almost every week of my life? To be fair, I’d only ever been in as far as the main hall where services took place. That area was open to the public but the entire temple was huge and I suppose anything could have been happening elsewhere inside. I had so many questions. “Why did they choose you as a sacrifice if you were working for them? Wouldn’t you have been more useful to them alive?”

             “They were planning to go with someone else at first- some criminal or other but last night, I was caught attempting to learn fire spells with a book I stole from the temple’s magic archives. I pleaded for my life, saying how I didn’t deserve this after everything I’d done for them but they went on about how magic was only for those who Rua considered worthy enough to wield it and that it was sinful of me for trying. They killed the other man this morning in private but I was probably kept as the sacrifice as a warning to the other slaves to learn their place,” he explained with tears in his eyes.

             “I always knew they were terrible but never this much so,” I said. “I wish I could have been able to do something about it.”

             Florian shook his head. “I don’t think they’d have listened to you. I’ve overhead a lot of conversations between the priests and it seems like they don’t even believe you’re Rua.”

             “Yes, I gathered that from them too,” I agreed with a sigh.

             It was getting late now so we made a quick shelter by balancing long branches against a tree at a diagonal, leaving a space for us to lie underneath. We covered the branches with ferns for extra insolation. Hopefully they would help to keep us dry if it rained as well. The earth underneath was mossy which made it a little softer to sit on. Florian said it wasn’t unlike the bed of straw he usually slept on. I let him sleep while I kept watch even though I was exhausted. After everything he’d been through today, he really deserved to rest.

             I sat just outside the shelter so that I could keep a lookout. Cuchulain lay down next to me and I stroked his velvety fur. He was surprisingly calm, probably because he was tired from all the running. I was so grateful to have him with me. He fell asleep after a few minutes and I listened to him quietly snoring. As I kept watch, I wished I had something to distract myself from worrying about what could have been happening at home. I hoped my parents wouldn’t get in trouble for my actions. What if the priests thought that they put me up to it? I was also scared for the rest of the temple’s prisoners. Florian had mentioned his sister being one of them too; what if they decided to sacrifice her instead? I felt a headache coming on as I mentally ran through all the possibilities I could think of.

             I quietly hummed a tune in an attempt to lift my spirits and distract myself from fearing the worst. I wished I had my harp with me to play as well. I often wondered what it would be like to be a bard rather than a prince and a reincarnation of a goddess. It sounded like a much easier life, travelling the kingdoms and performing ballads of ancient heroes, reciting romantic poems and maybe even singing songs which I’d write myself. I knew, of course, that I’d no longer have all the privileges that came with royalty but at least I’d be free.

             The night went on and it felt like I’d been sitting there for hours. I was cold, tired and hungry. I transformed into my fox form, hoping the fur would make me warmer. It worked to an extent but it was far from cozy. I felt like I would fall asleep any minute and I really wanted to drift off but one of us had to keep watch. Who knew what kind of dangerous wild animals might have lived here? Not to mention that the priests might have sent people to search for us. I looked over at Florian sleeping in the shelter with the blanket wrapped around him. It looked so much more comfortable but I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up to switch places. He finally looked peaceful after all the chaos and I didn’t want to take that away from him.

 Chapter 2- The Green Man

             In the morning, I woke up in my human form and I realized I must have eventually fallen asleep. I was lying against Cuchulain as if he were a giant pillow but he didn’t seem to mind; he was still snoring. Luckily it hadn’t rained or else I would have been soaked sleeping out in the open. Florian was already awake and he was picking berries from a tree near by. I noticed he had replaced his bandage with another torn piece of cloth from his dress. I made a mental note to seek medical attention for him as soon as possible. I got up and went to join him by the tree.

             “You didn’t wake me up to take watch last night,” he commented as he saw me.

             “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were so keen. I fell asleep without meaning to,” I explained. “Are you sure those berries are safe to eat, by the way?” They were small white berries which hung in bunches. I’d seen them before many times but I never thought about whether or not they were edible.

             “Yes, I think so,” Florian replied with a smile. “In Gallia, they’re called ‘baies sucre’ and if they’re the same here in Saint’s Isle, they should be rather sweet.”

             He was right. I picked one from the tree and took the smallest bite I possibly could just in case it turned out to be poisonous, but I was pleasantly surprised to find it tasted fine. We picked as many as we could carry and went back to the shelter to eat them. We fed some to Cuchulain too although he seemed happy to mostly just eat grass. Berries alone weren’t the most substantial breakfast I’d ever had but they were certainly better than nothing. I thought about where we could possibly go to find more food but that reminded me of our situation.

             “I wonder what we ought to do next,” I said to myself, looking around the forest. I was glad we didn’t have to face any dangers in the night as I knew now that I was a terrible watchman. It would be better if we found somewhere else to stay than a forest although going somewhere more populated posed the risked of getting caught by someone who could have been sent to look for us. “Any ideas?” I asked, turning to Florian.

             “Well I think we can assume that going back would be a bad idea for me. Whether or not it’s as a sacrifice, I’ll probably be killed on the spot as soon as the priests see me,” he said with a sigh. “But maybe it would be better for you to return? You’ll probably be in less trouble if you go back now and apologize than if they find you later.”

             Despite all the time I’d spent wondering what was going on at home, retuning hadn’t even crossed my mind as a viable option. The priests didn’t seem like the forgiving sort no matter how soon you apologized to them. I supposed, however, that no matter how much they wanted to hurt me, I would have to be kept alive as according to the people, I was Rua, the goddess that the priests had built their entire rule upon, and killing me in front of their followers would crumble the foundations - it would be deicide. Of course, killing me secretly would be another matter so I had to agree that returning wasn’t the best idea.

             “I think it would be better for us to stick together,” I added as I explained this to Florian. I wasn’t sure how long he’d last trying to survive on his own and I probably couldn’t either.

             “Then I suppose we can either keep hiding here or find somewhere else to go,” he replied. “I think I’d prefer the later. Somewhere with new clothes would be nice as I’ve torn this dress about as far up as is decent by now.”

           I almost laughed. It surprised me that of all things, clothes were what Florian was concerned about right now. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about your arm?” I asked.

             Florian pulled back the improvised bandage to examine the wound. “It seems to be healing relatively well,” he replied. “I don’t think it was too deep a cut.”

             “Still, we should really get it properly treated,” I said.

             “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. Then he smiled. “You know, it’s funny how unfazed I am about it. Usually, if I had been hurt back in Gallia or at the temple, I would have made ever such a fuss about even the smallest bruise. I guess almost being killed really puts everything into perspective.”

             “I can only imagine what it must have been like…” I replied. I was terrified too and I wasn’t even the one being sacrificed.

             Suddenly we herd from behind us what sounded like a loud yawn followed by a voice. “What are all these branches doing against my tree?” it said.

             Florian and I looked at each other in confusion. When we turned to where the voice had come from, there didn’t seem to be anyone there. I looked over at Cuchulain just in case he hadn’t magically learned how to talk but it didn’t seem to be coming from him.

             “Who said that?” I asked, slightly concerned. The voice didn’t sound hostile but it could have been some strange trick by the priests. Florian picked up a stick, probably to defend himself.

             “Up here!” came the voice again. “In the leaves!”

             About half way up the trunk of the tree we’d been using as our shelter, there was a small branch covered in leaves which was unusual as the rest of the tree was almost bare. In the leaves, I could just make out what appeared to be a strange green face. It was a man’s face which had leaves for his eyebrows and beard. He looked like the sort of creature you would only find in a fairytale book but as far as I could tell, he seemed real.

             “Who are you?” I asked.

             “Honestly Rua, don’t you recognize your old friend, The Green Man? I suppose it has been 100 years or so since we last spoke but I’m surprised you’d forget a face like mine!” he said with a laugh. “Was it you and your blue friend there who put these branches here?”

           “Yes, sorry. We needed to build a shelter,” I replied. If what he was saying was true, then Sionnach had known him which somehow put me more at ease. I still kept my guard up though, just in case.

             “Oh well that’s alright,” The Green Man said. “I was asleep until now anyway so I didn’t notice you when you arrived. Would you mind moving the branches now though? They’re a bit scratchy.”

             It didn’t seem to make sense that a tree would find branches scratchy but Florian and I got to work taking them off him. I picked up the blanket from the ground and folded it before putting it back in Cuchulain’s saddle bag. The Green Man seemed like a rather chatty sort of person and he kept on talking while we dismantled the shelter.

             “So what was it that made you come back to this forest, Rua?” he asked. “Those priests giving you trouble again?”

             “Yes, you could say that,” I replied. I wondered if I should tell him I was a different person than Sionnach. The two of us must have looked similar as he seemed to think I was her. I began wondering whether I’d had somehow been drawn to this forest because she had been here as well.

             “Trouble is an understatement!” Florian said.

             When we explained to him what had happened, he didn’t seem surprised. He just shook his head sadly, making the leaves around him rustle. “I always knew the priests were no good. Clearly they’re just telling lies. If I know you Rua, you’re more about giving life than taking it, right? In fact, I probably have you to thank for my own existence.”

             “Don’t mention it,” I replied. He seemed to have so much faith in me that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was probably just a coincidence of nature. I moved the rest of the branches away.

             “That’s much better.” The Green Man said. “Sorry for making you dismantle your shelter. Feel free to build it again using a different, non-sentient tree if you want.”

             “Thank you but we were actually planning to make a move soon,” I replied.

             “Really? Where are you going?”

             “…We haven’t really decided yet. Somewhere other than home, I suppose.”

             The Green Man looked like he was thinking. “Well, Anglia is the closest place of course. You could probably get there in less than a day if you had a boat.”

             “Yeah, let’s not go there,” Florian said. It was understandable considering his past.

             “Why ever not?” The Green Man asked. “My cousins live there and they say it’s a very nice place. I wish I could visit it one day but I’m a tree.”

             “To be fair, I think I agree that Anglia’s not the best place to go,” I said quickly as I imagined Florian probably didn’t want to tell his entire life story to a complete stranger. “As lovely as I’m sure it is, there’s currently a lot of tension between the Anglicans and Saint’s Isle. We’ve been trying to stay out of their way but it’s clear they’ve been thinking of invading for years and the only thing that’s stopping them is that they don’t know how to defend themselves against our magic. So for me to turn up there as a known royal of Saint’s Isle would probably cause a stir to say the least.”

             “Hmm yes, I suppose you’re right. I can never keep track of what’s going on in the world nowadays. It seems safer to assume that everyone’s fighting all the time!” The Green Man said with a sigh.

             “What about Gallia?” Florian suggested.

             “Yeah, that could be more promising,” I replied. “We’d need a ship though, one with room enough to carry a horse.”

             “I think I might be able to help you there!” said The Green Man. “If you carry on south from here for ten miles or so, you’ll reach a finishing village with many boats and ships in the docks. Once you arrive, look for a man by the name of Guildenstern and tell him I sent you. He has a ship and I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.”

             It sounded almost too convenient but whether or not we would follow this advice, we still needed to get out of Saint’s Isle while we had the chance so Florian and I decided to make our way to the fishing village anyway. We thanked The Green Man and once Cuchulain was prepared for riding, we set off.

             The fishing village was easy enough to find; it was exactly where The Green Man said it would be. Finding Guildenstern, however, proved to be a bit more complicated. In retrospect, we probably should have asked for more information as to his whereabouts but we were so anxious to leave that I suppose it didn’t cross our minds. We didn’t even know which ship belonged to Guildenstern either and there were so many of them that there was no hope of checking them all.

             “Do we even know what the man looks like?” Florian asked as we wandered the streets.

             “No, and we haven’t even considered that if he’s a sailor of some sort, he might have set sail already,” I sighed.

             People were staring at us and it made me feel on edge. We must have stood out quite a bit; me still in my ceremonial dress, covered in golden jewelry from head to toe, and Florian with the torn bandage around his arm and his bright blue hair. I did my best to ignore the eyes and hoped that no one recognized us from the ceremony.

             After we’d walked aimlessly up and down the length of the harbor several times, we finally had a stroke of luck when a doctor approached us and offered to heal Florian’s arm in return for a piece of my jewelry. Florian told me it was too high a price and that he’d be fine but I accepted the deal and gave the doctor one of my bracelets. He took us to his small house near by where he kept all his medical supplies and he sat Florian down and began to disinfect the wound with what smelled like some sort of alcohol-based solution. Meanwhile I wandered around the room and looked at the many shelves stacked with jars, most of which contained various herbs and spices. Others seemed to contain stranger things like giant eggs and pickled snakes. I was glad neither Florian nor I had whatever ailment required you to take those.

             “There you go, now that the wound is properly treated, it should heal within a week or two,” the doctor told Florian once he’d put on a proper bandage.

             “Thank you,” Florian replied.

             “No problem,” said the doctor. “Thanks to your friend here, I should be able to make enough money from that bracelet to build a bigger house with room for even more patients so the two of you are welcome here anytime you’re in need of further medical assistance.”

             “That’s wonderful, thank you,” I said. It was nice to meet someone so selfless and to learn that the money from my bracelet would go towards helping others was deeply touching. We were about to leave and then I remembered to ask about Guildenstern.

             “Hmm…the name rings a bell. Maybe he was one of my patients at one point. I think the best person to ask, however, would be the bartender at The Old Sailmaker’s Inn, he knows everyone in town.”

             We thanked the doctor once again and headed outside to find the inn. Just a short walk from the doctor’s house, it was a rather large building on the waterfront in which many people were sitting and drinking while singing along to a tune that was being played by a bard with a lute in the corner of the room. For a moment, I got distracted just watching him play. I wanted to join in so badly but we’d already spent too long in Saint’s Isle and we needed to get a move on.

             People were still watching us as we made our way up to the bar and I continued trying to ignore them. Before we could even begin to ask about Guildenstern, the bartender expected us to order something. I tried to decline as we were in a rush but he didn’t seem interested in telling us anything otherwise. I wasn’t too fond of most alcoholic beverages. There were a few I didn’t mind but here, they only seemed to serve ale and mead. We ordered bread and soup instead since so far berries were the only thing we’d eaten today. It certainly wasn’t the best meal I’d ever had but it was nothing to complain about either. At the castle, the soup was thicker and less watery and the bread was softer. I always knew I was privileged but on this journey I was beginning to realize just how much better off I was than the common people. I wished there was more I could do to help them.

             “So what was it you came here to ask?” the bartender asked now that we’d actually bought something (using my jewelry, of course.)

             “We’re looking for a man by the name of Guildenstern,” I said. “The doctor said you might know him.”

             Before the bartender could even reply, we heard a voice from behind us. “I heard my name! Who’s talking about me?”

             We turned around to see a rather tall man striding towards the bar. He had long black hair tied at the back and an eye patch covered his left eye. His expression didn’t exactly look friendly either and I couldn’t help feeling intimidated by him as he approached.

             “I guess that’s our man,” Florian whispered to me in a tone that suggested he wasn’t feeling too confident right now either.

             “I am the one who goes by Guildenstern,” he said in a gruff voice. “Who’s been talking behind my back?”

             “No one was talking behind your back, good sir,” the bartender said, although he looked rather nervous in his presence as well. “These rather pretty boys were just asking for your whereabouts.”

             “Pretty? Why, thank you, darling!” Florian said. Guildenstern ignored him and turned to me.

             “Why? What do you want?” he asked.

             “We need you to take us to Gallia on your ship,” I replied, trying to sound confident. “The Green Man told us you’d be able to.”

             Guildenstern looked angrily at me as if I’d just spilled a drink on his new shirt or something. I wondered if I should have phrased my words more carefully. He sighed loudly. “Alright. I am not in the least bit pleased to have to do this but I am a man of my word and I owe The Green Man a favor so I suppose I’ll have to,” he said. “If you want to go, meet me at the docks, 3 o’clock sharp. If you’re not there, you’ll have to find someone else to take you as I’m not waiting around!” Then he stormed back to his table.

             “Well he seems nice,” Florian said.

 Chapter 3- The Voyage

             We spent the rest of the morning buying provisions for the journey at the market. I was getting more and more concerned the longer we stayed here that someone would recognize us. It was a relief when 3 o’clock arrived. We collected Cuchulain from where we left him in the stables and met Guildenstern. He was standing in front of what appeared to be the biggest ship in the docks. It looked more like some sort of navy ship than something that would be owned by just one man.

             “Looks like they’ll be plenty of room for you, Cuchulain,” I told him. He neighed in what seemed to be a happy tone.

             Guildenstern didn’t look happy at all though. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a horse!” he complained. “Do you realize how much of a pain this already is?”

             “Yes, but we appreciate that you agreed help us anyway despite the inconvenience,” I replied quickly. He rolled his eyes and then gestured for us to get on board.

           “This is a beautiful ship,” Florian commented, looking around at all the intricate carvings. Elaborate designs of flowers and fruit had been engraved into almost every surface, including the mast.

             “It is,” Guildenstern replied shorty. He stomped up the steps towards the wheel.

             “Where did you get it?” I asked. “It’s not Saint’s Isle made, is it?” Saint’s Isle ships were usually decorated too but less elaborately so, and the designs usually consisted of intertwining lines rather than flowers.

             “No, it’s Gallian but it belonged to some Anglican navy members when I stole it from them,” Guildenstern replied.

             “Typical Anglicans always stealing everything from us!” Florian said bitterly.

             “Hey, not all Anglicans are terrible people, you know!” Guildenstern said. “I’m an Anglican-born man myself.”

             ‘Yes and you’re a lovely person,’ I wanted to say but I managed to refrain. “You say you stole the ship?” I asked instead.

             “I did. I’m a pirate, can’t you tell?” Guildenstern replied. “I lost my eye in the fight for it but I reckon it was worth it. I’ve never found a faster ship.”

             “Good, I can’t wait to go back!” Florian said.

             “But how did you steal the ship from the Anglican navy?” I asked. “Surely you didn’t fight alone.”

             “No, I used to be part of a crew but they all died of scurvy on a particularly long journey last year. I barely survived myself and I was left alone, being pursed by Anglican bounty hunters. Saint’s Isle was the closest country I could get to at the time so I sailed there as quickly as I was able and I hid from the bounty hunters in a forest where I met The Green Man. He let me eat the fruit from his tree which somehow brought me back to full health.”

             “Ah, that’s how you know him,” I said. “I never realized he had healing fruit.”

             “It would be nice if he had given us some. It could have healed my arm!” Florian added.

             “The fruit only grows in summer!” Guildenstern replied earnestly as if he felt he needed to defend The Green Man. “And giving me that fruit wasn’t the only thing he did for me either. When the bounty hunters came searching for me, I climbed his tree and hid in the branches. He told them that I had fell into a river near by and drowned and they believed him! They returned to Anglia and I’ve lived peacefully in Saint’s Isle ever since.”

             “Are you still a pirate then?” I asked.

             “I don’t need to be. Since the rest of my crew died, we didn’t have to share the gold from that last voyage. I’ve got enough to last me a lifetime!”

             “You don’t seem too upset about the deaths of the rest of your crew,” Florian commented.

             “Well I was a bit but I didn’t really have a strong bond with any of them. We were all in it for ourselves really.”

             Florian and I looked at each other, unsure what to think.

             “How long until we arrive?” I asked, deciding it would be a good idea to change the subject.

             “We should be there by morning if the weather holds up,” Guildenstern replied. “There’s room to sleep below deck. Get some rest there if you want.”

             “That sounds like a good idea!” Florian said followed by what looked like a rather staged yawn. He probably wanted to get away from Guildenstern. I have to admit, he still intimidated me a little as well so I agreed and we went down to find the sleeping quarters, leaving Guildenstern at the wheel.

             It was much darker below deck and a single lantern hung from the wooden beams overhead along with the hammocks. The rest of the space was taken up by large boxes and crates containing supplies. I noticed a ladder in one corner of the room which probably lead down to the lower levels of the ship.

             Florian climbed into the nearest hammock. Even though it was only a few minutes past three, both of us were tiered after all the traveling we’d done that day. I’d never slept in a hammock before and I didn’t expect it to swing quite so much as I attempted to get into the one. I clumsily fell into it face-first, making Florian giggle.

             “I meant to do that,” I said.

             “Sure you did,” Florian replied. “Have you even slept aboard a ship before?”

             I managed to turn myself around to lie on my back. “Well…not in a hammock. I usually get a bed in my own room on our royal ships.” I hopped me admitting this didn’t make me come across as boastful or entitled but Florian seemed impressed.

             “A bed in your own room? That sounds amazing! I haven’t slept in a proper bed since I lived in Gallia,” he replied with a sigh.

             “Maybe you’ll be able to when we get there?” I suggested although I was concerned about what Gallia would be like now that it was an Anglican colony.

             “Maybe,” Florian agreed.

             There were a few minutes of silence between us so I assumed Florian was now going to sleep. He had turned to lie on his side, facing away from me. I heard him sigh again and I wondered if he was ok. After everything he’d been through so far, no one could have expected him to be particularly merry but I thought he’d be a little happier now that we were retuning to his homeland. I wished I could go home too. I was missing my family and I still worried about what could have happened after we ran away. I was about to try and get some sleep but then I heard Florian sniff quietly like he was crying.

             “Are you alright?” I asked.

             “Fine,” Florian replied in a small voice.

             I wasn’t buying it. “Are you sure?”

             Florian didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to do.

             “Aren’t you glad we’re going to Gallia?” I asked. It was all I could think of that might lighten his spirits.

             “I am,” Florian said quietly. “Of course I am, it’s my home.”

              “So what’s the matter?”

             he turned around to face me again. “…I just wish my sister could be here too. She would have loved to have gone home again,” Florian explained sadly. “I’ve been worried about her ever since we ran away and now I’m scared I’ll never see her again…she’s the only family I’ve got left.”

             I felt bad all of a sudden. Of course, I hadn’t known Florian had a sister when I saved him and even if I did, there probably wasn’t anything we could have done to bring her with us if she was at the temple when the sacrifice was supposed to happen but I wished I could have helped them both.

             “…Maybe we’ll be able to return to Saint’s Isle when all of this has blown over and you’ll see her again then?” I suggested. It seemed unlikely but it was the pretty much the only positive outcome I could think of. I knew that really, we were both wondering if she was even still alive.

             Florian looked at me with a weak smile and I got that he appreciated I was trying to help but it wasn’t working. “I’m not sure this is the sort of thing that just ‘blows over’,” he sighed. “Maybe I should just try not to think about it for now…”

             That sounded like a good idea to me. It wasn’t like there was anything we could do right now to change the situation and we’d never get to sleep if we were kept awake with questions we didn’t have the answers to.

             “Why don’t you tell me about Gallia instead?” I suggested. It was the first thing I could think of that might take his mind off it. His eyes seemed to light up at the idea.

             “You’ve never been there before?” he asked, surprised.

             “No, I haven’t but it’s always sounded nice from what I’ve heard,” I replied. “I suppose, in my lifetime, they never had anything important enough to discuss with Saint’s Isle that required a visit so I never had to go. Is it as beautiful as they say?”

             “It is!” Florian replied, sitting up now in his hammock. “It’s quite a large country so it varies a little depending on where you go, but from where I’m from in the south, it’s sunny almost everyday and you can walk along the miles of sandy shoreline where the water is bright blue and flowers as big as cabbages grow everywhere in every colour you can think of!”

             It sounded amazing. “Ah yes, I’ve heard it’s famous for it’s flowers,” I said.

             “And we’re very proud of it. Floral designs decorate almost everything in Gallia and we even have flower festivals too!” Florian said enthusiastically. “Also, our clothes often have flowers embroidered onto them as well. I used to love buying a plain dress or a tunic from the market whenever I had the money and then stitching my own floral patterns into it with multi-colored threads. Even though I was only young, I have to say I made some pretty beautiful designs.”

             “You did strike me as someone who was into fashion,” I replied. Everything in Florian’s personality made even more sense when describing his favorite things about his country and I was glad that this seemed to have cheered him up.

             “Yes, I am very much so. I’ve always loved dressing up and sewing and choosing different materials and threads and all of that…in fact, one day I think I’d like to open a clothing shop of my own,” Florian said, staring up at the celling.

             “That would be wonderful!” I said. It was great that he had a dream too. He seemed so hopeful about it that I felt bad for mentally questioning the likelihood of it ever coming true. “I’ll be your first customer.” I added for good measure.

             Florian smiled. “Thank you, darling,” he said before yawning. “I think my mind is at ease enough for me to sleep now. I’ll just keep thinking about the beautiful clothes I’m going to design for you when you visit my shop.”

             “I can’t wait to wear them,” I replied. “Sleep well.”

             “You too!”