Archive of Our Own ^beta

 You are meticulous.

It was a fact of yourself that had been long ironed into your psyche. Cold. Indifferent. That's what many of the other fae saw when they looked at you. A reputation built, brick by brick, decades in the making. Practicality was your means and your ends. For a time, it afforded you much, your word trusted among the highest in the courts. Even if it was those same aristocrats that often glared with jealousy at the ears you held.

It bothered you none, however. Let the prideful claw and fester in their envy. You had little use for such proclivities. Letting emotions run rampant was how mistakes were made. And you did not make mistakes.

At least, you didn't. Until a strange thing happened. 

The winter court was a place you favored for relaxation, though your home resided in spring. It also happened to be the most distant of the courts. Much like yourself, it kept to itself, performed its functions as needed. Clinical, sharp. The King and his Queen as glacial as the icy lands they ruled. It was by their grace you held a stead, clinging to the edges of the mountains that mark the border between spring and winter. A home away from home. Your own quiet paradise. Rarely was it heard of for faeries of another season to mingle in such a way, especially in the frigidness of winter. Fortunately for you, King Glaceas and Queen Varis had found need of your services, one stormy day.

The clouds had been thick over all the seasons, a rare but not unheard of event in which the weather was shared. Rain poured in spring, summer, and autumn, while a blizzard wailed across winter's tundra. It is here where an urgent call had arrived through your own personal mirror. Intrigued, you had answered, and come face to face with the stoic King. You would have deemed it a pleasure to see him, but you could tell right away that something was wrong. The King was known for his ever-grim expression, you yourself had seen it once or twice during court meetings, but that was how you knew instantly that it was different. The lines firmer, pressed hard into a near scowl, icy purple eyes burning a low flame within.

He had asked of you your experience with ancient rights and magics, straight to the point. You answered truthfully, being a thorough archivist, head keeper of spring's oldest library. A place that granted you access to information most would either consider dangerous or boring. Not you, though. Throughout your tenor there, you had consumed much, from traditions and histories older than time itself, to the newest branches of understanding that had sprung from the fae's ever-expanding knowledge.

Seeming satisfied, the King had insisted that he only talk to you in person about his needs. You had readily complied, using the very same mirror to open a portal to winter's palace with his consent. Upon entering the cool, monolith building, you had been ushered deep into the castle, arriving at a heavily fortified door. What you'd found within had shocked you, at first.

The son of winter, the King and Queen's only heir, lay on a plush bed. His eyes had been closed, breathing heavy, clear strain and ache across his body. When you arrived, all attendants were ordered to clear the room, the door closing and sealing with a soft crackle of frost.

It was here the King revealed what happened. A poison. Something he had not seen before. One which his son suffered greatly under, being struck by an assassin's bolt. The perpetrators had long been dealt with, but all efforts to cure his son had proved moot. Auroren became iller by the day, and when his shirt was removed, you got a glimpse at why.

An ugly, dark purple marred his flesh, spreading from a star-shaped marking on his right abdomen where the arrow struck. Lines like brambles entwined an admittedly beautiful form, teal and cerulean winding with light yellow and turquoise shades. Befitting the aurora he was named for, though his face, clammy as it was, matched more to the moon, round and split delicately, akin to a crescent, by the cerulean and a matte silver. Wings like leaves were gently cradled by the mattress, ten in total, split evenly along his spinal column, only slightly opaque and capturing the aureola of the full moon within. His hair shone, a halo upon his head from which the locks flowed like satin, glimmering sapphire, platinum white, and lavender.

It was here the aforementioned strangeness began. Fae were alluring creatures by nature, meant to draw the eye and trick others into letting down their guards. You yourself were no different. Yet, for a reason you had been unable to quantify at the time, it had taken massive effort for you to look away from the distressed, slumbering prince's visage. You'd had many discussions with yourself over what, exactly, caught your attention the first time. You had come to settle on his likeness to the moon. There was no shortage of those whom admired it and its light, and you would never deny yourself among them. The moon had been your closest companion for a long time, illuminating your office and home as you spent countless hours within, reading, drawing, unwinding from whatever the day threw at you. It had become such a comfort that seeing it live, laid bare before you, had ensnared you.

Regardless, it had taken you mere moments upon examining the wound to garner what the root cause. "Your Highness," you had addressed him, promptly regarding him. "You say you have caught the guilty parties, yes?"

He had nodded. "Of course. My personal guard saw to it themselves, as did I. No one shall ever strike a blow to my court without facing my full wrath."

The dip of your head you'd given in return was not meant to boost his confidence, but acknowledge him as the unyielding force that he is. "I have no doubts about that, my King. Sadly, one may yet have slipped your grasp. Though no one could be at fault for this. After all, what reason would you have to suspect the celestials of foul play? They hardly ever interact with the other planes."

Your words made him stiffen as you carefully, ever-so-gently, traced around the wonky eight points from which the poisonous lines spread. A subtle rose gold glow trailed at your touch, and with surgical precision you extracted a small bubble of the toxin, oily yet contained by your magic. "This is indeed a very rare substance. One entirely forbidden to be made, after the chaos at the universe's creation. Pure entropy. A melding of chaos and matter that only the celestials are capable of extracting and molding from the ether. It's been so long since it has been seen, it is a wonder that even any of the remaining celestials might remember how to make it. Then again, it's been eons since a celestial has come from above at all. Correct?"

Your challenge did not break the King, not that anyone could easily tell. Yet there was an increased stoniness to his mask that told you otherwise. There had been a celestial visit, recent enough to warrant backlash to whatever occurred. He had refused to elaborate, though. He simply moved on, demanding to know what must be done.

"That is, blessedly, simple, my King. The cure for entropy is its counterpart, harmony. However, it, too, can be deadly. We are all beings crafted by both, after all. A distilled version is what you require. One from a being of light, whose blood is golden white. If you can get the aid of your fellow king, you may yet reverse this entropy before it consumes the prince completely. It will require time, though, and multiple, surgically precise infusions."

Your advice did not make him any happier. Winter was ought to stand alone, and reaching out for the aid of summer would not come without a wounded ego and bargaining. Still, Glaceas was not going to let his son be taken by such a fate. The toll would be heavy, for the purest of the required blood was, ironically, well known to reside in Summer's own heir, his youngest of ten sons. Your part in this was done, however. While you were versed in a great many things, every King surrounded themselves with those at the tops of their fields. In other words, he had those that could aid him in negotiations, and highly experienced doctors at his beck and call.

You took your leave not long after, with assurances from the King he'd contact you should things go well. He was not one to linger in debts, and you had come at his summons lacking any trace of hesitation, despite the squall outside and risks you might face.

Life had returned to a sort of normalcy, at least from a distance. No one could tell that your gaze and focus had drifted. That you kept a keen ear out for news from winter. That you started to delve deeper and deeper into the archives in search of more knowledge about the prince and his family. It did not take you long to admit to yourself you were experiencing something you never had before, not in your nigh immortal life: attraction.

This new emotion was such a fascinating thing, you found. There was plenty of research for you to delve into, others you could study from afar. Dissecting. Trying to understand it. Another puzzle that you had to solve, logic be damned. You were well aware emotions and logic did not mix, after all. Not entirely. True, they could easily temper each other, pull one back from making rash decisions, but anything related to love was never quite so simple, as much as you would like it to be. You, or anyone else. You were no idiot, after all. You cannot pull apart a concept. Place it in a chemical response, or subjugate it in a book. No, the more one tried to fit it into the image they wanted, the more it would twist, the colors of the puzzle would smear and get tangled.

So, you did what you did best. You waited. You learned. You plotted, from afar. You could never say you did not want to meet the prince again, preferably under circumstances where you might actually speak to one another. You yearned, deep inside, to get to know him. It was an intensity that was nearly maddening, but you reined yourself in. Patience is the most important tool in your arsenal. There was no need to rush. The King would reach out to you soon, you knew it. There'd been rumblings in the court about a meeting between the two Kings, and that someone, somewhere, was sworn to have seen a prince of summer traveling through autumn.

Sure enough, a few months later, you stood before your mirror, poised, hovering, hands folded neatly behind you as King Glaceas asked what you wanted for your help. That is where the first part of your plan began. "A home," you had answered swiftly. "One within the bounds of winter, that I might abide there at my whims. Much as I enjoy a good storm and the growth of spring, I am admittedly partial to your environment, my King."

You knew for a fact you had caught him unawares with your request. It was completely unheard of, truly. Of all the seasons, winter was the most inhospitable, and most other seasonal faes avoided it like a plague. The King is a being of his word, though. He had ordered its creation immediately, and soon a sprawling estate greeted you. It was gorgeous, truly. A design of enchanted white wood and ice, catching the light in a pleasing fashion. You had thanked the King, wished him well, slipping in that you were glad to know his son was making such a speedy recovery.

Glaceas did not trust you. Not fully. Such was his nature. Such was yours, too. You recognized it within each other, and while it did foster a sense of mutual respect, he was careful about your presence at first. You could feel the eyes watching you the first several months you stayed there. It was intermittent, random. Sought only as a break from your responsibilities in spring. Truly, you did admire winter. You spent many hours walking its quiet, serene landscapes. Frozen lakes and rivers, dark, unique flora, the cautious fauna that made their homes among the snow, rock, and white-capped woods. At some point, the prying attention relaxed. The threat of you lessened.

It was thus the next phase came into play. 

One twilight evening, a familiar figure arrived at your door. It had been far too long since you'd last seen him, but the image of him stayed sculpted in your mind always. 

"Hello," Auroren had greeted you, clearly feeling rather awkward. His attire shimmered a glimmering mauve and gray that complimented him perfectly, his hair braided into a veil that hung over his shoulder like the tail of a nightcap, complete with a silver star charm. The irony of it was not lost on you, though you found yourself unable to comment, nearly getting lost in your own head again. One word from such a soft, yet earthy voice, one look from eyes that shone like the ocean under moonlight, and you were almost instantly gone. It took the greatest of your willpower to regain your senses and speak.

"Good evening, my Prince," you welcome him kindly. "My, what an unexpected pleasure. What, might I ask, brings you here tonight?"

It would not take a top level mage to know why he was there, but you would indulge him. Guide the conversation, but let him think he is taking the lead. 

"Ah," he mutters, clawed fingers fidgeting together shyly. Adorable. "Sorry if I'm intruding on anything, I just...well, I wanted to thank you. From my understanding, it was you whom identified my...illness, yes?"

You smile. "Indeed. It warms me to see you in better health, my Prince. It really was no bother to assist your father, a thanks is not necessary."

Auroren frowned slightly, then, at your statement. "Nonsense," he rebuffed. "I might not be standing here if you hadn't come, even in the midst of an all-season storm. I insist, I must thank you personally."

Appearing to cave, admit defeat, you bow your head once more. "Of course, my Prince. I meant no offense. Please, come in, if you would like. Unless you are in a hurry? I would be loathe to hold you up."

Glancing behind him, Auroren appears to hesitate, but then his focus lands back on you and a small smile blooms. "No, no, that's fine. Truthfully, I do not have much to do, as of late," he admits, breaching the threshold of your abode. "Father has always been very adamant about running things himself, and given recent events I've all but been confined to the palace til recently."

Closing the door behind him, you turn to usher the prince into your sitting room. "I imagine you must have quite the cabin fever, then," you contemplate, moving to prepare a batch of tea. "Any preferences?" you asked him, indicating the kettle. Pausing as he began to sit in one of the velveteen chairs, he shook his head. "Host's pick," he declared, and you shrugged before offering another head dip.

Grabbing a citrus and lavender, one you had already placed to be a good starter, based on factors you'd learned during your research, you go quiet, giving the prince a moment to gather his thoughts. 

"I'll admit, I am usually content in the palace most days, though that is more of my own volition than anything. I do love the gardens, however, and the forests behind the castle. There is a pond deep inside it that I enjoy going to read or practice my playing," he tells you, chuckling nervously. 

Twisting with a gentle grin, you bring the tray of tea over, placing it on a floating table between your seat and his. Picking up your cup, you usher the surface and his drink toward him. Alongside the pot and china are small jars containing honey, sugar cubes, and cream. Sheepishly, the prince attempts, and fails, to subtly put a helping of each in. You pretend not to eye his actions, hiding any potential slip in your expression by blowing on your own steaming liquid before responding. 

"You play, my Prince? What type of instrument, if you do not mind my asking?" you inquire harmlessly. 

Auroren waves off your faux uncertainty. "Not at all!" he assures you, leaning back, getting comfortable in his chair and taking a sip. You can tell how it brightens him so, a sparkle lifting in his gaze. "Ah, I am versed in woodwind. Rather cliche for a fae, I know. But in all honesty, I do prefer percussion. Much to the castle's chagrin, in my learning years."

You chortle through a drink, which the prince is swift to mirror you on. Humming delight under his breath, he all but melts into the chair. "Goodness, this almost tastes exactly like the tea at home," he comments. Your giggle draws his gaze, a questioning, curious glance, accompanied by the slightest tilt of his head, it nearly makes your insides stutter and explode. 

"I have always been told I have a knack for reading people. There is no denial that I am partial to a bit of sour in my food as well, with a dollop of sweet. It seems we have that in common, alongside our love for books and nature," you divert smoothly, putting your now empty glass to the side for later. 

Auroren's face appears to lift and light up, then crumble into something a bit more timid. He plays at his locks, stroking his claws through the mesh and strands woven tightly together. The star makes a tiny jingle at his actions, revealing a tiny bell to be housed within. He suddenly seems much more...bashful. Unbeknownst to him, your own sharp digits dig in a little deeper along your armrests.

"Y-yes, well, they do sharpen the mind, after all. A-and provide a rather good story, if you choose the right one," he responds, much more muted than before.

"That they do," you agree casually. "I take it you like fiction, then, my Prince?"

Auroren nods, continuing to play with his hair while looking to the side, the fireplace, anywhere but you. Oh, this is going so much better and faster than you anticipated. Of course he would be the introverted type.

"I like to think I'm very...creative. Reading others' works, it inspires me. N-not to say I don't like history, too, just...not as much," he tells you, and you nod along.

"Understandable. It's not for everyone. Many such records can feel rather tedious to read through. Cosmos knows I've gone through more than my fair share of such novels. Though, I am nothing if not someone who enjoys the mundane just as much as the fantastic. I'd be rather ill-suited to my position in spring's library otherwise," you mull, easing the conversation full circle.

The prince perks, his teacup placed aside with a tiny flicker of regret, as if he wanted more, but withholds from asking. "Ah, so that must be how you were able to figure out what was wrong then," he mumbles. Your head motions sideways, an agreeing gesture. 

"I have dedicated many years to sifting through spring's archives. Making sure everything is where it should be, that it has not been tampered with, that information is correct and hasn't been too misconstrued throughout the eons. Accuracy is an important thing to me. Without the truth, people tend to be easily manipulated by the lies of others. I do not like to see such things happen, if I can help. After all, the very history I study is full of such people, and the way they did things should never be forgotten, so that it does not repeat. Much like bringing back such a foul, dangerous substance, and especially using it on a kind soul as yourself, my Prince. Truly awful. I am glad I could help you, in the end," you pontificate, filling the cups again.

Reclaiming his drink with an eagerness he quickly gets sheepish about, he lowers it to his lap to let it cool for a moment. "Wow, that is a very admirable level of commitment," he praises hushly, swirling his cup, orbs glued to his distorted figure within. "You are very kind yourself," he returns, whispering your name under his breath, as if afraid to address you so personally. Your smile softens, even as you cap the roaring urges hiding beneath your skin. 

"I am glad you see me that way, my Prince. Many would disagree with such an assessment. Most members of the courts find me rather cold, befitting of a place here. I do not think they mean harm with such beliefs, but then again, many of them are far more headstrong than myself, more...set in their ways, as it were."

Auroren scoffs, a proceeding chuckle lit by a faint amusement that has nothing to do with actual joy. "Yes, I can certainly understand that. They do not take kindly to those of different tastes. Less decadent. Quiet. Even the aristocrats here aren't much better, though at least the other seasons have passion, from the few interactions I've had outside winter. But their biggest blunder is thinking any lesser of you for doing what you do, being who you are. I do not think you are cold. Quite the opposite. Calm...calm is a much better term to describe you, I think. It's...nice."

"Thank you, my Prince. That...that means a lot, to me. You are equally undeserving of any strife from them. Your company has been incredibly...pleasant." You taste the word on your tongue, a heaviness that does not convey nearly as much as you would like about your thoughts concerning winter's prince. You are still new, though, and you know better than to go too fast. It is akin to a fish on a hook, as you've read about. One must be careful to not make the bait too obvious or inviting. Even the most naive or blind fish can sense when something is too good to be true.

Finishing your second cup, you stand, much to Auroren's clear disappointment. "I would love to continue this conversation, my Prince, but I am afraid it is getting rather late. I would not wish to distress your father or mother any more than they have been, particularly where you are concerned. However, my door is always open, if you wish to talk again after tonight. The only reason I would not answer to you, my Prince, is if I am in spring."

Jolting at your statement, Auroren appears to realize how dark it's become outside the window. Hurriedly, he downs the tea before gently placing the cup back on its china plate and leaping to his feet. "Cosmos, you are right, father and mother will kill me themselves if I don't get back soon! Goodness, I got so caught up in talking, I lost track of time! Forgive me for the rush, but I really must go!"

You already have the door open to let him out, smiling softly as assurance that you do not mind. "No need to fret, my Prince. I am afraid I myself am guilty of losing track of the hour. I hope it doesn't cause too many problems for you."

Scrambling down the steps, Auroren's wings begin to flap, though he otherwise stills to look back at you before he departs. The half-moon light catches on his translucent appendages, taking away your breath yet again as he speaks. "This was lovely, truly. And...and I think I would rather like seeing you again, when I am able." There's that faint blush, returning from the depths of his bashfulness. Your claws gouge along the inside of the door.

"Also, please, call me Auroren." 

With that, he'd departed. It was far from the last time you saw him, though. Oh no, no. You kept him coming back. You gave him things to look forward to. And with the guard lowered at your presence, it made it easier to observe. To memorize. To get in close, carefully watching at a distance. It was from this you learned what life was really like in winter. What the carefully built walls of the darkest season held inside. The prince, your prince, he...he was little more than a tool. An amusement, at best. The cleverly crafted facade of the winter King and Queen you thought you knew crumbled before your very eyes.

They were rigid with Auroren. Uncaring of where their son wandered. He slipped from his guard so easily, it was no wonder he'd been an easy target for the assassin. The mystery of what the king had been up to that led to it in the first place begin to nag at you. You needed to know just how far this rabbit hole went. So, with scalpel-edged precision, you snuck through the castle. Unraveled the king's security, their rounds, what they did and where they went. The King and Queen spent a great deal of time in separate rooms, just as distant with each other. The king's study was his safe haven, and the place you were most eager to search.

With the right timing, you did so with ease. You scoured every inch, used your own honed skills in magic to ensure your entrance went unnoticed, and to find whatever the king may have hidden. And oh did you find it. 

Your entire being shook with rage as you crumpled the paper in your hand. Anger is an emotion you are equally unfamiliar with. It was a consuming, burning thing. You wanted to scream. To go confront the king. But no. That was not your place. Instead, you would let his hubris catch up with him. He would not weasel himself out of this one. He would not use his son, or you, as a pawn again. You would make sure of it. Kill two birds with one stone. It was time to enact the third part of your plan, but it would come at a cost now. The prince would not take well to it, not at first. It was so obvious a blind man could see it. This would be for his own good, though. It would probably require time for you to help him understand what was really going on. He might not believe you, in the beginning. You already ache, thinking about his face when he learns the truth. But if you were going to have him save him, you had to do this. 

After all, one did not simply take a royal fae. Not without consequences. However, you'd been ready for those from day one.

You are meticulous.

Nothing left to chance. Every variable accounted for. No guards to pester you. No one to know where he'd gone. Hidden from any passing gaze on his way to your house. You flew around back when he landed, out of sight, and strode inside to await his knock. It came only moments later. You let enough time pass to make it seem like you had come from somewhere else in the house. You led him inside. Chatted. Oh, how easily the conversation flowed between you now. How you longed to have it keep being this simple, but you had a plan to complete. Your grandest one yet, even among all your years in the courts, playing the diplomat for feuding fae that insisted on making their own ridiculous plots for revenge. You'd scoffed at them so easily for their machinations, yet here you were, about to pull off something that had not been done in centuries. Who is the foolish one now?

You sat in your library this time, a location that had become your favorite place to spend time inside with the prince. It was filled with varying genres, and you knew the prince was grateful for you bringing new pieces over from spring. There was a very strict system inside winter's library, apparently as much a means to keep books from stray hands as it was about the frost that sometimes caused them to disintegrate during particularly freezing nights.

You served his favorite tea. He could never resist the citrus and lavender, though he had, by his own admission, found fondness in honeysuckle and kiwi. An interesting combination with his penchant for honey, sugar, and cream. Minutely, you worked your small silver tea spoon along the rim of your own cup, creating a low hum. You let him talk, a content smile on your face. Your expression and rapt attention seemed to catch his eye mid-rant about his latest castle escapade (which you already knew about), and then he was blushing and stuttering again. You wouldn't deny a part of you was going to relish what came next.

As he sipped the last of his drink, you waited patiently. It didn't take long. A mere few blinks, slurred confusion, and then he slumped forward. Silently, you stand, movements graceful as you round the table to linger beside the slumbering prince's form. His face looks so peaceful, despite the distress you know he will experience upon waking. For a short while, you allow yourself to admire him once more. Your fingers brush delicately along his cheek, his hair, over the rim of a wing. You shudder at how soft they each feel. Oh, how lecherous a creature you've become in his presence.

This moment cannot last long, however. There is still work you must do. Gently, you lift Auroren, holding him close to you. He is lighter than you thought, even among fae standards. It takes effort to not tighten your grip at the revelation. Instead, you divest your energy into making a portal. A hole, one which tears through one plane into the next. While you are loathe to leave the fae wilds, it is necessary. No one can know where the prince is, there must be zero signs should your homes be searched. Even any traces of the tear will be dealt with.

But that is a concern for later down the road. For now, you step into the mortal plane. The air here is foul, at least in your opinion. Steeped in the aura of man, lacking the pure, untamed magic that flows through every breath one takes within the wilds. You have gone through quite the rigorous search to locate a place in which you might keep out prying eyes, all while ensuring Auroren would maintain certain luxuries, when the time was right. A humble cottage along a small, forested lake, hidden beneath the shadow of an always snow-capped mountain. Each and every detail was prepared with Auroren's preferences in mind. Flora, decor, food. Though those would come into play later on. After the prince had settled from his initial turmoil.

Entering the building, you make your way to a solid oak door. It opens with the subtle glow of your rose gold magic, and you descend into the basement. Around the corner of the stairs, a blank wall appears to greet you. An easily crafted illusion, hiding the iron door, weaving its appearance to match the cement. You enter the chamber, giving no pause when you tread to the side of the already prepared bed, placing the prince atop it.

The room is, admittedly, minimal. That is often how Auroren prefers it, though. There is still plenty to keep him occupied, however. A line of bookshelves, crammed to the brink, a chest filled with instruments, a desk where he might indulge in art and writing. He proclaimed more skill in the latter rather than the former, though it never hurt to ensure both were accessible. 

The most important feature to the room, however, were it's many enchantments. Etched into every inch, spells meant to contain any power aside from your own. You could not leave Auroren's capabilities to chance. Pacifist he might be, that did not change the fact Auroren was a royal. Their power was rarely surpassed by others, and it had taken much digging to give yourself the means by which you would guarantee he did not break free while you tried to explain everything to him.

The shackles, of course, were a crucial part of it. Your overkill insurance, as it were. Gleaming iron wrapped around elegant wrists, chains disappearing into the floor. There is an odd mixture of emotions in your gut upon stepping back to take in your handiwork. You do not enjoy breaking the prince's trust, but at the same time, there is a darker part of you, one that you have kept rigorously contained since the start of all this, that very much enjoys the sight of the prince being completely vulnerable before you, at your mercy. Revels in how easily you were able to get his trust in the first place. You nearly shake at the sight and the thought of it all, a sliver of a shiver the only thing that manages to escape before you force yourself to take the desk seat. 

Above, along the very top of the wall beside his bed, a long, thin window allows in the thinnest of light, and provides a slight peek at the landscape outside. There is no true way the prince might use it for escape or aid, but you still placed iron bars along it, just to be safe. In the sunlight, you watch him sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The tranquil features of his face, so unbothered, untethered from the problems he will soon face. Greedily, you soak it in. You know it will be a long time before you see him so peaceful again.

Eventually, the drug runs its course. He stirs. His lids flutter, confused, groggy, lost. His head swivels sluggishly, eyes landing on you. You offer him a smile, one which he returns, though it is doused in his bewilderment. Your name utters from his lips, stilted. "I'm...I'm sorry. Did...did I fall asleep?" he questions slowly, perplexed. 

You hum, keeping yourself rooted in place. You must be delicate with your actions and words right now. "Yes, Auroren, you did," you mutter gentle, soothing. "But that is not entirely your fault."

His brow scrunches, trying to comprehend the meaning of your statement. At last, he shifts, moving to sit up. You remain mute, waiting, placing the exact moment when he both feels and sees the lengths of chains, acknowledges the metal binds on his wrists. His eyes blow wide, and they flash back to you. The first inkling of that crack, that realization of betrayal, shows itself. The uncertainty. The puzzle he cannot yet grasp, but will soon. He turns to you for answers, scared, anxious. You war with yourself, even though you knew this was coming. Even though you braced yourself, over and over again. Your grip tightens on the armrests. Auroren does not miss it this time, eyes flicking down, then back up, concern deepening.

"Auroren," you begin softly, willing your body to relax once more. "There are a great many things I need to discuss with you. Things that go back to our very first meeting, that stormy night. That which I have come to realize and uncover since then."

You let your words soak in. Let it sink through his psyche that none of this was an accident. Observed the cracks at they further splintered across his visage. "I want to go home." There is a tremble in his voice. He no longer looks at you, locking his gaze to the floor. He grips the mattress like a lifeline. Like it might save him from the stormy sea inside, that he might wake up and everything would just have been a bad dream.

It takes significant effort to not lean closer, to not gravitate towards him in comfort. You would provide no more comfort. Not now. Not for a long time. 

"I am sorry, Auroren," you tell him plainly. Truthfully. Sincerity bleeds into every syllable. "But that is not an option anymore."

For a moment, he goes completely still. As if struck, an animal blinded by a great light. It doesn't take long for him to begin shaking, though. A tremble to his frame. His voice is a near whimper when he speaks next. "Why?"

You do not answer him. Not right away. Instead, you watch him, study him, take in his current level of distress. That dark part of you writhes, and this time, you barely contain it. "Let me tell you a tale of two people, my Prince," you answer him cryptically, moving your arms to fold them into your lap. Auroren lifts his gaze just enough to offer you that same adorably confused expression, washing away the hurt, if only for a second. "Now, these two people, they were very much alike in many ways. Reserved. Strict. Each rigid in their day to day lives and the tasks they must do. To them, emotions were a concept to be placed second to sense. Yet, there were two crucial differences between these people. One, was their positions. While both held high ranks, the first could not compare to the second on such a detail. And two, what they used their cunning for."

Turning slightly, you pick up a familiar parchment, placed on the desk beside you. "For you see, where one would quell quarrels and bring peace, the other was far crueler in their intent. A sight he hid from all, until he caught the first's attention, one fateful, stormy night. He thought them to be the perfect scapegoat. Truly, he had lost his edge, believing he could outmaneuver anyone. That would be his final mistake."

You let your story build, scrutinized Auroren's reactions. Watched him put the pieces together, before you continued. "Though, there is one other thing that happened that night. A twist of fate that led to the first's own selfish desires blossoming. A turn which led them to discovering the second's treachery. For that night, they met someone. They did not speak to one another, not in the beginning, for this third was unable to at the time. The first could not forget, though. So, they did what they did best. They pulled strings. They manipulated, to their own benefit. And when the time came, everything fell into place. They and the third would get their chance to talk."

You go quiet once more. Auroren stares at you, utterly baffled. There is no use in hiding names behind the guise of a tale at this point. Meeting his gaze, you attempt to stay neutral, calm. "When I first saw you, Auroren, it was like a flip switched within me. I had never felt so intensely before. I knew there would be barriers I would have to get through, though, to have a chance to properly speak to you. And for a time, I certainly had exactly what I wanted. There is one thing you need to understand about me, though, Auroren. My dear, beloved, sweet, naive Prince."

Like flowing water, you stand, looming over the bed. Auroren shrinks, the slight softness that had dared to re-enter his blue orbs swallowed by apprehension, fear. "For every rumor, a grain of truth," you whisper, the light bending unnaturally to stretch your shadow over him. "The courts are right to be wary. To whisper behind my back. I do not seek power, but I do hold it, and I am not afraid to use it. I care little for politics, but I know how to wield it. Unlike your father. Unlike you. My aforementioned coldness is not as far fetched as I made it seem, dear Auroren. There was always a part of the plan where this could play out, even before I found out what your father had done. For you, I am a selfish creature. I would have preferred to keep you happy, but I place your safety above all else."

Petrified, Auroren hunches into the bed, making himself smaller, gripping at his shackled wrist. "W...what are you talking about? Please, you're scaring me." Opal tears build at his rims, on the verge of spilling. It tugs at your heart, yet simultaneously, that festering darkness thrashes, drinking it in gleefully.

"Your father, Auroren," you dial down the intensity of your voice. "And your mother. They both signed off on the assassination attempt. They have been plotting to hide what they've been doing, but I dug free the truth. Their little deal with a certain celestial. The game they wanted to play with your life, and mine. Well, they will lose it, now. The ball will never be in their court again, not so long as I exist."

Leaning down, you watch Auroren flinch, orbs wide with horror, and you place the paper beside him. Retreating a step, you wait for him to pick up the contract. It did not back everything you told him, but there was more evidence, squirreled away by the strongest magic that the King and Queen thought they could keep hidden, split between their offices. They had been far from child's play to obtain, yet it would be all you needed should they try to drag you down with them. 

"I far from enjoy having to show you this, Auroren," you tell him as his eyes devour each word. His hold on it tightens, quivering in his hand, tears falling in earnest. "However, I can attest that their betrayal will not go unpunished. They have nothing left to offer, after all. Except themselves. Their status. Everything they actually hold dear. They will know recompense. A celestial like that will not let them get away so easily."

Auroren stiffens at your promises, gaze snapping up to you. "Wait- wait- please. I know this looks bad, but they are still my parents. They still...I still..."

He cannot bring himself to say the word. Your perfectly placed mask slips down into a frown. Something boils within you, but you temper it. Kneeling at the bedside, you ensnare his focus. His eyes pool with his vulnerability, his conflict, shining with his tears. Gently, you lift and wipe away a glistening white trail. "My dear Auroren," you shush him tenderly. "What you had was not love. I spent many days watching the palace. I saw how you were treated, when they thought no one was looking. They did not have the best intentions for you, even if you told yourself that, over and over. It enraged me to see it. But that is all over now. None shall attempt to harm you again."

Cradling his cheek, you felt the fierceness beginning to creep back into your expression. "Their treachery will end as they deserve to have it end. And should they attempt to drag me down with them, point the finger at me as they had plotted, I will unmake them both with the evidence I have. I'll be the hero of the tale the courts will tell, though one that will contain a tragic end for one character."

Auroren's brow furrows, and you ease yourself from him. Once more, you encircle the prince, lean over him, arms on either side. "The poor, gentle prince, disappeared into the night, likely at his parents' own hands. Never to be seen in the fae wilds again. Gone without a trace. And oh, how the hero will mourn their failure, but what could they do? How could they have seen it coming, kept the prince, their dear friend, safe?"

Auroren resumes his trembling beneath you, lifting an arm to delicately but firmly grasp his chin, keep his eyes pinned to yours. "I won't allow it again," you murmur, sharp as ice. "I did not wish for things to have to go this way, for our relationship to get marred by my most extreme of measures, but I have been left little choice. You are mine, Auroren. I love you, and I will keep you safe. No matter the cost."

 Your pen taps against the clipboard, triple checking the list secured atop it. Cappuccino, fully stocked. Espresso, half supply, though you've already placed the order for more. Creams and sugars, a near overabundance after today's shipment came in. The cabinets were lined with cups and lids of varying sizes. Soft serve and syrups consume half the freezer.

"You've been staring at that clipboard for the past ten minutes. I think it's safe to say we're done with restocks and orders," your boss huffs, standing to the side by where the counter lets out onto the sitting area. 

Your hair sways as you glance his way, dark locks catching the light. "Never hurts to be sure, boss man," you quip, before forcing yourself to stand from your hunched position. Stretching, your bones crack pleasantly, tossing the pen on top of the paper. "We can never forgot the rush of last year, now can we? Nope, no more deadly mistakes here!"

The jest manages to pull a genuine chuckle from your usually stoic superior. "Fair point, though I am severely doubting you on that last one," he comments, eyeing you sternly.

A bit of the levity leaves you, smile slipping the slightest, and you try not to sigh under your breath. He wasn't a huge fan of the company you kept, you know this. Still, it wasn't like you were the most conventional person around, either. Especially not for a little town. You've had more than your fair share of parents shooting scowls your way, a few 'good Christian folk' try to 'guide you from Satan'. Having a darker, Gothic style made certain types go apeshit. Hell, there'd been more than one disparaging whisper about you 'fitting right in' with the circus folks ever since they came to town.

 So what if you hung out with them? Yeah, you did like their style. That didn't make them wrong or evil. And honestly, this whole 'disappearances' nonsense getting pegged on unconventional newcomers was starting to grate at you. You'd seen what true evil looked like, and these clowns...well, they just weren't it. At least, you didn't think so. True, they were a little macabre, and they hid behind literal masks, but that was just both parts of their jobs and who they were. Not much different from yourself, really. Pierrot and Harlequin could certainly be intense in their own ways, but they hadn't done anything outright to make you suspect anything. As for the other performers, you haven't really interacted with them the same. Jester and Doctor certainly gave interesting vibes, and Ticket Taker appeared the most docile of them all.

Not that any of that was here nor there for this conversation. You sure as hell didn't fancy getting into an argument with your boss over it. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I've got it covered," you wave him off. I know what I'm doing. He gives you an extra hard stare for a second, but lets it drop. 

"Alright. I'm heading out for the night. You know how to reach me if anything happens. Try to get of here before ten, I still don't like the idea of you being out too late after what happened with Carol," he instructs you, strict.

Your smile is more plastered on than ever. "Got it, boss man." You definitely don't have to worry about me staying too late.

With an affirmative grunt, he departs. The cafe sees little action after his departure, the day winding down into a stunning twilight. Of all the things to get tired of in this town, the view certainly wasn't it.

At some point, just on the verge of closing, you receive one of the visitors you've been expecting all day. Your lips quirk in a vague grin at the green and black clad performer's arrival. He returns your greeting ten fold, always so proud to display those faux fangs. At least, you think they were fake. Jury was still out on what exactly the hell was going on there. You at the very least suspected he filed them or something. 

"Well, well, burning the midnight oil, all for me, darling?" he chortles, leaning up against the counter. 

"Sure, Harles. You know I'm always in need of a good heater before I have to step outside to go home, and you certainly have enough red hot ego to do the job," you tease, already turning to make his usual. At least you could always rely on knowing what him and Pierrot li-

"Ah, actually, darling, I was thinking of trying a little something different tonight. A beverage fiery enough to match my aforementioned glamorous pride," he interrupts, and you twist your head to look at him. As could be expected, he wears the most shit eating of grins, posed like a peacock, overtaking the counter like he owns the place. "Do you have any recommendations? Perhaps a drink you might enjoy yourself?"

You huff lowly, amused. "I don't actually drink coffee. Shocking, I know. The only thing warm around here I'd take is a hot chocolate. Afraid I'm more in the Pierrot boat with shakes, maybe a fruit smoothie."

His expression sours a little, though whether it's at the mention of his rival or your preferences, you doubt you'll ever know. The circus clowns are rather astute at playing mysterious. Harlequin was the most unabashed among their group about voicing his opinions and plans, and that was saying something, considering how much he enjoyed teasing you about whatever wicked plots he was concocting. You still were not over that 'take you away from him' comment he'd given on the first day you met him and he learned of your connection to Pierrot.

"Well then," he clips. "How about you take a crack at it, hm? Surprise me. What do you think I'd like?"

Oh, that was a dangerous game he was playing. A part of you was tempted to mess with him. Maybe just give him his usual, or perhaps make a jab by crafting Pierrot's normal order. But no. You might not care for coffee yourself, but you still had your pride as a barista. So, he wanted something with a little kick to it, and warm....

Mulling over your ingredients, you glance from the espresso machine to Harlequin, then back again. Hm, alright. Your hands fly through the practiced motions, and what felt like the blink of an eye later, you were handing him a cup, steam rising from within. Harlequin takes it, turning around to lean back against the counter. You couldn't see his face when he took a sip, but you immediately knew when it hit his system when he jolted in place. 

"Goodness, dear one, whatever is in this...fascinating mixture you've given me?" he all but splutters, placing the cup down beside him. Not entirely unexpected. There was a lot of caffeine in particular with what you whipped up, the initial reaction was always bound to be from that first.

"Just wait," you instruct, sing song, and he shoots you a look, eyebrow raised. Then, he pauses. His brows scrunch in, and he pulls a disconcerted face before they abruptly shoot right back up. 

"Well, that is...certainly something," he notes, appearing to swirl his tongue in his mouth to re-taste the lingering flavor.

"Yup. It's all about the aftertaste with that one. Once the energy shots fade, that's when you get the good stuff," you inform him, and watch him cautiously go for another swig. There's a slight grimace when you see him mask again, consuming the coffee out of sight still, but it lessens much more quickly.

"Hm, I suppose I could get used to this," he mumbles, and your grin returns. Just in time for your phone to start going off. 

"Shit," you mutter, fumbling to turn off the alarm. "Alright, clown boy, time to clear out. I've got ten minutes before my shifts ends, and I need to make this place spick and span. I'm surprised you're even here this late. Shouldn't you be off telling another one of your violent tales?"

Harlequin pushes away from the counter, straightening himself and his outfit while swirling his cup in one hand, leaving it dangling between his fingers. "I've already finished my block for the night. I do not know if you have noticed, my dear, but it is getting dark much earlier. Besides, it is a cleaning night, and where else was I to go to escape such a fate?"

He drapes his other hand dramatically over his forehead, lids mostly shut, though you can see the peek of his green eyes from within the eye holes, and his smirk entirely gives him away. You scoff at his theatrics. "Right. So, in other words, you just want to leave all the heavy lifting and tedious work to everyone else. Especially Pierrot, I'm assuming."

Fixing his posture, you catch the tip of a tongue poking from his mask. "Guilty on all accounts, darling," he snickers. 

Rolling your eyes, you deadpan at him. "I should smack you over the head or something. Maybe knock some decency into you. Or, better yet, you can pay for that drink, and Pierrot's for next time he comes in."

Harlequin freezes, squinting at you from under his mask. "Oh, darling, we both know that's not happening," he decrees, firmly placing the money for his drink alone. You have half a mind to argue, for all the good it will do you, though merely end up shaking your head at him.

"Honestly, you two are petty beings with each other. I don't know what your beef is, but you really ought to try and settle it at some point. You can't stay mad at each other forever," you advise, handling the cash into the register.

Harlequin barks a laugh, as if you've told the funniest joke he's ever heard. "Dear one, you have no idea," he tells you. You peer up, intending to question him. Except, as per usual, he is departing after dropping another mysterious line. "Well, I must be off, little snake," he crows, referencing your piercings. You wondered when he'd use that one tonight. He found no end of amusement about it when you told him what they were called. 

"Yeah, yeah," you shoo him off. "You better go help before Jester drags you back kicking and screaming. Though I would pay good money to see that," you snark, grinning at him in the open doorway. 

Harlequin scoffs. "My, whatever do you mean? I was never anywhere else tonight aside from my tent, preparing to perform my due diligence." He places a clawed finger to his porcelain lips, winking, and then he is gone, your laughter chasing after him through the glass door. 

With the green menace swallowed by the night, your smile instantly vanishes, and you rush to clean up. Anxiously, you glance through the window, checking the moon's position in the sky. At record speed, you secure the cafe and begin to walk away. Instead of heading straight home, however, you head in the opposite direction. Farther and farther you stride, until the edge of town comes and goes. You throw the occasional look over your shoulder, checking, confirming with yourself that no one has seen you. You cannot risk anyone becoming curious at the sight of you traveling off into the night, especially with all the commotion around town lately. It's already made things so much more difficult.

Diverting from the roadside, you enter into a grove of aspen and oak trees. They shield you from view, hiding you from the prying eyes of creature and human alike. You check your phone. 10:48. You still have a little over an hour. 

Releasing a shaky sigh, you plop onto the ground. Grass cushions you, and a tiny stream flows nearby. You scoped out this spot years ago, when you first moved here. It has proven to be safe, a luxury you did not always have, particularly where the early years of your predicament were concerned. You would think, after all this time, it would get easier. That you would panic less at thought of what was about to happen. And perhaps to a degree, that was true. Still, every time it happened, you had to prepare yourself. Meditate. Calm your nerves and brace your body and soul. 

It was never easy, being at the mercy of the world, and being unable to do anything about it. 

Crossing your legs over each other, you take your pose, inhale a deep breath, and begin your meditation. You try not to focus on the negatives, the future. You ground yourself to the present. Breathe in, breathe out. Hear the wind. The shift of the leaves, the scampering of tiny animals, the trickle of the water. Let it consume you, clear your mind. You are here. You are okay. Everything will be fine, just like it always is. You've survived this cycle for lifetimes, what's one more night?

At least here and now, you do not have to fear your tormentor's presence ever again. 

Your second alarm of the night goes off. The inhale you were taking sharpens, nearly impaling your lungs and barely withholding a cough. Silently, you gather yourself. Setting your phone on top of an old stump, you begin to undress and neatly fold the clothing, placing the fabric over your device. With another sharp breath that causes your shoulders to lift then fall, you stare up at the moon and wait. It is beautiful, a night away from being full. Throughout all of this, the moon has been nothing if not a steadfast companion, despite how it ties into your plight. You cannot blame the celestial rock for the role it plays. It, too, is just an unwitting pawn in a cruel god's game. Even during the new moon, when you cannot fully discern its shape, you find it to be an anchor. It will fall, it will rise. It will see you through to the end. 

Your thoughts are cut short by a seizing of your lungs. This time, a cough does rattle out, followed by another, then you are thrown into a fit. You feel the familiar pressure in your throat, the catch of something in your airway. Instinctively, your body collapses, falling to your knees, hand holding at your blocked windpipe. At the next cough, from your mouth emerges something velveteen and soft. A purple, white, and yellow object that catches in the silvery moonlight.  

Slowly, you begin to change. Your body shrinks. Your skin tone shifts. From your lips, a green stem emerges, leaves unfurling from it. The change is never painless. It leaves your lungs and body burning from the inside out. A scarring sensation that takes days to fade to something comfortable enough to not make your muscles ache with every movement, when all is said and done.

Your hands and feet morph, stretching out into thin roots, planting themselves into the ground. Closing your eyes, you let the shift finalize, and before you know it, you are but an iris. White petals bloom, dyed by tear-shaped loops of amethyst, cut halfway through by thin yellow points. You stand out among the grass and weeds, ethereal, reaching for the star-speckled sky beside the remains of the fallen aspen.

Mutely, you sigh. Thus begins your day. It will be hours before the sun rises, and longer still til it sets and the moon replaces it once more. You have naught but you and nature to keep yourself occupied until the moon sets tomorrow morning.

However, mere minutes into your twice monthly dilemma, you catch the sound of footsteps. Internally, you stiffen. Was it a deer? A fox? Neither were much of a threat to you, quite common in this area, and most often passed you by. Still, you could never help your paranoia, especially in this form.

Then a shadow falls over you. Spacial awareness while you are like this is...odd. You can see what is around you, but only if you focus. And what you do find, when you look, makes the water that is now your blood turn from cold to ice. 

"My dear," Pierrot breathes, looming over you. The expression on his mask is aghast, a far cry from his usual smile. Panic envelops you. He saw. He saw everything. Did he follow you? Oh. Oh no. You've misplaced your trust, haven't you? Maybe the rumors were right. Why else would he do such a thing? Was he just waiting for the right moment? Well, he certainly had it. You assuredly held no means by which to defend yourself at this moment. 

Your stem quivers, rattling your leaves, petals fluttering in an invisible wind. You tremble. It had been a very long time since anyone had seen you like this. At least, anyone who was aware that it was you. Now, all you could do was wait. Anticipate the worst. Would he pluck you? Stomp on you? Gloat the power he lorded over you, unable to do anything? Treat you as some sort of fascinating specimen? It would not be the first time. You were not unfamiliar with the feeling of broken bones when you change back, with being disconnected from yourself. 

Pierrot seems to catch the unbidden motions of your floral being. The stiffness in his form eases, softens. The frown lifts itself into something small and gentle. "It is alright, my dear," he coos lowly, knees folding as he comes to kneel beside you. "You are safe. No harm shall befall to you this night, or ever. I will not allow it."

Your mind freezes in its tracks. A million questions swarm your conscious, confused, lost in the turn of events. He trailed you, stalked you, all the way out here, but he does not mean to hurt you? How is it that he does not bat an eye at witnessing something so nonsensical? Just who is Pierrot, really? What is the circus? They do not feel magical. At least, not in the way that you have become attuned to. True, there is something uncanny to them, but it never struck you as being related to the craft. It is something else entirely, if anything.

Wordlessly, Pierrot watches you. Allows you to calm. His hands fold neatly in his lap, keeping them to himself, letting you see all of him in return. He avoids startling you, as he sometimes unintentionally does. Eventually, the rigidness in your stem lessens. You let the wind flow naturally through your petals, bobbing and swaying as any other true flower would. Pierrot's smile grows, then shrinks. 

"How truly beautiful you are, my dear, even as a flower. So resplendent in the moonlight," he mutters, shattering the silence. Carefully, cautiously, with the slowness of someone approaching a cornered animal, Pierrot lifts a hand. Your motions still, holding your breath, when gloved, sharp fingers smooth along your petals. You both shiver, for entirely different reasons. Mostly.

"Yet this is not a natural thing, is it? However could this have come to pass, my iris?" he murmurs, low and soft. You wish you could answer him. Explain this wild series of events that is your life. It will have to wait, sadly. Not a peep can you speak until the dawn of a new day. Pierrot seems to realize this, reluctantly relenting from your silky blossom, hand returning to his lap.

In the end, Pierrot spends the entire day beside you. He chats to pass the time, commenting on his last show, apologizing for not being able to make it to the cafe to spend time with you. When he is unable to keep a topic going, he finds other ways to pass the time. He scoops water from the nearby stream to feed you. Plucks reeds and flowering weeds to craft flowers crowns, one which he places atop his head, while he makes the other small enough to fit in the middle of your bloom. It is a little funny, you'll admit. A flower wearing flowers. You yearn to giggle along with him, but he somehow gets the message with how your flower reacts to his actions.

When the sun sets, he lays beside you, gazing up at the stars. His attention constantly wanders, though, latching to you at every twitch of your petals. You wonder why he has not left. Does he not need to eat? Drink? Relieve himself? How can he be so sure that you will not be stuck like this forever, or at least days more? It adds to the cloud of confusion in your head. Pierrot shadowed you here, yet he has not shown any ill intent to your vulnerable self. 

Several hours after the golden light of day has surrendered to the void, you become aware of another rustle nearby. More footsteps. Pierrot shoots upward, straight as a rocket, and you bend into yourself, wary. 

Harlequin steps onto the scene, and you both tense. "Here you are, Pierrot," he purrs, narrowing his gaze at his compatriot. "Jester has been in a fuss at your lacking presence all day. What the hell have you been doing out here?"

Pierrot bristles, getting to his feet to stand between you and the other circus member. His glare says it all, and the Harlequin chuckles. It cuts off, however, when he spots something behind the performer. "Is that...?"

Risking a brief glance, Pierrot follows his gaze, landing on your clothes. In the moonlight, the unmistakable pins glint on your collar. There is no denying that the outfit belongs to you.

Harlequin's being tightens in a way you have not seen before. He wears his usual grin, but it gleams with none of its average mischief. He almost looks...angry. "Well, well, Pierrot, you mongrel. That certainly was fast. Though, correct me if I'm wrong, but I do not see our precious little darling around. Wherever might they be, Pierrot? And so bare, mind you."

His teeth form a near snarl, a deadly glint and vibration to his slitted pupils that makes you think there is something you're missing. Does he suspect Pierrot harmed you, somehow? That implied it was something not outside the realm of possibility, at least in Harlequin's mind. The more you learn about the circus performers, the less certain you become about your earlier assessments.

Pierrot reacts indignantly, his own mouth twisting into a silent growl. There is no hiding his disdain at whatever Harlequin is implying, and the other clown seems to recognize that. There is a subtle shift to his stance, a predator reining itself back from where it was prepared to pounce.

Mutely, Pierrot's attention flicks sideways, to Harlequin's perspective glancing at your attire, but in reality checking on you. You have gone perfectly limp, still, doing everything in your power to have the appearance of a normal flower. Pierrot is one thing, but Harlequin is something else. You know he would tease you, at the very least, if he knew the truth. You are not certain if he would do worse, especially not after the past twenty-four hours. The growing mysteries of your new friends leave you festering with doubts. 

Pierrot, thankfully, does not rat you out. Instead, he merely shakes his head. Harlequin's unhappy smile drops into a proper frown. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he hisses. "You don't know where they are? I don't believe that for a second, you obsessive, lovesick idiot. What are you hiding, Pierrot?"

Pierrot refuses to budge, rooted in place as much as you are. Harlequin, growing annoyed, snaps his teeth. "Fine," he snips, his stare chucking metaphorical daggers at the knife thrower. "I don't have time for this anyway. You need to get back to the circus before Jester comes looking for you themselves. They are already in a foul mood, and I don't want to hear it if I return empty-handed, so get a move on."

The silent giant does not move, despite Harlequin obviously expecting him to do so. When it becomes clear he's not going to let Harlequin order him back like some sort of dog, despite the threat of Jester, the green cast member's grin upturns bitterly. "Oh, are you really looking to fight right now? I'm sure that will do wonderful things for this situation. Then again, when have I ever turned you down for such a thing, hm, Pierrot?"

He slithers forward one step, then another. The grin he wears stretches almost unnaturally. Something writhes in the darkness behind his mask, and your mental eyes widen. What the fuck is that?

Before it can go any further, however, Pierrot panics, retreating at Harlequin's advance, which makes him halt. His head tilts, bells chiming, thrown off by his much stronger rival backing down so suddenly. More perplexed then ever, Harlequin watches Pierrot debate something, then he turns and approaches you. This is it, you think. He's going to reveal your secret.

Except, that's not what happens. What takes place next might arguably be worse.

Grabbing your clothes, receiving a curious noise from Harlequin, Pierrot labors to tie your pant legs together, then vanishes the rest of your outfit, and phone, into the many folds of his own. Then, he crouches down beside you.

His claws reach out, and it instantly dawns on you what he's about to do. You quiver in your mouthless form, unable to protest, when he, very, very vigilantly, begins to dig you up. He makes sure not to nick a single root, and while you are grateful, you are equally horrified. He is taking you with him, instead of leaving you in a place where no one might bother you. Obsessive, lovesick idiot. Harlequin's words echo in your head.

When you are fully freed, he scoops up additional dirt to fill your pants, then gently places you inside. Your roots coil into the soil immediately, and you cling to them, frightened and unsure. Pierrot might not seek to harm you, but he is outright kidnapping you. He might worry about your safety, left here all alone without someone to guard you, but he has to know that you know what you're doing. That you feel safe here, after witnessing your preparations. Still, he can't bring himself to leave you alone. 

Satisfied, Pierrot rises to his feet, cradling your flower like it's the most precious thing in the whole world. Harlequin stares at him as if he's lost his mind, though the red and gold clown ignores him. Marching past his rival, it takes a second for Harlequin to follow, lingering on the enigma of what, exactly, is happening right now.

The trek to the circus is an hour tops, setting the moon ever closer to the horizon. When you arrive, Ticket Taker welcomes back his fellows with a tip of his hat, proceeding to whirl on a heel and lead them deeper inside. You pass by the pink tent, then the green, red, and make your way into Jester's lair. And it does feel like a lair. As if you're entering a private place, sacred, being allowed a glimpse into something that does not belong to you, full of darkness and shadows and myth.

Jester turns their head upon the party's arrival, grinning a smile that does not reach their purple orbs. "Ah, Pierrot, there you are. Where in the world have you been all day, hm?"

There's an air to the Jester that is intimidating always, yet in the lacking presence of an audience, it appears doubly so. Pierrot withers just the slightest at a mere glance, but he is still diligent to not disturb you. Jester's focus zips down at his cautious movements, and they sneer. "Out picking flowers? Is that what kept you for an entire day?"

Pierrot shuffles in place, allowing time for Harlequin to, rather unhelpfully, pipe up. "I did find him simply lazing about in the forest outside town. No idea what he could have been doing out there for so long, but there were someone's clothes nearby."

Harlequin titters into his hand, heavily amused at whatever trouble such a statement might get his rival into. Jester's attention snaps back to Pierrot, and their eyes narrow. "What did you do, Pierrot?" they accuse harshly.

Pierrot's bells jingle with the force that his head shakes, vehemently denying his wrongdoing. Despite your current feelings on what Pierrot has done, you instinctively curl closer to him, protective. It wasn't his fault, and Harlequin was being entirely unhelpful in this situation, as per usual.

Jester's ice cold smile turns into a scowl. "No? Can you explain to me what is going on here, then?" they seethe. 

Struggling to piece together an excuse, something which has no doubt been racing through his mind since Harlequin came to drag him back, a new voice interrupts, smooth, dull, accented. 

"What an interesting specimen you have there, Pierrot," Doctor notes, emerging from behind Jester. Pierrot stiffens, his grip tightening the slightest on your makeshift pot. Immediately, the ring leader's eyes turn to horizontal slits, following the Doctor's gaze where you unintentionally press closer to your only defender. Something about the Doctor's stare is stirring unpleasant memories, and if there is one thing you know, it is that you do not want him to touch you. Kidnapper he may be, you are certain Pierrot will, at the very least, protect you, even from his fellows.

"A color swapped iris, so out of season and yet looking so healthy. Tell me, wherever did you find it?" Doctor presses, moving closer. Pierrot recoils, shielding you from the most aloof of their troupe, baring his teeth. There are eyes trying to observe you now, far too many for your liking, and it is taking all you have to not give yourself away. 

Harlequin, too, has his interest increase in Pierrot's trophy. The one he insisted on bringing. That he could not leave behind. Even though he could do the same to his dear one, even being so callous as to take their clothes while they were, seemingly, nude and running amok in the woods. So unlike Pierrot. So unlike him at all. There was something he was missing here, and he wanted to know what it was.

"I saw him dig it up by a little stream, earlier. It was simply growing there, right next to where the little human's clothes were," he injects. A new piece to the puzzle for the others. Not just some random clothes. They knew whom he spoke of. Pierrot shot Harlequin a scorching glare, and Jester huffs.

"Enough of this," they snap. "Pierrot, you need to speak. If you have done something to endanger us, or your human has, I need to know." Their gaze bores into him, unyielding. For a second, Pierrot flinches. An instinctive reaction. Your metaphorical heart rate spikes. Is he going to cave? Tell them all what he'd seen?

He doesn't get the chance. You feel a familiar snap beneath you, a shiver through your roots that begins to spring them up, one by one. No. No, no, no, no. Not here! Not now! Extending your awareness as far as you can, you catch the smallest inkling of golden-orange light beginning to color the ground where the tent's entrance is. Panic overcomes you. Pierrot already knew your secret, and that was one person too many! Not to mention, you sure as hell didn't trust anyone else here. Especially the Doctor, with how acute his senses presented themselves to be, narrowing in on the oddity of you before anyone else. You could feel him noticing you, even now, tucked into the shadow of Pierrot, your roots slithering inward, waning, changing. Your petals furling in on themselves, returning to a bud. The lengthening of your stem.

You had no way to warn Pierrot, so caught up in deciding what to do about Jester's impatient demand for answers. Pierrot comprehends too late the growing weight in his arms. Attention shooting down to you, the performer can do little more than fret and scramble about as your humanity returns. Skin, then organs, then blood flowing through you. A startlingly loud gulp of air to refill your lungs anew, choking out the last few petals. 

You are left cradled in Pierrot's arms, nude, whole, and at the center of every single person's bug-eyed scrutiny. 

"Um, what the fuck?"

Harlequin is the first to break the silence, and you and Pierrot both jump at it, akin to the crack of a whip in the quiet that proceeded your transformation.

"How interesting," the Doctor's voice bleeds through next, and you grip at Pierrot's silky top subconsciously. You do not like his tone still. Picking up on your discomfort, the knife thrower switches back into protective mode, arm that isn't supporting you shifting to hide your form from his troupe's prying eyes. The look he casts about could easily kill.

Not that any of them pay his deathly aura any mind. "Well, that was certainly...something," Jester voices, locking onto you, despite your efforts to hide. "What peculiarity have we stumbled across this time, I wonder?"

Their hands folds together, and they all but glide closer, much to you and your defender's displeasure. "Tell me, little one. What exactly are you?"

Completely ignoring any warning signs from Pierrot about getting too close, the Jester looms, and you are forced to meet their gaze. No use in being timid now. The cat is most assuredly out of the bag. "I'm human," you state firmly, though there is a hoarseness to your voice after the suffocating treatment your cords received. "A human who just got very, very unlucky, and drew someone's ire that I shouldn't have."

Pierrot squeezes you, an attempt at comfort, you think, but it does nothing to quell how fast your heart beats beneath the Jester's intimidating, all consuming presence.

"Oh? And who might that have been?" they pry, unfolding their arms to rest an elbow in one while cupping their face in a hand, a sharp digit tapping away at the side of their head. Waiting. Expectant. You had half a mind to tell them to fuck off, but you weren't stupid. Pierrot's protection could only get you so far. Jester was the leader among them, and if they decided you proved too difficult...well, you had a sneaking suspicion you'd find out those rumors were true after all.

Defeated, your shoulders slump, and you let out a sigh. It's been ages since you've recounted the tale of what happened to you, short and bittersweet as it might be. You've long since learned to avoid telling anyone your secret, no matter how close you thought you were. 

"Something tells me you might know a little something about the existence of gods. Or, at least, god-like beings," you start, catching Jester and Pierrot share a glance, even as the latter still bristles at how close Jester is. "When I was actually young, a person from a long distant, far away village across the ocean, there was one such being who ruled my home. Maybe not on paper, or in the eyes of the parliament that dismissed our pleas, but he was there. Always watching, always waiting. A silent judge, juror, and executioner. Soon, it became too much. Some of us began to speak out, including myself. Maybe a bit too loudly, in all honesty, but I will not regret doing what was right. One day, while out gathering herbs in the woods, I was confronted by the god. He toyed with me as I argued with him about his form of justice. About fairness. For my 'hubris', as he called it, he cursed me. That at the very start of every day where the full or new moon would rise that my being might be left to the whims of the world. That I would learn how 'fair' the world truly was. To rub it in, he made sure I could not die, no matter how my other form might be harmed. That I would learn this lesson, over and over again. Then he...left me there, and that is how it has been since."

Mostly the truth. You will not indulge them with what really happened afterwards, however. That was none of their business. 

"Fascinating," Jester hums after absorbing your story. "Tell me, then. Is this god of yours still alive? Around you?"

You snap to attention at the thought, and a fire blazes in your eyes when it meets Jester's again. "No," you enunciate harshly. "He has long since passed on. But the curse remains."

The ring leader hums, appearing quite amused at your venom. "How fortunate. Saw to it personally, did you? Must not have been a very powerful god, then," they observe flippantly, waging a silent battle in your locked stares.

Then, just as fast as it started, your glaring match ends. Jester claps, and the shape their grin takes next does far from ease your tension. "Well then! Glad we've pieced that all together," they declare, tilting their head and clasping their arms side by side to the left of it. "However, that still leaves us with what to do now, doesn't it? You are certainly at a disadvantage here, aren't you, little one? I am sure that must not feel very good."

There's a mocking quality to Jester's words, and you have to hold back some very rude ones of your own. "Fuck, just...let me go home, there's your answer. My boss is already concerned enough, no way can I not show up today. He only knows about the two 'appointments' I have to keep a month." A silent challenge. More focus brought to the circus if you, of all people, the performers' closest friend, disappeared as well.

Jester thrums a displeased note at your underlying threat, pivoting to waltz to the center of their tent. Their arms fold neatly behind their back, and they look up, thinking. Considering their next move. 

"'Something tells me that you might know a little something about the existence of gods'. What a strange statement. How exactly did you come to that conclusion I wonder," they muse aloud, tilting their head back at an almost unnerving, unnatural angle to resettle their focus on you.

You freeze in Pierrot's arms, who is watching you with equal fascination and worry. For what, you aren't sure. Your well being? Or what you might know, or suspect?

Keeping your expression flat, you lift you limb to gesture around you in a motion that screams, 'duh'. "You lot are not exactly the most subtle about being into the strange and the occult. How the hell could I not think you might've studied up on ancient religion?"

A fair point, the Jester's expression seems to concede. There remains a glint to their eyes that does not relent so easily, though. Twisting, they storm back up to you, dismissing how both you and Pierrot go taunt, a bowstring ready to snap. A clawed hand grasps your jaw tightly, yanking your head upward, and you are once more made to secure your gaze to Jester's.

"I think..." they coo softly, slowly, savoring the building anticipation. "....that you are lying."

Their attention flits to the side. "Doctor." 

You explode, shoving and pushing against Pierrot, hollering and cursing as you attempt to squirm free. You don't care if you have to run butt naked from the circus, you do not want to know what the Doctor, let along Jester, intend to do. Except, Pierrot is completely immobile. If anything, he holds you closer, constricts you. Pain pangs in your heart, looking up at him. There is conflict in his gaze, but also yearning. Something dangerously desirous.

Obsessive, lovesick idiot.

Withdrawing from your thrashing self, Jester glances to the side, completely unbothered. "I will not allow any potential threats to the circus, whether you share in our plight to some degree or not. And especially if you personally prove a risk to our being." At this statement, they do pin you beneath their glare again.

Something wisps in your face before you can realize it, and you gag at the unexpected spray. You inhale it before you can stop yourself, and the effect is damn near instant. Your limbs lose all sensation, going limp in Pierrot's arms, and a heavy fog begins to envelop your mind. Mentally, you claw and scream, even as your eyes glaze over. Distantly, you can hear Jester talking.

"Keep your little pet contained, Pierrot," they order. "And make sure they have no access to tools of any kind. If they've killed anything like us before and lived, I won't have them handling anything they could turn on us. Not now, Harlequin," they snap at the end, their warping figure turning away from you.

Oh wait, you're the one turning away this time. Pierrot carries you off as the ring leader continues to bark commands, something about animals, proof, and the woods. It all becomes background noise to you, though, then completely cuts out when the tent flap closes behind you, leaving you alone with the performer you had trusted most. 

"Forgive me, my dear," he mutters to your barely conscious self. "That is not how I intended for things to go. If only that Harlequin hadn't pushed...!"

His snarl fades into a sigh, his golden irises falling to your bare form. The melancholy in his visage seems to diminish as he studies you, replaced by something far hungrier. "Oh, but how it brings me such joy to have you in my arms like this. Your truest form presented to me. How I longed for this day. Since the moment I met you, standing tall, unafraid of that ruffian whom struck me. To think, you still hold such justice in your heart, even after all you have endured...! And to spare it for me... My dear, you are the most wonderful creature this planet has ever seen. How I long to shower you in my affections, to give you all that have, that you might do the same in return some day! I know that day will not be today. Not with the distress you have gone through. But oh, I can wait. I can wait til the forests die away, til the sun explodes! So long as you are with me, so long as I have that chance. Do not fret about a thing until that day, my dear. I promise, I will take very good care of you."

Even as you start to finally fall to the darkness your mind battles and loses against, Pierrot nuzzles into your neck, inhaling and releasing a large, full body breath that shudders his frame. You feel the scrape of teeth, the flick of a tongue across them. "My sweet, delicious flower."