NOTE (Please, PLEASE read this): The 'excerpt' of bad writing found within the following chapter was written (with much grinding of teeth) by me, and it is not meant to mock any particular author or story on this website. Any and all resemblance to real persons or stories is entirely coincidental and should be thought of as such. Also, my writing ability should not be judged by the aforementioned excerpt, as all mistakes were intentionally made by yours truly.

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"I love you, my dearat fair Prince Andrew," Amora Lestina Hathway whispered, violet orbs filing with tears. "But... I don't know if you love me. You abandoned me for Angelica. I know she's you're sister, but..."

Andrew swept the emotionally fragille, physically mighty, longhaired beauty into his arms. "You are the only one for me!" He exclaimed, crimson hues bright with love. "Angelica means nothing to me!"

She sniffed against his strong manly shoulder. "Even though I'm halfdemon halfhuman werewolf with a vampire for a grandmother?" She asked tearrfully.

"Yes." He sollemnly intoned, wiping her bangs (deep raven black with blood red highlights) out of her bright blue and purple and green rainstorm-colored eyes. "I would give up my life for you. You are beautifull and strong and I will protect you the way you're dead parents never could. You have had such a tragic life. Let me be your night in shinning armor, Amora Lestina Hathway."

"Oh, yes." She cried, and with a giggle she added "Not that I need protecting. I'm the ruler of the fairy world now! Be my king!"

And with a smile the fairy prince kissed her because he had never met anyone as perfect as Amora before and it goes without saying that they lived happily ever after.

The End.

Two blank teal eyes stared at the end line in total disbelief.

Then those eyes blinked, and the lanky young man they belonged to let out a snort of disgust.

"Seriously?" he grumbled, staring at his computer screen in genuine irritation. "That's it? Is this a joke?"

Anyone could have asked the same question about him, since he was lying sprawled across a bright pink comforter with rainbow unicorns plastered all over it. Beside him, an extremely pale girl with long white hair looked up from a thick book, skinny legs waving in the air.

Blinking absently, she sat up and peered over his shoulder, glancing at his computer screen. Her peculiar pink eyes skimmed over the text before she grinned involuntarily and smacked his shoulder.

"Be nice," she sighed, flopping back down on her bed. "It's cute! It was probably written by a kid."

He looked unconvinced.

After picking his way through an author's note that was longer than the story's final chapter and swimming through the typical 'thank you's, ZOMGs, and review responses, he felt his temples beginning to pound.

How the hell do people write this swill, let alone have the balls to put it on the internet? he thought, angrily opening the review box. Kid or not, this is... just, no! This isn't even a story! Even the worst anime in existence has a better plot than this.

With hands that were sweaty from clutching at the plastic computer mouse for more than an hour (at one hundred and ten chapters, this fic had been long, pointless, and painful to get through; clutching at the mouse in desperation was to be expected) he typed out a review.

A scathing one.

This is a bastardization of fantasy stories everywhere, he wrote. I can't even begin to count the ways this story is bad. The word 'orb' is not a substitute for 'eye', and neither is 'hue'. 'Hue', for the record, means 'color,' not eye. Also, "your" and "you're" are two TOTALLY DIFFERENT THINGS.

Your grammar is atrocious, and dialogue isn't formatted correctly, either, so pick up a freaking book and see how it's really done! Also, realistically speaking, nobody would ever act like this if they were kidnapped to a fairy land because A), kidnapping is scary, and B), kidnappers aren't tender and sweet, they're gruff and hostile! Hello, Stockholm Syndrome!

And what makes you think that sherbet eyes are pretty? And that godawful hair color... how could it ever be natural? And her HERITAGE: nothing screams MARY SUE like having a vampire for a grandma! And the worst atrocity? YOU SAY THAT HE DOESN'T GIVE A CRAP ABOUT ANGELICA, THE MAIN FOCUS OF THE STORY AND EVERYTHING BOTH OF THEM WERE CENTERED AROUND SAVING!

He hovered over the 'submit' button for a long time.

A vein bulged in his forehead before he sighed.

He could feel the reprimanding gaze of the girl sitting next to him: with a gentle smirk and one thin eyebrow quirked above her glasses, she simply looked at him. Like always, she knew EXACTLY what he was doing, and in the end he gave into that chiding stare, reluctantly pressing the backspace key and holding it down until his entire work of angry criticism disappeared from existence.

Letter by letter.

It took many moments of deep breathing to get his raging emotions under control, but once he could look at the review box without grinding his teeth, he began to type anew.

Great job sticking with this fic until the end! the boy reluctantly wrote, flipping his dark hair out of his eyes. You write fairly well, but all of us can improve more. For instance, you use the word 'hue' instead of 'eye', but 'hue' actually means 'color,' not 'eye!' I've made that mistake before, too. Also, about the format of your dialogue...

After reconstructing the content of his angry review into a more neutral and supportive dose of criticism, he clicked 'submit.'

The familiar orange writing telling him that the review would take a while to show up made him sigh. How long had he been doing this pointless, endless perusal of bad fiction on Wattpad?

Three years? Four?

He was too lazy to actually check the date on his profile, but he nonetheless wondered what drove him to subject himself to such bad writing and then make nice about it year after year after year. But then, he felt a small hand on his back, and he relaxed, nerves instantly calming down.

Slowly turning to look at her, he gave a frown, but she merely smiled.

"Oh, Xaphy," the pale girl murmured, leaning forward and gently pressing her lips against his neck; he sighed a little when she gave him a small kiss, then shifted his position slightly and wrapped his arms around her, pulling the girl onto his lap and just holding her. "Why are you so stubbornly passionate about correcting bad writing?"

Like always whenever she asked a question like this, he averted his eyes.

"Can't help it," he muttered, not looking at her. "Seeing something so cringe-worthy makes me want to scratch my eyes out. They didn't even try to do a good job."

She sighed again, then gently set her head against his chest.

"Ever the perfectionist," she quietly chuckled, nuzzling him with a smile. "You're so silly."

"Be nice," he mumbled, ears turning red with an embarrassed blush. "I gave a decent review..."

"Well, why not read a real book?" she asked, holding up her copy of Twilight with a grin. "It's actually not half bad... I'm really into it."

He gave her a half-lidded stare.

"Your love for things of the sparkly variety is understandable, hell, even tolerable," he muttered, looking at her bright pink room with a knowing expression, "but I won't be able to stomach reading about a perfect Mary Sue getting all lovey dovey with a sparkly but possessive vampire boy."

He shuddered at the thought.

She merely grinned and shrugged, sliding off his lap and snuggling against his side before flipping her book back open.

"Suit yourself," she murmured, happily getting back into the reading process. "Just try not to barf everywhere if I gush about it to my mom later."

He scowled and gently bumped her with his leg, then rolled his eyes.

Looking back at the computer, he stared at the end credits for a moment... then clicked the author's profile link on a whim. He was instantly assaulted by the typical "If you're the one teen who doesn't smoke pot, copy and paste this into your profile!" type of junk.

Scrolling through it proved to be a forty-second process, one that led him to the fifteen other stories the author had already posted. He lingered on the review counts. The atrocious 'Lovely Fairy Queen' that he had just reviewed literally had two hundred THOUSAND giggling comments, and more than a million reads.

His heart instantly sank.

His own story had less than fifty reviews ranging from the constructive to the vapid to the infuriatingly vague. Sure, his story didn't have too many chapters yet (twenty six chapters or so, with updates near the end of every week) but it was better written and had a more original plot by far... right?

He scowled at the pink comforter beneath him, feeling the aggravation building up.

And yet, once again, her hand was gently set on his back... soothing his irritation.

"You're perfect the way you are, Xaphile," she murmured. "You don't need to try so hard for everyone to see that."

His eyes twitched, brows wrinkling with a somewhat unhappy expression.

"I still don't know how you manage to pick up on things like that," he sourly muttered. "How do you always know what sort of stuff I'm mulling over?"

"I can tell what you're thinking just by looking at your expression," she absently retorted, waving her legs back and forth. "Same way you do with me now and then."

His face instantly smoothed out.

"You're right, Ella," he sighed, closing the laptop and rolling over on his side; propping his chin up on his hand, he looked at her. "Did your mom braid your hair again? It's parted a little awkwardly."

"Yeah," she noted, smiling without looking up. "Looks terrible, doesn't it?"

"Yep, definitely does," he drawled, lazily picking up one of the glossy white braids and letting it slide through his fingers; then he let it go and gave her a very mischievous grin. "But it's still better than that weird bowl cut you had when we were kids."

"Um, excuse me, Porcupine Head?" she laughed, referring to an ancient attempt at a j-rock hairstyle that had, in fact, made him look like a porcupine. "Don't make me remind you that you also looked super ridiculous at one point! I swear, if you try to deny it, I'll pull out all the photo albums! I'm sure mom will help me gush over them, too, just to make it awkward!"

"My hair did not look like a porcupine!" he exclaimed, touching his dark hair with a serious frown. "I-it was just abnormally spiky, that's all!"

"Still in denial, I see," Ella giggled, setting her book down on the floor before rolling over; after doing the same with the laptop, she gently set her head on her pillow and smiled at him. "At any rate, it looks much better now... I think you look seriously hot with long hair, you know."

He flushed bright red and awkwardly hid his eyes, cheeks burning.

She wasn't kidding, though... at least not about him having long hair.

When he was standing upright, it hung down to his waist.

"Stop it," he groused, burying his face in her pillow. "Jeez."

"And miss out on these adorable reactions? I think not," she murmured, gently scooting closer and snuggling against him. "You're too fun to tease, Xaphy. It's really cute how you get all flustered."

He grumbled a bit, then wrapped his arms around her and finally closed his eyes.

"Good thing you're the only person who knows how to push my buttons," he muttered, squeezing her tightly and letting out a huff of air. "Geez... you're so annoying."

"But you still love me," she smugly pointed out. "Right?"

His half-hidden teal eyes instantly gentled and he slowly loosened his embrace so he could set his chin against the top of her head.

"With all of my heart," he told her quietly, planting a kiss against her silken hair. "I love you, Ella."

He really did, too... more than anything else in the world.

This warmth... this happiness... this gentle and extremely quiet banter... it was his and his alone. 

Other teens around their own age were just beginning to explore the possibility of having relationships.

Xaphile Heseroph, on the other hand, was one of the few and very, very lucky who'd found his soul mate at a young age, in the form of a neighbor and childhood friend. His was a 'boy-meets-the-girl-next-door-and-falls-madly-in-love' kind of story.

Er, well... figuratively speaking, Ella Richardson didn't exactly live right next door... she actually lived a few blocks away from his house.

But she was indeed the girl he'd fallen for, and even now he was madly in love with her.

Then again, who could blame him for falling so hard? On the first day they'd met, this obnoxiously adorable girl had stolen first a bite of his sandwich, then his whole heart, without a second thought.

He could still remember that day clearly.

He'd been on his way to the grocery store for his father, but after buying what he'd been told to and getting himself a small sub sandwich, he'd begun the walk back home. A typical routine... until the moment she'd popped into his life, much like a daisy springing out of the snow.

One second he'd been walking around the corner of an overpass; the next, she had unexpectedly crashed into him.

The momentum of the impact had knocked him flat onto the ground and sent her flipping clean over his head with a startled shriek.

In that instant, everything had changed.

Even when they'd been small, Ella had been beautiful... pale skin, a strange white bowl cut, and long white eyelashes. He'd felt more than a little dazed by her strange appearance, but the moment he'd gotten up, her eyes had flicked open and he'd frozen.

They'd been the most unusual thing he'd ever seen... a startling shade of pink that had made him want to stare... and stare... and stare. For some reason, those gorgeously large eyes had been utterly entrancing, and for moment, he'd almost thought she was an alien of some sort.

Ella had then blinked a few times before sitting up and feeling around for her glasses, patting the ground since they'd flown off her face.

"Oh-no, oh-no, oh-no!" she'd chanted, looking completely terrified. "My glasses! They didn't break again, did they?!"

He'd glanced at the concrete beside her and seen the spectacles lying unharmed.

Without a word, he'd picked them up and hesitantly tapped the strangely pale girl's shoulder to get her attention; when she'd looked up, he'd carefully put the girl's glasses on her face and held out his hand.

Her eyes had widened, but then... almost shyly... she'd taken his proffered hand and allowed herself to be pulled upright.

"Are you all right?" he'd asked, glancing down at her scraped knee. "You're bleeding."

"I'll be fine!" Ella had cheerfully protested, patting her pocket. "Mommy says I'm a bit of a klutz, so she always makes me keep band-aids in my pocket."

"Oh," he'd mumbled, blinking as a wave of nausea swept over him. "I apologize for not looking where I was going."

"Same here," Ella had stammered, clasping her hands and shyly wriggling around. "Even with my glasses on, sometimes I bump into things."

"Mm..." he'd mumbled, nodding before he'd walked away; hefting the grocery bag up to his shoulder, he'd unwrapped his sandwich and taken a small bite of it with a sigh. "It's better than bread crusts, at least."

"Bread crusts?" a familiar voice had quipped, making him jump. "What do you mean? Bread crusts are the best part!"

He'd been startled to find the little girl walking only a few steps behind him.

"It's... not like that," he'd muttered, lowering his eyes. "My daddy really is nice to me, honest."

"That's great!" Ella had laughed, beaming at him. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Huh?" he'd asked, turning to look at her. "My name?"

"Yeah!" she'd laughed, beaming so brightly that it had been almost blinding. "My name is Ella! Ella Richardson! I'm five years old! So? What's yours?"

"Um..." he'd stammered, hiding his eyes with his jet black hair, "X... Xaphile... Heseroph... I'm six years old."

"Wow! You're one year bigger than me!" she'd exclaimed, looking as if it were the most amazing thing in the world; then she'd jumped over and clutched his hand with both of hers, grinning hopefully behind her glasses. "Xaph... i... le? Phi...le... er, Xaphy! Can I call you Xaphy?"

She'd looked at him expectantly.

"Yes?" he'd asked, feeling nervous. "I guess?"

"Yay! Xaphy!" she'd cried, jumping up and down. "Xaphy, will you play with me? My Mommy asked me to go play outside for a little while, but nobody ever wants to! They're all scared of me because I have white hair! Everyone says I'll make them turn white, too, if I get too close! I have al... albino... ism!"

"I... have to drop off the groceries..." he'd mumbled. "I'm heading to my house... there's really not that much to see."

"You... went shopping?" Ella quipped, beaming in a cheerful manner from behind her glasses. "All by yourself?! Without your Daddy?!"

"Y-yeah," he'd mumbled, continuously hiding his eyes behind his hood and hair. "I do it all the time."

"Wow!" she'd cried, throwing her hands into the air. "You're like a grown up! I can't wait to be six years old! Hey, what kind of sandwich is that?"

"It's a sub," he'd explained, glancing down at it. "It has turkey and cheese on it."

"Ooh!" she'd squeaked, clapping her hands; then, without even hesitating, she'd leaned forward and chomped down on it. He'd stiffened and blinked at her while thoughts of cooties passed through his head... but then, those thoughts had dissolved, since her owlish little face had melted into a puddle of delight. When she'd pulled away, chewing, she'd touched her cheek with an expression of bliss. "Yummy!"

And in that moment, something deep within his chest had immediately stirred.

Looking at her had suddenly been like seeing the sun for the first time... so clear and bright that it was blinding.

The strange emotional tug had startled him: shivering, he'd only been able to stand frozen in place, even when a gust of wind had torn his hood off and started messing up his hair.

For the longest time, he'd stared at her blushing face... but then, that stirring sensation had abruptly strengthened and bloomed with a feeling of inexplicable warmth. Slowly, his stoic expression had softened, abnormally cold teal eyes gentling into warm puddles of aquamarine.

Then, ever so slowly, his lips had pulled themselves upwards in a goofy, awkward manner.

He hadn't been able to look away from her eyes: it was like he had been enchanted by them.

However, when she'd turned to look at him again... her own grin had immediately faded. For a long moment, she'd stared back at him... neither of them speaking, just looking into the other's eyes.

But then, she'd hesitantly stepped forward.

With an expression of unbearable worry, she'd set her small white hand on his cheek.

"You've got a bad boo boo..." she'd told him, rubbing his brutally thrashed skin. "It looks like it hurts. Do you want a band-aid? I have lots in my pocket..."

"I'll be fine," he'd quietly replied, lifting his own hand and gently clasping her wrist; closing his slanted eyes, he'd tilted his head and pressed his cheek against the cool skin of her palm. "This feels nice... your hand is a little cold, so it doesn't hurt as much."

"Really?" she asked, brightening up in surprise. "Did I really make the boo boo feel better?"

He'd slowly opened his eyes again, looking at her through his lashes.

"Yes," he'd stated honestly, tilting his head with another goofy little smile. "Will you be my friend?"

He'd asked it before he could think... before he'd even realized he was giving himself an opportunity to be rejected. He hadn't thought about any of that. It had simply slipped out of his mouth.

But worry hadn't even been necessary, because her face had lit up like the sun.

"Of course!" she'd squealed, jumping up and down. "I actually wanted to ask you the same thing! You're the only person who's been nice to me in this town since I moved here with my Mommy! Let's be good friends, Xaphy! Ooh! Can we go play together after you take the groceries home?!"

"Uh, sure?" he'd asked, blinking. "I think...?"

"YAY!" she'd cried. "Well, let's go! Let's take them there so we can play!"

So saying, she'd pulled her hand away from his cheek and had clasped his wrist.

Then, with a giggle, she'd roughly tugged him down the street.

On that day, so long ago... she'd held his hand... and in it had been his heart.

From that moment on, they'd been attached at the hip.

When time had passed and they'd started growing older, the people around them who'd known about their friendship had expected the two of them to grow apart and become disinterested like every other kid. But in truth... the opposite had actually happened: with each passing day, month, and year... the bond between Xaphile Heseroph and Ella Richardson had only deepened profoundly.

When he'd turned ten, he'd finally confessed to her where the bruises on his body had been coming from for so long. She'd always asked him about the bruises, and she'd constantly fretted over them since she'd always believed he was just dangerously clumsy.

She had been horrified when he'd told her that his father had been hitting him.

But instead of being mad that he'd hidden it from her... Ella... being the wonderful, empathetic, and truly angelic girl that she was... had started crying for him.

She had burst into tears and clutched his face with both hands.

"Why didn't you tell me!" she'd cried, shaking her head. "My Mama would have offered to take you in! She would have! She loves you just as much as I do, Xaphy!"

"You love me?" he'd asked, feeling surprised. "You... really love me?"

"Of course I do!" she'd sniffed, pressing her face against his shoulder. "You're my best friend... I can't believe you didn't tell me, but... I'm even worse, because I didn't figure it out. I'm so sorry..."

"It's not your fault," he'd told her, lifting his arms and hugging her. "My dad is just a jerk... and I'm used to it."

"If you ever need me," Ella had told him, lifting her face with a pout, "don't hesitate to come over or call. Okay?"

He'd smiled at her, lifting a hand and touching her snowy hair with gentle eyes.

And in that moment, a line from one of his favorite movies had come back to him.

It was a code of sorts.

Stupid and silly... but he said it anyway.

"Yeah," Xaphile had murmured, looking at her eyes with a mellow expression. "As you wish, Ella."

That day... they'd grown closer to each other in a way that most normal children would never learn about until they were older. And they'd continued growing close, one year at a time. 
Hand in hand, from the moment they'd first met, the two of them had walked through life side by side... through all the normal middle school drama, studying for tests together, eating their lunch in the cafeteria together, doing everything they loved during their free time.

And after their second year of Junior High, the whole school had thought of them as inseparable... they'd even become an occasional item since Ella had always been prone to squealing madly and jumping around over exciting news. Heck, even most of the teachers had thought their friendship was adorable... he'd overheard some of them talking about it once while passing by a classroom.

Ella was stunning, beautiful, and bright... not to mention totally outgoing and fairly intelligent. She was the complete opposite of him, a clumsy idiot who still struggled with science and math. His grades were nothing short of average in nearly every subject aside from history.

Yeah, he was definitely a whiz when it came to writing, and yeah, he was very physically fit due to the fact that he'd gotten hooked on running track races and kickboxing... but aside from his lean physique, there wasn't really anything particularly handsome about him. His face was actually rather girlish and plain... so much, in fact, that his only unique trait were his eyes.

And that definitely wasn't a redeeming quality in the least, since they were similar to his mother's in shape, and his mother had been Chinese.

Slanted eyes in a Caucasian face was weird beyond measure.

Plus, his irises were actually such a garishly bright shade of blue-green that people sometimes stopped to stare at him if they happened to catch a glimpse of the color... but more often than not, nobody really got that chance since his hair had grown long enough to hide his eyes from view.

Something he was grateful for.

To have someone like her... someone so beautiful, funny, and smart... he was nothing short of lucky. Ella was special to him in a way that most people would have never understood.

He'd loved her from day one, all the way up to the moment they'd actually started going out with each other six months ago.

That day, he'd been running on the track field for his extracurricular activities... and by the time the runners usually managed to get their things and go home, everyone else at school was already long gone. He'd headed into his last-hour classroom to grab his backpack like always, but much to his surprise, there she'd been.

Sitting on his desk in front of the open window, long silver hair drifting on the warm breeze that had been sliding into the classroom. She'd been staring at the track field below when he'd walked in... but upon his entry, her eyes had lit up and she'd beamed at him with the smile he'd come to adore over the years. Letting out a sigh, he'd looked at her with gentle eyes before walking over.

"What are you still doing here?" he'd muttered, folding his arms. "I thought you'd gone home."

"I wanted to watch you run," she'd murmured, smiling up at him. "You always have this big smile on your face when you're running! I was only planning on watching for a little while, but..."

She'd trailed off and sheepishly shrugged.

"If you want to watch," he'd sighed, setting a hand on her arm. "Just come down to the field."

"Well, I thought about it..." she'd pouted, twiddling her fingers a bit. "I didn't want to bother you."

He'd blinked, then frowned at her.

"Seriously?" he'd snorted, setting a hand on her cheek. "Don't be an idiot. That would never happen. If anything, it'd probably help me improve my times, since I tend not to trip as much whenever you're around."

The moment he'd said it, she'd giggled madly... but then, in a way that had made him feel bizarrely nostalgic, she'd lifted her hand and gently gripped his wrist, pressing her cheek against his palm.

For a long moment, she'd basked in the warmth of his large hand... but then, she'd looked up at him with eyes that had taken his breath away.

And in an instant, the world had fallen silent.

"Can I say something strange?" she'd asked, smiling at him in a much, much softer way. "I know this is out of the blue, but..."

Her expression had done something to his heart... and within moments, it had nearly thumped itself clean out of his chest from the close proximity.

"A-as you wish," he'd breathed, feeling awkward without knowing why. "Go ahead."

She'd instantly giggled and nuzzled his hand.

"That's actually kind of what I want to talk to you about," she'd murmured, smiling up at him. "I just watched Princess Bride for the first time yesterday... and it's no secret that it's one of your favorite movies. I was just wondering... if you feel the same way about me as Wesley did with Buttercup."

His mind had gone blank for a moment with surprise... but then, it hadn't mattered.

There was no point in hiding it, so, he'd told her the truth.

"With every fiber of my being," he'd awkwardly murmured, looking at her with a piercing expression before guiltily lowering his eyes. "Since... the moment we first met, actually."

Her own eyes had instantly widened.

"So... you love me?" Ella had shakily asked, looking as though she would faint from a combination of anxiety and hope. "You... you really love me?!"

"No... I'm in love with you," Xaphile had told her. "There's a difference between loving someone and being in love with them. Every part of my being is yours, Ella... my heart, my soul, all of my devotion. Its something I've felt for years, but never really had the courage to say."

"Prove it," she'd whispered, staring him down. "If you really are in love with me... prove it, Xaphile."

He'd blinked, since it had been the first time in years that she'd called him by his full name.

Then, she'd closed her eyes.

As if she'd been expecting something.

Despite his extreme awkwardness and hesitation, and despite his madly beating heart, he'd shakily leaned down and ever so gently pressed his lips against her own.

The contact had been electric: it had seared through his nerves and shocked his gut in a way he'd been unfamiliar with.

Shivering a little, he'd lifted his free hand and threaded it through her silken white hair. Gently keeping her locked in his embrace. Time had slowed down for an eternity of bliss... the world around him had faded and gone blurry around the edges... he hadn't closed his eyes, though... and when she'd opened hers, her expression had gone from dazed to stunned before softening again.

And the moment he'd seen the love in her eyes, the world around him had dissolved completely.

For several seconds, her irises had been the only thing he'd seen. And his frantic heart had calmed down.

She had accepted him as himself, every part of him... all his burdens, all of his history, all of him in general... and because of that, he'd truly felt whole.

That moment had marked a profound shifting point in their relationship, and something that had always been there had sharpened before going very, very deep.

From that point on, without a doubt, he had been hers.

"What are you thinking about?" Ella asked, making him blink and look down at her; large pink eyes smiled at him from behind half-moon glasses. "You've got that dreamy look on your face again."

"Thinking about how we met," he mumbled, shrugging a little before cuddling her. "I'm amazed that you fell for a hopeless moron like me."

"Jerk," she laughed, nudging his gut with her elbow. "So what if I did? At any rate, you're mine."

"I am indeed," he quietly chuckled, shaking his head. "How I got so lucky, I have no clue."

"You're so snarky today," she sighed, rolling over and pressing her back against his stomach.

"So?" he mockingly snorted, quirking an eyebrow. "You don't like my snarky side?"

"Not really," she joked, smirking at him over her shoulder, "but I still love you."

"Which is odd since you're supposed to be smart," he pointed out, grinning right back. "Maybe they got your IQ test wrong."

"You dick!" she laughed, kicking his legs a bit. "Don't tease me!"

"I can," he stated smugly, tilting his chin out in a goofy manner, "and I shall."

"Jerk!" she playfully giggled, grinning like a fox. "You're such a goofball... but I really do love you. You're an idiot, Xaphy, but you're MY idiot. The necklace proves it. And that's all that matters."

"What, you mean my dog collar?" he jokingly retorted, pointing to the golden locket around his neck. "And here I thought we were in an equal relationship. Tisk tisk."

"Oh, you," she sighed, shoving him a bit with a laugh before getting up; then she sniffed and her eyes brightened. "Don't be such a sourpuss, Xaphy... Mom's making lasagna tonight."

"Fine," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'll behave."

So saying, he sat up and stretched, looking around her room.

Then he looked down at the locket: it was a large, gold necklace with a bulky heart-shaped pendant. Touching it with careful hands, he examined the carvings on the front... then he hooked his thumb against the small ridge on the side. It instantly flicked open, revealing two photos.

His eyes immediately softened.

Ella caught his stare, though, and was grinning before she could stop herself. Slowly walking over, she clutched his cheeks and tilted his head up, brushing his hair aside.

For a long moment, she merely looked into his eyes.

"You can behave... but I won't," she teased, smiling brilliantly before pressing her lips against his own; his eyes widened, but then... like a stick of butter, he melted. Lifting his hands, he gently wrapped her in a hug, keeping her locked in place.

Warmth... sparks... and love... this feeling of utter adoration and yearning and joy.

It all flowed through him like electricity.

He loved her.

And nothing would ever change that.

"Will you sing for me later?" she breathed, smiling into his eyes. "You can bring your guitar, or maybe use Mom's piano... I love it when you sing Christina Perri's songs."

Face flushed, he simply nodded.

Among his passion for writing, he had a few others... such as music, Japanese culture, and anime. But the music bit was something he'd really only revealed to a few select people.

He had talent with it.

When they finally pulled away from each other, his eyes were glazed... but he still managed to pull his scattered mind back together long enough for him to remember something. Mostly because of her request for music.

As she happily grabbed her book and sat down at her desk, scratching her ankle, he tried to figure out a discreet way to word it.

Eventually, he pulled himself together and looked up at her in dazed curiosity.

"Hey, speaking of music," he stated quietly, watching as she tilted her head to signal she was listening, "if you had an opportunity to go to any one particular event, no matter how costly, what would it be? A concert? A movie? Opera? What?"

"Eh?" Ella asked, giving him a surprised glance; then she thought about it, tapping her chin. "Hm... that's a tough one. If I had to choose... corny as it sounds, I'd probably have to pick that huge theater rendition of Romeo and Juliet they'll be having this upcoming Christmas. I mean, not only does it happen on my birthday, the story is really sad and beautiful. Too bad it's so expensive... I would totally go see it."

"Why not save up and buy a ticket?" he asked, quirking a thick black brow. "Christmas is two months away."

"No, it wouldn't work," she sighed, shrugging. "Even if I did save up enough, by the time I pulled it off they'd be sold out of tickets. The show is supposedly going to be performed by some famous acrobats and ballet stars... it's actually a really big deal. They've had fliers downtown for a few weeks already."

"Really?" he snorted, purposely trying to give off a sarcastic air to divert her weird sixth sense about what was normally going through his head. "Well, even so... why would you pick an old timey play?"

"Uh, because it's beautiful? And so what if I would?" she snootily inquired. "Shakespeare was a genius and I happen to love his work!"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, flapping a hand with a secret feeling of triumph. "If you say so."

He himself had never seen Romeo and Juliet before, or even read the story... he didn't know much about it, really. Then again, Old English speech didn't interest him at all, so he'd never had a desire to learn about it.

But for her... he would move mountains, and he already had a plan. As it was, he'd saved up enough cash from his part time job to buy her whatever she wanted, and he'd asked now instead of later just in case a situation like this presented itself. Ella wanted to go see a play on Christmas Eve... which also doubled as her birthday. So, he was going to buy the tickets a few months early and surprise her when the date came around.

After all, she was worth it.

2: Chapter 1: Christmas Eve

Chapter One: Christmas Eve

This story begins in Chicago, in a small suburb on the south side of the city... with a family who lived in a small house at the very end of the street. The little yellow house was in obvious disrepair, and the yard was chaotic. Inside, however, a teenage boy was sleeping sprawled out on his back with his mouth wide open. Weeks had gone by since the day he'd made his secret Christmas plans, and the weather outside had started to grow colder. It had been near the second week of December when the two of them finally made plans to get together on Christmas Eve for a mini-date at the mall.

And today was the dawn of that very Christmas Eve.

But even though it was still super early, nothing would deter Ella from her usual morning behavior.

Whenever his alarm had refused to rouse him in the past, she had somehow managed to climb up onto the roof resting just outside of his window.

Then she'd always opened it up and climbed into his room.

However, due to the change in weather, he'd unthinkingly locked it to seal in the heat just a tad bit better. And as a result, she couldn't get it open: that morning, instead of a surprise kiss, he woke up to a vehement amount of banging on his window. Xaphile groaned and sleepily sat up, barely able to keep his eyes open. When the pounding persisted, he forced his body into action before his brain was fully awake and groggily got to his knees, pushing the curtains aside.

"Xaphy!" a muffled voice cried, accompanying the pounding with a frantic tinge. "Wake up!"

Just as he unlocked the window and slid it open, however, something heavy hit him directly between the eyes.

"GAH!" the boy yelped, jerking backwards and falling off his bed; he landed in a heap on the floor with both hands pressed against his skull, rolling around in pain; Ella instantly gasped and stopped swinging her arm, eyes wide with horror. "Ow... that HURT! What the hell was that?!"

"Um..." Ella stammered, staring at the empty window with a blank expression, "my fist?"

"Your fist?" Xaphile groggily asked, feeling somewhat out of it as he stood up. "Ugh... why the hell did you wake me up like that? It seriously hurt, God dammit!"

"No time to complain!" Ella frantically cried, flailing her arms. "We've gotta leave or we'll be late!"

"Huh?" Xaphile croaked, poking his head out the window and glancing at the sky; he instantly snapped wide awake, since it was already light out. "Whoa, what the hell?! What time is it?!"

"Eight thirty!" Ella called, frantically hopping down to the ground. "Go get dressed! I'll be waiting by your front door!"

"Agh! Damn it!" the boy growled, bolting for his closet and hastily dragging out a shirt and some blue jeans; grumbling, he jerked them on and donned his winter jacket before tearing down the stairs. "I forgot today was Christmas Eve..."

It didn't bother him, though, since it was a good excuse to get away from his house. Most people didn't like going outside early in the morning given how cold it was in Chicago this time of year, but he was one of the weird people who simply didn't care.

Ella, on the other hand, hated the cold... not to mention, she obviously felt extremely out of place in public because of how many people stopped to stare at her. Girls with pink eyes and white hair weren't exactly an everyday sight, after all.

When they made it to the mall, they poked around the different stores, basking in the sights, sounds, and smells.

However, when they moved past a jewelry shop, Ella went in to buy some last-minute gifts for her friends.While she did that, he also scrounged around for something to give to her mother.

He'd bought the big surprise months beforehand, and all of the other presents were wrapped up and stashed under his bed, so they were pretty much just doing the last minute shopping.

He'd spent hours trying to wrap up the presents he'd gotten for them. Hell, he'd even dropped a gift in front of his father's bedroom door before heading outside that day.

Nothing big, just a nice shirt.

After all, today was special to him. Not because it was Christmas Eve... but because it was Ella's Birthday. In reality, he was so excited to reveal the big surprise that he could barely contain it.

After the shopping was finished, the two of them wandered around, taking in the sights. It was magic: the whole mall was lit up with Christmas lights and gorgeous decorations. Even better, though, was the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and chocolate-frosted pretzels looming somewhere off in the distance.

They passed each store front slowly, dazedly taking in what each display window had to offer.

The two of them even strolled past perfume vendors and scented-candle stores, which-to most people-could prove to be either overwhelming or nauseating. The couple seemed to be moving in slow motion compared to the throngs of people moving hurriedly passed them.

Eventually, though, Ella turned around.

"Let's go get some chow!" she stated, beaming at him. "I'm hungry for cinnamon rolls!"

"Figures," he chuckled, sliding his hand into her own. "Let's go... my treat."

"Yay!" she squealed, thrusting her hand into the air. "SWEET TREATS!"

It was so loud that people stared at them, but he merely laughed and looked straight ahead.

The one thing he wasn't was ashamed: let them stare for all he cared. Her exuberance made him happy, and that was really the only thing that mattered to him.

The walk to the food court was considerable, but it wasn't long before they made it through the lines and finally sat down at a table. Xaphile had a large plate full of loaded beef-and-cheese nachos, and Ella had a large soft pretzel loaded with frosted chocolate, which she planned on splitting in half with him.

They sat in silence at first, just enjoying their food and looking at their surroundings, but a few passersby noticed the couple in the food court and immediately stopped to pull out their phones to snap a few quick photos of Ella. Several people were giggling and pointing fingers at the girl as though she were a circus animal, but Xaphile's irritation spiked when he saw her shoulders sag a bit despite the fact that there was no change in her smile.

She was an albino.

Her appearance in general drew a lot of unwanted attention. But today was her birthday, and he'd be damned if he let anyone ruin it.

"Play along," he whispered, giving her a wink when she looked up at him in confusion. "I'm about to get on Santa's naughty list."

Setting down his nachos, the boy got up and shocked everyone pointing fingers by walking around Ella and gently tilting her head back.

When she was staring at him and blinking like an owl, the boy grinned and kissed her flat on the mouth.

Then, glaring at the ones taking photos out of the corner of his eye, he pointedly lifted his middle finger. The lights on the phones slowly stopped flashing.

Then, slowly but surely, almost everyone cleared out in the face of his hostility, because if looks could kill, they'd have all been burnt to a crisp.

When he finally pulled away, she was looking at him with a dazed, but fairly grateful expression.

"Thanks," she mumbled, blushing fiercely. "I really do hate it when people stare at me like that. That kiss also blew my mind."

"Well, the fact that they started taking pictures was a bit too much," he sighed, giving her a reserved look. "I couldn't just sit there. But for good measure... here, pop a squat."

So saying, he sat back down and patted his lap, quirking an eyebrow.

Looking thoroughly amused, she grabbed her plate before moving around the table and sitting on him. In reality, Xaphile was absolutely enormous in size when compared with Ella: he was fairly slender, but at the same time he was broad-shouldered and insanely tall for a teenager. He had already broken the six-foot-three mark, and was still growing. Ella, on the other hand, was four-foot-nine since her height didn't want to extend over the five foot mark.

The size differencd made doing little things like sitting on his lap a lot easier.

More people stopped to stare when Ella tenderly kissed his jaw, but when she set her head on his shoulder and continued to munch on her food, he wrapped his arms around her and glared at the other gawkers as well. The passerby continued to move along, casting curious glances back at them as they did so.

Ella and Xaphile were nearly finished eating when the boy's wrist watch alarm went off.

"Oh, no..." Ella whined, face pulling into a saddened pout. "Is it time for us to head back already?"

"Yep, you have to be back by three to wrap those presents, and I have stuff I need to do before tonight," Xaphile feebly replied, heart speeding up a little bit: even though he'd been having a really good time hanging out with Ella and doing something normal for a change, he was more excited about what would await her later that night. "Don't worry, though, I'll be free long before evening rolls around."

Ella hung her head a little and sighed, then scarfed down the rest of her pretzel.

Then, they both hurried through the mall and headed back outside into the cold air. The walk home was quiet, but pleasantly so.

"Thanks for taking me out today," Ella murmured, eventually breaking the silence. "Make sure you dress nice for the family dinner, kk? Mom really likes it when you wear sweaters."

When the boy grinned at her, she smiled in reply before clasping his hand and swinging their arms as they walked. When they finally made it to his house, he bade her a temporary farewell and hurried inside, running up the stairs to his bedroom two at time. Darting over to his bed, he got down on all fours and started dragging the presents out from under it, staring down at all the wrapped gifts with shining eyes.

"This is for everything they've done for me..." he whispered. "I'm going to make tonight perfect!"

And he would.

After all, he owed his happiness to them: Ella's place had somehow become his home away from home since her mother was one of the sweetest people he'd ever met. It wasn't hard for him to see where his angel had gotten her charms and kind streak from.

After packing the presents up, he took a quick shower and threw on some nice clothes. Then, he made his way a few blocks over to Ella's house, hopes high. When he knocked on the door, Mrs. Richardson was the one who opened it.

Her cherubic face instantly lit up.

"Oh, Xaphile!" she gushed, clapping her hands. "Come on in! You're just in time for dinner!"

"Thanks, Mrs. R," he awkwardly mumbled, rubbing his hair; it was because of times like these that he was glad his wild locks hid his eyes from everyone's view. He may have looked a little shaggy as a result, but it was more of a self-comfort thing than anything else. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, too!" the woman laughed, puttering off into the kitchen. "Ella's upstairs in her room like always, darling!"

"Thanks," he sighed, gently setting the Christmas presents on the table before quietly heading upstairs; when he walked down the hall and knocked on the door, he heard Christmas music blaring from her radio. "Ella? I'm back."

"Oh! Xaphy!" she squealed, voice coming through the door a bit muffled; he smiled a bit when the sound of a thud and frantic footsteps emanated from the other side. "Hang on!"

The radio was soon turned off, and the door flew open.

There she was... dressed in a green turtleneck and a pair of bluejeans, long white hair braided into pigtails.

"Yo," he murmured, lifting a hand and looking at her choice of attire. "Heh. We match."

"Huh?" she asked, looking at the sweater she was wearing before blinking at his red turtleneck. "Oh, wow... we really do. That's bizarrely cute."

"I'll say," he muttered, stepping forward and pulling her into an embrace. "Merry Christmas, Ella... and Happy Sixteenth Birthday."

"Merry Christmas," she chirped, nuzzling his chest. "Glad you're here."

"Oh, but wait... I have a couple of surprises for you," Xaphile told her, grinning when she blinked. "After dinner tonight, want to come with me to a rather famous Shakespearean play downtown?"

Her eyes immediately widened and she stared at him.

"You didn't," she whispered, mouth breaking into a disbelieving grin. "There's no way... they were sold a month ago!"

"Happy birthday, and Merry Christmas," the boy chuckled, holding up three tickets. "You, me, and your mother can all go. I bought them TWO months ago."

"OH MY GOD!" Ella had screeched, throwing her hands in the air and jumping around her room. "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO! XAPHILE, YOU'RE THE BEST! I LOVE YOU SOOOOO MUCH!"

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and merely smiled.

When they'd all eaten dinner, it was around five in the evening.

Mrs. Richardson had been delighted to discover that she had been invited to come with them for the play, especially when the boy told her it was better to spend time with family on Christmas. After that, she'd gotten all misty eyed.

Then again, he wouldn't have excluded her for the world.

She was the mother he'd never had.

On the way to the theater, hopes and dreams had been high... and in truth, that play was literally one of the most beautiful things he'd ever witnessed. It was a cross between a ballet performance and a musical... it was a sad story, but a lovely one nonetheless.

And by the time it finally ended, the sun had finally gone down.

Snow touched his nose when he walked out, arm in arm, with Ella by his side and her mother not too far behind. Turning slightly, he gently leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"Merry Christmas, Ella," he murmured, smiling at her. "Did you have fun?"

"It was amazing!" she gushed, spinning in a circle and abruptly clinging to his arm before jumping up and down. "Did you see the part where Juliet vaulted herself onto Romeo's shoulders and did a handstand while he was spinning?! That was incredible! I wish I could do that! Must be awesome having enough upper body strength to lift yourself higher... it kinda sucks being short, you know?"

His eyes immediately softened.

Then, leaning down, he grabbed her around the middle and easily lifted her into the air, looking up at her startled expression with a small smile.

"Don't worry," he told her, pulling her close and hugging her tightly. "If you're ever sad about being short... I'll lift you up higher than anyone else. Promise."

"You're such a dork!" Ella laughed, throwing her arms around his neck; not too far away, her mother looked on with a soft smile. "You big doofus!"

He laughed right back and gave her a smug look before he began stepping back and forth: the action made her groan and roll her eyes.

"What would I do without your smart mouth?" he quietly sang, voice coming out in a velvety baritone; however, his rich singing voice hiccuped a bit due to a chuckle that resulted from the half-lidded look of sarcasm she gave him, "drawing me in, and then kicking me out... you've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down. What's going on in that beautiful mind? I'm on your magical mystery ride... and I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me, but I'll be alright."

Singing was the one good talent that he had... but he only ever really sang for Ella.

Something about her just drew it out of him naturally... he couldn't help but sing to her like a goofy idiot during times like these.

"Really?" she demanded, nuzzling his nose with her own. "You're gonna sing and dance right here?! With everyone watching?!"

"Let them see... my feelings will prevail over all the skepticism by the time I'm done!" he whispered, giving her a wink and waggling his dark eyebrows before he cheerfully continued belting out their song. "My head's under water... but I'm breathing fine. You're crazy and I'm out of my mind!"

Just as he took a deep breath to really get into it, she lifted a finger and held it against his lips.

Then, for the first time in almost two years, she actually sang for him instead.

And like everything else about her... that perfectly beautiful voice melted into the air with a vibrato that stopped people in their tracks all over the place.

"'Cause all of me... loves all of you..." she lightly trilled, smiling with her eyes when he started dancing with her in the snow, weaving back and forth in front of the theater with nearly thirty people who'd stopped to watch them, "all your curves and all your edges... all your perfect imperfections."

"Give your all to me..." he hummed out, grinning at her like a dope.

"I'll give my all to you," she continued, voice ringing into the air like that of a sea siren. "You're my end and my beginning... even when I lose I'm winning! Cause I give you all of me... and you give me all of you. How many times do I have to tell you... even when you're crying you're beautiful, too. The world is beating you down, I'm around through every mood..."

"You're my downfall, you're my muse... my worst distraction, my rhythm and blues. I can't stop singing, it's ringing, in my head for you," the boy drawled out, deep baritone clashing with her own high-pitched soprano. "My head's under water... but I'm breathing fine. You're crazy and I'm out of my mind! 'Cause all of me... loves all of you! Loves your curves and all your edges... all your perfect imperfections! Give your all to me... I'll give my all to you... you're my end and my beginning! Even when I lose I'm winning... 'cause I give you all of me! And you give me all of you!"

"I give you all of me!" they finally sang in harmony, spinning around like an offbeat version of the dancers they'd been watching earlier, "and you give me all of you!"

Almost abruptly, Ella lunged forward and kissed him flat on the mouth even though they were still spinning. Xaphile ended up slipping on a patch of ice and landed hard on his back, but he hardly cared... he merely wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back.

Passionately.

Happiness had descended over him in a way that had made him feel like the luckiest boy in the world.

All around them, people were clapping and smiling... it was the end of a wonderful Christmas eve.

Xaphile and Ella eventually stood up, hand in hand... and Mrs. Richardson started walking over, grinning like a fox... already getting ready to scold for the kiss...

But that's when it happened.

Without warning, gunfire erupted in front of the theater, not too far away from them.

Everyone around them started screaming and running in every direction, trying to get away as the shots continued ringing out. Mrs. Richardson dropped to the ground with both hands on her head, but Xaphile and a few others weren't quick enough.

Five people had already fallen to the ground, screaming and crying with various injures, and he'd stumbled backwards with a bullet lodged in his arm. It stung and burned like hell... but at the very least, he hadn't been hit in an immediately life-threatening area.

However, when he looked down... Ella was staring at him with a tight face that had completely drained of color.

"E-Ella?" he croaked, ignoring his deadened arm and clutching her with his good one when her knees buckled; hefting her weight, he sank to the ground and cradled her in his lap, shaking her a bit. "W-what's wrong...?"

"Help..." she hissed, eyes filling with terrified tears. "Help me..."

He didn't know what she meant... couldn't comprehend the agony on her face... until he pulled his hand away and realized it was covered with blood.

Blood that wasn't his own.

"ELLA!" he squeaked, face going white when he carefully lifted her up and looked behind her; his heart very nearly stopped when he spotted a circular pool of red on her sweater... a pool that was rapidly growing bigger before his eyes. "Oh, my God..."

"Xaphy..." she whimpered, shaking all over. "It hurts... it hurts... help me..."

"Ella... h-h-hang on," he cried, looking at Mrs. Richardson. "PHONE! GIVE ME YOUR CELL PHONE!"

When the woman frantically dug around in her purse, he spotted the man holding the gun.

His eyes went blank when the weapon was turned on Ella's mother.

"Put it down, bitch," the man snarled. "Before I put you down."

That was it: within the span of a second, he was seeing red.

Before he could let himself think, he gently set his bleeding girlfriend against the snow and bolted upright, charging towards the middle-aged black man with a savage roar. Lowering his shoulder like a linebacker, he tackled the adult off his feet and smashed him against the wall.

The pistol handle was repeatedly bashed against his head as he fought to wrest the weapon out of the madman's hands, but as he continued fighting for control of the gun, his anger continued rising.

In the end, he managed to disarm the gunner... but before he figured out what, exactly, he was doing... he gripped the man's head with both of his hands and smashed it backwards, knocking the lunatic out and most likely giving him a concussion. At any rate, he collapsed like a rag doll and Xaphile stepped back, breathing hard.

Whirling back around, he stumbled over to Ella and sank down in front of her, carefully rolling her over and pressing his hand against the gunshot wound in her back.

"Don't worry, you're gonna be fine," he told her, cradling her form. "Don't close your eyes! Stay with me!"

"It... hurts..." she wheezed, pupils utterly enormous: she was breathing rapidly and seemed to be struggling with it. "Xaphy... I... I can't..."

"You can, and shall," he whispered hoarsely, ignoring the blood running down his own arm. "Don't give in, Ella... please... keep your eyes open."

"I..." she panted, breathing growing even shallower, "I don't... think... it'll matter... even if... I do... close them..."

"What are you saying?!" he cried, feeling his heart wrenching. "Ella!"

"I... can't see... anymore... Xaphy..." she told him. "Everything's... going... fuzzy... and I can only see spots. I can't even... see you anymore... where are you?!"

His face screwed up and he immediately lifted her into his grasp: he held her as tightly as he could, muscles quivering violently. He would hold on until someone came to help.

"I'm right here, Ella..." he whispered, tears beginning to stream down his own cheeks from under his hair. "I'm right here... don't worry, everything is going to be fine..."

"Dope!" she choked out, struggling to lift a hand and touch his cheek; a trickle of blood slid out of her mouth when her fingers grazed him. "I'm scared... so you can't cry. Be a man... you big... doofus..."

His jaw immediately locked and he rubbed the tears off his face.

"I won't cry," he told her, pressing his lips against her forehead. "But in return, you can't go anywhere... you can't leave us. Not like this."

"I... I don't want to..." she whispered, muscles slowly going slack. "But... I..."

Before she finished, her hand dropped and her pupils expanded.

Then, her irises lost their reflective sheen.

He stared at her with a blank expression... then he shook her a little.

"Ella...?" he whispered, heart going numb; he instantly shook her again. "Ella...? Ella?!"

No response.

"Ella!" Mrs. Richardson finally shrieked, crawling through the bloody snow and clutching her daughter's arm. "Baby, say something! This isn't funny!"

Still no response.

However, when it finally hit him, the boy's stomach tightened: he suddenly felt as though a large fist had clutched his heart. As though someone were squeezing it, trying to crush it, trying to destroy him.

Eyes widening and mouth opening as the unbearable pressure filled him, the teenage boy let out a raw-throated scream that traveled up and down the streets.

"ELLA! WAKE UP! SAY SOMETHING!" Xaphile cried, roughly shaking her body. "OI! COME ON! THIS ISN'T FUNNY! SAY SOMETHING!"

The girl still didn't move: her face had gone completely slack.

She hadn't even closed her eyes.

"ELLA!" Mrs. Richardson wailed, smacking the girl's arms. "ELLA! ELLA! ELLA! PLEASE! WAKE UP!"

However, there was no response... no amount of chafing, punching, or smacking had any effect... and when reality had come crashing down that his true love and best friend was most likely gone forever, the horrible feeling that took hold of Xaphile's heart turned everything within him so dark that it nearly crushed him. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he'd been hit so hard that he couldn't breathe... his tears had started flowing, but his expression had gone blank.

Stayed blank.

"MY DAUGHTER!" Mrs. Richardson wailed, voice echoing up and down the streets. "SOMEBODY HELP MY DAUGHTER! PLEASE! MY BABY GIRL! SHE'S HURT! HELP HER!"

But nobody had come.

Nobody had been brave enough to try.

Others were still lying on the ground, crying with various gunshot wounds.

And yet... in spite of that, they had been left all alone, in that cold white world, for nearly thirty minutes until help had finally arrived. But by then... no, in the moment it had actually happened... it had been too late.

Because his Ella... his best friend... his true love... was gone.

Forever.

3: Chapter 2: Moving Forward

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU"

Loosely based on a very true story.
Names have been changed to protect privacy.

"This is my very first original story. I'm also entering it into the 2016 Watty Competition once it begins this year, so please be gentle and wish me luck. This story can and will be published someday, so please enjoy reading it while you can. I claim all rights to all parts of this work: you may not use anything for anything unless you ask me." - Aaron

___________________

Chapter Two: Moving Forward

Everything inside the Heseroph household was unbearably quiet for once. The lights were off, the curtains were drawn, and the air was still. There were no more doors opening and closing, no more murmuring, not even the clacking of a computer keyboard.

The house had gone quiet.

As it was, a middle aged Russian man named Olag was lying on his back, arms folded behind his head... staring at his ceiling as he wondered about how things had become so warped.

Mostly, his thoughts consisted of his only son, Xaphile.

A lot had happened recently, right under his nose... and there were still a vast majority of things he knew he was missing, including several keys to the boy's puzzling behavior.

It had been three months since his kid had gotten shot in the arm.

Three months since he'd come back from some girl's funeral looking like a drowned cat.

And three months of total silence had come from the bedroom at the end of the hall since then.

He no longer attended school... after going back for a week, he'd stopped showing up to classes almost abruptly. Then, due to a month and a half of ditching, he'd finally been expelled, which had gotten the man in trouble. Enough trouble that he, Olag Heseroph, had actually relapsed into his abusive ways and beaten his son like the old days. During that incident, however, the man had noticed something very creepy about his kid. And because of it, he had actually stopped... for the first time in his life, his temper had fizzled out.

Instead of staying furious, he'd felt bizarrely worried since his son hadn't even twitched while being hit. He'd merely stared off into space with eyes that looked like a doll's, glassy and emotionless. It was the look of someone who had died inside... and it had spooked the man to his core. Since that incident, Olag hadn't set foot in his room. He had merely lain down to think. He had done this for three days. He didn't know what else to do aside from try to piece the puzzle that was his child together.

Unfortunately, that morning, the strange routine his musings had formed was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Forced into getting out of bed prematurely, his temper spiked up since he was already feeling groggy and irritable from his hangover.

Grumbling under his breath, he plodded downstairs and threw the door open.

"What do you want?" Olag demanded, giving the chubby brown-haired woman standing on his porch a hostile glare. "If you're here to preach or sell something, get the hell off my property. I ain't interested."

The woman, who had puffy eyes and extremely dark circles beneath them, blinked at him in confusion.

"Are you... Xaphile's father?" she tentatively asked, staring up at his huge physique with something akin to disbelief. "Mr. Heseroph?"

"That'd be me," the man grunted, looking down at her with bloodshot eyes. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Connie Richardson," she quietly told him, holding out a hand. "I'm... Ella's mother."

He stared blankly.

"Who the hell is Ella?" the man snorted, tilting his head. "Never heard of her. She one of my boy's classmates or somethin'?"

The woman's eyes widened in utter shock, but after a moment she looked closer at him and frowned a little.

"Yes, I guess you could say that," Mrs. Richardson murmured, rubbing her left eye. "Is Xaphile here? I heard today from one of the other parents that he hasn't been coming to school for quite a long time... I was worried, so I wanted to make sure he was doing all right. Also, today is his seventeenth birthday, so..."

His eyes went blank for a moment when she held up a card.

He had forgotten his own kid's birthday.

The saddest part was that he didn't really feel bad about it.

"By all means, then," the man muttered, stepping aside and waving her in. "This place is a sty, though."

It was an understatement.

Beer cans and bottles lay everywhere among mountains of garbage, and dirty dishes were stacked up on the coffee table. Clothes were lying all over, and the place smelled a tad sour. The woman ignored that, however, and looked around.

"How has he been doing?" she asked, looking at the giant with apprehensive eyes. "Emotionally, I mean..."

"Dunno what you're getting at, but if you're referring to my little brat's strange behavior lately, I wouldn't know anything," the man grunted, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping the top. "He hasn't set foot outside of his bedroom for anything but chow time and taking the occasional piss. Probably has to do with the shock of getting himself shot or somethin'."

The woman's nose wrinkled at the foul language, but she let it go.

"Where's his room?" she asked, looking around. "I really need to speak with him..."

"Oi, you ain't no social worker, are ya?" the man ground out, making her frown at him. "I don't like social workers."

"No, I'm not a social worker," she stated politely, shaking her head. "I'm simply a mother who's worried about her daughter's friend."

The man nodded, then walked over to the staircase.

"Boy! Get your ass down here!" he roared, voice practically shaking the house and making the woman jump. "You got a fuckin' visitor!"

There was no answer.

"Xaph?" Mrs. Richardson stammered, looking a little more hesitant. "Are... you okay? It's Mrs. R..."

Once again... no answer.

After a moment, the man looked at her and shrugged before plopping down on the couch and grabbing the television remote.

"His room is at the top of the stairs, first door on the right," he yawned, lewdly scratching himself and making the woman's shackles rise almost immediately. "You can show yourself out of my house once you're done checking on the brat."

Letting out a sigh and rubbing her eyes, the plump woman slowly turned her head and glanced at the stairs. Then she pulled a few things out of her purse and looked at them. Her eyes began to water and she rubbed them a little, sniffing. In her hands were two photos: one of Xaphile standing awkwardly between her and her daughter, looking like he didn't really know how to handle having two laughing women holding onto his arms. He looked very much like a startled cat... he'd always been mellow like one, but his gawky, awkward side had always been one of his funny traits.

In the second picture beside it, the two of them had been at the Homecoming Dance.

In it, he was holding Ella at arm's length and looking down at her with eyes that conveyed volumes of love and utter adoration.

His hair had been slicked back, revealing just how handsome he was... and his teal eyes seemed to be sparkling.

Back then, he'd always looked so happy by Ella's side.

"My poor babies," she mumbled, pulling a tissue out of her purse and blowing her nose. "I have to make sure he's okay... we'll get through this."

So saying, the woman made her way up the wooden steps and headed for the room Xaphile was supposedly holed up in.

"Xaphy?" she called quietly, gently knocking on the wood. "Honey, it's Mrs. Richardson... I'm coming in, okay?"

Once again, there was no answer: only silence filled the air.

Ella's mother felt herself sinking into despair when she opened the door and slowly walked inside the bedroom.

It was extremely dark despite being very early in the day: there was only a thin shred of light peeking in through a gap in the curtains. Upon inspection, the room was extremely clean for someone who had chosen to lock himself away: normally, most boys would get sloppy in this type of situation... but Xaphile had acted the complete opposite. There were no photos, posters, or even the normal messiness that came along with being a teenager, and aside from the books stacked up on the wall, there was nothing to mark this room as his own.

Actually... it felt as though the room didn't belong to anybody at all... and that made her a bit uneasy.

Her blue eyes saddened when she saw a large lump under the thin sheets: gleaming tendrils of Xaphile's long black hair were lying on the pillow, but he didn't move. The woman slowly looked down at the ground and clasped her hands, feeling her stomach twisting in dismay. If what his father had said was the truth, since the day of the funeral, he had apparently refused to go anywhere aside from the bathroom... even school.

He had locked himself in his bedroom.

Xaphile was normally the type of boy who couldn't really express his emotions to other people using words... after all, he was an exceedingly soft-spoken young man, and he wasn't exactly good at socializing. Xaphile was actually fairly clumsy compared to other boys despite his love for athletics: he was the kind of guy who would try running a track race and do great until the end, where he would trip in a spectacular manner.

Awkward in every form of the word.

He was also a bit on the quiet side despite the boundless optimism he'd always exuded around Ella.

She could still remember his face on that horrible Christmas... his eyes had gone blank, his entire face had turned pale, and his body had started trembling, but then... something in his irises had gone out like a busted light. She'd had a feeling that... once he'd realized what had actually happened... he had instantly gone somewhere else inside his head.

But apparently, he hadn't come back from wherever he had gone.

Connie Richardson knew that he was aware of her presence, so she slowly sat down on his bed and waited until he sat up.

His muscles rippled when he weakly pushed himself upright and turned to look in her direction. Tendrils of his waist-length black hair glistened in the sunlight when he looked up at her, slanted teal eyes somehow refusing to reflect light like a normal person's. His eyes looked the same as they had on the day of the funeral... yet somehow, even emptier than before.

He vacantly returned her worried gaze.

"Yes?" Xaphile asked in a deadened voice; no emotion whatsoever laced his tone. "It's been a while... is there anything I can do for you?"

"You already know the answer to that, sweetheart," Connie calmly explained, slowly lifting a hand to brush a strand of his tangled hair away from his forehead. "You can't lock yourself away like this... you have to stop hiding."

He stared at her with no feeling at all.

"I'm not hiding," the boy hoarsely explained, turning away from her. "That's not what I'm doing at all."

"Yes, you are," Connie sighed, shaking her head in dismay before she rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Darling... if what your father said to me is true, you've been hiding up here for three months now... the only times you leave your room are when you shower, eat, and use the bathroom."

For a moment, Xaphile didn't move... but when he slowly lifted his head, she froze like a statue.

For the first time that she had ever seen, his eyes were full of nothing but pain.

"I can't go anywhere without thinking of her," he stated simply. "We went everywhere... and because of that, every place has a memory. I can't look at anything that reminds me of her... because if I do, I'll have to move on."

Her eyes hardened.

"Don't forget her," the woman snapped, clutching his arm. "That's the last thing you should be doing! Face the memories head on! Learn from them! Because if you give up, it'll be like abandoning her... and you can't ever do that. Not when you were her closest friend..."

He merely looked at her.

His posture vaguely reminded her of a lost kitten.

She couldn't stand it.

Standing up, she walked over to the dresser and pulled out the first shirt she found before storming back over and handing it to him: he looked at it.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Why are you giving me this?"

"Because we're going for a walk," she stated firmly, mouth quivering. "I understand why you're hurting, Xaphy... but you can't do this. We have to take the first step forward... for her sake. If she were still here, she would cry her eyes out if she could see the state her death put you in."

He flinched and closed his eyes for a moment, then reluctantly took the shirt and slid it over his lean frame. After fluffing his hair out of the neckline, he crawled out of bed and slid his socks and shoes on. Then, donning his jacket and a scarf, he slid his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor, waiting. Without further prompting, she opened his bedroom door and walked downstairs with him following closely behind. When they left the house together, he didn't even glance back at his father.

A frigid wind hit his face when he stepped out into the sunlight.

Even though it was early spring, snow was still falling heavily.

Still, they kept walking, moving through their neighborhood and past the party store where he and Ella had always bought sugar daddy lollipops with their allowances.

His eyes slowly moved across all of the places they'd played together and hung out while he walked with her mother... so many places with memories.

Falling into the river and getting themselves soaked and scolded by Connie herself... doing homework under the huge tree in the park... playing tag along the sidewalks, riding down the street on Ella's first bike together. Sitting on the benches and giving the birds some of the bread crusts he'd occasionally been given as a child. Lying on the grass and counting stars at night... looking for pictures in the clouds during the day... eating ice cream together... teasing each other. Snowball fights, and building snowmen.

In every place, mountains of those beautiful memories were lying untouched by the flow of time.

So close he could have almost reached out and grabbed them.

He looked at every place they'd been made, feeling even emptier than he had before.

But before he could dwell on it, Connie gripped his hand and pulled him a little bit faster, heading towards the diner where he and Ella had enjoyed their first date. The two of them stood outside of it, and she set a reassuring hand on his arm when one of the waitresses halted and stared at them. When she turned and said something, everyone inside the building immediately turned to look at the windows... Xaphile watched as three familiar waitresses set their trays down and ran outside.

Sally, Emily, and Kaitlyn... Ella's three best friends from school: when they sprinted over, he lowered his eyes and hid his irises with his hair.

He tensed when all three of them threw their arms around him, fighting back tears.

"Xaphile, where the hell have you been?!" Sally croaked, lifting her watering blue eyes. "We thought... we thought you might have run away or something! You haven't been at school since... well, you know... and everyone was worried sick about you! Especially since you got shot in the arm!"

"He was hospitalized for nearly two weeks," Connie murmured, looking at the boy's arm when he lifted a hand and touched the hidden scar. "He's doing better now."

"Good... because we're all here for you, Xaph," Kate stated firmly, pulling away and rubbing her eyes; her red hair was disheveled and she looked like a mess. "Ella was our friend, too... everyone misses her, which is why you shouldn't shut everyone out and disappear for months on end."

"Lighten up," Emily muttered, rubbing her eyes before shooting her a look. "It's gotta be rougher on him considering the circumstances of their relationship."

That statement was met with a very uncomfortable silence.

"Look, Xaph," Kate sighed, giving him a tired look, "we just want you to know... that if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to stop by. We're all grieving for Ella. This isn't something you need to deal with by yourself. It's not something you should have to deal with alone, period. I wouldn't have been able to cope without Sally and Em."

"Yeah," Sally finished, giving him a look. "The manager told us to give you free meals whenever you stopped by, too... if it helps."

He almost seemed to be staring through them when his hair shifted enough for them to see.

His eyes were blank and devoid of any feeling whatsoever.

"Thank you," he droned, closing them with a small exhale. "I appreciate your condolences."

"We have to get back to work," Sally murmured, patting his arm. "Really, though... don't hesitate to stop by, and call us if you want to talk."

They gave him worried glances when he remained silent, but eventually they turned to go, throwing looks over their shoulders.

Once they were gone, he turned and started walking off in an aimless direction... and as he did so, Connie followed him. They walked for nearly ten minutes, but the woman was mildly surprised when he stopped in front of a fairly unremarkable tree and set his hand against the bark. He rubbed it with gentle fingers for a long moment... but when he lowered his arm, she saw what he'd been touching.

Her heart nearly broke.

His and Ella's names had been carved into the tree, and all around it were beautiful engravings... it looked more like a work of art than a tree.

After her daughter had been taken from them, a lot of people had been devastated, especially those who had been closest to her... but as strange as it felt to admit it, even to herself, Mrs. Richardson actually had a very bad feeling that Ella's passing had crushed Xaphile even more than it had crushed her, the girl's own mother. Watching him attempt to speak at the funeral had hurt her even more than when her daughter had initially passed away.

She had known Xaphile long enough for him to feel like a son... she'd often thought of him as family.

But because of that, watching him that day had made her cry.

The look in his eyes... she would never forget it: he looked like a young man who'd been shattered completely from the inside out.

Shattered so much, that he couldn't even cry.

Because that was the truth: at the funeral, not a single tear had fallen from his eyes.

Then again, it hadn't been necessary, because his expression had spoken more powerfully than tears could have ever done.

"You're not alone," she stated weakly, finally stepping forward and resting her forehead against his broad back. "We all miss her... but time doesn't wait for people."

A cold wind swept through the area as she spoke, ruffling his long hair.

"That play... the one we went to see that day..." he finally muttered, making her blink and look up at him. "What was it called?"

She stared at his rigid shoulders for a long moment, trying to figure out what he meant until realization struck her.

"Romeo and Juliet..." she whispered, closing her eyes in remembrance. "It was one of the best performances I've ever seen."

He was silent for a long moment.

Then he turned around and looked at her, shoulders relaxing.

For a long moment, they merely looked at each other... but then, he gave a weak smile.

"I guess I should move forward, huh?" he asked, eyes taking on a slightly more reflective sheen. "That's what everyone wants... to move forward."

Relief flooded through her when he rubbed his eyes.

"Yes, sweetheart," she explained, nodding when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. "That's what Ella would want."

"Then I guess that's what I'll do," he whispered, pulling back and giving her that same little smile before shoving his hands in his pockets and slinking away. "I'll move forward... in my own way, I think I can do it."

She smiled for a moment as she watched him go, hoping he would begin the road to recovering himself... but then, strangely, she had this sudden, bizarre urge to grasp his hand and force him to turn around. It was almost as though someone she couldn't see or hear were trying to tell her not to let him leave just yet. However, she ignored the strange feeling and decided to head home herself, since it was getting pretty late in the afternoon. They had been walking for quite a while, after all.

After she got home, she put her keys on the table and turned.

However, she paused when a breeze ruffled her hair and looked around.

All of the windows were closed.

"That's odd," Mrs. Richardson murmured, looking around for the source of the breeze. "Where's it coming from?"

She froze when the wind abruptly halted and she felt two light hands on her shoulders.

A flash of Xaphile's face entered her mind and she had that same bizarre urge to go see him.

When she whirled around, there was nobody there and the windows were still closed tightly.

The woman blinked and touched both of her shoulders in confusion... because instead of feeling scared, she felt calm and warm without even knowing why. When the door leading to her daughter's room unexpectedly creaked itself open, however, she whirled around with a gasp and stared at it with startled eyes. Then, she slowly made her way over to it and walked inside, feeling an ache sweeping through her.

Ella's room had been left untouched since the day of her passing.

All of her things were exactly where they'd been on that last day, only now everything was covered with dust.

She slowly made her way over to her late child's bedside and looked down at it with watering eyes; then, feeling lost and alone, the woman sank down on Ella's bed and pressed her cheek against the pillow with a shaky sigh. In the days after she'd died, Connie Richardson had often lain here because it had smelled like her. Her baby had always smelled like lavender, pencil shavings, and warm milk... but now, even that semblance of comfort was gone. The only thing she had left of her child were memories of the times they'd shared together.

She slowly started crying and curled up into a little ball as she lay there with her face buried in the pillow. The woman missed her daughter so badly that it was still burning her heart... it was the kind of pain that gave no amount of relief. Mostly because reality was the cause of it.

She wanted her baby back... so badly.

And the realization that Xaphile had literally gone into a state of self-depreciating shock had only made it worse.

After she'd cried for about an hour, she hesitantly wiped her puffy eyes and stared at the room's decorations.

The posters on the wall... the makeup littering her floor... the clothes in the closet.

Everything.

"Ella..." she mumbled, rubbing her stinging eyes. "I miss you."

The moment she said it, another breeze filled the air and something roughly tugged on her hair.

Her eyes widened and she glanced to the left as something rippled into her peripheral vision... a figure in green and blue, with two white strips along the shoulders... and plenty of white on top. It was difficult to make out, but the woman froze when the figure in the corner of her eyes slowly began to move. She didn't dare even twitch when whatever thing she was seeing lifted a hand and pointed in the direction of the door.

Once again, the feeling of going to see Xaphile filled her mind.

Just as the gooseflesh rose up on her arms, she looked at the strange apparition with a somewhat fearful expression.

However, nothing was there.

"What in the world is wrong with me?" she wondered, sitting up and touching her forehead. "This is so strange. I must be tired."

The moment she stood up, the breeze vanished.

She went to her own room and lay down on her bed, planning to close her eyes for a little... but instead, she somehow ended up sleeping the whole day away, clean on to the next morning. She awoke feeling groggy and disoriented for some strange reason... but she figured it would pass after some coffee and a shower. She quickly began her morning routine, ignoring the silence in the house around her.

Everything was going normally until the phone rang.

Blinking, she put her duster and Windex down and hurried to the kitchen, picking the phone up off the wall.

"Hello?" she asked, tucking the phone under her ear as she returned to cleaning. "Can I help you?"

"Hello, Ma'am, this is Deputy Miles Chase from the police department," a male voice stated in a stoic tone, making the woman blink. "May I please speak with Connie Richardson?"

"This is she," the woman hesitantly told him, feeling more than a little surprised. "What can I do for you, officer?"

"I need to ask you a few questions concerning an incident that took place around ten thirty at night yesterday evening," he stated grimly, making the woman furrow her brows. "Do you have time to meet with me and a few other officers today?"

"Well, yes, but what's going on?" Connie inquired, blinking at the wall. "Did something happen that I unthinkingly bore witness to...?"

The man was silent.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Ma'am," he stated quietly. "This might come as a shock... we all know about what happened, so I'm really sorry to break the news like this... but Xaphile Heseroph was found dead this morning in front of the downtown ampitheater."

The world around the woman suddenly turned grey and she slowly began to hear a rushing noise that drowned out her senses.

She couldn't comprehend what she'd just heard... but in a muddled way, it almost seemed to make sense.

"What... did you just say?" Mrs. Richardson asked in a confused tone. "What... what are you talking about...?"

Her eyes remained blank as she struggled to make sense of her jumbled thoughts.

"He specifically left you a note," the deputy tiredly sighed. "If you have time... please. Come to the station."

In that moment, it hit her.

The boy who had somehow become like her second child...

He was...

"You're... lying, right?" she whispered, already feeling horrified tears streaming down her cheeks. "He... wouldn't... right?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the officer croaked. "If you need time, we understand... but we really do need a formal report from you to confirm his cause of death, since you were seen with him in town yesterday."

In that moment, the phone slipped from her hands and fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

All she could do was stare at the wall... not believing anything.

Her mouth was quivering violently... and she didn't know what to think. Didn't know what to do. And as she stood there, pondering what this could have truly meant... the pressure in her breast built up, and her face scrunched up before she could stop it: lifting her shaking hands, she let out a hysterical screech of pain... then another one... and another... and another, before finally bursting into hysterical tears.

Falling to her knees, she covered her eyes and sat on the floor as the sobs wracked her whole body.

Left behind, again.

"Xaphile..." she sobbed, hugging her middle. "Xaphile..."

She didn't believe it... she couldn't... scrambling to her feet and bolting for the door, the woman frantically slipped on her shoes and grabbed her coat before tearing outside to her car. Hands shaking, she unlocked her car door and jumped inside, keying the ignition.

The drive took only ten minutes where it should have taken thirty because of how fast she drove.

Screeching to a halt in front of the South Side Chicago police station, the woman bolted up the stairs and tore into the the building. Several officers, who had been on their way towards the door, halted with expressions of surprise. Connie shakily walked over to the first one she saw.

"Where is he?!" she cried, clutching the man's arm. "Please! It can't be true, right?!"

The policeman averted his eyes.

"If you're referring to the Heseroph boy..." he quietly replied, shaking his head. "He...."

When he trailed off, Connie's pupils dilated.

"Officer Aldriech," someone called, making the man turn. "Give her some space."

The young officer backed off when the chief of police walked up to her, flashing his badge. The elderly man's wizened grey eyes looked tired and more than a little grim when she glanced up.

"We weren't expecting you so soon, Mrs. Richardson," he stated seriously. "If you're here for the formal report, we can do that now."

"The note," she stated firmly, holding out a shaking hand. "Give it to me."

The old man winced, then closed his eyes with a tight expression.

However, after a moment, he reluctantly pulled something out of his pocket and gave it to her.

"I'm sorry," he stated quietly. "This is one of the most tragic cases I've ever seen. You have my condolences."

The woman didn't even hear him: tearing off to the nearest bathroom, she clutched the note close to her chest and locked the door behind her before moving in front of the sink. Then, shakily, she unfolded the note and fearfully began to read. Her eyes widened since it was indeed his lazy scrawl.

"Mrs. Richardson... you're the mother I've never had. I care for you, so I specifically want to tell you why I've done this. It's because I've decided to move forward in my own way. I can't keep going normally, because life without Ella isn't life at all. For me, it's like living death... something within me broke when she died... and she took it with her. So, in order to move forward in the only way I can think of, I'm cutting the time I have on this earth short to avoid prolonging years upon years of misery. Don't cry for me... and keep going. Don't look back. It's just like you said... time waits for no one. Think of this as me following her to wherever she's gone if that lessens the pain of my actions. To everyone else... thank you for your kindness... and Dad... ? Bye, I guess."

As she read, her eyes watered and her face screwed up.

She covered her mouth when a sob finally escaped her lips, but tears streamed down her cheeks nonetheless. Out in the lobby, every single officer within hearing distance lowered their eyes when the sound of her hysterical sobs finally began to echo from the bathroom.

However, little did anyone know, unlike Romeo and Juliet... their story wasn't over.

Unlike Romeo and Juliet, this tale didn't end with the demise of it's young lovers.

It began with it.

4: Chapter 3: Forest of Dreams

Chapter Three: Forest of Dreams

It was over.

The shadowy tendrils fit him like a glove... and a warm one at that. They cradled him in unseen arms and whispered loving things in voices that he couldn't hear. He didn't struggle when the feathery fingers slid over his eyelids and lips, and he may have even smiled a little. There was no more pain... no more guilt... no more need for the numbing ice to keep the shattered pieces of his heart intact.

However, after a moment, he began to wonder something.

"Where am I?" Xaphile wondered aloud, staring at the darkness. "Why... am I here?"

"You're dying..." a feminine voice whispered, catching his attention. "You're falling into darkness..."

"What does that mean?" Xaphile asked, fighting to remember who he was. "Who... am I?"

"You... are beginning to fade..." the voice gently explained. "You've stopped breathing."

"Breathing?" Xaphile wondered, giving a slow blink as the shadows caressed his form.

"Breath," the voice confirmed

"What is breath?" Xaphile asked. "What does it mean to breathe?"

"It means to be alive..." the voice stated simply.

"What does that mean?" Xaphile inquired blankly.

The voice fell silent and the shadows deepened around him, soothing the ache that he couldn't even remember.

"You need to be brave..." the voice soothed. "I won't let you do this... not here, not now."

"Brave?" Xaphile asked, eyes slowly fluttering and sliding closed. "What does that mean?"

"Bravery is something you have," the voice explained. "Something that lies deep inside every man's heart."

"I am brave?" Xaphile asked, eyes opening a little bit.

"Yes," the voice confirmed. "More brave than anyone I have ever known."

"Does this mean that am I here for a purpose?" Xaphile wondered. "In this darkness for a purpose...?"

"Yes," the voice repeated

"What is that purpose?" Xaphile asked.

"To find me again... and once you do, to be brave," the voice murmured. "To live... and to love."

"To find... be brave... to live..." Xaphile murmured incoherently. "To... love...?"

Love.

He remembered that word.

Almost immediately, his heart shattered into a million pieces as the agony came back.

"I can't..." he whispered, shutting the doors to his mind and huddling in the dark. "I can't... not after what happened."

He didn't want to love anymore... the very sound of the word had brought this crushing pain back to his heart... the pain that wouldn't leave. Nothing penetrated the silence as he finally descended further and further into his subconscious. The darkness and silence wasn't frightening; in fact, it was soothing after experiencing so many whirling thoughts and mental traffic jams. The memories of who he was had returned. He remembered why he had given up on being alive.

Ella.

Life without Ella wasn't a life at all.

It was living death.

He would rather die than endure life alone.

Unending darkness.

"Please..." the distant voice suddenly called, rousing his fading consciousness and making him shudder. "Please, don't give up."

"I have no desire to remain alive," he whispered, wrapping himself in a blanket of darkness. "I can't keep going... I can't."

The black was absolute... unending yet solid, and even behind his eyelids he could see nothing and everything stretching before him. However, a tiny light abruptly broke through the darkness and cut through the shell around him like a knife: the crack instantly began to widen and more light spilled through to the blackness, dissolving it and blinding him. He instantly buried his face in his hands, trying to hide from it.

"Let me be!" he cried, curling into a ball and clutching his head. "I've given up! Ella isn't here anymore! Let me go to her! Please!"

Whoever it was didn't listen... and the intruder to his eternal darkness snared him like a fishhook.

Two arms wound around his form in a tight embrace and abruptly yanked him upward.

Sending him spiraling towards a world full of light and warmth.

His heart nearly broke a second time, since he actually recognized the feeling of these arms around him. Lifting his own hands, he tried to touch the figure of light, but for some reason he couldn't. He couldn't see who it was, either... but he thought he saw glasses.

However, before he could make anything out, the glowing figure finally let go of him and he flew towards the light. Everything grew blinding... and the darkness dissolved behind him, fading into a horrible ringing noise.

He may have screamed, but he couldn't remember.

However, a flash of confusion touched him as his conscious began to rouse.

Slowly, his senses started to wake up.

For a long moment, he felt disoriented... his body felt strangely shaky, and there was a gentle warmth against his back. After a moment of allowing his ears to stop ringing, he struggled to lift his head and blinked when he realized that his muscles were acting funny: he couldn't remember how to lift his hands or move his legs... for some bizarre reason, his body didn't seem to be familiar with the memories of movement.

A warm breeze caressed him as the sound of chirping birds met his ears.

"What's going on?" Xaphile croaked, finally opening his eyes. "What's happening to me?"

He didn't know how to move anymore. He wanted to scream for help... to shout for anyone nearby... but somehow, he knew deep down inside that something had happened to him. It was something that went beyond getting any normal help... and that's when he noticed his surroundings and realized something strange.

There was grass beneath his nose... not snow and cold concrete.

He blinked and looked down at it, wondering if he was hallucinating... but apparently he wasn't, since there really was wild grass resting directly beneath his nose. It was also much, much warmer outside.

He waited for a while until feeling slowly began coming back to him... but as his limbs began to prickle, he realized that he was hurting all over.

No wonder he was so shaky... he felt as though he'd been hit by a truck.

He once again attempted to wriggle his hands in order to test his motor control, but he couldn't deny that he was somewhat relieved to realize he could move a little.

Slowly, he twisted his body and used his arms to weakly push himself upright, joints popping and tendons straining.

Then, lifting a hand, he touched his face.

However, he paused... then pulled his hand away, staring at it in confusion.

His nails... for some reason, they were abnormally long and looked like claws of some sort.

"What the heck?" he wondered, flexing his hand with a blink. "Gross. What's wrong with my nails?"

He didn't know.

He also felt a little confused about his surroundings once he actually took the time to look around: he was lying in the shade of a huge tree with sunlight playing across his pale skin in the dapples made by leaves hanging overhead. However, when a breeze touched his legs, he glanced down and realized with a jolt of alarm that he was totally naked for some reason. Then he noticed something else... something on his body that felt extremely wrong.

Twisting and awkwardly looking over his shoulder, he tried to spot the source of this weird feeling and froze like a statue.

For a long moment, all he could do was stare at his back with blank teal eyes.

Somehow... his body had changed... and it wasn't a normal change, either: it was like something straight out of a horror film about mutation.

It had him reeling in utter confusion and horror: his hair was just as long as it had ever been... but underneath it was a silky mane that began at the nape of his neck and stretched all the way down to his ass, where a thick, black, lion-like tail was sticking out of his butt bone. His horrified eyes followed the tail's length all the way to the tip, which was flicking back and forth nearly five feet away.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, clutching the freakish appendage and twitching when he realized he could actually feel his hand on it. "What the actual FUCK?!"

It was nearly as long as his whole body in general.

Freaking out, he hastily attempted to climb to his feet, but his legs gave out halfway and instead he fell back to the ground. The grass cushioned his fall and kept him from actually hurting himself, but it still left him reeling. He waited, catching his breath... then he tried to get up again. He almost fell flat on his face since his arms buckled, but at the last second he turned his head so he wouldn't get a mouth full of dirt.

For a long moment, he merely stared off into space and moped.

It was only when he tried to turn his head that he realized something else. He couldn't do it, because something that had gotten caught in the dirt prevented him from trying. For several moments, he struggled to move his head, but his actions were met with firm resistance. Scowling, he pushed against the earth until he popped free of it; then he blinked rapidly before lifting a hand and touching his hair. He didn't feel anything abnormal until his fingers brushed against something long and sharp.

He blinked yet again as he touched it, then he lifted his other hand and touched the other side of his head.

His fingers immediately brushed against a second one.

"Seriously?!" he squeaked, eyes becoming huge. "Are there horns sticking out of my head?!"

He didn't know if that's what they were, but they sure as hell felt like them with the bizarre way they were curving.

Xaphile Heseroph sat up and plopped his hands between his lap, face pale and not really knowing how to comprehend what was going on with his body.

Aren't I supposed to be dead? he wondered, brows furrowing. What the hell is going on here? This isn't right... why am I still alive, and what happened to my body?

He didn't know, but he figured now would be a good time to really start checking if other things about him had changed.

The boy carefully examined each of his limbs... but for the most part, his legs were the same as they'd always been aside from some new weird claws on his toes, and a strange flexibility in his feet. Then he examined his groin and abdomen: nothing about his manhood had changed, for which he thanked all the stars in the sky, but he now had a lot of hair.

As in... a lot.

His pubic regions had literally turned into something that resembled soft fur instead of hair... and it stretched up his belly all the way to his chest in a thin line.

"This is messed up," he whined, clamping his knees together and drawing them up to his chin. "What the hell is wrong with me?!"

Something cold touched his legs when he buried his chin in his knees. For a moment, he didn't move, fearing it was some other bizarre mutation... but then, he steeled himself and looked down. He froze when he realized it was the locket Ella had given him so long ago... the golden one from when she'd asked him out. His heart clenched violently and he slowly touched it, eyes going completely hollow and deadening in an instant.

With the changes in his body, he had nearly forgotten why he'd attempted suicide in the first place.

He sat there for a long while, looking at the locket... but then, he clicked the button on the side for the first time since the funeral.

When it flicked open, the pictures resting inside of it were revealed.

For a moment, the ice in his eyes melted a bit... but then, the small spark of warmth faded yet again.

Inside the locket were two photos.

The one on the right had been taken on Xaphile's sixteenth birthday by Kate. They'd all surprised him with a birthday party, so his expression had been rather startled even though he'd been smiling awkwardly. Ella had been right there beside him, arms draped around his neck and cheek pressed against his own, grinning at the camera whilst flashing a giddy peace sign. Connie had been on his other side, hugging his free arm with a laughing grin.

The photo on the right had been taken during one of his rare daring streaks. He'd kissed her on the cheek without thinking, and her face had turned bright red.

In the photo, she'd been grinning, even though she'd looked super surprised.

Without warning, Xaphile snapped the locket shut and looked away, letting it drop back against his chest.

The ache he'd been trying to escape from was back.

His tail, bizarre as it was, seemed to grown a mind of its own and started flicking around. The strange muscle spasms annoyed the hell out of him, so he grabbed it and tried to hold it still... but for some reason, the tip of it started flicking even faster.

"Stop it!" he finally groaned, scowling at it. "Stop wriggling already! How do I make this damn thing listen?!"

He didn't know, so eventually he let his new tail go and sighed, hanging his head.

For a long moment, he simply sat there.

Then, lifting his eyes, he glanced at his surroundings with a hollow expression. There wasn't much to see, just massive, mossy trees and low-lying ferns. He could tell that it was daytime from the amount of light filtering through the canopy above, but other than that he had no way of knowing specifically what time it was. He took this opportunity to genuinely get to his feet: his limbs were still shaking when he did so, but he somehow managed to keep his balance.

Not long after, he aimlessly began to wander through the woods.

He didn't know where he was going... merely followed his own two feet, taking one step at a time.

The passage of time wasn't really something he could keep track of without his watch, but he kept walking for at least a good hour. It was only when he found a huge tree that had fallen on its side that he stopped to sit down.

As he settled himself down on the middle of the fallen trunk, he didn't relish in the way the rough bark cut into his backside.

His throat was dry and his legs hurt.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes when another warm gust of wind brushed against his face, lifting his long hair away from his shoulders.

The boy didn't know what was going on, but he did know one thing: sitting around and feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to get him anywhere. Rolling his broad shoulders, Xaphile prepared to jump down from his perch until a sound that wasn't entirely natural drifted out of the woods behind him. He turned and looked over his shoulder when the sound of twigs breaking beneath a foot met his ears. Not long after, a middle-aged man stepped out of the trees, wearing some sort of strange brown outfit.

Xaphile almost called out to him before he remembered he was nude AND looked super bizarre.

Swallowing as the realization hit him, he slid off the tree trunk as quietly as he could and pressed his back against it.

For a long moment, he huddled there and willed the guy to go away with all of his might, crouching in a ball on the far side of the tree trunk.

Did he see me? Xaphile wondered, heart thudding in his ears. The last thing I need is to get hit with an indecency charge on top of whatever happened to my body.

His hands, had they not been clutched so tightly around his legs, would have shaken like trees in a storm.

On the other side of the fallen log, he heard footsteps so soft that he might have imagined them, followed by another snapping twig.

He heard a very low chuckle.

"Come out," the man on the other end of the tree commanded. "You can't hide... it's foolish to think you can at this point. I already know you're there."

He knew by the tone that it was an amused—although undeniably firm—command, and that it was most likely being directed at him. Xaphile stared straight ahead with spooked eyes, shoulders hunched. He didn't move an inch at the command and instead concentrated on the earth beneath his body... the scent of nearby plants, the sound of birds, and the meager sunlight shining on his dark hair. Xaphile felt the chill of the man's shadow more than he noticed the way it blocked out the sunshine.

When he looked up, he froze.

The guy was standing over him with a hunting bow in his hands. The arrow had been drawn and he was purposely aiming the weapon at him.

His blonde hair was glowing like burnished gold in the dim light of the forest: two sharp, steely his jade green eyes were looking down at him above a proud nose and a tangled blonde beard, which roiled and knotted around his jawline.

He looked fierce.

His eyes narrowed when Xaphile glanced at his weapon with huge, wary eyes: he carefully attempted to move his arm, but the man hefted the bow and gave a threatening glare, which made him freeze.

"You're a demon," he stated firmly, staring at his horns and tail. "What are you doing near our village? Come to attack us, have you?"

"H-huh?" Xaphile asked, brows immediately furrowing. "No, of course not... and what do you mean by 'demon'?"

The man blinked and frowned a little, lowering the weapon slightly.

"You can speak," he stated slowly, giving him a suspicious expression. "Tell me, what business do you have here?"

"I don't have any business," the boy retorted, shaking his head. "I don't even know how I got here... last thing I remember, I... I was in town. And it was snowing."

"Fancy story, but everyone knows demons are uncivilized monsters who do nothing but pillage and murder," the man growled, lifting the weapon again. "No more lies: tell me the truth or I'll put an end to you."

"I'm not lying," Xaphile retorted, lifting his head and staring at him with a taught jaw. "Put that thing down before you poke someone's eye out! Demons don't exist... they're nothing but myth."

"Oh?" the man snorted, looking amused by that. "Then what does that make you?!"

"Well, until I woke up in this creepy forest, I was just a normal guy," Xaphile snapped, losing his patience. "I didn't have a tail OR whatever's on my head."

"Prove it," the man sneered, lifting the bow and pulling the string tighter. "If you can prove what you say is the truth, then we can talk. I've never once heard tell of a human becoming a demon before."

Xaphile glared and pointedly lifted his arms, unclasping the locket around his throat before holding it up and hooking his nail against the button on the side.

When the golden heart clicked open, the man twitched... then leaned down, examining the pictures in confusion.

"There's your proof," Xaphile stated firmly, scowling at the man. "The guy in that picture is me... take a closer look if you want. Just putthat weapon down first, and be careful with it... this necklace is something that's more important to me than my own life."

The blonde suspiciously took the locket and examined the photos within more closely.

Then he stiffened, eyes widening.

"Impossible..." he grunted, looking at the boy with a stunned expression before glancing at the pictures again. "I can see that this could, in fact, be you... although how you managed to make such a small painting is beyond my comprehension. However, that girl... there's no mistaking it."

Xaphile froze, eyes deadening almost immediately.

He lowered his head.

"Ella," he whispered, making the man jump and look at him in shock. "Her name was Ella... she was my best friend."

"Are you truly saying that you're acquainted with Ella?!" he whispered, face going white. "The White maiden of Chisago?!"

"It's Chicago," Xaphile muttered, tiredly closing his eyes. "And yes, I knew her... in fact, I was... in love with her."

The man gasped and immediately lowered the weapon, releasing the tension on the string.

Jumping off the fallen tree, he knelt down in front of the boy and pressed his head against the dirt.

For a long moment, he merely sat there, shaking violently.

"You have my deepest apologies," he whispered, lifting his head with fearful eyes. "I didn't know you were acquainted with such a woman! I beg your forgiveness!"

"Huh?" Xaphile asked, blinking at him in alarm; swallowing with an awkward expression, he waved his hands. "O-oi, calm down... it's not that big of a deal..."

"It's unforgivable," he whispered, shaking his head. "I've committed an atrocity! To think, you're truly an acquaintance of our town's strongest warrior...!"

Xaphile immediately twitched, not believing his ears.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, looking up at the blonde with a blank expression. "Strongest... warrior...?"

"Oh, yes," he whispered, shivering madly before he handed the locket back to the boy. "Lady Ella is a warrior as beautiful as she is powerful... she singularly defeated an army of over three hundred rampaging demons using only her bow and twelve arrows. Many who witnessed it said that it actually looked like she was dancing with them... but surely, one by one, they all fell dead."

"Are you... purposely lying to my face...?" the boy growled, nose wrinkling with fury. "Don't talk about Ella like that... as if some fantasy story could ever be real."

"But it was indeed real!" the blonde man gasped, mouth dropping. "How could you not have heard about it?!"

"That's enough," Xaphile growled, mouth trembling with rage. "I've heard as much as I can take."

"Is she not youraacquaintance?!" the bowman snapped, frowning. "Do her feats of valor not please you? Is it because you yourself are a demon?"

It was too much: his expression broke and he lunged forward, clutching the man's shirt. The hunter jumped when the seventeen-year-old glared deep into his eyes and he tensed a little... until he realized that Xaphile had started crying. He was undeniably pissed, but the tears had slipped out before he could stop them.

"She died three months ago," he hissed, shaking the man a little. "Stop talking about her like that. I've known her since we were little kids, and I can tell you right now... she would have never hurt anyone, period, even if that person was a monster in every form of the word. Don't speak about her like that in front of me. I can't take it."

When he let go and furiously rubbed his eyes, the man stared blankly.

"Dead?" he asked, tilting his head slightly with a suspicious expression. "What are you saying? Lady Ella is very much alive, I can assure you."

"No, she's not," Xaphile snapped, shooting him a glare. "She died months ago."

"That cannot be," the blonde muttered, shaking his head before he stood up and hefted his bow. "I saw her but a week ago with my own two eyes. She couldn't have."

Xaphile's temper finally erupted.

"Are you purposely trying to make this harder on me?!" the boy roared, face turning bright red. "Why are you saying all this crazy shit?! Ella is DEAD! I was there when it happened, right next to her! She bled to death in my fucking ARMS! So, stop... I can't take anymore. Just, tell me how to get back to Chicago. I don't recognize this place."

The man now looked really confused, as well as worried.

"Are you... all right in the mind?" he carefully asked, frowning at the kid. "If you do not believe me... Chisago Village isn't too far away from here. If I truly must, I can and will... take you there. So you can see with your own two eyes that she is indeed very much alive."

The boy's teal eyes deadened and he sighed, giving up.

"Fine," he muttered, getting to his feet and shakily covering his groin. "Still... can I... have something to wear?"

When the man glanced down and realized he was totally nude, he did a double take and frowned before hopping back over the tree.

He vanished for a few moments, then returned with a huge hiking pack.

Tossing it over his arm, he vaulted back across the fallen log and dropped it in front of the dark-haired boy, digging around for something. After a moment, he pulled a weird-looking set of brown leather trousers and a cream-colored cloth shirt out into the open before tossing them in his direction. Blinking at the bizarre attire, Xaphile glanced at the man with confused eyes. However, after a moment, he gave up and shrugged the shirt over his head, fluffing his long hair out.

However, when he attempted to drag the pants on like he'd always done, they bent his tail.

And he REALLY regretted doing so.

It was like being zapped by a power outlet after sticking a penny inside, but instead of getting hit with electricity, there was nothing but a current of pain.

It traveled through his entire spine, making him wheeze and lock up.

"Ow..." he squeaked, voice hitching unbearably high. "The hell is up with this weird tail?! That really fucking hurt... ugh..."

"Eh?" the man asked, circling around and spotting his predicament almost immediately. "Oh, I see. I guess its good thing this problem can be fixed, eh? Hold still."

So saying, the man drew a hunting knife from his boot and knelt down, sliding the tip of it into the back of the strange leather pants.

Xaphile blinked when he tore a slit into them, then turned it into a hole of sorts.

When he finally moved away and smirked proudly, the boy looked at his tail and carefully attempted to thread the twitching thing through the hole.

It was a little snug, but at the very least... it worked.

The black-haired boy took his brief moment of relief to fasten the locket around his neck again.

Before he could react, however, the blonde dropped some sort of hat on his head.

"Wear that to hide those horns of yours," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don't know if you can manage it, but it would also be smart for you to stick that tail of yours into the shirt. People don't take too kindly to demons around here, and if you look like that, you can forget about getting even relatively close to Lady Ella."

"I can try," Xaphile muttered, furrowing his brows. "Can't make any promises, though... I still don't know how this thing works."

So saying, he carefully tugged on his new tail, forcibly attempting to wrap the heavy, wriggling thing around his upper torso beneath the shirt. It worked, mostly, but he occasionally had to grip the freakish appendage to keep it from wriggling itself loose.

"What's your name, kid?" the blonde grunted, eyeing him up and down. "If demons have names, that is..."

"Xaphile Heseroph," the boy sighed, giving him a look. "And like I said... I'm not a demon."

"Okay, okay, fine," the man sighed, then jerked a thumb at himself. "My name is Octavius Macintosh, but everyone calls me Gus. I'm a hunter by trade. Now, since we've gotten ourselves acquainted with each other, let's go. I want to get to the bottom of this, but I'm warning you... any funny business, and I'll lop your head off."

Xaphile's eyes narrowed at the threat.

"I hope you understand, that while I may not be a demon or whatever the hell you think I am," he stated slowly, giving the blonde a warning look, "I don't take kindly to death threats, and I won't hesitate to fuck you up if you actually attempt to attack me for any reason. I don't need a weapon to knock your ass out, just so we're on the same page."

Gus twitched and stared at him, then blinked a few times and chuckled, shaking his head.

"Come," he sighed, puzzled frown smoothing over into a look of bland pleasantness. "I will take you to Lady Ella."

Xaphile didn't know what to think other than the man was crazy... but he figured he might as well go along with it.

Eyes growing lifeless with that same hollow expression, he followed the blonde huntsman into the forest on wobbly legs, wondering just what was going on.

5: Chapter 4: Shock

Chapter Four: Shock

Xaphile honestly didn't know what to expect.

He had been walking through this forest with Gus for what felt like hours, but the scenery kept growing darker and darker for some bizarre reason.

As if they were going deeper into the forest instead of leaving it.

Eventually, however, they walked onto a cobblestone road and his bare feet halted in place.

Looking at the road with furrowed brows, he examined it with something close to mesmerization, since he'd never actually seen one before.

"How long do you think it took to make this road?" he asked, using the shirt to grip his strange tail and purposely make sure it wasn't slipping free. "It's nothing like the roads around Chicago... those are all made of pavement. Speaking of which... where exactly are we?"

"I've never heard tell of any other type of road aside from dirt," Gus grunted, casting a suspicious look over his shoulder. "And since this road leads straight to the town of Chisago, I have to admit I'm fairly confused about your inquiry."

Why does he keep calling it Chisago? Xaphile wondered, touching his new fangs with a grim expression. More importantly... why did my body go all strange?

He couldn't answer either of those questions, and truth be told, he was too nervous and put-off by the man's personality to try asking.

The two of them walked down the road for nearly another two hours before the clouds darkened into a misty gray overcast and it slowly began to drizzle.

Xaphile looked up at the light rainfall with a confused expression.

"You should be careful around this part of the road," Gus warned, stopping him from walking around a sharp bend that rapidly descended towards an enormous waterfall at the end of a half-hidden river. "The earth around here is unstable. Many a traveler has fallen prey to that river because of this area."

"Yikes," Xaphile murmured, blinking uneasily before glancing at the ground in front of him. "I'll keep that in mind."

So saying, he carefully walked around the mossy stones and let out a sigh of relief when the road turned and began descending away from the water.

The boy looked at the scenery with dazed eyes as he walked, taking in all the birds that were flying in the air and the odd-looking squirrels chattering up in the trees. Quite unexpectedly, he came face to face with a deer after moving aside a branch that had stretched across the road. With a yelp, he jumped backwards and fell flat on his ass, which caused the animal to bolt away and trot into the undergrowth.

For a long moment, he merely sat there, quivering with intense shock.

"Did you see that?!" Xaphile cried, looking at Gus with an open mouth and huge eyes. "I almost kissed a deer! That was freaky!"

Gus blinked several times at him, then let out a howl of laughter that made the boy flush with embarrassment.

"You really are just a kid, aren't ya?" he chuckled, wiping his eyes. "Demon or not... you're a young one, all right."

"I'm not a demon," the black-haired boy complained, brows furrowing a little. "I'm a human, all right?!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Sir Lion-tail," the man snorted in amusement, rolling his eyes. "Let's go. Time is short."

After that particular incident, the two of them continued on through the mountainous forests, following the road downhill and observing the breathtaking landscapes as they went. However, the farther down they went, the warmer it became... and directly ahead, a familiar lake came into view.

"Lake Michigan!" he cried, eyes lighting up. "We're almost there! We made it!"

The man halted in his tracks and blinked a few times before looking at him with furrowed brows.

"Lake... Michigan?" he slowly asked, giving him a frown. "Boy, I think the names of places must have gotten scrambled inside your mind right along with everything else... that there isn't Lake Michigan, it's the Chimigan Sea! It's a special sea, too, since the water within it is as fresh to drink from as any river..."

Xaphile frowned right back at him.

"I'm not exactly sure I understand where you're coming from," he stated firmly, shaking his head. "I was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois, and I can tell you right now: that right there is called Lake Michigan, and it definitely is NOT a sea of any variety. It's not big enough."

The man narrowed his eyes.

"Who... are you?" he demanded, tilting his head. "I've lived in Chisago my whole life as well, but I've never once seen you there. Yet you claim to have been born and raised in the very town my own family has helped run since the moment of its founding! Preposterous! Explain yourself."

"Are we even talking about the same place?" Xaphile finally demanded, giving him a sour look. "You keep calling this Chisago place, or whatever, a village... as if it's some sort of small backwoods town. The place I'm talking about is called Chicago, and it's by no means a small town. In fact, it's more of a metropolis: people call it the Windy City because most of the buildings downtown sway in the breeze coming off of Lake Michigan."

The man stared blankly.

"Chisago is an old city resting about five miles down this path," he explained, turning around and stepping over a fallen log. "Although, it's mostly visited for its lumber trade... there aren't many shops there, even though the blacksmith is an outstanding metalworker."

"A blacksmith?" Xaphile inquired, not believing his ears. "Whoa... hold up! What do you mean by Blacksmith?! This isn't some sort of Renaissance joke, right?"

"I don't think I understand what you mean," Gus told him, ruffling his shaggy blonde hair, "but Chisago's blacksmith is famous for his craft. His swords, jewelry, and armor are of the finest make... even the Nobles come to buy from him."

Xaphile was beginning to wonder if this man was a true nutcase.

"So... how long till we get there?" he asked, deciding to avoid bringing up anymore topics about the layout of the land. "Shouldn't be too long, right?"

"Not too long now," the man murmured, eyes flicking around. "We should move quickly though... this area has been riddled with demons as of late since it's close to the capital city. For some reason, those beasts are always attacking it, though they mostly leave the smaller outlying villages alone."

"I don't get all this demon talk," the boy grumbled, lifting a hand beneath the hat and touching his sharp horns, "but I can tell you one thing: I was born and raised as a human, so even though I outwardly look like this... it doesn't mean I'm a monster of any sort. Just so we're clear."

"I was able to figure that out a long while ago," the man stated firmly, giving him a sharp look. "Don't take me for a fool... it's obvious that you were raised among humans, the sky only knows why. After all, most of the beast folk don't understand human language well enough to hold a civilized conversation. You, on the other hand, have a very... refined manner of speech."

"Huh?" Xaphile drawled, blinking. "I'm just talking normally. There's nothing special about it. I mean, it's habitual to be polite."

"Another peculiarity, it would seem," Gus drawled, snorting a bit. "Demons don't usually have a polite bone in their bodies. I kn-"

The man's words were cut off when something huge slammed into his side, sending him rolling across the ground.

Then another huge thing leapt at Xaphile, who let out a squawk of surprise before his Martial Arts instinct kicked in.

Leaping off to the side, he struck out at the creature with a savage kick that smashed it clean in the face.

When the fur-covered beast collapsed and lay unmoving on the ground, he sighed with relief.

"GAAAH! FILTHY BEAST!" Gus roared, scrabbling against the ground when whatever creature attacking him started swinging its clawed hands. "GET OFF ME!"

Xaphile's eyes widened in horror when he realized that a creature vaguely resembling a furry orc had leapt on top of the man and was savagely biting at his arm, which he was holding in front of his neck.

"What the fuck?!" he cried, tearing over to the flailing blonde; with a terrified shout, he started bashing monster tearing into Gus's arm clean upside the head. "H-hang on! I'll get this thing off you! Fight it! Fight it with everything you've got!"

With huge eyes, he continued to bash the beast's head; it yelped each time, but the monster didn't loosen its grip on the man arm.

"OOOOW!" Gus finally howled, shaking his head back and forth; he had been clenching his jaw to keep from screaming. "DIVINES! IT HURTS! GET THIS THING OFF ME! PLEASE!"

"I'm trying!" Xaphile squeaked, tail flicking out into the open and madly snapping around. "I'm hitting it, but it won't let go!"

"LOP THE DAMN THING'S HEAD OFF!" the man cried, looking at him with sheer terror on his face. "HURRY! THAT'S THE ONLY WAY!"

Xaphile's eyes sharpened in horror... but then a sickening crunch came from the man's arm, and he let out a blind scream of pain.

He didn't stop to think: straddling the monster from behind, he wrapped his muscular arms around its neck and began to choke it with all of his strength.

His body shook when it began to thrash, sending the hat he'd been given clean off his head.

"Ah! AH!" he yelped, tightening his hold when it finally let go and attempted to buck him off; when it stood back up and began jerking around, he angrily wrapped his legs around its middle and used his lower body strength to squeeze as hard as he could. "JUST GO TO SLEEP ALREADY, DAMMIT!"

He kept up the assault using all of his strength... and as he did so, the monster's flails grew weaker and weaker. Soon, it's knees buckled and it collapsed to all fours, wheezing. He held on until it finally went down, then waited until he was sure it was completely unconscious to let go. With that, he got up and hurried over to where the blonde man was lying. He was clutching his arm with gritted teeth, eyes hazy.

Kneeling in front of him, Xaphile reached for the man's arm but a quick slap stopped him.

"Don't touch me!" the blonde snarled, mouth curling with fury. "You set me up, didn't you?!"

Xaphile's face darkened.

"Shut up and let me see your arm," he growled, deflecting the second slap the man sent at him; with a firm, yet gentle grip, he pulled Gus's injured limb away from his torso and stared at it. He immediately winced and shivered, since it looked awful. Glancing around for something to slow the bleeding, he spotted the strange hat lying on the ground and snatched it. "Just hold still... this might sting a bit, but it's all I can do."

"Don't bother!" he snapped, sitting up and glaring at the ground. "I knew it was a mistake to attempt trusting a demon."

"Are insinuating that what just happened was my fault?" Xaphile demanded, scowling at him. "I don't know if you noticed, but those... freaks attacked me, too."

He lifted his steely blue eyes.

"I wonder why," he muttered. "Perhaps you simply don't belong to either side. Banished, perhaps?"

That was it... his temper was set off.

Without further hesitation, he smacked the hat against the man's arm and glared when he yelped.

Then the boy stood up and dusted himself off, turning to face the road: he figured he could make it on his own from here.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Gus bellowed, looking at him with fury on his face. "How dare you?!"

"I don't know what your problem is," Xaphile stated coldly, giving him a frigid, deadened expression, "but to spit in the face of someone who's offering help when you obviously need it, no matter who or WHAT they are, is the definition of disgusting. You're more of a demon on the inside than I am on the outside."

The man froze, mouth dropping open in outrage.

"Boy, mind your tongue lest I cut it out of your head," he snarled, face turning purple with outrage. "Know your place!"

"Fine," he stated coldly, giving a casual shrug and pointedly turning away from him. "See you later."

When he turned and started to walk away, however, the man looked beyond surprised.

"Hey! You can't just leave me here," he called, sounding a little less angry. "Where are you going?!"

"Away from you," the boy called back, giving a wave. "I already know my place, and it doesn't include staying around judgmental people. Sorry that you got hurt, but since you don't want me to help you, I won't: I don't have the patience or the will to tolerate people who look down on me in any shape or form."

"So you'll just abandon me in the middle of this dangerous forest?!" he cried in outrage. "You bastard!"

"Last time I checked," Xaphile snapped, not turning around, "your legs were in perfect walking condition. So don't..."

He paused mid-sentence and let out a sigh... his conscience was, in fact, getting the better of him since it didn't feel right leaving someone injured alone.

Especially after being attacked by dangerous monsters in the middle of nowhere.

Gritting his teeth with an extremely sour expression, he turned around and grumpily slinked back over to where the man was sitting. Standing above him, the black-haired boy glared for a moment before he leaned down and hefted the blonde man to his feet. Gus looked extremely confused and irritated when he walked over to a nearby tree and jerked a sturdy-looking branch clean off one of the limbs. Then he stalked back over with a huff.

"Here," he grumbled, holding it out. "Take this and let's get going."

"Tch, had a change of heart, have you?" the man sneered, lip curling in disgust. "That's surprising."

"If you're smart, you'll watch how you talk to me," Xaphile told him coldly. "I've shown you nothing but respect since I met you. Show the me same respect, got it? I'm the kind of guy who will walk away without a word if you piss me off. I won't yell at you, I won't argue with you, hell, I won't even hit you... I'll just walk away from you and never speak to you again. Because I do NOT deal with irritating people. Period."

"Fine, fine," Gus sighed, rubbing his face with his uninjured arm. "Calm down, boy... I did go a little over the top there."

Just as he stretched an arm out to take the stick, a bizarre sound met Xaphile's ears and he froze.

He heard it coming and moved before his body could process it: shoving Octavius to the ground and whirling to the side, he lifted his arms and braced himself just as he was tackled by something much bigger than him. He let out a wheeze once he landed on his back: it was the stick that saved his life.

When whatever the hell it was snapped at his throat with a guttural snarl, he managed to keep the freak off his neck by holding the wood in front of him.

It's face was frighteningly ugly, like a mutated green boar mixed with a wolf and a human.

It's beady eyes were bright red, it's skin was covered in horrible blisters and other spots that looked like festering pustules, and it's nose was dripping.

Foaming at the mouth, the creature squealed like a stuck piglet and continued snapping at him.

His eyes were huge with horror.

"SHIT!" Xaphile spat, bare feet scrabbling at the ground as he pushed against the snarling beast. "THE FUCK?! GET OFF ME!"

His neck bulged with the strain of keeping the ferocious monster at bay. It took everything he had just to keep it from sinking its teeth into his throat. He squeezed his teal eyes shut, shoulders shaking as he slowly began to force the slavering animal higher into the air; when it was far enough back, the boy let out an angry wheeze and sent his clawed big toe clean into its manhood. The pig monster screeched and leapt back, clutching itself and falling over on its side.

The momentary lapse allowed him just enough time to get to his feet.

Just as he did so, three more equally horrific beasts came lumbering into the open.

Practically hyperventilating, Xaphile backed up until he was standing in front of Gus, hefting the tree branch with dilated eyes.

"W-what are you doing?!" the blonde man whispered, looking at the monsters surrounding them. "Just run already! Run for it! You're a demon, so you can make it out!"

"Shut up!" the dark-haired boy rapped out, eyes fearfully flicking back and forth. "If I left you here now, with all these freakish monsters, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night! Whatever the hell these things are don't exactly seem like they're here for a party, so just... stay behind me, and be quiet!"

"You don't get it! Their bites are POISONOUS!" the man roared, lifting his own arm. "IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE FOR ME!"

"I said SHUT UP!" Xaphile spat, giving him a ferocious glare of his own. "You're still alive and breathing, aren't you?! There's still a chance you could live, even if you HAVE been poisoned! Instead of trying to act all noble and brave, shut the fuck up and let me HELP you, for Christ's sake!"

When the first beast charged at him, he swung the stick with all of his strength and hit it right in the face; teal eyes frantic, he struck out at any monster that came near enough to touch, breathing heavily as he fought against them. Then, one of the monsters snarled something unintelligible and grabbed the branch, dragging it clean out of his clawed hands; when he stumbled forward and was thrown off balance, the creature used the opportunity to attack.

But it was a big mistake.

Using his own off-balance momentum, he leaned forward and planted his hands on the ground, performing a flexible twisting cartwheel.

The monster squealed when his foot came down in a powerful arc and bashed it in the head.

It continued running forward for a few seconds, then stumbled and fell, unmoving.

Once he'd righted himself, Xaphile took on a professional fighting stance, eyeing his opponents with a shaken expression.

Another beast came at him not long after, but that's when things took off.

Dancing back a few steps, the boy purposely drew the creature towards him before gripping it's fat, bloated wrist and using its momentum to spin it around in a rapid circle; then, when the monster was going too fast to catch its own balance, Xaphile let go and flipped around in the opposite direction, nailing it in the throat with a flexible corkscrew-kick. Flipping backwards with its tongue lolling, the beast struck its head upon landing and lay flat on the ground, bloodshot eyes rolling back as it struggled to breathe.

When more of them came, he kept his distance and struck out with his feet.

Eventually, four of them had been knocked out, the fifth had at the very least been incapacitated, and the last two were now circling him.

However, instead of charging forward like he'd been expecting... the one who'd been circling towards Gus lunged towards the blonde and gripped his hair.

Hefting a knife out of its boot, the beast held it against the hunter's throat.

Then it barked something unintelligible.

"You harm one hair on that man's head," the boy hissed, eyes growing flinty, "and I will personally kill you."

"Don't worry about me!" Octavius snapped, eyes huge as the knife dug against his skin. "I'll be fine!"

The boy clenched his jaw and attempted to sprint at them, but before he could make it, he was tackled from behind.

"AGH! GET OFF!" he snarled, struggling to move his pinned arms. "GET OFF ME!"

He glared at the pig creature behind Gus when it let the blonde go and shoved him aside. The huntsman scrabbled back and watched in horror as the beast swaggered up to Xaphile, looking down at him with triumphant eyes. Then, crouching down, the beast tilted his head back with the dagger in his hands and examined his face. He looked right back up at the creature, teal eyes resembling two cold shards of ice.

With a fierce screech, the monster lifted the blade high above its head.

When the dagger came down, the boy tensed and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the weapon to tear into him.

But it never happened.

There was a sudden flash of silver as someone's sword unexpectedly slammed into the monster from behind. A spray of dark blood flew through the air and the stench of warm copper followed it. Xaphile smacked his face against the ground and shuddered when this new attacker barreled forward, jerking his sword out of the falling creature. Not long after, the beast on top of him let out a screech and jerked violently soon after.

The weight keeping him pinned against the ground disappeared.

Gus took that opportunity to crawl forward and grab his arm, pulling him across the dirt.

"Move, kid!" he hissed. "Get behind me! Right now!"

"I'm covered in blood!" Xaphile croaked, shuddering violently. "I don't want to move... if I do, I'll faint here and now. I can't stand the sight of blood."

The blonde cursed and dragged his limp form even further before scooting in front of him with spread arms.

More of the beasts had come charging down the road, but their cloaked savior merely whirled around like a dancer and flawlessly sliced one throat after another. One by one, they fell around him as he spun like a ballet star, silver sword gleaming as arcs of red flew from it. Once they were all dead, the figure flicked the weapon free of the crimson coat that now covered it and stalked over to them.

"You... lift your head," a shockingly familiar voice rapped out. "Now."

"My Lady... thank you for saving us," Gus stammered, pressing his head against the ground. "This boy... he means no harm. He's of a gentle sort."

"SILENCE!" the woman thundered, making the blonde cower. "I will only say it once again... lift... your... head!"

Xaphile knew she was addressing him... his face felt wet and sticky, though, and he knew if he wasn't careful he would faint. Slowly, he lifted his arms and pushed himself into an upright sitting position and struggled to wipe the blood off his cheeks. Unfortunately, instead of giving him a moment of rest, the tip of the sword was thrust beneath his chin. Slowly and gently, the one who'd saved them tilted his head back so she could see him.

Her face was almost completely hidden by her hood, and it was only enhanced by the sunlight streaming down from above them.

But in that moment... his breath caught in his lungs and he tensed, face draining of color.

Pupils expanding and then contracting into thin slits, he stared at her with an expression of total and utter horror.

Eyes... pink eyes, framed by familiar white lashes... the familiar curve of her small nose... those lips... thin silver brows... wisps of white hair.

No... it's not real... he silently croaked, falling backwards and looking up at her as stricken tears filled his eyes. It can't be real... I saw it happen myself...

Noticing his expression, she blinked and her eyes narrowed a little; tilting her head back, she jerked her hood off and glared down at him with a cocky sneer.

He twitched and his eyes widened even further.

Before he could stop himself, he breathed her name, as if whispering a prayer.

"Ella..." Xaphile croaked, tears sliding down his face; she blinked rapidly and narrowed her eyes. "It's you..."

Her eyes flashed with hatred.

In a fit of fury, she drew the blade off to the side and smacked him with the flat of it.

"How DARE you! A beast like yourself has NO RIGHT to address me so casually!" she snarled, lip curling with rage. "Do not speak my name!"

Xaphile merely turned to look at her, still not believing she was alive... she looked different now, much different, but there was no mistaking it.

This was his Ella.

It was her... it was really her... how it had happened, he didn't know... but she was here, right in front of him. The biggest difference was her close-cropped hair... instead of being super long, it had been cut like a boy's, curling near the nape of her neck. But it was most definitely her... the same face... the same voice... the same name. Without thinking, he slowly stood up and began to move forward, eyes blank with the tears that had begun to blind him.

"Halt..." she hissed, threateningly lifting her weapon. "Halt, I say! Move any closer and I really will kill you, demon!"

He didn't listen... and one step at a time, he stepped forward, shakily stretching his hands out to her.

To touch her.

To make sure she was real, that he wasn't hallucinating, that she had really come back from the dead.

And when she finally let out a war cry, swinging the sword, he caught it in his hand. Her eyes filled with shock and she gasped when he stopped the weapon, clutching the blade in such a precise manner that he didn't even cut himself open.

Frantically, she struggled to jerk it out of his grasp, but when he refused to let it go, she jumped back and pulled a set of daggers out of her cloak. Gus watched with horrified eyes as the boy dropped the sword and continued moving forward, heading straight for the white-haired beauty like a robot.

She waited for him, too, dancing from foot to foot.

However, when he was within distance, she lashed out with the daggers... spinning around like a dancer and attempting to slice his throat.

In that moment, he caught her wrist... then the other one.

"Unhand me!" she screeched, kicking him with all of her strength. "NOW! BEAST!"

He wasn't aware of her fury... the feeling of these familiar wrists... the cool sensation... it was real.

She was real.

His Ella... she was alive, breathing... how it had happened, he didn't know.

His pupils instantly expanded, and with a tearful laugh, he let go of her wrists and wrapped her around the middle.

Lifting her into the air, his eyes shone from the inside out and he laughed, spinning her around.

"ELLA!" he cried, tears streaming down his face. "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU'RE ALIVE! YOU'RE REALLY ALIVE! THIS IS INSANE!"

"PUT ME DOWN!" the girl screeched, flailing madly and looking down at him with fury on her face. "UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT, YOU BRUTE!"

Heedless of her command, he pulled her into a hug, making her freeze.

"I can't...!" he shakily stammered, threading his shaking hand through her close-cropped hair; she stopped struggling when he held her tightly, beginning to break down and cry his eyes out. "I can't... you're right here... this has to be a dream... but if it is, I won't let go of you... I don't ever want to wake up. I don't want to go back to the place where you don't exist anymore. I can't."

"Who are you?!" she hissed, struggling a little. "Let go of me!"

His arms merely tightened.

"I was forced to let go of you once..." he sobbed, burying his face in her shoulder, "but I'll never let go again... even in a dream. I promise."

However, as it turned out, he didn't have a choice... because Gus had slowly crept up behind him while he'd been embracing her.

With a fierce chop, his hand came down on the side of the boy's neck.

With a gasp, Xaphile instantly lost all feeling in his body... and his arms went limp, releasing the flailing girl.

Stumbling back and forth, he looked at Ella with fading eyesight and stretched out a hand.

Then his eyes closed and he fell forward, unconscious before he even hit the dirt.

 

6: Chapter 5: The Merciless Maiden

Chapter Five: The Merciless Maiden

He hadn't stopped to think about his actions.

Feeling little pangs of guilt, Gus let out a sigh as he stood above the unconscious demon boy, hand still held out and eyes hooded: the kid had tottered over like a newborn calf and fallen to the ground, long black hair ruffling in the wind as he lay face-down in the dirt. With a groan, the blonde man finally rubbed his his eyes: he himself was beginning to feel light-headed from the poison spreading throughout his arm and body.

"I apologize, my Lady..." the hunter muttered. "Tis my fault this happened..."

Ella, however, was breathing heavily and refused to respond... but he thought nothing of it until she swept over and grabbed her sword, looking beyond enraged.

But when she stalked back over to the unconscious boy and lifted it high, his heart nearly stopped, and he threw himself in front of Xaphile just as the blade came down. Upon falling to his knees and spreading his arms, her hand instantly stopped... but her pink eyes instantly lost their reflective sheen: the blade hovered an inch from his nose.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, staring at him with a fearfully pissed expression. "Move, Octavius... now."

"My Lady..." he stated calmly, refusing to lower his gaze. "For once... show mercy."

Her blank eyes immediately widened in outrage and her wiry arm bulged, shaking violently.

"MERCY?!" she roared, making him flinch and causing birds everywhere to take flight. "TO A DEMON?! TO A BEAST?! NEVER!"

"Please, hear my reasoning!" the man whispered, trembling violently when her eyes narrowed with hate. "Won't you at least lend me your ear?!"

"I'm amazed, Octavius," Ella growled, face crinkled with rage. "After what happened ten years ago, you are the last person I would have expected this from."

"Is that not more of a reason to heed my words?" he demanded, making her eye twitch. "This boy is strangely human in nature! His exterior does, in fact, resemble a demon's... but, somehow, he is different than any I've seen! He is of a different sort!"

The girl's face wrinkled with a terrible expression, but she still lowered the blade and looked at him with a dangerous glare.

"I trust you, Gus... so, speak," she growled, digging the point of her sword into the ground. "You have one minute to convince me not to cut this pathetic dog's head off."

The man shuddered and nodded.

"It has been taught to us that demons do not feel for any other creature but themselves," he stated firmly, meeting her gaze. "They do not love, they do not cry, and they do not care. However, this boy has somehow defied all common knowledge. He is very different from any of the demons I've ever come across."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Different in what way?" she growled. "Explain."

"Not only did he save my life, he also refused to leave me behind when we were finally surrounded by those filthy boar demons," the blonde told her. "Even though the odds were obviously against him, he fought against his own kind to save me."

"Preposterous," the girl snapped, glaring down at the unconscious youth and glaring daggers at his curved horns. "I don't believe it."

"Tis the truth!" Octavius retorted, shaking his head. "I would not have believed it, either, had he not done so before my very eyes. What's more... he is either unbelievably good at mimicking human emotion, or... or he can truly feel things as we do."

The girl stiffened and glared, pink eyes sharpening dangerously.

With a whoosh, she jerked the sword out of the dirt and held it against the unconscious boy's neck, glaring into the blonde man's eyes.

"Demons do not feel," she stated coldly. "Have you forgotten this?"

"No..." Gus stated firmly, closing his eyes. "That is why I was caught off guard when I met him. He... actually shed tears."

The girl's eyes narrowed, and she looked down at the boy's black hair for a moment... but then, after ramming her sword into the dirt and squatting down, she gripped his thin horns and turned his head. For a long moment, her brows furrowed in genuine distrust... then, her lips curled and she looked up at the blonde man's mauled arm.

Digging in her cloak, she pulled out a small glass vial and tossed it to him.

"Drink that," she rapped out, returning to staring at the demon boy's face with suspicious eyes. "It'll stop the poison from killing you."

"Thank you," the man breathed, uncorking the glass vial and downing the contents. "I owe you my life."

"This... creature," she carefully muttered, rolling back on her heels. "What did he want with me? Do you know?"

"Eh?" Gus asked, blinking at her in dismay. "Well... as strange as it's going to sound, he said a great many things that confused me. First being that you and he had been acquaintances for many years... and also, as strange as it was to hear it, that you had died... months ago."

"What?" she snorted, staring at him in disbelief. "Humans don't associate with monsters, much less befriend them... that much should be obvious, even to a demon. And it should be common knowledge that I'm very much alive... I'd never let myself die, for any reason, aside from illness or old age. Natural causes."

The man fell into an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

"That is solely why I was so intrigued," he murmured, looking at the girl with curious eyes, "because it was only after he said you had died... that he shed what looked to me like genuine tears. I cannot help but feel that he truly believed that you had died, My Lady... the expression I saw didn't just touch his face, it also touched his eyes. He genuinely reminded me of old Marty Crawford for a few seconds."

"I don't know this beast," the girl growled, gripping the boy's dark hair and lifting his head up. "To think, he put his filthy hands on me... I want to kill him."

The man winced when she sneered at him... but then, she dropped the kid and stood up. Walking over to her sword, she jerked it out of the dirt once again and carefully wiped it clean of the blood coating it before sliding the blade into the sheath hidden beneath her cloak. Gus watched as she dragged her hood up and turned, planting a hand on her hip with a disgruntled expression on her face.

"Well?" she snapped, tapping her foot. "Grab it. I've decided not to kill it. Are you happy?"

The man's face settled into a relieved countenance: he immediately pressed his head against the ground.

"Merciful Ella, thank you!" he whispered. "Thank you for sparing him."

"Who said anything about sparing him?" the albino girl cackled, making the blonde pause. "You're taking this beast back to the village as a prisoner... he'll make a good display, at the very least. Come, huntsman... and bring your new pet. The evening hour approaches, and I have yet to eat my supper."

"What were you doing out here?" Gus asked, frowning when she froze midstep. "I wasn't due back for a long while yet."

"A scout saw your predicament and came running to the village to warn us about the danger you were in," Ella grumbled, shoulders stiff. "I'm simply relieved that I chose to grab a remedial antidote from Amelia's shop before running here."

"You came to save me?" Gus asked, eyebrows raising. "My lady..."

"It's my job as Countess to protect those I govern," she snapped, storming off. "I grow weary of this! Let us be off!"

The man blinked a few times, then sighed and stood up, grabbing his hiking pack before hefting Xaphile over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

"Sorry, Kid," he grunted, shaking his head. "Looks like you're in quite a fix, now."

He then carried the unconscious boy down the road after the silver-haired maiden.

As they walked, distant walls began to take shape behind the trees... and eventually, they made it to a draw bridge.

The girl took her hood off when someone standing on one of the parapets looked down at them.

"Lower the bridge!" a distant voice called. "Lady Ella has returned!"

The girl folded her arms and waited while the bridge was lowered; once the path had been set in place, she swept across the wooden bridge and entered the town.

However, when Gus cautiously followed her, many adults who saw the demon lying limply across his shoulders turned pale and ushered their children indoors.

Ella's lips twisted into a smirk as her eyes flicked around.

"This should be fun for a while, at least," she murmured darkly, letting out a genuine chuckle. "The people in this village hate demons even more than I."

"What are you going to do to him?" Gus carefully inquired, watching as a group of angry-looking men wearing chain-mail armor began to approach. "My Lady..."

"I won't be doing anything," the girl stated sweetly, turning her head and giving him an evil smile. "I'll let the villagers have some fun once it wakes up... then we'll lock it in a cage in the middle of the marketplace. Still... since you're the one who decided to ask me to have mercy, I'll leave the responsibility of taking care of it to you."

Just as she finished speaking, the captain of the Guard walked up to them.

"What is the meaning of this, Lady Ella?" he demanded, glaring at Xaphile's long black hair and bizarre tail. "For what reason have you brought a demon into our sanctioned walls? I do not understand."

"Don't worry, Captain Angelo, this one's harmless," she stated sweetly, gesturing at Xaphile with a smirk. "I decided to bring it back so the villagers could release a bit of the anger from everything they've lost to the demon race over the years. Plus, this creature is actually rather exotic compared to the other monsters I've seen... at the very least, he'd make a decent live display."

The man's eyebrows rose into the helm he was wearing, but then he nodded, seeming to think about the idea.

"I'm guessing you're doing this to bolster everyone's spirits?" the captain inquired, giving her a look. "Many of the villagers are angry, Ella... they might kill the creature."

"Not my problem," the girl sighed, shrugging. "If it lives, we'll toss it in a cage. If it doesn't, we'll burn the body. Either way, one less demon to worry about."

"All right," Captain Angelo sighed, shaking his head. "One condition, though... we tie this beast up tight before letting the villagers do as they wish."

"I'll leave that to you," she chirped, giving him a smug salute. "I have to go make sure the other soldiers have finished their training now. Be sure to inform the village after they have their fun that the responsibility of caring for the creature falls to Octavius. He seems like the type who can handle it the best."

With that, she gave a little wave and walked off, not looking back.

"You," the captain grunted, turning his gaze on Gus. "Set the monster down so I can bind it."

Gus winced and did as he was told, averting his eyes when the Captain pulled a rope off his belt and roughly jerked the unconscious boy's arms behind him. He roughly tied the boy's hands... then his ankles... then he wound more ropes around the kid's whole torso and tied them tightly. The other guards chuckled and nudged each other when he finally finished and stood up straight.

"Vex," he stated firmly, glancing at one of the guards, who immediately stood at attention. "Start informing the citizens that tonight, they have an opportunity to return their anguish and fury to one of the monsters that have made their lives so difficult. Tell them to meet us in the central plaza in one hour."

"Sir," the guard grunted, giving a salute before jogging off; as he did so, he began shouting the news loudly, drawing the attention of every person he passed. "TO ALL THE TOWNSFOLK OF CHISAGO VILLAGE! MEET IN THE CENTRAL PLAZA IN THE CENTER OF TOWN WITHIN ONE HOUR!"

"Eriker, Damien," the captain barked, addressing the other two. "Take the beast to the plaza. Let's not disappoint Ella or the townsfolk... they deserve this consolation."

With nods of approval, they hefted Xaphile's weight and roughly carried him away.

Gus watched them go with uneasy eyes.

"What happens now?" the blonde asked, looking at Captain Angelo. "Sir?"

"You may leave until it's time for our unexpected festivities," the man sneered, giving him a smirk. "Good job, Huntsman... Lady Ella rarely gives anyone praise."

When the captain of the Guard walked away, the blonde had a bad feeling in his gut.

Wondering if he'd done the right thing.

Xaphile's unconscious form was carried for a while before he was dropped roughly on the ground. It was primarily because of this jarring motion that his consciousness was roused. Letting out a strangled wheeze, his eyes fluttered open and he groggily blinked at the dirt in front of his nose. He attempted to move his body, but for some reason it wouldn't budge. He could barely hear past the ringing in his ears... but he thought he heard voices, although what they were saying was impossible to decipher.

Wriggling a little, he managed to turn his head slightly and looked at everything with clouded vision.

Multiple figures were standing above and around him, and as he watched, more of them approached by the second.

He was surrounded by strange-looking men and women, but the weirdest part was that he couldn't move any of his limbs, or even talk.

Hell, he could barely take in enough air to breathe properly, let alone speak.

It was also around then that he realized something had been tied around his hands and ankles, mostly because whatever it was had scraped his skin.

His vision flickered for a moment, and he almost passed out again... but then, he was doused in cold water and dragged upright by his hair.

"This is a demon! A creature unworthy of our sympathy! You have all been given permission by Lady Ella herself to do with it whatever you wish for one hour," the one gripping his hair bellowed cheerfully. "All of the hatred that has been forced onto your families... all of your hardships... you have permission to return it to its caster!"

Xaphile blearily blinked and dizzily shook his head when a deafening cheer rose up.

He hardly understood what was going on, let alone what these people were talking about.

"Where... am I?" he weakly asked, voice coming out in a hoarse croak; the man gripping him stiffened. "What's...?"

"Shut up!" the one holding his hair barked, smacking the back of his head hard enough to make his ears ring again. "Filthy demon... stay silent!"

"Are you saying... that we can even hurt it?!" a villager called, sounding surprised. "We can do whatever we desire?!"

"Anything you want," the man who'd struck him laughed loudly. "Just try not to kill it! Lady Ella wants to turn this beast into a live display later."

Total silence followed, but then a loud cheer rose through the crowd and they began to advance on Xaphile.

When the man holding his hair let go and brutally kicked him forward, he face-planted on the ground since he couldn't lift his hands.

Fear shot through the boy's heart when the people converged on him.

I can't move... he silently whimpered, staring at the dirt with large eyes. They're gonna... what do I do?!

Nothing.

He could do nothing but brace himself, so that's what he did.

Tensing his muscles and hunching his shoulders, the boy squeezed his eyes shut just as the first villager drew his foot back and kicked him in the side.

"Let's see how much you can take, demon!" his assailant laughed. "Not so tough, are you?!"

The blow nearly crushed his ribs.

He tried to let out a scream, but the only thing that came out was a pathetic squeak; someone else kicked him on the other side so hard that he actually went rolling across the ground. He tried to move, but his body had been tied too tightly. He felt another kick hit him in the stomach before someone else's foot slammed straight into the small of his back. Each time a foot made contact with him, he couldn't stop the strangled yelps that somehow clawed their way out of his mouth. The boy struggled to move when he was kicked yet again. 

Men and women alike... even several teens and children... they were kicking him.

Yelling at him.

Spitting on him.

Then someone grabbed his hair and lifted him upright before repeatedly punching him in the face. He turned his head to the side to avoid the harsh blows, but they just kept coming... they wouldn't stop. More abuse came... more pain... so much, in fact, that it eventually stopped hurting period.

He lay limply as he was kicked around.

Unfortunately, they were dissatisfied with him for falling silent and simply taking it.

Eventually, one of the female villagers grabbed his horns and dragged his face close to her own.

"So, demon," she cooed in a sardonic baby voice, grinning savagely when he stared at her with no reflective sheen in his eyes. "How does it feel? Does it hurt?"

Xaphile merely stared into those hateful hazel irises, expression completely blank.

"You're a monster," he stated coldly, not tearing his gaze away from hers. "You're all monsters. I never did anything to you. Why are you doing this?"

The woman's face went blank with outraged shock before her nose crinkled with fury.

"SHUT UP!" she roared, hauling back and slapping Xaphile so hard in the face that he fell back and smacked his head on the ground. "FILTHY BEAST!"

His stomach clenched when a man, presumably her husband, hauled off and kicked him with a snarl.

"Stop it..." Xaphile wheezed, fighting to free his arms when more people took turns punting him around; he somehow managed to sit up by flexing his stomach muscles, but he could barely breathe with the pressure of the ropes on his body. Slowly, he somehow managed to slide his legs underneath him and crouched forward, attempting to get to his feet. "Please... don't do this any-"

His words were cut off when another man's foot slammed into his forehead, knocking him backwards with so much force that his knees left the ground and he flipped. His cheek connected with the dirt only a split second before his legs flew over his head and slammed into the dirt behind him. His neck jarred painfully and the breath was knocked clean out of his lungs: all he could do was lie flat on his stomach and cough violently.

He had never been hit so hard before, not even by his own father... he was literally seeing stars: he could barely open his eyes.

"Wow!" a young girl who couldn't have been older than twelve laughed, walking over with a huge grin. "Daddy! Kick it again! Kick the demon again!"

"With pleasure, Maria," the man who'd bashed him off his feet laughed. "Here you go!"

So saying, he ran forward and kicked the boy in the side so hard that he went rolling across the dirt. Xaphile couldn't even breathe properly, let alone plead for it to stop. Not like they would even if he did... it continued for what felt like hours, and they laughed the whole time. He was kicked around for so long that the sun had actually slipped below the horizon by the time the guards finally stepped in.

By that time, he had started bleeding violently from his mouth and nose, and his whole body felt so brutalized that he was sure some bones had been broken.

"All right, everyone," the man wearing plated armor sighed, waving everyone back. "Your 'hour' of fun is up. It's time to clear out."

"Give Ella our thanks!" a woman happily called. "This was a rare gift!"

"Yeah, yeah," the guard chuckled, gripping Xaphile's long hair and dragging him down the street with the help of two others. "We'll tell her."

The boy couldn't feel any part of his body anymore.

He had practically gone numb.

He didn't know where they were taking him now, but he hoped it wouldn't hurt, wherever it was.

Ella... he whispered, weakly struggling to move. Ella... am I in hell?

That had to be it.

This was hell.

He didn't even feel it when they finally cut his bonds... nor did he feel it when they roughly threw him into a huge cage. He gave the strange-looking guards a weak look when they slammed the barred door shut and locked it. Then they smirked at him, taking note of his battered appearance.

"If you live through the night," the man on the right chuckled, grey eyes hooded, "you can expect some equally lovely treatment from now on, little demon."

Xaphile closed his eyes and let his head thump weakly against the ground, listening to their laughter as they walked away.

He lay there, limp and unmoving, for what felt like an eternity.

That is... until a condescending question split the air.

"Does it hurt...?" a young girl asked, speaking in such a mocking tone that he shivered. "Poor little demon... you must be feeling so bad right now."

He knew that voice... but the tone was one he had never heard before.

Cruel.

Spiteful.

This girl was almost exactly like the one he'd lost... but in the end, he'd been wrong.

The Ella he'd found wasn't his Ella, no matter how alike they looked.

He really was in hell.

Forcing his eyes open, he looked at her: eyes like pink gems, gleaming silver hair, and the face he had come to love... but it was marred with hatred.

An expression he'd never seen.

"Ella..." he croaked, giving a slow blink. "I'll be fine... don't worry."

Her smirk faded a little and a shred of irritation bled through her expression.

"Don't be a fool... as if I would worry for you. I was right there watching all of the villagers for a little while," she told him with mock sweetness, squatting down in front of the cage and staring at him as if he were some sort of bug. "Still... your attitude towards me is very puzzling to say the least. Do you even understand the situation you're in right now, demon? It's far from envious... there are many of your kind who would rather die than be where you are right now."

He merely looked at her.

"Yeah..." he murmured, gazing at her with unblinking blue-green eyes. "You do have a point."

For a long moment, all she could do was return the unfathomable stare he was giving her, brows furrowing with barely concealed frustration. The double meaning in his words had thrown her off.

"Why do you think you know me?" she finally demanded, finally making him wince. "I've never met you before in my life. Trust me, if I had come across you, I'd have killed you."

The girl waited for his response, not lowering her piercing stare from his own... however, when he gave her a weak little smile, her eye twitched and her shoulders tensed.

"I was wrong, it would seem," he rasped, teal eyes looking hollow from the inside out. "I made a mistake..."

"Don't lie to me," she stated fiercely, eyes hardening instantaneously. "Speak the truth."

He merely closed his eyes and turned away.

"The truth?" Xaphile whispered, aching all over in more ways than one. "The truth is... you look and sound exactly like a girl I used to know, so I let my guard down for a minute. I stupidly let myself become deluded into thinking you were her... but I was wrong. You're not my Ella."

"Your Ella?" she sneered, narrowing her eyes. "Tell me, then, beast... if what you've said is the truth... what's your Ella like?"

Xaphile slowly opened his eyes and stared at the floor of the cage, long-lashed eyes glimmering with a softer expression.

"My Ella... was a wonderful person who loved and embraced life," he stated quietly, lost in memory. "She was the kind of girl who could walk into a room, talk to someone for only ten minutes, and they'd remember her forever. She was bright... funny, outgoing, energetic... my best friend."

"I've heard more than enough," the girl on the other end of the bars grunted, lips curling in disgust. "Obviously I'm not the Ella that you know."

"You're right, you aren't," Xaphile coldly agreed, "but even though you're not the same person, you can't truly be the kind of girl who finds joy in other people's suffering, can you? The Ella that I loved would have never laughed at someone else's pain, no matter who or WHAT they were."

"I thought we just made ourselves clear," the girl laughed, smirking at him nastily. "I'm NOT this girl of yours! I enjoyed watching you writhe in agony... so much, in fact, that I'm actually hoping you live until tomorrow. If you do, I'll at least get the opportunity to punish you for that flippant mouth of yours. I'm eagerly looking forward to it... you're the first demon I've ever left alive, and presumably the last, too. After all... I hate your kind... you're worse than scum."

The words were like knives that crushed into his heart with the force of a semi-truck. Even though this obviously wasn't the girl he'd grown up with... he couldn't stand it.

It was too much.

It killed him from the inside out.

Tears of fury and pain filled his eyes when he lifted his head and glared.

"Don't say anything like that ever again while in my presence," he hissed, sharp teeth clenched in fury. "Not with her voice... and not with her face."

Something in her eyes grew dark  and she looked closely at the catlike teal irises that now pierced into her own.

Fury... and pain.

Both of them, well-acted.

But not well enough to convince her.

"Fine," she stated sweetly, smiling at him. "Then I'll just say goodbye until tomorrow, when I can have some fun with you."

So saying, she stood up and sashayed away from him, leaving behind an unbearably cold feeling that settled over his heart.

For the rest of the night, all he could do was wonder what he had done in his previous life to have deserved this horror as his own personal hell.

He didn't know.

But whatever it was, it must have been awful.

 

7: Chapter 6: Lash

Chapter Six: Lash

Xaphile didn't remember falling asleep.

Hell, with him being in so much pain and coughing up blood... he hadn't thought he would have been able to fall asleep. But that's what had apparently happened, because he was roused by the feeling of something gentle and cool being draped across his forehead. For a moment after he was conscious, he basked in the sensation... wondering vaguely what it was... but then, a gentle hand pressed against his ribs.

And agony momentarily blinded his senses.

Letting out a wheeze, he violently flinched and immediately jerked away from the one touching him.

"Stop..." he begged in a raspy tone, curling up into a little ball. "No more..."

There was silence for a long moment.

Then the hand returned... large... rough, but strangely soothing. He shivered when it threaded through his hair, even going as far as brushing against his horns.

"I'm sorry, Kid..." a gruff voice muttered. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

Xaphile's eyes cracked open a little and he stared at the one kneeling inside the cage with him.

Blonde hair... jade green eyes...

"Gus?" he croaked, eyes opening a little wider. "What are you... doing?"

"Shhh..." the man hissed, eyes flicking back and forth. "I'm repaying the debt I owe you for saving my life... but if I'm caught, I'll be in more trouble than you are."

The boy immediately snapped his mouth shut.

Instead of bothering to say anything more, he chose to stare at the bars of the cage, barely able to feel the man's hand on his middle region. After a moment, Octavius carefully peeled the boy's shirt back and winced, averting his eyes: the teenager's side and stomach had been bruised so badly it genuinely looked almost black. The man swallowed and gently pressed the wet cloth against his abdomen, face wrinkling when Xaphile tensed.

His breath whistled through his clenched teeth when the agonizing pain returned, blotting out his vision with dark spots.

"It hurts..." he hissed, weakly turning his head as tears began to sting his eyes. "Owwwww..."

He tried to keep his voice down, but it was extremely difficult, especially since the man seemed to be putting a specific amount of pressure on his body.

Not long after, he stopped... and the poor guy took a breath, breaking out in a cold sweat.

"Your ribs don't seem to be broken..." Gus murmured, gently pulling his shirt back down and wiping his forehead. "Those bruises are still awful, though... what kind of strange boy are you? Were you purposely trying to get yourself killed? Do you want to die? Is that why you were looking for Lady Ella?"

Xaphile shuddered violently and a chill ran down his spine.

"That girl... isn't Ella," he croaked, covering his face with one hand. "That isn't my Ella... she's... not the woman I love."

"Boy, you're a demon," the man growled, keeping his voice low. "Even if you were raised among humans, your kind can never understand what it means to love... you can mimic it, but that is all. You're a smart lad, though, and that is precisely why I don't understand why you went looking for Ella. What you've just gotten yourself into is a whole lot worse than death... Lady Ella is ruthless towards the demon race. She finds joy in destroying them."

"I don't... understand... this demon bullshit everyone keeps throwing at me," he hissed, finally losing his temper. "I'm a regular HUMAN BEING, for Christ's sake! I feel just as much as the next guy! Sure, I look a little weird now, but I wasn't always like that! My appearance changed somehow... I don't know how, but it did!"

The man rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before looking at him.

"All right, that does it," Gus grunted, tilting his head with narrowed eyes. "Kid, you're not a human... if you were truly human, you wouldn't look like this."

"You don't know me," Xaphile growled, giving him a heated glare. "Hell, the first time you saw me was when I woke up in that bizarre forest."

"Troublesome," Gus muttered, putting the washcloth into a small pouch at his side. "Very troublesome indeed."

The man jumped and whirled when the sound of a door opening nearby met his ears, and he immediately lunged out of the cage. Xaphile watched as he quietly closed the gate and locked it, hurrying away without a word or even a second thought. 
Only a split second after he vanished around the corner of a nearby house, a group of men wearing the same strange armor from the previous day stalked up to the cage and hefted a strange-looking chain collar.

He wanted to move... to crawl away from them when the man closest to the gate unlocked it... but he couldn't.

After the beating he'd been given the previous day, he was lucky to be alive.

"Come on, little demon," the man sneered, making him squeeze his eyes shut. "Come out and play some more... Lady Ella is waiting."

When he didn't move, the man's smile turned into a dangerous glare.

Glancing down at the boy's leg, he smirked before gripping it with both hands and violently jerking him out into the open: Xaphile couldn't even flail... the movement sent stars shooting from his ribs all the way into his skull, and he almost blacked out because of it. He stared at the early morning sky with glassy eyes when the man finally let him go, breathing slowly and heavily with his arms stretched out above him.

His brief rest ended when they jerked him up just enough to put a metal collar around his throat.

"Come on, demon," the guard cackled, talking to him as he would a dog. "Let's go... on your feet."

He tried... he really did... but for some reason, his limbs were no longer responding normally: every part of him felt like it was made of metal.

His arms and legs were so heavy that he couldn't lift them... couldn't even make the muscles twitch.

However, they didn't take kindly to his lack of action... or perhaps, they thought it was a pathetic form of resistance. For whatever reason, the man forcing him to move began to drag him along the ground by the throat, using the chain attached to the collar he was wearing. He struggled to breathe as he was pulled along. But when his ribs slid over a rock, more stars shot into his skull... and this time, he really did pass out.

Not for long, though... he was roused back to consciousness by the agonizing sensation of his arms being tied to a post resting high above him.

Sometime during the blackout, his shirt had been removed, revealing the golden locket on his chest.

His body sagged, held up only by the ropes around his wrists.

Head lolling forward, he tried to make sense of everything past the rushing in his ears... but he could somehow tell that there were tons of people around him.

Then the sun finally slid over the horizon... and her voice once again filled his ears.

"Oh, those bruises look beautiful..." Ella's evil doppelganger chuckled, making him lift his head a little; she was walking up a set of stairs, holding some sort of weapon in her hands. Her hair gleamed like snow in the light, and her long lashes framed her eyes beautifully... but instead of the gentleness he'd loved, there was a cruel grin upon her face. Gliding over to him, she slipped a small hand out of her cloak and ran it against his chin, smirking devilishly. "Hmmm... yes, purple and black do look amazing on you, little demon boy... but what say the villagers? Do you all think those are his colors?"

"NO!" a woman called. "NOT AT ALL! PAINT HIM RED!"

"Oh, my," the girl sighed, covering her mouth with an innocent set of blinks; then, letting go of his chin, she slowly walked behind him, fingers trailing his injuries. "Well, you heard the lady... I always give my people what they WANT!"

On the last word, something lashed against the small of his back, making him choke on his own spleen.

Her arched as the sting of it flashed through his whole body, wheezing even as he did so.

Then the pain faded, and he sagged again, breathing heavily.

"Stop..." he croaked, panting rapidly as he stared at the wood beneath his trembling feet. "Please..."

"Aw..." Ella crooned, looking at the crowd that had gathered. "It would seem it didn't make him red... should I keep going till we see some?"

"YES!" a man cheered, throwing his fist into the air. "MAKE HIM BLEED!"

Xaphile lifted his eyes, staring at the gathered people with an expression of desperation.

"RED! RED! RED!" a woman began to chant. "RED! RED! RED!"

Soon after, people began to repeat it all over the place, making the boy give up. His head weakly dropped, and his tail... the aggravating thing that had refused to stop moving, even after last night's abuse, finally thumped against the ground. It lay still and unmoving, just like the rest of him. He didn't want to be here... but if worst came to worst, perhaps this time he could die for real... perhaps he could see Ella.

If he'd died once by his own hand... he could definitely do it again by the hand of another.

Even if the hand doing this to him belonged to a girl with the same face as his dead girlfriend.

"Time to give them some red!" Ella trilled, giggling cheerfully as she drew back and lashed him again. "Here we go! Much better!"

The agony made him arch involuntarily, but this time it didn't stop... it kept coming... one after the other.

His claws dug into the wood beneath his feet as he was repeatedly hit with something that blended into a strange heat... but as time went on, that heat began to break into a numb sensation. Not long after that, he didn't even arch his back any longer... just took the blows with glazed eyes. The world around him grew muffled in his ears, and he hoped it would end soon. But then... the lash hit the back of his neck by accident... and the golden locket snapped off.

It landed on the ground in what looked to him like slow motion before hitting at his feet and bursting open.

However, before anyone could try to take it from him, he shakily put his foot over it, forcing the locket closed in the process.

The lashes kept coming.

But instead of feeling pain or heat... all that came to him was the pressure, and an odd chill.

By the time Ella pulled back, breathing hard, the sun was high in the sky and it looked to be nearly noon.

"WHO HERE IS SATISFIED?!" the girl bellowed, lifting her weapon and grinning when the villagers clapped and whistled. "YOU WANTED TO SEE THE BEAST IN RED, SO I GAVE IT TO YOU!"

Xaphile's glazed eyes lifted to look at all the people in front of him... all the sneering, condescending faces... the hatred, the evil smiles...

But then he saw a face that stood out from the rest. A face that was staring right at him, but not looking angry or spiteful. He blinked, spots drifting over his eyes as he wondered whether or not he was imagining it. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a little boy with dark brown hair staring at him with horror and shock on his face. Xaphile winced and turned away: he didn't blame the kid for looking like that. Anyone in their right mind would have been horrified.

The spots in front of his vision became thicker, but he couldn't let himself pass out.

Not with the locket under his foot.

If he lost it now, he had no doubt it would be gone forever.

So he struggled to keep himself aware, for the sake of the one thing he still had left to hold dear.

"Ella..." he wheezed, closing his eyes in pain. "I... can't..."

His stream of consciousness began to drop away into oblivion the harder he fought against the spots.

Someone's hand was suddenly in his hair, dragging his head back: he barely registered the face that had once belonged to his beloved glaring into his eyes.

"Don't call my name, filth," she hissed, speaking so quietly that he barely caught it past the ringing in his ears. "Don't defile my mother's love with your nasty mouth."

For a long moment, he stared into the eyes glaring into his own with no sense of comprehension. Hatred... burning hatred... this Ella, whoever she was, genuinely hated him with every fiber of her being. Even though she was alive again... in that moment, his frail heart fractured like a glass gem that had been dropped into the bottom of an empty well. He stared at her when it began breaking, glazed teal eyes becoming listless.

Then he smiled, but this time it was a broken one.

"Three months," he whispered, weakly grinning at the girl. "For three months, I suffered in the darkest pits of living hell because of how much I loved you... all I could do was dream of the day I would die and be set free of the agony you caused me. I daydreamed about my death for hours and hours, but then I realized just how long it would have taken... so I finally decided to end my own life."

"Shut up," she hissed, face twisting with an expression of disgust. "Now."

"I killed myself on my seventeenth birthday... I forcibly took my own life, and somehow ended up here,'" Xaphile continued, struggling to keep the smile on his face despite the fact that his expression was beginning to break apart. "This is my hell... it has to be. I took my own life, and because of it, I ended up in a place where you and I would never find happiness. It wasn't meant to be."

"I said to shut the fuck up!" the girl snarled, clutching his throat in a warning. "NOW, Demon!"

Xaphile lifted his head to the sky, face twisting with pure grief. Not long after, tears of defeat started running down his cheeks like waterfalls.

"Kill me... I died once over you," he whispered, face going completely blank. "I can do it again. Let's just end this."

The girl's hand slowly lowered as her eyes went wide: seeing him cry so abruptly had actually surprised her, but when she glanced down at the wooden boards, her own face went blank. The girl looked back up at his expression, tilting her head in confusion.

"Demons don't feel emotion... not even when they're in physical pain," she stated slowly, backing off a step. "So, how are you... shedding tears?"

He lowered his eyes and met hers, feeling his exhaustion rising to the surface.

"Because..." he whispered, eyes growing heavy. "I'm human."

The girl let out a huff of air and scowled profusely, then pulled a dagger out of her belt and began sawing the ropes on his wrists.

When they snapped, he fell forward to the ground and landed heavily, eyes barely open.

His entire body was shaking like a leaf.

"Looks like it's over for the day!" Ella called, smiling at the villagers. "If we do more, it'll die... then there won't be any fun left! Let's return to our normal schedules!"

For several moments, people clapped... but then, everyone began to walk off, heading in different directions and gossiping about the brutal display. Xaphile merely lay on his stomach, foot curled up so tightly that all of the strength he had left was going into controlling that one appendage. He had to protect the locket the real Ella had given him... if he didn't, he feared he would lose all shreds of his sanity. He would literally have nothing left if someone took it from him.

However, the dark version of her glared daggers and brutally kicked him onto his side.

Xaphile winced and almost passed out, but then he took a deep breath and steadied his mind.

"Kill me..." he whispered, not looking at her; tears continued streaming from his eyes and dripping onto the wood. "Just... stop this. I can't take anymore."

"Oh, but you can," Ella snorted, narrowing her eyes when he turned his head and looked at her with tears streaming down his battered cheeks; the pain in those piercing eyes was strange to her. "Why do you pretend to cry...? You don't feel."

The boy blinked once before his face relaxed, eyes growing cold.

"You win," he croaked, irises flashing fiercely. "You win, Ella."

She stiffened, feeling genuinely startled.

"Excuse me?" she snorted, looking at him with an askance expression. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what it means: you win," Xaphile stated calmly, not breaking eye contact; grimly, he tilted his head back and simply stared at her. "Despite what you've done to me, I will always wish you happiness... so, go ahead and laugh at me now, while you can. If that's what you want, go ahead and laugh at my pain. Because in the end... you're alive, here and now... and that's something I never would have thought I'd see again."

She blinked.

"I don't understand you, beast... you keep talking to me as though I'm this girl you mentioned," she snorted, frowning at him. "But I'm not her."

"Of course you're not," he stated coldly, smiling a bit. "You couldn't be her. It's not logically possible. And yet, impossible as it is, here you are."

She stared at him, but instead of looking angry and hateful... she looked genuinely disturbed.

"Answer me something," the albino stated quietly, squatting down and staring at him with furrowed brows. "What exactly happened to... your Ella? The huntsman told me you thought I was dead... but why? There has never even been a rumor of my death floating around, has there? Why would you think this? Why would you claim to know me, of all the people in Aerika, when doing so would lead straight to this very situation? If not plain old death? Tell me."

His eyes, if it were even more possible, seemed to grow even emptier.

"My Ella?" he asked, giving her a look. "She died. In my arms. And because of it... I killed myself."

The girl's face scrunched, and she glared at him in fury, obviously not believing her ears.

"Lies," she hissed, gripping his hair. "Speak the truth... I grow weary of these tales you keep spewing. Tell me the truth, you beast!"

"I just did," he hissed, glaring at her. "Ella died, and I killed myself. That is the truth. Now, if you're done, end this. I'm tired. And I want to be with the woman I loved. The REAL one. Set me free of this nightmare already."

Her eye twitched.

There was a long pause as he lay there, teal eyes blank and unblinking while he waited for Dark Ella to kill him... to plunge one of her knives into his heart or throat. However, she merely stood up and backed off, making a gesture to the guards standing at attention over by some buildings.

"I'm not going to kill you if that's what you really want, filth," she icily told him, giving a smirk. "I'll let you live so you can feel more pain later on. However, if you continue to sprout these ridiculous lies, I will personally cut your tongue out of your head."

He merely stared at her.

She smirked, gleefully waiting for him to finally get angry... but instead, a tired expression filled his eyes and his head thumped against the wood.

"Up, demon," the approaching guard grunted, kneeling down and grabbing the chain. "Let's go."

Xaphile, once again, had no energy... so he braced himself for what he knew was about to happen.

Sure enough, when he didn't move, the man started dragging him down the stairs by the throat.

But the sensation of his body hitting the stairs on the way down made his whole lower torso jolt, and as a result... the locket went flying out of his reach.

It landed right in front of her.

He watched with fading eyes as she glanced down, but whatever else he could see faded away as the increasingly familiar agony began to pull his mind into darkness.

 

8: Chapter 7: Gentle Hands

Chapter Seven: Gentle Hands

Blood.

A trail of it had been left on the ground leading to the cage after they'd dragged him away and tossed him back into it. He lay limply, breathing hard and fast, muscles in so much pain that he could no longer feel them. Staring out at nothing, he merely waited.

With his injuries, he had no doubt whatsoever that he would eventually die.

But instead of leaving him there like he'd been expecting... Gus opened the cage and once again started tending to his wounds.

"Fool..." he growled, angrily scrubbing his back and ignoring how the poor boy tensed. "You were a fool to come looking for Lady Ella... but I was an even bigger one to unthinkingly lead a naive creature like yourself right to her. This is not easy for me to watch... unlike the rest of my people, I don't find joy in needless torture."

Xaphile turned his head, eyes completely hollow.

"My locket..." he whispered, staring at the man. "I... lost it... when... she..."

The man's scrubbing slowed, and he looked at him with furrowed brows.

"That strange necklace of yours?" he asked, returning to what he'd been doing. "I'll see if I can find it after I'm done here."

Xaphile groaned and pressed his forehead against the ground as the pain from scrubbing started getting to him... it went on for nearly fifteen minutes before the man forced him to sit up and started wrapping bandages of some sort around his upper torso. His hands were oddly gentle... almost soothing, in a way. As he was wrapped up, Xaphile's head lolled forward to lean on Octavius's shoulder, which made him stiffen.

"Thank you..." he croaked, shivering violently when the man's hands stilled. "Thank you for not hurting me with the rest of them."

Gus's arm twitched beneath his head.

Then his hands continued wrapping, albeit quite a bit more slowly.

"Don't thank me," he gruffly muttered, sounding thoroughly upset. "It's my fault you're in this horrible situation, kid. This isn't right... this isn't how we should be handling the fury we have towards the demon race. By doing this to you, I feel that we're acting no better than them."

Xaphile didn't respond, merely kept his eyes closed with his head set on the man's shoulder. The pain in his body was excruciating, so he was relieved when the man carefully helped him lie back down. He was still shirtless, so the metal floor of the cage was cold... but that was more of a relief than a discomfort. He lay curled on his side, arms resting limply in front of him, and merely stared at something unseen. Gus observed his face as he did so, but for some reason, a chill ran down his spine.

Shaking his head, the man let out a sigh and slid out of the cage, closing it tightly and locking it up.

'I'll return with some food, later," the blonde promised, heading off to who knows where. "Just rest easy until I do."

Xaphile no longer had the will to care about any of that.

Closing his eyes, he let himself drift off... let the pain melt into oblivion.

Sleep touched him with gentle fingers... but for only a moment, it would seem. No sooner than he closed his eyes was he woken up again. Only now, it was getting dark outside: the sun was setting. When he turned his head and looked at the one who'd roused him, he saw Gus setting a plate of food inside the cage. It was strange looking, that much was very true... but his stomach growled the moment he smelled it. Gus watched as he weakly stretched out a hand.

However, the man sighed when his whole body jerked and went limp.

"I can't move..." Xaphile croaked, closing his eyes. "Sorry."

Without a word, the man shifted the plate until it was right in front of his face.

"Eat it when you can," he told the boy. "I have to go now."

So saying, he stood up and walked off with a stiff back, shoulders tense for some strange reason. Xaphile tentatively attempted to lift his arm and carefully brought it up to where the food had been placed... and with shaking fingers, he grabbed the first chunk of whatever it was he'd been given. Shivering, he popped it into his mouth. The taste was beyond revolting... but it was better than nothing, so he reluctantly ate all of it.

Then he fell back asleep.

After that, a strange schedule began to make itself known... the next day, Octavius roused him with another plate of food and a bowl of water. Once in the morning, and once at night. Eating and sleeping began to dominate the time he spent in the cage. Days began to pass... and as they did, his wounds slowly began to heal.

However, it was beyond agonizing.

His rest was broken only by a single child who repeatedly came to poke at him with a twig at the end of each day. During the times when he showed up, Xaphile merely looked at him for a bit, not really understanding what he wanted. The little boy never spoke... he never asked questions... all he did was poke at him with a wooden stick.

The dark-haired teen usually ended up curling into a ball out of his reach so he could go back to sleep. After he did so, the child would just sit there for a time, looking lost and sad, but eventually he would get up and toddle away. Not like it mattered... he was too busy wondering when Ella would be coming back to torture him again to care about the kid. Then again, for some strange reason, more torture simply didn't happen. He didn't see head or tail of the guards, or the ruthless albino girl.

After two weeks of being in the cage had come and gone, Xaphile woke up one morning feeling better than usual.

He lay still, breathing deeply and evenly.

Even though he was hurting a lot less, his dark hair was filthy, and he was desperately craving a shower. Shirtless, he looked at his surroundings with dazed teal eyes, truly taking note of everything for the first time. It was strange... after he'd first arrived, people had been buzzing like bees around him.

Now, there was just an odd silence.

His brows furrowed the more he looked.

Upon inspection, the wall surrounding the town looked to him like something from the American Colonial days. It resembled the wall of a fort, since it was made of thick tree trunks and sturdy logs. The boy shakily touched his bandaged chest, realizing that the cage he'd been locked in had been set in the corner of a strange-looking market place. People were walking to and fro, but not a single one really paid any attention to him.

Where am I? he wondered, not really comprehending anything that was going on. This place looks like something straight out of the Victorian Ages...

It was true: all of the villagers were wearing strange, medieval clothing... as in, high collar dresses, old-fashioned tailcoats, and hats with feathers in the top. Other women were wearing bonnets and less flashy dresses... and many of the men wore tattered shirts and strange pants.

Several scruffy little children were kicking around a ball of some sort, and a few boys who appeared to be around his own age were chatting near the edge of the marketplace, looking seriously bored.

Not that he blamed them, since there really wasn't anything to do.

He observed everything for a long time, but eventually he began to feel tired... and the pain started to increase the longer he remained upright.

He was just about to lie down and attempt to fall back asleep again when something came flying in his direction. It was the ball... the one all the children had been kicking around. He glanced at it when it rolled beside the cage, coming to a halt just out of arm's reach. Blinking a few times, Xaphile carefully shifted his eyes and spotted the children standing a good distance away. All of them looked afraid and upset, but a thickset blonde boy merely looked angry.

"Great job, Kirby!" he snapped, turning around and shoving a much smaller child to the ground. "Now we can't play with the ball anymore! This is all your fault!"

Xaphile was actually a little surprised to realize that the one he'd shoved was the little brown-haired boy who'd been poking him now and then.

"We're not supposed to go near the demon," a little girl whined, looking back and forth with nervous eyes. "We can't get the ball back!"

"This stinks," a second girl groused, grumpily folding her arms. "Let's go play something else."

When they irritably turned to go, the little boy who'd been shoved got up and tried to follow... but he was pushed to the ground again by the blonde.

"Not you, Kirby," he sneered, then turned and glanced at Xaphile with a smirk. "You go play with the demon. I'm sure it would love to have you as a snack."

When the group of children laughed and walked away, leaving the little brown haired boy behind, Xaphile felt his eyebrow twitch.

Do they think I'm a cannibal or something? he wondered, feeling a little nauseous. Just what kind of horrible monster do these people really think I am...?

He didn't know, nor did he want to: their actions towards him a few weeks ago had given him all he information he needed to get the message.

The child sat on the ground for a long moment, sniffing and looking like he was about to cry.

Xaphile's face fell, since he kinda felt sorry for the kid. After a moment, though, he got an idea and his eyes brightened a bit.

He slowly attempted to sit up again, but winced when flashes of pain seared through his back... still, he grit his teeth and dealt with it. Moving onto all fours, he carefully crawled over to the edge of the cage and set his shoulder against it, breathing a little heavily. His prison was roughly five feet wide and four feet tall, but because of how thick the bars were, he could barely manage to slide his hand through any of the gaps.

Even so, he still tried to.

Wriggling his hand into the gap closest to the toy, he leaned against the bars and floundered for the ball, face twisting a little as some of the scabs on his back reopened.

He eventually reached it, though.

"Yes," he whispered, pressing his lips together in focus as he scratched it a tad closer using his long nails. "Almost got it..."

He grinned a little when he finally managed to grip the ball, but then he sighed and looked at the brunette.

The child was still sitting where he'd fallen, rubbing his eyes and sniffling.

Tail twitching in anxiety, the horned young man struggled to make use of his wrist movements, giving himself a moment to practice.

Once he was absolutely sure it would work right, he snapped his hand forward and let go of the ball. His aim was a little off, but it did roll past the child, who stopped crying long enough to stare at it. For a moment, the kid blinked rapidly in obvious surprise... then he turned around and looked straight at the cage, just as Xaphile got his hand unstuck. Flexing his fingers, he carefully returned to his original spot and silently lay down, refusing to even look at the little boy.

He had just closed his eyes when something gently poked his backside.

His face twitched, but he casually ignored it.

Unfortunately, the poke came again, and again, and again... and after about fifteen persistent pokes, he gave up and opened his eyes.

"Stop it already," he rasped, voice coming out hoarse because of its disuse. "Don't poke me."

The child's eyes lit up with shock and he abruptly dropped the stick, rapidly setting his hands on the bars.

His eyes were wide and his mouth had dropped open.

For a long moment, he stared in total amazement... but then, the child stuck his arm into the cage, little hand flailing as if it were trying to reach him. Xaphile stared blankly, then sighed and gave up a second time. The kid obviously wanted something from him, and the dark-haired youth figured he wouldn't go away until he gave it. So, slowly crawling over to the edge of the cage, he plopped down in front of the bars and buried his chin in his arms.

He didn't look at his visitor again, even when he felt a little hand touch his hair and the strange mane running down his spine.

That touch was strangely soothing.

Xaphile lay there with his eyes closed, feeling the little boy's fingers rubbing against every part of his head, even his ears and horns.

He didn't know why the child was so fascinated, but then again... he himself was still getting used to his new bodily quirks.

And he had, on occasion, admittedly found himself becoming mesmerized by the fact that he had a tail.

"Your name is Kirby, right?" he finally asked, shifting his head and looking at the kid. "You have the ball now... why not go make up with your friends? Play with them?"

The little boy blinked and let out a despondent sigh, pouting a little.

Then he fervently shook his head, hand tightening in his hair.

For a moment, Xaphile merely looked at him... but then, he shrugged a little.

"Well, not that I blame you," he muttered, once again tucking his chin back into his arms. "Those kids seemed pretty mean."

Kirby nodded, frowning at the dirt before letting go of his hair.

Then his touch reappeared on his fingers, making him crack an eye open: the little boy was holding his limb with an earnest and very worried expression.

With no change in his expression, the older boy lifted his left arm and gently draped his palm over the child's.

"You'll be fine, kiddo," he mumbled, feeling more relaxed than he'd been in a while. "If those children try to bully you, just... stand up for yourself. Make it clear that you won't play with them anymore if they keep being mean. You deserve better than what they're giving you, and you don't necessarily need to be friends with people like that."

So saying, he gave an awkward and very weak grin, revealing his sharp fangs.

The child smiled brightly for a moment and nodded.

Xaphile sighed and tiredly closed his eyes, figuring he'd given the child what he'd wanted.

He kept his eyes closed for a long time, but for whatever reason, Kirby didn't move. After another ten minutes had come and gone, he opened his eyes again. The child had shifted his position so he was also lying down comfortably.

"Why are you still here?" Xaphile asked, tilting his head when Kirby blinked at him. "Aren't you scared of me?"

The little boy shook his head.

"Why?" Xaphile inquired, feeling a little surprised. "Everyone else seems to be... either that, or they hate me."

The little boy blinked again, then scrunched his face up, letting out a rough cough.

He seemed to struggle for a moment.

"You... nice," he roughly ground out, speaking with a distinct slur. "They... all... mean."

Xaphile stiffened and looked at him in alarm: for a child so young, his voice sounded horribly coarse... almost like people who'd been smokers their whole lives.

"Are you all right?" he asked, blinking slowly and worriedly. "Your voice doesn't sound too good."

The little boy nodded, then tapped his throat and mimicked talking before slowly shaking his head.

"Can't..." the child forcefully wheezed out. "Can't... talk..."

"Oh," Xaphile sighed, immediately averting his eyes. "Sorry about that... I didn't know."

Kirby nodded with a slight wince before giving him an apologetic expression. After a moment, the horned boy slowly turned to meet the child's gaze once again; they merely stared at each other for a long moment, not really speaking and not really knowing why the other was staring. But in the end, it was okay. Kirby seemed comfortable enough just sitting beside him, and since Xaphile couldn't deny that it felt good just to have someone not glare at him, he relaxed a little.

Closing his eyes, he curled up for real and planned to fall asleep.

The child merely watched him for a long time, hand resting in his own... but eventually, his large brown eyes started to flutter a little.

The more he stared at the older boy's calm, relaxed face... the droopier his eyes seemed to look.

Eventually, the two of them actually fell asleep... one inside a cage, and the other outside.

And the saddest part was that none of the people milling around them even seemed to notice he had fallen asleep with his arm cradled in the so-called demon's grasp.

That is, until later that evening, when everyone had closed their shops and Gus came into view with Xaphile's food. The moment the blonde man spotted Kirby lying on his side in front of the cage, his face went bone white and he dropped the dishes he was holding. Then, he bolted forward, every part of him looking tense. Kneeling down, he gripped the child's shoulder with horrified eyes and shook him. His eyes were filled with worry... he was obviously fearing the worst.

"Oi, are you all right?" he cried, shaking the little boy even harder. "What did the beast do to you?!"

Kirby whined a little when the jostling persisted and sleepily tugged his shoulder away from the man's hands.

Still mostly asleep, he scooted closer to the cage and curled up, letting out another grumpy whine.

It was only then that Gus looked beyond the little boy's prone form.

And in that moment, his jaw dropped.

Xaphile's face was calm and relaxed, mouth open just enough to reveal the tips of his fangs... but his long-lashed eyes were closed like they always were, and he was breathing very deeply and evenly. However, this wasn't what had shocked the man... no, it was the fact that the little boy's hand was resting in both of his own. He had actually curled up around the child's limb, looking almost as if he were protecting it... or as if he were holding onto it like a lifeline.

The man's face went completely blank and he could do absolutely nothing but stare, since he couldn't believe his eyes.

"This boy..." he muttered, staring at Xaphile's horns and tail with a dark expression. "He... might just be..."

Octavius trailed off and shook his head, then stood up and abruptly turned away, heading straight for the tavern that Ella often frequented.

She needed to see this for herself, otherwise she wouldn't believe it, either.

And perhaps... perhaps if she could witness this strange demon's gentle sincerity... she would release him of his prison.

Perhaps she would set him free.

 

9: Chapter 8: Doubt

Chapter Eight: Doubt

Ella was pissed.

Beyond pissed.

So pissed that she wanted to strangle the demon who'd ignited her fury.

However, the weirdest part was the fact that she didn't even know why she was so angry.

This was a different type of rage than what she was used to.

It hadn't set in until after she'd met the strange demon boy.

Letting out an irritated sigh, the girl set her chin down on the bar's counter, glaring at the wall. All around her, the sound of laughing men and women filled the air, but instead of feeling comforting and warm like it usually did... the sounds only exacerbated her sour mood. Directly in front of her, a redheaded man named Drake tended the bar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His freckled face was warm and always seemed to have a gentle expression on it. However, when she sighed again, the man finally looked up.

"You know," the barkeep sighed, leaning forward with a knowing expression. "it's not good to bottle everything up, My Lady."

Ella glared at him with half-lidded eyes.

"It's nothing, Drake..." she grunted, pulling out the golden locket her captive had dropped after being flogged. "Just a certain demon causing me certain issues."

"Oh?" he asked, quirking a fiery eyebrow as he cleaned one of his mugs with a dishcloth. "That's rare... is it a strong one?"

"I'm not sure... it doesn't seem all that powerful," Ella snorted, lifting the beautiful necklace with grumpy eyes. "Then again, it did manage to disarm me."

The man's eyes widened and his hand stilled.

"You?" he whispered, looking seriously frightened. "A beast actually managed to disarm you?"

"Yes," she groused, giving him a sour look. "For the first time since I finished my training, I was disarmed... but there's no need to fear."

"My lady," he murmured, returning to his business. "This is cause for worry... you're the strongest warrior in Chisago Village and the Countess of the southern provinces... if something happens to you..."

"Nothing will happen," she rapped out. "Do not doubt me."

The man immediately fell silent, since she looked madder than a hellcat.

With good reason, too... after all, the strange demon boy had fearlessly waltzed up to her, disarmed her with literally no effort whatsoever, and then lifted her into the air like a toy doll. But, that's also part of what was so confusing to her: why had he embraced her?

She'd been open to his whims... he could have easily killed her in that moment.

But instead, he'd swept her off the ground and into his arms... it had been almost princelike.

What was more, up until the flogging, the anger she'd felt towards him hadn't changed at all. Hell, even when she'd watched him get kicked around by the villagers, her anger hadn't shifted the way it had. It was true that she'd been mildly disturbed to learn that the psychotic creature had a knack for mimicking human emotions straight down to the core of his eyes. But that hadn't made her angry, either... at least, not in a way that was any different than usual.

Lifting the golden necklace the strange demon had dropped, the girl irritably let it dangle in front of her eyes.

Her brows furrowed once again as she looked at the words engraved onto it.

"Ella's Heart," she muttered, nose wrinkling in confusion. "For my Darling Xaphile."

Xaphile.

That name also kept pissing her off for some reason... so badly.

It triggered a bizarre feeling of nostalgia, as though she should have known who it belonged to.

Letting out another huff of air, she slammed the necklace down in front of the barkeep, making him jump.

"Drake, I want you to look at this and give me your opinion on it," she snapped, grumpily folding her arms when he blinked at the piece of jewelry. "What are your thoughts?"

"My word," the man murmured, instantly reaching for it with a gleam in his eyes; then he stopped and asked, "er... may I?"

When Ella indicated her approval, Drake picked it up and looked at it closely, taking note of the locket's golden shine before inspecting the gleaming chain. Blinking in total confusion, he walked over to the wall and gently pushed some bottles of wine to the side before grabbing a thin box.

Ella watched him pull out some tools with her chin resting on her hand, observing how he scrutinized its surface under a jeweler's glass, then tapped it gently with a small chisel. His eyes slowly widened and his shoulders began to stiffen the longer he examined it.

Finally, he set his tools down and stared at her in disbelief, brows furrowed darkly.

"Where did you get this?" he breathed, eyes flicking back and forth. "My lady, tell me... right now."

"Why does it matter?" she demanded, glaring at him. "Care to explain?"

"Do you even know what this is worth?!" Drake hissed, eyes frantic with outrage. "Or even what it's made of?!"

"No," the girl admitted, cheek twitching as she shifted uncomfortably on the seat. "So what?"

"This necklace resembles pure gold, but it isn't, for the chain would have broken a long time ago, and the pendant would be dented beyond repair. It's very old," the man breathed, shaking his head in amazement. "Creating jewelry from pure gold is foolish... and yet, both the pendant and the chain binding it seem to be made of it! Even stranger, the work is so fine that it couldn't have been crafted by human hands! I've never seen anything like it."

Ella scowled.

"And how do you suggest that happened?" she demanded, looking closely at the thin golden threads weaving in and out to create the chain. "If it wasn't made by a blacksmith, who could have possibly made such a fine piece of jewelry?"

"I don't know," the barkeep told her, grimly putting his toolbox away. "Especially since the gold seems to be much, much stronger than any I've ever seen. I do not know what this trinket is... but it is definitely made of a very strange alloy. What that alloy might be, though, I haven't a clue. It's harder than any gold I've ever seen. Whoever shaped it either used smithy tools we've never heard of—or magic. Also... strangely, the pendant itself is hollow."

"What?" Ella scoffed, giving him a disbelieving look. "Hollow? How can that be?"

"'Tis true, my Lady," the man told her, shaking his head. "I tested it, just to be sure... that pendant is hollow. The craftsmanship is so flawless and perfect that this one necklace could probably be enough to buy an entire village... or perhaps, even a castle like the one in the Capital."

Ella crossed her arms with a reserved expression.

"If it's hollow," she muttered, eyebrows raising a little, "could something be inside it?"

The redhead shrugged, blue eyes pensive.

"What will you do?" Drake asked quietly. "Now that you know what it's worth, will you sell it to some nobleman?"

"I'm going to get more information about it before I make up my mind," the girl explained, tapping the locket without looking at him. "Thank you for your time. May I have some tea?"

"Of course," Drake murmured, turning around and grabbing a teabag off the shelf. "Might want to enjoy it while you can. We had a farmer who works at a settlement to the north come in just yesterday with bad tidings. Apparently, the crops are all dying... they can't explain it."

Ella blinked, then glanced up.

"Dying?" she snorted, furrowing her brows. "Is it an odd plague?"

"They don't know," Drake murmured, shaking his head, "but whatever it is seems to have stretched to our forests, too, since they've all begun to wither. Perhaps this is a foreshadowing of an oncoming drought?"

"Bah," Ella groused. "Rotten luck if it is. We already have enough trouble on our hands here."

"Indeed," the barkeep chuckled. "By the way... who is this Xaphile?"

Her eyebrow twitched.

"I don't know," she grumbled, shaking her head. "The other name engraved on there wasn't my own. It must have been a different Ella."

His Ella, her mind involuntarily suggested.

However, the moment she thought it, the girl instantly flamed bright red and let out a huge huff of air. She thoroughly hated the fact that she would even dare to think such a thing, since it meant she was doubting herself enough to take the words of a demon seriously. She hated that even more than she did the puzzling necklace. When a mug of herbal tea was set down in front of her, she set her hands on the sides of the cup and looked at the necklace again.

With rough hands, she snatched the locket off the bar and jammed it in her pocket, then grumpily downed her drink.

Finished, she slammed a few coins down on the counter in front of her and stood up, sweeping angrily towards the door.

Upon walking out into the nighttime air, the girl took a deep breath and let the cool breeze wash over her heated cheeks.

She stood there for a long moment, dark cloak billowing in the breeze.

However, when the girl heard the soft sound of footsteps to her left, she turned and spotted Octavius the huntsman. He was aggravatedly walking back and forth near the door of the bar, one hand running through his wild cornflower hair: he looked genuinely worried about something. Her lips instantly curled and she headed over to him, figuring now would be as good of a time as ever to ask if the beast she'd taken prisoner was healthy enough to receive his next punishment.

"Huntsman," she barked, making the man jump with a yelp and whirl to face her. "What are you doing?"

"I... I-I-I-I was..." he stammered, looking violently flustered by her appearance. "I-I was hoping I..."

"Never mind," she snorted, brushing off his mood with a wave. "Tell me, how fairs the demon we captured?"

His eyes grew shadowed and he let out a sigh.

"His wounds are well on their way to healing, but he still seems... lifeless," the blonde explained, unhappily raising his eyes. "Speaking of which... I wish to show you something unbelievable. Come with me, my Lady... it's urgent."

"Huh?" she demanded, scowling at him; however, when he snatched her wrist and started pulling her, the albino's pink eyes widened. "Hey! What are you—"

"Please, hear me out," the blonde interrupted, jaw growing taught while he dragged her towards the market square. "I feel like we've made a horrible mistake."

"What are you saying?" she spat, gripping his hand with her free one and fighting to get his fingers off of her. "Huntsman! Release me! Have you lost your mind?!"

"No, I have not! In all actuality, I should be the one asking if you've lost yours!" the man barked, giving her such a harsh glare that she stiffened in total surprise. "That boy is not a demon!"

Her jaw dropped open in outrage.

"If not a demon," she growled, hair standing on end, "then what, pray tell, is that creature supposed to be?!"

The man fell silent and his footsteps slowed, expression growing unbelievably dark.

"I think..." he stated quietly, giving her a very serious look, "that he might be a woodland sprite."

The girl's mouth twitched and she sneered at him.

"Impossible," she stated coldly, giving him a highly unamused expression. "Woodland Sprites no longer exist in our forests... the demons wiped them out years ago."

"Then what do you make of that?!" the blonde man hissed, jerking her around the corner of a building and pointing straight at the cage. "Tell me! What sort of demon would fall asleep holding the hand of a human child?!"

"What?" she snapped, following his finger with confused eyes. "There's no human chi..."

Her words died on her tongue and she froze solid when she saw that Gus was absolutely correct: there was a little boy lying fast asleep in front of the cage. His arm had been thrust through the bars, and the strange creature that had so badly pissed her off for reasons she couldn't identify was holding his hand. He was just as deeply asleep as the child, from the looks of things. Bile rose up her throat, and before she realized it... she was seeing red.

Just as she took a step forward, the creature inside the cage let out a deep, wavering groan, stirring slightly in his sleep.

She halted in her tracks.

Ella's brows furrowed when he continued shifting, breath growing deeper and much more ragged.

The sounds caused the little boy to twitch and sit up, rubbing his eyes and looking around in a daze. However, when he noticed the beast's change in breathing, he crawled over and stuck both hands through the bars.

"Help..." the demon whined, slowly turning his head back and forth. "Don't... go..."

The village boy gripped his shoulder and shook him before repetitively patting him until his whole body jerked.

Lunging upright, he scrabbled away from the front of the cage until his back was pressed against the other side of it. His eyes were huge and his face was abnormally pale... but as he stared off into space, those eyes became less panicked.

"Demon... okay...?" a hoarse voice suddenly rasped, making Ella twitch in shock. "Feel... bad?"

The girl's eyes immediately sharpened and she looked closer, since she knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

Kirby Crawford? she silently wondered, gritting her teeth. How, and why, is he speaking to the very creature that everyone was told to avoid when he hasn't spoken a single word to anyone for ten whole years?

She didn't know, but it bothered her greatly: the Crawford family had once been wealthy tailors, but then....the event of ten years ago had occurred. With the exception of his grandfather, Marty, nobody in their had survived... and little Kirby himself had been unable to talk normally since the smoke he'd inhaled had damaged his throat and lungs beyond repair.

She watched with disbelieving eyes as the demon looked at him, barely able to see his expression.

"Only my heart," his distant voice whispered. "I'm fine... my back doesn't really hurt much anymore. And my sides... they're okay."

"Heart... hurt?" Kirby rasped, stretching out a hand. "Why?"

For several moments, there was silence... but then, the clouds that had been obscuring the moon opened up a little, illuminating the area.

And for the first time since she'd arrived, Ella could see the boy's face.

Her heart instantly tightened and she felt a barrage of confusion and anger fill her to the brim, but mostly, she simply didn't understand what she was looking at. The demon was looking out at nothing with a blank expression, shaking fist being held against his breast.

But his eyes... his eyes were full of raw agony.

Not the look of a man in physical pain, but pain that was felt within... pain she'd seen only once before. In that moment, she understood why Octavius had compared the beast to Marty Crawford... because like the old man, this creature's eyes held something extremely painful.

Something that spoke a terrible message of loss and horrible agony.

It was an expression that could send chills running down the spines of everyone and anyone who looked at him.

"Do you see?" Gus whispered, making her lift her eyes to his face; the huntsman was looking down at her with a glare. "I have been watching him since the day you flogged him, my Lady... he is not a demon, and I fear we should release him before we incur the wrath of the forest. That creature... I truly believe he may be a surviving forest sprite."

Ella turned her gaze back on the dark-haired youth, taking note of his tail, mane, claws, and horns.

Truly, he was one of the most bizarre demons she'd ever seen... he wasn't particularly ugly, aside from his inhuman qualities, and he didn't really look like a monster.

In fact, he was more human in appearance than beast... it was indeed strange.

"I'm not convinced," she groused, giving a sigh of irritation when the man deflated and lowered his eyes, "but... I will take your opinion into consideration, for this news is indeed very disconcerting. If it does turn out that he is not a demon... I will release him, and no further harm will befall him. Are you satisfied?"

Gus looked at her with a startled expression.

"My Lady, I am truthfully grateful to you for heeding my words," he stated humbly, lowering his head. "My apologies for dragging you here against your will."

"No, it was necessary," she stated, watching as Kirby finally got to his feet and wandered off towards his house. "If it turns out that he is indeed a woodland sprite... I fear that the forest will never forgive me for what I have done to him. I will take it from here, huntsman... you may leave."

Octavius blinked and nervously headed off in the direction they'd come from, casting glances back over his shoulder as he went. Once he was out of sight, she looked at the caged creature once again... then she stepped forward, one foot at a time, until she was standing before him.

His eyes slowly shifted and he looked up at her without moving his head.

For a long moment, all she did was stare at him, brows furrowed and face tight with barely-restrained frustration.

She watched as a single tear slid out of the corner of his eye and down to his chin.

"Going to hurt me again?" he quietly asked, catching her off guard; she blinked when she realized that the expression on his face had turned cold. "More torment?"

He was looking at her with eyes that she didn't understand, but instead of letting him get the better of her temper, she brushed it off and squatted down. Looking at the creature with an intense expression, she contemplated the questions she now had.

"What are you?" she demanded, tilting her head slightly. "Tell me."

He blinked once, but aside from that his face didn't even twitch.

"Human," he stated coldly, tone coming surprisingly dark. "Or at least, I was until I found myself here."

Her face slipped into an uncomfortable expression.

"You said to me... that you killed yourself, and somehow found yourself here," Ella stated quietly, not breaking eye contact. "If this is the truth... answer me something. What could you have possibly gained by doing something so foolish? To take your own life... it seems like the act of a coward. Why did you run away from life itself?"

His eyes deadened and he looked away, staring off into space.

"It's not so much that I was running away from life as it was I was chasing death," he stated quietly, emptily looking up at the moon through the bars on his prison. "The girl I loved left me behind... but instead of giving up my future happiness with her, I decided to follow her, even in death. I never did find her, though... instead, I wound up here... with you."

He said the last part as if it were some sort of curse. His bitter tone at the end piqued her anger, and she nearly unloaded on him... but then she realized something and paused. Bitterness was a form of emotion, and one she was all too familiar with.

Biting back her irritation, she looked at him with a haughty demeanor.

"You were a fool, then," she stated simply. "Like I said, I'm not this girl of yours. You even say we look exactly alike, but I find that very hard to believe. My appearance is different than that of other living beings... I've never once met another creature that has come close to resembling my looks in any shape or form. As you can see, I'm very white... my hair, my brows... my lashes, even my skin. As I see it, I am the fairest of all lands."

His eyes belied no feeling whatsoever.

"You have extreme sensitivity to fire and sunlight because of it, and your vision is very poor," he stated emptily, making her stiffen. "Your eyes... they move uncontrollably sometimes, against your will, and because of it your vision flickers violently. You bleed more than you should, too, even if it's just a small scrape from falling down. And sometimes, you even feel cold during the warmest of days. Or am I wrong?"

Her heart skipped a beat, eyes widening in sheer shock.

"How do you know of this," she hissed, drawing her sword in a flash and sliding it through the bars. "ANSWER!"

When the point dug into the side of his throat, he turned his head and looked at her, giving a small smile. A small cut opened on his neck because of the movement, but it wasn't deep enough to be of any mortal threat.

"Because... you really are the same as my Ella," he stated quietly, eyes looking through her rather than at her. "You don't just look alike, you even have the same condition."

Her brows furrowed, and she lowered the sword a little.

"Condition?" she demanded lowly, not believing her ears. "What condition? I don't have a condition..."

"You do," the boy told her, closing his eyes. "It's called albinism. You have no pigmentation. That's why your hair and skin are white, and why your eyes are colorless."

Ella's jaw tightened, and for a moment, she almost lost her temper... but then, she jerked the sword out of the cage and sheathed it before pulling out the locket. Clutching it by the shimmering chain, she held it in front of the cage and watched as he looked at it.

However, before she could open her mouth, his listless expression turned to one of shock.

"That's mine!" he cried, instantly crawling forward and reaching for the bars. "Give it back to me!"

"Excuse me?!" the pale girl barked, jerking it away from his hands. "This isn't yours! It can't be! Someone like you could never have gotten something like this without stealing it!"

"It's mine! Please!" he cried, making her draw back; his expression was laced with frantic desperation. "It's the only thing I have left of her!"

Ella's eyebrows raised, then she smirked, coming up with a wicked idea.

"Oh?" she drawled, leaning forward and swinging it back and forth. "If that's the case, then... what exactly is your name, little demon?"

"Huh?" the imprisoned youth asked, blinking at her in total confusion. "My... name?"

"Yes, your name," Ella repeated, secretly figuring that if he'd stolen it, he wouldn't have been able to read the names. After all, it was no mystery that even a vast majority of regular human beings couldn't read much, if at all... so the way she saw it, there was no way a creature like him could know his letters. "Tell me... what is it?"

"Xaphile," he stated quietly, still struggling to reach for the locket. "My name is Xaphile Herseroph! But that doesn't matter... just give me my locket... please."

Her expression darkened, but she wasn't convinced just yet.

"If this is yours, tell me... is it truly hollow inside?" she crooned, batting her lashes. "And if it is... what's inside it? Oh, but you wouldn't know, would you?"

He stared at her, hand momentarily pausing: his eyes took on a disbelieving expression.

"Of course I know what's inside," he growled, mouth trembling in fury. "I'm warning you... if you did anything to them... I will never forgive you. Even if you have her face."

The girl's eyebrows rose in outrage at the threat, but then she processed the full weight of his statement.

"Them?" Ella slowly asked, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean, them? What's inside this pendant of yours?"

"You haven't figured out how to open it?" he asked, looking genuinely shocked. "Seriously?"

She scowled at him.

"Would I be asking if I had?" she sarcastically demanded, narrowing her eyes. "Start talking before I cut your tongue out of your head. I grow weary of this."

He glared at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes.

His shoulders immediately slumped over in defeat.

"There's a little ridge sticking out on the left side," Xaphile told her, turning his head away. "Hook your nail behind it and pull it down. Be gentle."

The cloaked girl warily eyed him, checking for any signs of deceit, before she lifted the locket and examined it more closely on the left side: much to her surprise, she found herself looking directly at the small ridge she'd initially mistaken as a dent in the metal. Inspecting it more closely, however, she realized with a bout of amazement that there was a thin crack peeking through the very center of it.

Almost immediately, she hooked her nail into the ridge and gently tugged as she'd been instructed. She'd been expecting some hidden trap, or a secret treasure... possibly even a small creature of sorts. Instead, when the locket flicked open, there was nothing inside.

She instantly scowled.

"There's nothing here," she growled, looking up at him. "You lying piece of... how dare you tell a falsehood to me!"

"Look at the locket itself," he muttered, not opening his eyes. "Both sides of it. The inner walls."

She blinked, then looked down... but what she saw didn't make sense.

Small Paintings?

No... they were something else, and much more detailed.

But that wasn't what she found so strange.

It was what the images depicted that she found bizarre.

On the right side of the picture was her own face: it took her by total surprise and shocked her so badly that she nearly dropped it, but even upon bringing the piece of jewelry as close to her eyes as she possibly could, there was no mistaking it.

The girl inside the locket was definitely her... but at the same time, it wasn't her. After all, the girl in the portrait had hair that stretched down out of sight, her cheeks were red like that of a maiden in love, and there was a young man kissing her cheek.

That's when she noticed it.

The boy in that picture... looked almost exactly the one in front of her, only he didn't have horns... and his pupils were soft and round. Heart growing cold, she glanced at the other image... and realized, with a jolt, that it was indeed him. Looking up from the picture with huge eyes, she compared his face with a taught mouth, not believing what she was seeing. Then she looked down at the other people in the photo.

On the left was, once again, the stranger who looked exactly like her. Her doppelganger's flowing white hair was so long that even though the image cut off at the waist, it still stretched down out of sight. She was clinging to his arm... but there was also someone on the right. Ella looked at the other woman with furrowed brows, realizing she looked vaguely familiar. Cherubic cheeks, soft brown hair, a smile with a few familiar dimples... even the eyes.

There was something vaguely familiar about her.

"This woman..." Ella growled, lifting the locket and holding it out. "Who is she?"

He looked at the pictures, giving a slow blink.

"Connie Richardson," he stated weakly, shaking his head. "Ella's mother."

The moment he said it, she felt something strange wash over her heart.

A feeling that made her very, very uneasy even though she didn't know why.

Almost abruptly, she stood up, pulling her hood above her head.

"I'll return on the morrow," she stated coldly, giving him a shaken expression and hastily walking away. "I will be passing your sentence then."

"If so... kill me when you do," Xaphile emptily called, making her footsteps falter a little. "If you're going to torture me... torture me to death. Set me free."

She felt a cold sensation settle over her heart, and her power walk turned into a full blown run.

She didn't know why, but this whole situation felt... wrong.

And for the first time in her life... she felt as though she had somehow made a very horrible mistake.

 

10: Chapter 9: Sentenced

Chapter Nine: Sentenced

After Ella left... the night dragged on slowly for Xaphile.

Teal eyes devoid of any emotional sheen, he lay curled up on his side, long hair spread out around him.

She would be passing his sentence tomorrow... whatever she had planned probably wasn't going to be painless, but he figured he could handle it. Years upon years of being abused by his father had given him an extraordinarily high pain tolerance, as well as a few mental tactics to escape his physical pain. If whatever was going to happen hurt too much, he would simply go somewhere else inside his head. As he lay on his side, however, all he could think about was Ella.

Not the evil clone... but the girl he'd initially fallen for.

His hands twitched, and he drew them close to his chest, feeling the familiar ache washing over his heart. The yearning to hold her... the desire to wrap his arms around her just one more time. The ache to embrace someone who could never embrace him back.

Even though his mind kept telling him she was gone, the void in his heart continued reaching for her. Or rather, for what she'd taken with her when she'd passed on.  

He couldn't escape from this pain... nothing would ever ease it.

Not even death, apparently. 

Unbidden, tears stung his eyes like acid and began streaming into his hair, but he didn't even care enough to wipe them away. His vision clouded over and blurred as his pain took on physical form and trickled down across his nose and onto the floor of the cage. The moonlight did nothing to soothe him. The pain continued rising... smothering him... forcing his heart to pound. Slowly moving his leaden arms, he forced himself to sit up and weakly pressed his back against the bars.

If he was going to die in the morning, he might as well sing one last song.

The town was sleeping, anyway... it wasn't like anybody was around to hear it... it didn't matter. This was for his own self-comfort since he obviously wasn't getting any sleep. 

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift off somewhere else... picturing Ella. Her smile... her face... her voice... the sensation of her soft, cool hand holding his own... and just like that, a familiar pressure built within his breast, dull and painful.

"Two A.M... where do I begin?" he sang softly, voice coming out as little more than a velvety hum. "Crying off my face again... the silent sound of loneliness wants to follow me to bed. I'm the ghost of a man that I want to be most. I'm the shell of a boy that I used to know well. Dancing slowly in an empty room, can the lonely take the place of you? I sing myself a quiet lullaby. Let you go and let the lonely in... to take my heart again."

Christina Perri... she had been Ella's favorite singer, and she'd dreamed of meeting her someday.

Until the moment she'd passed away, this song had been the only one he hadn't resonated with... but now, he felt as though he truly understood it. After all, merely thinking of Ella while singing these words... every part of his soul seemed to grow heavy with pain.

"Too afraid to go inside... for the pain of one more loveless night," he gently hummed, voice bouncing off of the strange stone buildings. "But the loneliness will stay with I... and hold me till I fall asleep. I'm the ghost of a man that I want to be most. I'm the shell of a boy that I used to know well. Dancing slowly in an empty room, can the lonely take the place of you? I sing myself a quiet lullaby. Let you go and let the lonely in... to take my heart again."

As he continued to sing, something flashed across a nearby window and a face that looked addled with sleepiness appeared. Several glossy strands of chestnut brown hair slid into the open as a girl who looked to be in her early teens peered around, looking confused but very tired. However, she blinked when he continued singing and peered around a little more eagerly, obviously trying to find the source of the song.

It wasn't until she realized it was coming from the cage that her eyes widened with lucidity.

Blinking rapidly, she leaned on the sill and listened, brows furrowed in perplexity.

"Broken pieces of... a barely breathing story: where there once was love, now there's only me," Xaphile quietly sang, slowly closing his eyes and ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Dancing slowly in an empty room... can the lonely take the place of you? I sing myself a quiet lullaby. Let you go and let the lonely in. To take my heart again."

Silence rang free for a long time after his voice died away.

However, just as he was about to fall asleep, a very young voice split the air.

"I didn't think demons could know such beautiful poetry," the girl in the window stated quietly, making him blink. "I was always told they were mindless beasts... but that was one of the loveliest things I've ever heard. Tis a shame it comes from the mouth of a creature so evil."

Xaphile lowered his head, shoulders sagging in defeat.

"I'm not evil," he whispered, drawing his knees up to his chin and burying his face in them. "I'm not a demon."

"If not a demon... what are you?" the girl asked, planting her chin on her hands and staring at the cage. "You sure look like a demon to me with those horns of yours."

Her voice wasn't harsh or angry... just undeniably curious.

"I don't know anymore," the boy croaked, not lifting his head, "but in the end, it doesn't matter. Human... demon... beast... I could care less about what all you horrible people see me as. Tomorrow, I'll be free... that's all I really care about."

"What do you mean you'll be free?" the girl asked, blinking in surprise and lifting her head off her hand. "You aren't thinking of going on a rampage, are you?"

"No... nothing like that," Xaphile snorted, finally looking up. "Ella's passing my sentence tomorrow."

The girl blinked and fell silent, hand falling to her side.

She looked uncomfortable.

"What's your name?" she asked, hooking a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. "If you're going to die... I would at least have that."

He scowled, then lay back down.

"It doesn't matter," he stated coldly, closing his eyes and curling up into a ball. "My name has no meaning... and my life is worth nothing. Let me be."

With a solemn blink, the girl nodded and slowly turned away from the window, long brown hair gleaming.

"All life has meaning," she stated quietly, voice trickling out into the open air. "Even if you were just a murderous beast until now... yours had a meaning, too. I will pray to the Divines for your soul to reach a place of eternal happiness."

So saying, she sighed and let the curtain fall across her window.

Xaphile closed his eyes after she disappeared, feeling more than a little exhausted. Reluctantly, he lowered his head and sank into a gentle doze despite his willingness to stay up. Not long after he did so, though, soft mutterings intruded on his flickering dreams and roused him into awareness.

With a small sigh, he opened his eyes a little... but for some bizarre reason, the girl from a few minutes ago was sitting in front his cage. Her hands were folded around a cross and her long-lashed eyes were closed.

She was barefoot and wearing an extremely old-fashioned nightgown.

The strangest part, however, were the tears on her cheeks.

They were glittering in the moonlight.

"Why are you crying?" he demanded, feeling extremely confused. "More importantly, why are you here?"

"Death is sad," she stated quietly, not opening her eyes. "I will pray for you until morning... I will pray so your soul might be saved from wherever it is demons go once they've departed. I heard it in your voice... there's a strange sadness within you. Beasts don't feel... and yet, your voice sounds as though it's full of pain. So, I will pray that the gods might take pity on you. I will pray that they might embrace you with open arms... for your heart already sounds broken to my ears."

Xaphile stared off into space, tightening his jaw.

"If I'm really a demon..." he rasped, voice coming out low and coarse, "don't bother. Because if that's the truth, no matter where I go after I die... peace will never find me. No matter how hard you pray for me... I will never be able to be with the woman I love."

"Eh...?" the girl asked, head snapping up and eyes flying open in surprise; they were a clear crystal blue, but flecked with specks of green. "The woman... you love?"

"Yes," he grunted, looking emotionally exhausted. "It simply doesn't matter anymore."

"Why?" she asked, blinking with confused eyes. "If what you say is true... doesn't it mean that you know love? If that's so, it's a good thing! It means there's a small chance you can be set free!"

He turned his head and looked at the brunette sitting in the dirt by the cage.

She looked genuinely concerned for him now.

"I knew love, once," he admitted, averting his gaze, "but not anymore. There's nothing left."

The girl tilted her head, glossy brown hair falling across her eyes as she gazed at him.

"Why?" she quietly asked, eyes gleaming like sapphires. "What happened?"

His mouth twisted.

"The girl I loved..." he rasped, voice falling to an almost unrecognizable croak, "died."

For several moments, all she could do was stare at him. Then, leaning forward, she carefully wriggled her hands through the bars and hesitantly reached out to him: he blinked when she paused for a moment, looking uncertain... but then, she pressed herself against the cage and gently touched him. He observed her nervous expression as she set the cross against his skin.

She waited for an entire minute... but then, her face saddened immensely.

Pulling the cross back out of the cage, she fastened it back around her neck and leaned close to the bars, sticking her arms through again and gently touching his cheek. 

However, her face slackened when she felt the wetness there.

"Tears...?" she asked, straightening up in shock. "You have been crying...?"

He merely looked at her, not having the will to answer the obvious. Not like it mattered... his expression was enough to answer her question.

Instantly becoming distraught, she carefully brushed his tears away with her thumbs, then lowered her hands to his.

"You poor thing... I am so, so sorry," she whispered, averting her eyes to the ground. "This pains me... I wish there were some way I could stop this... I would, if there were. But once Lady Ella decides something, nobody can stop her. Not even me. She's the Countess, after all."

"It's fine," he whispered, staring off at nothing. "In the end... one way or another, my suffering will end. That's all I truly want, so don't bother me anymore."

Her eyes actually watered after he said it, and she abruptly tightened her grip on his hand. He slowly turned his head and looked at her when she squeezed his palm, fingers shaking a little.

"Is there nothing I can do to ease your suffering?" she asked, looking at him with earnest eyes. "You should not have to cry all alone in the dark... especially not in a cage."

"No," he stated simply. "The kind of freedom I want can't be given by letting me out of here. Even if you did somehow manage to convince Ella to let me go... it wouldn't make me happy."

She squeezed his hand so hard it almost hurt.

"What is your name?" she whispered, letting go of his hand and pulling her arms out of the cage. "I do not wish for you to be forgotten. Tell me your name... that way, at least someone will remember you."

She folded her hands, blue eyes looking genuinely torn.

Eyes lacking all luster, he let out a sigh and caved in, figuring it didn't matter either way.

"Xaphile," the dark-haired boy croaked, closing his eyes. "My name is Xaphile Heseroph."

"Xa... Xa... phi... le?" she asked, sounding it out with furrowed brows. "Um... that's... surprisingly hard for me to say. Do you mind... if I call you... er, Xaphy?"

In an instant, his heart seized.

Body jolting, he clamped two hands over his ears and folded up almost immediately. She jumped when he quickly curled into the fetal position, shuddering violently.

"Anything but that!" he squeaked, gritting his teeth. "Never call me that! Ever!"

The girl leaned away and blinked rapidly before examining his posture more closely. His muscles were literally trembling in response to the emotional agony of hearing that nickname.

"Then... Phil," she stated firmly, nodding twice. "I'll call you Phil instead."

"Do what you want..." he croaked, not uncurling from his position. "It doesn't matter anymore. Just, don't call me Xaphy."

"As you wish," she murmured, making him wince. "Do not worry... you will not have to face this night all alone, for I will stay by your side and pray for you until dawn."

Xaphile didn't believe she would.

But, he was proven wrong: true to her word, the girl sat in front of the cage with her hands folded over her cross for the rest of the night, praying with a tight expression. Even when the horizon began to brighten, she sat there, hands clasped tightly. 

It was only when the sound of distant voices came from around the corner that her eyes opened.

Looking at the boy, she bit her lip, then glanced over her shoulder.

"I'm afraid... I can do no more for you," she quietly told him, getting to her feet and brushing the dirt off the front of her frilly nightgown. "I promise I will not let you be forgotten, Phil."

He didn't respond: eyes dead to the world, he merely stared off into space and waited.

The sound of approaching people grew louder.

"You should go," he rasped, not moving a muscle. "If they find you here, it might cause you some problems."

The girl shifted uncomfortably, looking at him from over her shoulder.

She seemed reluctant to leave him for some bizarre reason. Her blue eyes nervously flashed back and forth and she clenched her fists in obvious frustration, but in the end she ran off towards the edge of the houses and clean out of sight. Not long after, a group of guards holding a multitude of ropes came into view from the opposite corner, sweeping towards him with smirks and grins on their faces. Pulling a set of keys out of a small pouch, the man in front unlocked the cage and backed away.

"Out..." he barked, jerking the ropes in his hand. "On your feet, beast."

Xaphile pushed himself upright and crawled out into the open, but before he could stand up, someone's boot smashed him face-first into the ground. He winced when he got a mouthful of dirt, but he merely put up with it when they jerked his arms behind his back and tied him like they had before. With the exception of his feet, they tied every part of his body, even going as far as wrapping a rope around his throat. He winced again when the head guard jerked on the makeshift leash.

"So, where are we taking him this time?" one of the men inquired. "Did Lady Ella inform you, captain?"

"We were told to bring him to the post in the town square again," the lead guard snorted, cruelly dragging Xaphile behind him when they started walking. "Apparently, she's going to sentence the beast at sunrise... everyone has already gathered. This is the only opportunity we have to enjoy a bit more fun before she kills it."

"Might as well make it memorable, then," one of the guards behind him snickered, startling Xaphile by grabbing his tail and yanking on it; almost immediately, his back arched and the appendage flailed around until it broke free. Without a word, he used whatever subconscious control he had over the damn thing to make it wrap around his leg to keep it away from their awful hands. "Damn... must not have liked that."

"The same way you wouldn't like getting stabbed in the spine," Xaphile growled, not turning around. "The feeling is equally painful."

A sharp blow sent his head flying forward.

"Hold your tongue," someone hissed. "Filth such as yourself has no business talking to a human."

"The only filth here is you," Xaphile retorted quietly, defiantly lifting his head and walking with his shoulders squared. "I've never done anything to deserve how you bastards are treating me, but in the end, that's okay... you'll get what you deserve someday. It's called karma."

Another, much heavier blow, smashed into the back of his skull.

"Silence, beast, lest I cut your tongue out of your head!" the man snarled. "Don't make me bloody my armor so early in the morning."

"Try sticking anything sharp in my mouth and I'll bite your nasty fingers off," Xaphile stated kindly, observing his surroundings; when they rounded a corner and he found himself staring at what looked to be the entire village population, he was a little taken aback. However, he kept his head held high and ignored the looks they gave him, walking towards the post he'd been tied to ages ago. "I guess... this is where it's gonna happen, huh?"

He knew it instinctively.

Roughly gripping his hair, the man holding the leash violently forced him down on his knees and tied him to the post by wrapping a rope around it and pinning his body against the wood by the neck. The position was painful and awkward on his body since his arms had been tied behind him. However, he merely closed his eyes, going somewhere else inside his head before anything painful could happen. He immediately felt detached... physically numb, in a strange way.

He watched from outside of himself as people began throwing rocks at him while the guards stood by, laughing.

Hell, one of them even stepped forward and started kicking him in the back.

"Today, we've gathered to watch Ella sentence the demon to death!" one of the guards roared, lifting his fist to the sky. "This is our defiance to the monsters that try to destroy us... with this first creature, we will begin to move forward from the depths of depravity!"

A huge cheer rose up... but beyond them, there were two people watching in disbelief. One who's eyes were full of tears, and the other who's shaking hands were clasped around a cross. However, that's when she appeared... and the cheers immediately fell silent. The crowd parted just like they had two weeks before when Ella herself slowly began to walk towards the steps leading to the post he'd been tied to. In her hands was a silver sword, and her eyes were hidden by the sweep of her hair.

Xaphile slowly looked up at her when she stopped in front of him.

For a long moment, she didn't move.

Merely clutched her sword with the wind tousling her gleaming snowy locks.

It dragged on for a little too long, in fact.

"Just do it," he finally ground out, tensing his limbs. "End this."

When Ella slowly lifted the sword and held the point directly above his neck, the brunette watching him immediately turned around and covered her ears. The cross in her right hand gleamed as she muttered something so quiet it couldn't be heard.

"I am passing your sentence now," Ella stated quietly, jerking the weapon violently. "Forgive me."

He relaxed, since relief would be his within seconds... but instead of feeling pain, the pressure around his neck disappeared. He blinked when the bonds around his wrists were sawed off moments later, followed by the ropes around his upper torso. Not understanding what was going on, he slowly turned to look up at Ella... but instead of the fury he'd come to know, her face was dark with sullen regret.

"This is your sentence," she stated quietly, turning her eyes to the ground. "You are free."

Xaphile's heart turned cold, and he realized with a sense of icy dread that he'd been wrong.

Perhaps he wouldn't be free of this nightmare just yet.

"Why?" he asked, eyes growing hollow. "Why won't you truly set me free?"

"Because I cannot kill a forest sprite," she stated calmly, eyes sharpening in an instant. "My life would become void... and the forest around this village would die away. I cannot let that happen."

Others, however, looked horrified and fearful.

People instantly began to back away, some clasping their children and others their weapons.

"My... my lady!" a woman cried, watching as Xaphile rubbed his wrist. "What have you done?! You... you have set the beast loose within the walls of our city! What will we do?! He will kill us all!"

Ella whirled with a fierce sweep of her leg, silver hair flashing like molten platinum in the sunlight.

"He is no beast!" the albino thundered, looking out at the crowd with a tight expression. "Because of my naivety... I didn't realize the truth about this creature! Because of me... all of us here have committed an atrocious sin! By hurting this boy... we've turned the forest itself against us!"

Everyone immediately fell still and eyes slowly widened all around.

Disbelief and fear began to alight on every face present.

"What are you saying?" a man with sandy blonde hair and beady grey eyes demanded, stalking forward and folding his arms. "A beast with power over the land...?! Isn't that impossible?!"

Ella shook her head.

"What is he?!" a young woman called, holding a small child close to her. "Isn't he just a demon?!"

"No! He isn't!" Ella rapped out, then lifted her hand and pointed at all of the nearby trees. "Haven't you noticed it?! From the moment the people in this village first struck him, the forests surrounding our home have been withering away! Even the harvests in the villages north of here are failing!"

"Preposterous!" a man somewhere in the crowd barked. "No demon can control the forest! It's inconceivable! It must be a coincidence, my lady!"

"No, it is no coincidence..." she stated firmly, shaking her head, "and it is because of my ignorance that we are now in a dire situation! This is my fault, and thus, it is my responsibility to atone for my actions: this boy is not a beast. In fact... if my hunch is correct... he is our forest's very last Earth Sprite!"

The reaction to her statement was instantaneous.

Xaphile blinked when gasps of horror and shock filled the air all over the place, and far in the corner, a vaguely familiar woman with very dark brown hair actually fainted. Every single person within seeing distance had turned bone white, and it was suddenly so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

Then... one by one... the guards dropped their swords and knelt down, lowering their heads.

Following suit, the crowd began to do the same, fearfully pressing their foreheads against the ground

"Lady Ella... what are we to do?" the head guard demanded, lifting his steel grey eyes with genuine fear on his face. "We have all wronged him... terribly. He has also been injured by us repetitively. How can we ever atone for this?! What will the King say if he learns of our actions?!"

"Do not worry... I will take responsibility for this," the albino stated grimly. "It was my choice that led to this situation... and if it isn't corrected, I'm afraid that a terrible famine will fall across Aerika. The forests surrounding our village have already started to die... I need to fix my mistake."

So saying, she flipped the sword around and held the handle out to Xaphile.

He blinked and looked at it with a blank face, then glanced back up at her.

"What are you doing?" he demanded lowly, staring at her with unblinking teal eyes. "Your... sword?"

"Take it," she stated coldly, eyes narrowing in a haughty manner. "With my own sword, strike me."

His already pale face went bone white.

"Lady Ella!" one of the guards whispered, eyes widening in horror when he slowly stood up and shakily took the weapon from her. "No... please! You mustn't! You're the Countess!"

She merely shrugged.

"If this will appease the wrath of the forest, I have to," she stated firmly, closing her eyes when the horned youth stared at the sword in his hand. "We all must bear the weight of our actions, no matter what they may be... but in turn, we must also take responsibility for them. Now, boy... strike me down so the forest may return to normal."

Xaphile looked at her with disbelieving eyes.

Then, pupils sharpening, he lifted the sword and furiously smashed it so deeply into the wood that it was lodged nearly to the hilt.

Ella jumped and gawked at the sword with alarm written across her features, then glanced up to see his eyes glowing with a bizarre aquamarine light. She jumped again, face growing taught when she realized that his irises were indeed radiating their own luminescence. It was the strangest thing she'd ever seen.

Not even demons had eyes quite like the ones she now found herself staring into.

However, everyone flinched when he growled.

Letting go of the sword, he furiously turned away from her, shoulders rigid and tail lashing out across the wood.

"Bitch," he hissed, gritting his teeth in fury as he stood there, staring at the wall with violently shaking muscles. "You're insane... you're ALL insane! How could you idiots possibly think doing this would gain my forgiveness?!"

"Then... what do you want?" Ella snapped, clenching her fists with anxiety lacing her expression. "How can we atone for what we've done to you?!"

"Nothing! You don't have to do anything!" the boy barked, not turning around. "If you truly want to atone for something... all you have to do is keep living, Ella. That's how you can atone!"

When he jerkily stalked towards the stairs, she lunged forward and grasped his wrist.

He immediately halted, long hair billowing around and tail twitching sharply. It thumped against her legs involuntarily, but she pointedly ignored it.

"You can't abandon us without returning the forest to normal," she whispered, looking up at him with nervous eyes and a taught jaw. "It was your doing... so, can't you fix it?"

Slowly turning his head, he glanced down at her, making her face turn even whiter than her hair.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he hissed in a dangerous tone, catlike teal eyes glimmering like pools of frozen hatred. "Now... with all due respect, let go of me. Now."

To his surprise, she jerked her hand back as if she'd been scalded. 

He took that opportunity to stumble down the stairs and move past the people crouching on the ground. Getting away from this hellhole was his top priority. However, he was startled when someone unexpectedly clutched his pant leg, holding onto him with little hands. Blinking, he slowly turned his head and looked down to see Kirby staring up at him.

The child looked close to crying.

"Demon... stay?" he rasped, little fingers tightening on his pants. "Please?"

Xaphile blinked, then squatted down, looking at him with a tired expression.

"Even if I did..." he stated quietly, lifting a hand and tousling the child's hair, "there's nowhere for me to stay. Realistically speaking... I'm very far away from anything I could call home, and I sure as hell refuse to sleep in a cage for the rest of my life. I think it would be smart if I took this opportunity to get the hell away from here, Kiddo. I'm strong, but I can't handle this kind of treatment anymore."

"Please?" Kirby croaked, shaking his pant leg. "Stay?"

"I can't," he soothed, shaking his head. "I mean, even if I did stay... where would I go?"

"You could stay with me," a gentle voice offered, making everyone watching them stiffen; Xaphile lifted his eyes when the brunette who'd spent the night praying for him walked up, wearing a green dress with a white apron tied over it. Her hair had been braided into pigtails that had been draped over her shoulders, and her blue eyes were large behind her half-moon spectacles. "I live alone... but there's an extra room inside my home. If you truly are a forest sprite, my door is always open to you."

He looked at her, then stood up and rose to his full height, muscles rippling in the sunlight.

"Are you sure?" he demanded coldly, looking down at her with narrowed eyes when she walked up to him with folded hands. "What makes you think an offer like that is a smart idea? After all, I could still be holding a grudge for the horrible beatings these people gave me when I first arrived... as well as the lovely coat of blood and the scars on my back, which they eagerly asked for and laughed at."

Every single person sitting in the vicinity winced, and a few of them shivered violently.

Some of them seemed so fearful that they actually looked a little ill.

However, the brown-haired girl merely looked up at him with calm blue eyes.

Lifting a hand, she gently set it against his bare chest and tilted her head, smiling a little.

"I wasn't among them, Phil," she gently murmured, eyes becoming undeniably gentle. "I saw both occurrences... and both times, I felt that what we were doing to you was most definitely not right."

"Is that so?" he demanded, folding his arms with a scowl. "Well, you're correct. It was wrong."

"We humans consider it to be a sin to torture other living creatures, even mindless animals," she stated firmly. "I still don't understand what could have possessed these villagers to even think of torturing you, demon or not. To have witnessed the people of my  home doing such a thing shames me... I can understand your fury. However, at the same time... I don't fear you like they do."

People tensed all around, watching with bated breath as the boy dropped his arms.

His posture looked a little less rigid, but only because he seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Why?" Xaphile bluntly demanded, brows furrowing in confusion. "I mean... from the moment I was first brought here, everyone was either angry or afraid... so, why?"

"Because last night, I heard your song," she stated quietly, small hand rubbing against the black streak of fur on his chest. "It held no anger... no evil... and no hatred. Only sorrow."

Ella's eyebrows lifted and she slowly stepped down from the post, pulling her hood up as she did so.

Then, stalking forward, she looked at the brunette with a dark expression.

"Song?" she asked, lifting her eyes and warily leering up at the horned youth. "What song?"

"Don't worry about it," Xaphile muttered, averting his eyes from her face; he couldn't even stand to look her anymore, since doing so only made his heart ache. For a long moment, the albino merely scowled at him... but then, she pulled his locket out of her cloak and held it out. 

His eyes flashed and his hand twitched.

"This is yours," she stated firmly, tilting her head and regarding him with a wary expression. "Take it."

When he stretched out his clawed hand and gently clasped the necklace, she released it and watched as he held it close for a long moment. Then, he lifted his hair and carefully fastened it around his neck, awkwardly letting it rest on top of the strange furry mane he'd somehow sprouted.

"Will you stay?" the brunette asked, looking up at him with genuine curiosity. "Or will you go?"

Xaphile didn't know what to do, but he figured spending a few days to recover from his injuries in a real bed would be better than doing so outside. Lifting a hand, he set it on her shoulder and sighed.

"I don't know... I need to figure a few things out before I decide to do anything," he told her, eyes sharper than a blade. "For now... all I really want is to wash myself off. I feel... filthy."

The girl's eyes lit up, and in front of everyone, she let out a bright laugh.

"O-okay, I'll draw a bath right away," she giggled, cheeks growing rosy with mirth. "For now, though, I'll take that response as a yes... so follow me."

Still chuckling, the girl clasped her hands and primly walked off towards the edge of the marketplace.

Feeling exhausted and confused, Xaphile followed her, walking right past Ella.

"Hey," she murmured, making his footsteps pause. "What you said... about me atoning for what I've done by living... why in the world did you word it like that?"

He turned to look at her, laden with feelings he wanted nothing to do with.

"Because in our previous lives," he stated quietly, "you died. And it literally destroyed nearly everyone who loved you."

She sighed in exasperation.

"Once again, I'm not this girl of yours! I mean it! Yes, it's bizarre that we look identical, but she isn't me!" Ella snapped, voice hardening a little in contempt. "Plus, even if that girl of yours did die, time heals all wounds. Eventually, people would have gotten over it, no matter how sad they were."

He remained silent for a moment, choosing to stare at the ground.

"Not enough time has passed for me to judge whether that statement is true," Xaphile grumbled, voice so low it was almost inaudible. "People loved my Ella because of who she was... but none of them loved her as much as me. And if forgetting her was as easy as you assume, I probably wouldn't be here right now."

She lifted her eyes and stared.

"What are you saying?" Ella growled. "Explain."

"When she died... she took my heart with her," the youth whispered, speaking in a numb tone of voice, "and deep down, there was a part of me that knew I'd never be able to get it back. So... I gave up on living."

"You... gave up on living?" she asked, eyebrow twitching a little. "You really believe that you took your own life? Why would you... say that? Or rather, why do it?"

However, when he turned and gave her an awkward smile, she twitched and froze like a statue: the look on his face was a combination of grief and resignation... a look she instinctively hated. 

"Even in death, her memory torments me," he stated simply, looking at her with eyes that seemed to cut clean down into her soul. "Looking at you is painful. You are my Ella living in a world where we never met... and to me, it's nightmarish, but also a blessing that I'm grateful for."

"Grateful...?" she whispered, feeling afraid without knowing why. "What do you mean?!"

His eyes softened a little... then, turning around, he walked up to her.

Lifting his large hand, he set it on the top of her head and gently ruffled her hair with another weak little smile that made her stomach clench.

"As much as I loved you back then... and as much as I still love you now..." he stated quietly, gently patting her head before slowly pulling away, "I would rather see you alive and hating every fiber of my being than dead because you were head over heels in love with me."

"But I'm not that girl of yours!" she cried, finally losing her temper. "I'm not that Ella!"

He smiled again, expression tight with sorrow.

"I know," he stated calmly, shaking his head, "and that's why... this is goodbye, Ella. Just remember... keep living."

So saying, he turned and walked away from her, long black hair billowing around in the breeze.

She watched him go, touching the top of her head with large, confused eyes.

A warm wind swept through the gap between them as the distance grew larger and larger.

However, Xaphile no longer cared. 

At this point, he was tired.

And all he wanted was to go to sleep and never wake up again.

 

11: Chapter 10: Reality

Chapter Ten: Reality

Numb.

Somehow, that's what he had become.

He could feel Ella's piercing stare on his back as he followed the small brunette down the medieval cobblestone street: it was like being burned.

Everything remained completely silent until he walked around the corner: thirty seconds after that, a large amount of chaos broke out behind them. But as they walked, the cacophony began to fade away, for which he was grateful for. His whole body still ached from the previous beatings he'd received, not counting the new one.

However, it wasn't until they rounded another corner that the brunette unexpectedly whirled around, crystal blue eyes sparkling behind her glasses.

"Isn't it great, Phil?!" she whispered, smiling up at him with relief written across her features. "You don't have to die anymore! You're free! And now, because everyone knows that you're really a sprite, nobody would dare to lay a finger on you! You're safe from harm!"

He slowly lowered his eyes and merely looked at her.

In truth, he wasn't happy... not at all.

If anything... he actually felt more desolate than when he'd initially taken his own life.

But the girl was looking at him with earnest eyes, and she was also one of the only three people in wherever the hell this was to show him any genuine kindness.

So, instead of being grim, he masked his emotions and nodded in an almost robotic manner.

"That's great," he stated simply. "I'm glad."

She bit her lip, looking a little dismayed.

"I'm sorry..." she sighed, lowering her eyes with a guilty expression. "I haven't even introduced myself to you, and here I am trying to make light of everything you went through. Let's get acquainted, shall we? My name is Amelia Von Dolan. I'm an herbalist and part-time healer... although, my magic isn't very strong."

Xaphile actually blinked, then tilted his head, brows furrowing a little.

"Magic?" he asked, not believing his ears. "What do you mean by magic?"

"Oh, it's only basic stuff like healing flesh wounds and cleansing infection," she sighed, flapping a dismissive hand; she obviously hadn't gotten the point of his question, but he decided not to push it since things definitely weren't normal in wherever he was. "Really, my ability isn't anything special. Let's get you settled in, shall we?"

So saying, she walked up to a nearby door and unlocked it using a key she pulled out of her apron pocket.

The boy followed her inside the building, feeling dazed.

The interior was small, and also like something straight out of a movie from the middle ages. He looked around with raised eyebrows, taking note of the strange furniture and primitive oven. The strangest part were the bookshelves along the walls. She led him down a narrow hallway towards the back of the house. When she opened the door, he hesitantly peered inside the room, tail gently flicking back and forth.

The room was covered with dust, a testimony to its obvious disuse.

However, there was an actual bed resting in the corner, and even though it was extremely small, the close walls were comforting.

Xaphile had always felt the most comfortable in enclosed places like this.

"This is... the room you're letting me stay in?" he inquired, carefully looking down at her. "Are you sure it won't... cause problems?"

"Of course not," she told him kindly, giving a very bizarre and almost grandmotherly smile. "I'm a hard worker, and I earn much more coin than I spend on a regular basis thanks to my profession as an herbalist. Doing this is actually beneficial to me, in a way, since I now have a reason to use some of it."

His eyebrow twitched, and he sighed, feeling more than a little disturbed by her overly friendly behavior.

Two weeks of being so savagely abused had made him extremely wary of those around him.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" he growled, finally looking at her with a scowl. "I don't get it... you don't know me! Not even what kind of a man I am! And yet you unthinkingly invited me to LIVE with you! Isn't that a little reckless on your end? I mean, until only an hour ago, I was literally considered to be a monster by the people living in this freakish town. Why would you offer to let a total stranger live with you? It defies all common sense."

She blinked and tilted her head to the side, then lifted a hand and shyly fiddled with one of her braids.

"Well, you're not a demon, so it's okay," she stated quietly, folding her hands with a naive smile. "Sprites used to hold more sway over us than the king. Even today, they are described in the old stories as creatures so powerful that even the world we walk on used to bow to their every whim. To do anything less than this for you would be... very bad for our village. Especially since Lady Ella was indeed right about the forest withering away."

Xaphile blinked, then folded his arms, muscles rippling in the dim light.

"I don't understand any of this," he stated firmly, looking at her with tense eyes. "Where am I? Where is this place?!"

"Chisago Village," Amelia told him, blinking rapidly. "It's south of Aerika's capital city. Our town is known primarily for our jewelry and weapons, and we also have a great lumber trade whenever the demons aren't prowling around outside the walls."

The boy sighed in dismay and attempted to rub the bridge of his nose, but he accidentally scratched himself with his long nail in the process.

"Fair enough," he stated quietly, rubbing the scratch beside his eye with a wince. "I don't know what to think after today, anyway... I'm kind of in shock, to tell the truth. I think I'm gonna head back to my room and go to sleep... I need time to get over all this."

"I'll go draw a bath first," Amelia murmured, giving him a little bow. "No offense intended, Phil, but right now... I'm afraid you have an rather... unpleasant odor."

The moment she said it, a violent shiver ran up his body, making him feel as though he would break out into hives.

"I really... really... did not need to hear that!" he squeaked, feeling as though little bugs were crawling all over him. "I'm a nutcase when it comes to my hygiene!"

"'Tis not your fault," she sighed, patting his arm. "Two weeks without a good wash would be terrible for anyone. I'll return once the water is ready... also, those wounds on your back... I'm worried that they might be getting infected, so they'll need to be cleansed thoroughly after you finish up."

Xaphile's expression went blank and he averted his eyes again, tangled black hair hiding his filthy face.

In truth, he had so much dirt and dried blood caked all over his upper torso that he was barely recognizable.

His whole body was filthy... it took everything in his power to avoid trying to dust himself off.

"Thank you," he murmured, not looking at the brunette. "I may not fully understand what's going on, but I am grateful for your kindness."

"You're welcome," she chirped, beaming at him with a bright grin. "I'll return soon."

So saying, she bowed again and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The moment she was gone, he leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, wondering for the millionth time how things had become so fucked up. Wherever the hell he was, it was obviously nowhere near Chicago. Hell, for all he knew, he might have been dreaming everything. Or perhaps this was the afterlife? Up until this point, he'd been able to hold back his confusion and questions since everyone had been abusing him. There hadn't been time to really think about anything.

He tried to stay calm and collected about the situation, but truthfully... now that things began to click with him, he was utterly terrified. He was going nuts... that had to have been it. When he'd shot himself in the head, he must not have died: he was probably lying in some remote hospital bed as a new human vegetable.

Wherever this was, he didn't belong here, and it was driving him insane.

"It's just... too much to take in all at once," he muttered. "I feel like I've been tossed into a weird dream where nobody will tell me what's going on."

Pressing a hand to his forehead, the horned youth wondered how he'd gotten himself into this mess. On top of having no clue where he was, every single person either seemed to be batshit crazy or abnormally violent. Not even mentioning the bizarre changes in his body. Lifting a hand, he examined his sharp nails and touched the scratch on his nose again, hesitantly checking for blood. However, his hands were too dirty to tell.

Every part of him felt disgusting.

Slowly falling over on his side, he stared at the wooden wall with blank eyes, feeling as though he had become a writhing ball of anxiety. For what felt like hours, he merely stared off into space... letting the seconds tick by one at a time. The silence was strangely peaceful: it had an almost comforting lull to it. His eyes began to grow heavy, and the rhythmic thrum of his heart began to fill his ears, sounding strong but strangely slow.

However, his dazed sense of comfort was stirred by the sound of a knock on the door, followed shortly by a voice.

"Phill?" she called, carefully poking her head inside the room. "The bath is ready..."

"Coming," he grunted, laboriously getting to his feet and slinking past the girl, who eyed the haystack he called hair with something close to distaste. "Let's get you cleaned up. Your hair is much too long to be left in such a state."

When he was led down another hall and into another room, he found himself staring at a huge marble tub connected to some kind of heated aqueduct.

It was full of hot water, and it looked so inviting that he actually relaxed a little.

"There's soap on the shelf over there," she explained, pointing at the far side of the wall; he blinked when he realized the bathroom had no sink or toilet. "And I've left a drying cloth on the floor beside the door. When you're finished, wrap it around your waist... those trousers you're wearing... I'm afraid they've been so damaged by your ordeal that you won't be able to wear them again after this."

Xaphile winced, instantly feeling guilty.

"Really?" he asked, giving her a sullen look. "That's not exactly comforting, since these pants don't even belong to me."

"Eh?" she asked, looking genuinely startled. "Then... who do they belong to?"

"A man named Octavius Macintosh," he explained, shaking his head. "He's the one who brought me here."

"Oh... well, don't worry, then," she soothed, waving an amused hand. "Old Gus is a sweetheart, so I'm sure he won't be bothered. Knowing him, he'll probably just be glad that you're still alive... there are many rumors floating around that he's actually grown a little attached to you."

"It's not so much attachment as it is a guilty conscience," the boy sourly muttered, shaking his head. "Anyway, I'd like to get in the bath now, so..."

"Oh, by all means," she stated, waving a hand and giving him an airy smile. "Go ahead, the water is warm and ready!"

For a long moment, he stared at her and waited for her to leave, eventually quirking a thick black eyebrow.

She merely continued standing in place, hands primly clasped in front of her.

"Unless things here are totally uncivilized," he finally drawled, irritably folding his arms, "shouldn't it be obvious that I can't yet?"

"Huh? You can't?" Amelia slowly asked, tilting her head with an expression of innocent naivety. "Why ever not?"

Xaphile gawked at her, blinking rapidly, then abruptly gestured down at his paints with an incredulous expression.

"Um, hello?!" he squeaked, patting the tattered trousers with a bright red face. "I'm a grown male, and you're girl! I'm not stripping in front of you!"

The brunette paused, blinking rapidly behind her glasses as she processed what he was getting at... then she stiffened and also turned bright red, looking flustered.

Letting out an embarrassed squeak, she flailed her arms and abruptly covered her eyes with both hands.

"Oh, deepest apologies!" she cried, whirling around and attempting to run out of the room; the boy jumped when she ran into the wall instead, feeling more than a little startled... but not long after, she felt her way out of the room. "I am sorry! I am not used to being around boys... I am so very sorry."

When she slammed the door, he twitched since the sound was obnoxiously loud.

That girl is something else, he silently muttered, letting out a deep sigh before looking down at himself. Then again... right now, I have no room to talk.

Once he was sure she wouldn't come back in, he unfastened the front of the trousers and carefully peeled them away from his skin. The boy nearly forgot about his new tail being strung through the hole he'd ripped into the back of them, but at the last second he felt a kink and carefully took the time to tug the damn thing free. Then, dropping his drawers like a wild man, he hastily ran over to the shelf with the bar of soap and practically lunged into the extravagant bathtub with it.

Shaking violently, he started scrubbing himself madly, feeling thoroughly disgusted when the water around him clouded up with reddish brown dirt. However, his frantic motions stilled when he realized that the water began to grow clear not long after it turned cloudy: it was almost as though the debris washing off his body was dissolving, which was incredibly strange and defied the logic of science. He eventually went back to what he was doing though and scrubbed violently.

Once his entire body was clean, he finally dunked his head into the water and lathered the soap into it, keeping his eyes closed.

The horns sticking out of his skull made the process feel weird to him, but he ignored his discomfort in favor of getting himself clean. It was while he was rinsing his hair out that he realized he'd overlooked another change to his body: his ears, where round tips had once been, had sharpened into elf-like points.

He felt them with huge eyes, then shuddered, letting out a defeated huff.

"So... I've sprouted fur on my back, my pubes have gone crazy on me, and I now have chest hair, a tail, fangs, horns, claws, and elf ears," he muttered, rubbing his face with a large hand and letting out a sigh. "What the fuck went wrong with my body? This is seriously messed up."

He didn't know the answer to that question, but he had a feeling it had happened because of his actions, so he would simply deal with it.

Feeling disgruntled, he dunked his head under water and let himself soak, feeling as though he'd scrubbed himself raw.

He'd even gone as far as washing his tail and most of the strange black fur that now stretched down his spine.

Eventually, however, he stood up and shook himself free of the water. Dripping, he walked over to the cloth lying on the ground and used it to rub himself dry, feeling relief flooding through him at the sensation of being clean again. After toweling off, he sighed and wrapped the cloth around his waist before slicking his hair back to keep it out of his eyes. Then he walked over to the door and opened it, peering out into the hall.

Amelia was waiting not too far away, holding some sort of strange-looking white rope.

"What's that?" he suspiciously asked, making her jump. "Hopefully not some kind of bond... I've had enough of people tying me up."

"No, no, nothing like that," she squealed, flailing her arms again. "It's a measuring rope! I need it to take measurements of your body!"

He instantly narrowed his eyes, not understanding why she would want to do such a thing.

"Why?" he demanded, feeling abnormally wary. "I don't get it."

"Well, you don't have clothes, so I'm going to have some made for you," she told him, blinking. "To do that, I need your measurements."

He furrowed his brows, realizing that if he truly was in a primitive place, getting clothes definitely wouldn't be as easy as going to a store with specific sizes.

"Fine," he muttered, hesitantly stepping out into the hall and firmly holding the cloth around his waist. He watched as she stepped forward, holding the rope out with a nervous expression. With almost hesitant motions, Amelia wrapped it around his waist just above the edge of the drying cloth, then looked closely at the side. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation, but once she finished measuring his waist, she moved onto his chest, then his arms.

After a moment, she poked him with a small finger.

"Could you possibly kneel down so I can measure your shoulders and neck?" the girl hesitantly asked, looking up at him with a tight expression. "Please?"

Xaphile wordlessly did as he was asked, carefully sliding down to his knees. He tried not to flinch when she moved behind him and set the rope across his shoulders, warm hands moving his damp hair to the side as she did so. The girl's hands paused when she saw the scabs from being lashed, though, and for a moment she didn't move. Then, her fingers lightly combed through the strange furry mane running down his spine: he immediately stiffened since a flash of pain seared through the skin beneath it.

"Ow," he droned, keeping his face blank by habit. "That hurts."

"My apologies," she murmured, lifting the rope and using it to measure his throat. "I couldn't help myself... I've never seen anyone quite like you before, so I was actually caught off guard for a moment. The hair on your back... strangely, it's just like that of an animal's. It's very peculiar."

"Not as much as my tail," the dark-haired boy muttered; as if to enhance that statement, the freakish appendage thumped against the floor and started sweeping against her ankles, making her twitch. "Trust me... the hair and everything else I can handle, but the tail... I don't like it."

"I think it's rather amusing," the girl admitted, looking down at the lion-like thing with wide eyes. "You're like a big human cat... it's strange, but interesting."

"Until you realize it's actually a part of you," he droned, feeling a little bemused himself. "Then it's not so interesting. Just very, very strange."

She chuckled, then smiled in genuine relief and removed the rope.

However, her cheerful expression faded when she looked at his back again: all across it were horrible-looking scabs and scarred flesh, a testimony to Ella's brutality.

"I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive us," the girl sadly murmured, touching a specific spot beneath his right shoulder blade and gently brushing other spots along his back. "These wounds are terrible... they're going to leave scars everywhere..."

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, eyes growing hollow in an instant. "I don't care if they scar up. Don't worry yourself over it."

"Well, even so, most of the the wounds are healing nicely," Amelia sighed, patting his arm. "Now, I want you to measure your upper legs and both of your feet for me. I understand that this might be very uncomfortable, so I'll turn around while you do so... but unless you want breeches and shoes that don't exactly fit you, this is necessary."

"How?" he asked, finally getting to his feet and cracking his back with a wince. "I'm not exactly sure how to do things like this."

"Oh, that's easy!" she explained, holding the rope up and tapping several small symbols that had been embroidered into it. "Wrap this rope around each leg: then, when the edge connects with a particular symbol, tell me what it is and we'll have your measurements."

So saying, she handed him the rope and pointedly turned around, covering both of her eyes.

"Oookay," he muttered, lifting the towel and doing as she asked; once he'd measured both of his upper thighs, he bent over and did the same with his feet. Once he had the symbols, he turned around and tapped her arm. "I'm finished, I think..."

"Symbols?" she asked, looking at the rope when he pointed.

"This one was for my upper legs," he calmly told her, then shifted his finger, "and these two were for my feet, width and length."

Her eyebrows rose.

"I forgot to mention feet required two measurements, but it seems you realized it yourself," she murmured, lifting her eyes with a grin. "That's pretty impressive."

"What will I do until those clothes you mentioned are made?" he asked, tilting his head and looking down at himself. "I can't exactly... run around in the nude."

"Well, I think I have some clothes that used to belong to my father stored away in a trunk somewhere," Amelia sighed, tossing one of her braids over her shoulder before turning and hurrying off down the hall. "Wait there... I'll see what I can scrounge up."

After she ran off, Xaphile rubbed his face, feeling bizarrely tired.

However, much to his surprise, she wasn't gone for long at all... but when the girl came back, she was holding some very strange-looking clothes indeed.

Blinking rapidly, he watched as she wordlessly held out the azure trousers and... dress?

"A dress?" he asked, giving her a disbelieving look. "Isn't this... for a girl?"

"No, silly!" she laughed, shaking her head. "These are robes! My papa was a famous pyromancer, so he always dressed really flashy like this! Try them on! I'm pretty sure the pants are a little too short for someone with such a tall stature, but they'll fit you width-wise at the very least. Oh, and I also made an adjustment to the rear for your tail."

When he took the clothes, they felt soft like satin.

Blinking rapidly, he tilted his head and looked down at her, catlike eyes drilling into the little brunette's face.

"Thank you," he stated firmly, turning away and walking back into the bathroom. "I appreciate everything you've done for me."

This, at the very least, was true: he didn't understand why she was doing all of this for him, but he was indeed grateful for it.

Dropping the towel on the floor beside the tattered leather pants Gus had given him weeks ago, he shrugged the silken blue pants on and shivered a little, since the sensation reminded him of dressing up in a suit. Fastening the front of the pants, he looked down at his legs and winced, since she hadn't been kidding: apparently, her father had been just as short as she was, since the pants ended just above his shin bones.

Well, at least they're soft, he silently muttered, unfolding the dusty 'robe' and carefully tugging it over his head, being mindful of his horns. This is comfortable.

Once it was on, he glanced down at himself and blinked: the 'robe' ended near his knees... but the sleeves were so long that they hung past his hands.

"Bizarre style," he muttered, dusting the sky blue clothes off with a frown. "Oh, well... I guess its a step up from nudity."

Fully dressed, he padded back out into the hall,

Amelia instantly gasped and covered her mouth, face turning bright red as she fought back a fit of restrained laughter.

"W-well, now!" she stammered, letting out a sigh. "It's not a perfect fit, but you somehow managed to make it work rather well... it looks good on you!"

He regarded her with half-lidded eyes.

"Uh-huh," he drawled, looking down at himself. "Yeah, sure it does."

"Oh, don't be so pessimistic," she snorted, finally bursting into laughter. "Really, it does look good on you! Better than it did on my father, at the very least! He was rather eccentric and a little strange, but everyone respected him because he was both a sweetheart AND a powerful magic user! One of the best, in my opinion!"

"Where is he?" the horned youth asked, glancing around with a fleeting expression of curiosity. "You said you live alone, right?"

Her face fell and she averted her eyes, instantly looking a little downcast.

"He went missing on a job for the Crowned Prince several years ago," she stated quietly, shaking her head with a smile. "I really miss him, but I'm sure he'll return someday. My Papa may be many things, but he'd never give up! Plus, his magic was so powerful that he's something of a Legend around here..."

Xaphile's ears twitched involuntarily upon hearing that.

He didn't know what was going on... but one thing was slowly becoming obvious.

This place, wherever it was, had a very different sense of reality than where he'd been born and raised.

However, after everything he'd gone through up to this point, he was exhausted.

"May I... go to sleep now?" he asked, giving her a weary look. "I'm... tired."

Her eyes instantly softened and she stepped forward, setting a hand on his arm.

"Of course... after the horrible ordeals you've gone through, you deserve rest," she murmured, turning away and heading down the hall. "It's still rather early in the day for me, however, so I'm afraid I'll be busy making poultices and medicine until later this evening. If you need anything at all, I'll be in the kitchen. Sleep well."

He watched her go with a blank face... but the moment she was out of sight, his shoulders sagged and his eyes turned hollow again.

Turning around, he stumbled down the hall towards the strange room he'd been given and moved inside it.

After closing the door, he turned and was about to flop down on the bed... but a crude mirror hanging above the nightstand caught his attention.

He immediately froze, staring at himself in disbelief.

His true face... he could see it.

Slowly moving forward, he peered into the mirror more closely: he wasn't wrong. Lifting his hands, he touched the horns on his head... but his reflection didn't have them. Moving his hair to the side, he looked at his ears in the mirror, and much to his surprise... they were normal. Lifting the robes he'd been given and exposing the black streak of fur rising up from out of his trousers to his chest, he looked at the mirror with a shiver.

Smooth, pale muscles met his gaze in the reflection... it was how he'd looked before pulling the trigger. There was no doubt that the reflection was his own... but once again, like everything else, what he was seeing with his own two eyes didn't make any sense whatsoever. Mirrors were supposed to reflect things the way they were, not show a completely different version of something.

This was a very strange sensation.

A sensation that was thoroughly dislikable.

Feeling exhausted, the boy sat down on the small bed and set his head on the pillow. The mattress had been stuffed full of some sort of straw, and the pillow was roughly made of the some coarse fabric with plenty of said straw. But it was softer than the metal floor of the cage he'd been stuck in, so he didn't care.

Closing his eyes, the boy slowly began to fall asleep.

One thing was absolutely certain.

Wherever he was... it definitely wasn't anywhere he was used to.

"Ella..." Xaphile whispered as he fell asleep, finally curling up. "I miss you..."

The only sound that came after was a single tear dripping onto the pillow.

All was silent.

 

12: Chapter 11: Bargain

Chapter Eleven: Bargain

The dream had come again.

The same disjointed dream that had appeared to him every night, since the moment Ella had been taken from him... he could hear the singing voices... could see bits and pieces of color... then bright lights... and smiling faces. Dancing... a play. He was just starting to see the wavering images... they were clearing up... and the muffled sound of the music was starting to make sense.

However, before it could happen... before he could finally see the dream, just like always, a scream of terror broke through the muffled voices, clear as a bell. He heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

More screams broke through, each sounding different.

Then, as it always did... the small dream world abruptly imploded, twisting into a gnarled blood stain that crumpled towards him in an unbelievably rapid manner. Concrete covered in blood closing in on him from every direction.

Then... nothing.

There was only darkness left behind.

The inside of his heart... beating slower and slower... red... all over his hands, and...

"No..." Xaphile spat, forcibly dragging his brain out of the nightmare and bolting upright. "No more..."

His long hair was plastered to his skin and he was breathing heavily, muscles quivering.

I hate this, he silently muttered, rubbing his face. Fucking nightmares...

After blinking the spots in his vision away, he realized that his ears were ringing. The boy slowly rubbed his aching head, trying to figure out where he was. However, his brain felt strangely fuzzy... almost as though his thoughts had been muffled with a blanket of cotton or elastic tape. Nothing seemed to make much sense to him anymore.

This wasn't his bedroom... or a cage...

It took a moment for it to come back, but once it did, he let out a sigh and glanced down at the wrinkled blue robes he'd been given. Then he slid out of bed and walked over to the door, gently opening it and peering out into the hall.

Everything was dark, but after a moment his pupils expanded and his vision cleared up in a fairly startling manner. The light in the hall almost seemed to be adjusting itself, which was one of the strangest things he'd ever seen. He didn't know what time it was, but it was obviously dark outside since none of the windows he passed in the hall were radiating light. Feeling a little disoriented, he made his way towards the only source of light he could see, which was coming from the kitchen.

Upon entering the room, he spotted Amelia sitting in a rocking chair in front of a fireplace with an open book in her lap, eyes closed and head tilted back. She was breathing deeply and evenly, long-lashed eyes fluttering a little. For a long moment, he merely looked at her, wondering about several things.

She obviously didn't have a clue just how simple her life was.

In fact, nobody around him knew how easy they had it.

And sometimes, he really wished he didn't, either.

Feeling a little dismayed, he let out a sigh and slowly made his way over to her.

"You really are too nice," he muttered, carefully kneeling down and folding the corner of the page she'd been on before shutting it and setting it on the mantle. "I can't... deal with this anymore. I'm grateful to you... I truly am. Thank you for your kindness."

With a solemn expression, he took off the robe she'd given him and carefully folded it up before setting it on the ground beside the chair. Then, walking towards the front door, he set his hand on the handle and stepped outside. A gentle breeze swept his hair around when he moved onto the cobblestone. High above, storm clouds had obscured the stars, and an occasional flash of lightning lit up the sky. He paid no heed to his surroundings when he began to walk.

The streets were silent... it was probably later than he'd realized, since every single window was dark.

His tail flicked behind him as he followed the wall surrounding the village, figuring it would take straight him to the exit.

He wasn't wrong... but there was a problem.

The only exit was a huge drawbridge that had been raised high... and directly in front of it, the same group of guards who'd repeatedly brutalized him were clustered together. They were having a hushed conversation about something he couldn't hear, but he figured it would be smarter if he looked for another way out, so he carefully turned to get the fuck out of dodge.

However, just as he took a step forward, he heard one of them say Ella's name and paused. Blinking, he tilted his head and heard the one speaking mention it again.

Feeling curious, he slid close to the wall of a nearby building and slinked towards them in the shadows.

Their conversation soon began to make sense to his ears, so he squatted in the dark and listened carefully.

"I just don't think it was a good idea, Captain," one of the men hissed, looking around. "Lady Ella must be insane! If that beast really is a surviving Earth Spirit, wouldn't that be even more of a reason to kill the damn creature?! After what we did to it... we could count our blessings if we escape with our lives!"

"Ella's word is final," the man in the front grunted, disdainfully tying something down near the edge of the bridge. "Trust me, that girl may be young, but she's the late Count's only daughter... she's also a fearsome warrior, and she's got a damn good head on her shoulders despite her age. I've met grown men with only a speck of the courage that little girl has inside her. Put your faith in her choice... if she set the creature free, she must have had a reason."

"But Captain Angelo, to apologize, face to face, after what we did to it," another guard spluttered, "how?! If it doesn't forgive us, the forest... everything! It'll all perish!"

"That beast isn't stupid enough to damn all of the forests south of the Nimikan Border," Angelo grunted back. "If it did, all life on the southern half of the country would be destroyed... even ours, eventually, unless we chose to migrate north. After all, these forests have bloomed this beautifully for so long only because that creature was hiding within them."

All of the guards stared at him.

"How do you know this?" one of them inquired, scratching at his rugged beard. "Aren't the woodland sprites supposedly dead and gone?"

The Captain finished tying the rope he'd been working on and stood up, turning with a fierce expression.

"Woodland sprites are still very much alive far to the north," Angelo ground out, folding his metal-plated arms. "Even in the east they are still alive and breathing. The legends of their extinction came only from the west, where they were completely exterminated by rampaging demons nearly six hundred years ago."

"The western wastelands?" the first man asked, straightening up like a washboard. "That great expanse of desert with little to no life?"

"Yes," the captain explained, making Xaphile frown. "The west was once full of beautiful forests and gorgeous lands unlike anything we've ever seen... the reason things grew there, however, is because the sprites sired in that area were extremely powerful. They held more sway over the people than the king of that time. Harvests were plenty... food was bountiful... and there were rivers of wine. When the demons killed them, however, the land began to die... and it became a wasteland."

"What does that have to do with the creature?" a much younger sounding guard who'd been standing off to the side demanded. "I don't understand... why can't we kill it?"

"I wouldn't dare even think about doing such a thing now," the man stated coldly, making Xaphile's scalp prickle. "If Lady Ella is correct, that beast is so powerful it could destroy this whole village with nothing but a sweep of its hand."

A chilling silence followed his words.

"What would make you think this?" the young guard squeaked, sounding alarmed. "Captain, can it really be so powerful?!"

Captain Angelo took his helmet off and shook his blonde hair free, eyes flashing sharply.

"Lady Ella and Octavius Macintosh both seem to think he is the last sprite of the Southern Forests," the man stated calmly. "If that is truly the case, we are now in a dire situation... because it means that up until this point, that creature is the only reason our lands haven't turned to dust like the western forests of old. In other words, he's been keeping all of the forests in the south alive by himself."

When gasps filled the air all around, Xaphile felt bile rising up his throat: hearing that made him truly wonder what was going on. Feeling his anxiety spiking, he stood up and began to back away from the guards... he didn't want to hear anymore. However, before he could slip out of sight, he bumped into someone.

"Eh?" a familiar voice snorted, making him whirled around; he winced when he found himself staring into a familiar set of jade green eyes. "Kid?! What are you-?!"

"Shh..." Xaphile hissed, clutching Gus's arm and carefully looking over his shoulder. "Not here."

So saying, he let go and walked past the blonde man, keeping very close to the wall: his tail flicked in agitation as he stalked through the streets with the blonde following at a careful distance. Once they'd gotten far enough away from the guards to feel comfortable, Xaphile turned around.

"What are you doing prowling around at night?" Gus demanded, slowly stalking forward and looking down at him. "You only just got released... the last thing you need to be doing is raising any unnecessary suspicions."

Xaphile merely looked at him.

"I want to leave," he stated quietly, lowering his eyes to the ground; a cold wind swept through his long hair as he spoke. "I want... to get as far away from here as I can."

The blonde scowled and stalked forward, gripping his arms so tightly that it actually hurt.

The boy's teal eyes widened when he was forcibly shoved against the brick wall.

But instead of struggling, he merely stared at the blonde.

"The forests are dying because of you," he stated gruffly, glaring down at the youth. "I paid my debt to you by getting you your freedom back, boy, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you destroy the lives of thousands because of your own personal issues. I won't let you run away... if you do, I'll put an arrow in your back. I swear it. The moment you try and leave this town... I'll destroy you."

"Good," Xaphile stated quietly, eyes going completely dead of all feeling. "That's what I want. I have no hope left."

The man's face went white and he immediately closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he fought back his temper: Xaphile blinked when the blonde finally opened them again. With his lips pressed together, the man abruptly clutched his throat with both hands and started squeezing tightly.

"Do you really want to die that badly?" Gus growled, clenching harder and scowling darkly when the younger male waited with no expression. "Tell me."

"Yes, I do," Xaphile quietly retorted, dark hair falling across his eyes. "So, will you do me a favor and finish what that bitch with my dead girlfriend's face couldn't? That would be a big help... because right now, all this place is doing to me is shredding apart the little sanity I have left."

The hunter's face twitched and his grip slackened, looking somewhat disturbed by the strangeness of the response.

"You... are you... you can't be... serious!" the blonde man spluttered, narrowing his eyes. "What kind of... what are you saying? What about your responsibilities?!"

The boy slowly lifted his head with a dangerously spiteful glare.

"Fuck responsibility," the horned youth spat, gritting his sharp teeth in fury. "I have no ties to this place. It can rot off the face of the planet for all I care."

The moment he said it, his irises once again began to radiate an aquamarine luminescence, glowing dimly with a shifting opalescent hue. Gus instantly gasped and let go of him, face turning white.

"Don't say that," he whispered, jade green eyes being illuminated by a flash of lightning that streaked through the air overhead. "Don't... not with those eyes."

"Why? You want to delude yourself into thinking I give a shit about the people here?" Xaphile coldly inquired, finally meeting the man's gaze; his eyes shone brighter and his pupils contracted into thin slits. "I don't lie... and I don't care what your thoughts on it are. I've come to think of this place as being worse than hell... but for some reason, I'm still breathing. So, I have no problem dying if it means I can get away from this nightmare. If you want to shoot me in the back with an arrow, hit me with your best shot... because no matter what you decide to do, I'll get what I fucking want in the end. I'm tired of suffering. So I'm going to stop suffering. End of story."

Thus, with an enraged expression, he stalked past the blonde, black hair flying in the wind.

High above, lightning flashed violently, and the clouds began to grow more turbulent.

Gus slowly turned to look at his broad shoulders as he walked away, jade green eyes blank with dread.

"What have we done?" he whispered, lifting his eyes to the frothing heavens when the first raindrop landed on his nose. "That boy... he really is the last sprite of the southern forests! What in the name of Divinity have we done...?"

Nobody answered his question.

Far ahead of him, Xaphile stomped around the corner of a nearby building, shaking his head rapidly and clenching his jaw in fury. He was angry... so unbearably angry... it was all becoming an awful pressure that continued to build inside him, tearing into the remains of his soul.

When the rain really began to come down, he couldn't keep it locked away: he stopped still in the center of the street and his face twisted. Taking a deep breath, he tensed his muscles and arched his back, letting out a powerful scream of agony and rage.

The sound came out sounding more like a lion's roar... and it echoed for what sounded like miles.

After he finished, he fell to his knees, staring at the pouring sky.

Nothing remained inside him.

"Ella..." he croaked, closing his eyes and burying his face in his clawed hands. "Ella... Ella... Ella..."

No more.

He couldn't take anymore.

What was left of his heart was cracking.

Right down the middle.

Slowly tilting his head back and staring at the sky with a vacant expression, the boy let the rain wash across his face without even bothering to pay attention to his surroundings. He would have given anything just to be able to fly away like a bird... to escape from everything.

Slowly lifting his hand, he reached for the clouds, feeling brittle from the inside out and simply waiting for the anger to continue holding his heart together.

However, no anger came.

In fact, nothing did: there was nothing he could use as a shield now.

Ella was gone... and he had killed himself.

This was his hell... the one place where he'd be more miserable than the night she'd died in his arms.

A world where they'd never met.

His shoulders heaved as he fought the tears back, but he couldn't stop them... they came roaring out of his eyes and ran down his face with the rain. Clutching himself, he shrank down and wept. Weakly, hoarsely, he cried his eyes out so much that all he could do was press his forehead against the ground. He had tried to tell himself it was enough just to see her alive and breathing... hell, he had even told her that, too... but in the end, it wasn't.

It was nowhere near enough.

He had been broken, and nothing could fix him.

Just as he was thinking it... she appeared: with a flash of white, she ran around the corner wearing that familiar black cloak, two daggers already drawn. She looked ready for trouble and her mouth was tight with tension.

However, she skidded to a halt when she saw him kneeling in the rain, and her tense posture faltered a little. Pink eyes narrowing, she looked at him, then sheathed her daggers.

"What are you doing?!" she barked, folding her arms. "Get up! Now!"

Her voice was what broke him completely.

The moment she spoke, the world went silent in his ears.

There was no more rainfall.

There was no more wind rushing through the trees.

There was no more anything.

Everything fell dead silent.

In that small moment of time, there was no sound.

That is, aside from a young boy's already fractured heart breaking into a million pieces and tinkling down into darkness like bits of broken glass.

Lifting his eyes, he stared at her in a way that made her freeze.

Then, he said only three words.

"Release me..." Xaphile whispered, looking straight into her pale pink eyes. "Please."

She blinked, mouth falling open when he lifted his violently shaking hand and held it out to her.

"Are you mad?!" she snapped, finally coming to her senses. "I've already released you! I've never given any non-human creature such a mercy!"

Closing his eyes and letting his hand fall limply to his side, Xaphile wordlessly stood up and turned around, meandering off in a random direction. He didn't know where he was going, nor did he care... at this point, he only wanted someone to make him disappear. It was ironic, really... the one thing he'd always hated growing up was being invisible to those around him. Now he'd have given anything to be able to sink into the shadows of some remote place and never come out again.

To disappear forever... to erase everything causing him this misery.

To vanish.

"Where are you going?!" the girl barked, stomping her foot. "Don't you turn your back on me, beast!"

"If you will not release me... go away," he croaked, not even having the energy to talk back. "You are literally the last person I want to see."

She snapped her mouth shut and bristled with fury, face turning bright red.

His footsteps halted only when a small hand snatched his wrist, preventing him from going anywhere.

"Foolish creature!" she snarled, jerking him around and shoving him back a step. "How dare you?! What right do you have to try telling me to atone for what I've done by living?! Especially if you're only going to try and kill yourself a second time?!"

He looked at her with eyes that vaguely reminded her of an abandoned kitten's.

"I have every right, since my current state of mind is your fault," he told her, not breaking eye contact. "You have her face... you have her eyes... her voice, her hair, her body... you even have the same fucking mole above your lip. I can't even look at you... I really can't. You're something I've already lost... you're not my Ella."

Her mouth twisted and she tensed, nose wrinkling with outrage.

Then, taking a step forward, she shoved him with all of her strength, knocking him so off balance that he fell to the ground.

"Of course I'm not!" she sneered, folding her arms. "I don't even know what your Ella saw in you, but she was a fool... a weak creature like yourself has no right to address me so familiarly. Not even if you ARE the last Earth Spirit of the south! If you want to die, go ahead. Kill yourself. I won't shed a tear. Unlike that foolish girl you loved, I could never love a monster... especially since I hate cats of every variety."

So saying, she drew one of her daggers and tossed it to the ground in front of him.

However, she wasn't expecting it when it happened.

She figured he'd get mad or start crying again like every other time so far... but instead, when he looked up, he was smiling at her. Not brokenly, like she'd seen up to this point: it was a real grin... lopsided and dopey, and even though his eyes were still full of tears, they'd softened.

Face going slack, she blinked at that goofy, handsome smile and backed off a step, not believing what she was seeing.

"Yeah, I am pretty weak, huh?" he laughed, hiccuping a bit; the tears welling up slid off his lashes when he weakly lowered his head, shoulders shaking. "That's what happens when something is broken, though... it turns frail... and it just keeps getting easier and easier to continue breaking it."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, looking at his trembling form as that same unidentifiable fear filled her heart yet again; her hands twitched in alarm when he clasped the dagger. "You can't... seriously be thinking about... killing yourself, right? Look, I..."

She halted when he lifted his head, tears already blending in with the rain running down across his skin.

"I don't think of it that way," he quietly murmured, clutching the knife with shaking fists; then he lifted his eyes and gave her that same, lopsided grin... only now, his gaze seemed faraway, as though he were looking at something past her. "I've lost my other half. My heart. All I need to do is set myself free of this body and then I can start looking for her. Thank you... for the dagger."

So saying, he stood up and turned to walk away from her again... but the fear within her skyrocketed. Lips parting slightly, she watched him stumble away, hands twitching violently.

She suddenly had a very bizarre urge to run to him... to pin him down and prevent him from disappearing from her sight. But some cold, icy sensation was stopping her from moving... it wouldn't let her do anything. Her eyebrow twitched and her face grew taught, pink eyes huge.

But then, someone shoved her forward so hard that she stumbled.

Whirling around, she opened her mouth to snap at the person who'd pushed her.

However, she gasped and her eyes widened in sheer terror when she saw a glowing apparition. Her face instantly turned bone white: strangely, the brilliantly shining figure looked exactly like her. But it seemed... pissed.

With a menacing expression, the ghost lifted her small hand and pointed at the retreating boy, silver braids billowing around like glossy ropes.

"You..." Ella whispered, stepping backwards. "What are you?! He was lying... wasn't he?! You can't be real!"

The moment she said it, a voiceless whisper reverberated inside her head, speaking in a soprano that sounded exactly like her own.

"If you let him die... I'll make you regret it forever."

The words were so powerful and threatening that Ella shivered violently, heart pounding a mile a minute. She hadn't believed him... she'd thought the images inside the locket were false... something made using her face as a basis. It wasn't possible... and yet, the proof was right in front of her. In the form of a spirit, no less: the translucent girl's braided white hair hung all the way down to her thighs... she was wearing fine spectacles, and a green high-collar shirt with pale blue breeches.

However, the apparition's pink eyes were exactly like her own, and she was glaring with a venomous expression. She continued pointing at the unsteady boy for several more moments before vanishing. There was no sound or even any sign to mark her vanishing: the strange glow merely winked out and Ella blinked, feeling a case of the cold shakes washing over her.

Eyes blank, she whirled around and chased the stumbling boy down, tackling him from behind with all of her strength.

The dagger clattered across the cobblestone when she pinned him against the ground.

"What are you doing?!" he wheezed, wincing as his cheek was forced against the wet stone. "Get off me!"

"You said you were broken!" she spat, making his whole body tense. "Things that are broken can be fixed, you idiot!"

He instantly stopped flailing and his muscles went limp beneath her fingertips.

"I'm not one of them," he stated quietly, deep voice vibrating her limbs. "Get off me."

"NO!" Ella snapped, still trembling from the experience of seeing a dead version of herself; she'd felt the spirit's animosity towards her as clear as any day, but for some reason... even though she was normally never scared of anything, the experience had instilled in her a dread that she couldn't ignore. She felt as though something very, very bad would befall her if she didn't comply with the ghost's wishes. "There might be a chance to help you! I saw her... I literally just saw your Ella!"

He tensed, then let out an animalistic growl that came from deep within his throat.

"Excuse me?" he demanded in a low voice. "Are you trying to fuck with my head?"

"Would I be SHAKING if I was telling a falsehood?!" she spat, looking down at her trembling hands. "I am not jesting! I just saw her! The moment you turned to walk away, I actually saw... your Ella. I heard her voice. I still don't fully trust you, but... perhaps... there's a way to fix things! On both of our ends!"

"Explain..." he growled, making her wince. "Now."

"I saw my own ghost right in front of my eyes," Ella snapped, tightening her grip on his shoulders. "And since whoever that was isn't the real me, it means you weren't lying! If she really is dead, it might be possible to restore the memories of the Ella you loved inside my mind. We would need to find a powerful Mage capable of necromancy AND dream walking... but there might just be a way for me to recollect the memories of that other me."

"What the hell are you saying?" the boy demanded, tail thumping violently against her back when it lashed out in agitation. "Why the hell should I listen to you? You would never do something like that... in fact, you're probably trying to give me hope just so you can crush it again."

Her mouth curled in fury.

"Me? Give YOU false hope?!" she snapped, angrily smacking his head. "Shut up! I may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them!"

"That's funny," he barked, letting out a harsh laugh, "I mean, I thought you enjoyed watching me writhe in agony."

She nearly lost her temper... but the thought of the ghost kept it at bay.

"That's... because I thought you were a demon," she muttered, brow twitching in barely-restrained fury. "At the time, I thought you were a beast."

"That doesn't make what you did to me okay!" he snarled, instantly struggling to buck her off of his back. "You tortured me!"

"IT COULDN'T BE HELPED!" she finally roared, punching him straight between the shoulder blades. "IF I SLIP UP, EVEN FOR A MOMENT, I COULD BE JUST AS DEAD AS THAT GIRL YOU KEEP COMPARING ME TO! AND I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

He wheezed when she struck him a second time in the same spot, then slowly turned his head, glaring out of the corner of his eye.

"And what did torturing me have to do with your life being in danger?" he hissed, irises flaring brightly for a moment. "By all means, explain."

Her brows furrowed and she grit her teeth.

Then she gave in.

Angrily sliding off of him, she unfastened her cloak and shrugged it off her shoulders.

Beneath it, she was wearing a black dress that cut off just above the knees.

However, Xaphile froze when he saw her left leg.

"You see this?" she demanded, thrusting the limb out and holding it in front of his face. "This is the result of a situation very similar to yours. When I was a child, I stupidly trusted a young cat demon who rescued me from a group of those wild boar creatures you saw when we first met. Because of that, I thought she was different, and despite the fact that I had repeatedly been told that many demons were cunning liars... I snuck out of the village every night to play with her. She asked me lots of questions about my home, and about the draw bridge... but mostly, about my own father. She did all of this just so her tribe could attack this village."

Eyes widening in shock, he stared at the scarred and mangled limb with a stunned expression.

"Oh, my God..." he whispered, looking at the savage teeth marks that had been engraved into her pale skin; her leg and kneecap looked completely disjointed, as if they had been broken repetitively in several different areas. "What did she do to you?! It looks like... like..."

"Like she tried to tear my leg off?" Ella sweetly finished, drawing her limb back and putting the cloak back on. "Yep, that's exactly what happened... and she almost succeeded, too. That night, sixty people died because of me, including my own father. I would have died, too, had Angelo not come to my rescue... that 'innocent little cat' I'd called a friend for two years murdered my father with her bare hands before she tried to take my life. And the whole time, she laughed in my face."

He immediately turned bone white.

"I-I would never do something that awful," he squeaked, staring at her with a stunned expression. "Never! Not just to you, but to ANYBODY! That's fucked up!"

"And how am I supposed to believe you?!" she spat, making him flinch backwards. "The last time a creature like you embraced me, that's EXACTLY what HAPPENED!"

He didn't want to admit it, but he kind of understood where she was coming from now.

It didn't make this any less painful for him though.

Hair sticking to his face, he looked at her with deadened eyes.

"Well... at any rate, you don't have to worry anymore," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'll never embrace you again."

"THAT'S NOT-!" she started to screech, then stilled and took a deep breath before quietly beginning all over again. "That's not... what I want."

"Then what DO you want?!" he croaked, looking at her with a weak expression. "Haven't you seen me suffer enough? How much more will you hurt me before you're satisfied with it?!"

"After hearing your tale, and seeing the ghost of the girl you loved with my own two eyes... I don't want to hurt you," she told him coldly, lifting her eyes with a flat expression. "I now have a small shred of genuine proof that what you said might be true, but it isn't enough to fully ride on. I've seen a lot of illusion magic before, after all. I truly want to know if you are being genuine with me. And that's why, I won't let you die until I know if what you've told me is the truth."

She didn't like how his eyes seemed to lose their emotional sheen from the inside out.

"How can I prove something like that?" he hissed. "It's not possible."

"Actually, it is," she retorted, furrowing her brows. "I told you earlier! If it turns out that your Ella really did die... there might just be a way to conjure her spirit. If it works... I could absorb her memories and see what happened to the two of you through her eyes. And there's also a chance that doing so might... or might not... change things for the better, you know?"

"Why the hell should I trust you?" Xaphile whispered, eyes completely glazed over. "You don't truly care what happens to me... there's no reason for you to do this."

"You're only half-right," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "I mean, truly, I don't care about you... but I just saw my own ghost. I can't deny that now I do have a reason for wanting to see her memories."

"And what would that be?" he growled. "Care to explain?"

"Simple: it's beneficial to me in the end," she told him honestly, folding her arms. "If what you say is the truth, your Ella lived a happy and protected life. I personally don't know if my feelings towards you would change even if I did get my hands on her memories, but one thing would: my own personal happiness. I would feel satisfied just knowing that I had lived happily in another time and place. After all, right now, I'm too busy trying to keep those around me alive to worry about my own happiness, especially since all it seems to do is get people killed."

The last remark was a bitter stab at him, but it did indeed make sense.

"What will you do once you have her memories?" he demanded, mouth pressing into a bitter line. "If you see the world through her eyes... and it changes your perspective of me... it won't change the fact that you aren't her, so what will you do?"

She tilted her head, wet hair shifting to the side.

Then, slowly crawling forward and touching his face with both hands, she brought her eyes within an inch of his own.

"At the very least," she stated quietly, knowing she had him right where she wanted, "I could start trying to fix what was broken inside you. After all, who knows? With her memories inside my head... the love she had for you might actually fall across my shoulders. Even though you're right in saying I'm not her, it is indeed possible... it's happened to many others who have tried dabbling with dream walking magic. Those who absorb the memories of others become that person, in a way."

"That's impossible," he whispered, not taking his eyes off hers. "Magic doesn't exist where I come from... it's not real."

"Where you came from obviously isn't here, then," she stated quietly, looking at him more gently. "In this time and place, Magic exists... I personally cannot use it, but there are many others who can. And many more who are genuinely skilled with it. There are many types of magic in this world... from fire magic, to water magic, to the magic of the wind and earth... and many more types, more than you can imagine. That's not the point, though."

"Why am I necessary for this?" he croaked, tears finally spilling down his face. "Why do I need to be around if you're going to do this anyway?"

She merely looked at him as though he were stupid.

"Take a good look at yourself," she retorted, folding her arms. "I don't want to be this pathetic!"

He blinked.

"Excuse me?" he groused, rubbing his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Are you an idiot?!" she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. "I mean, look at you! Some girl went off and died, but it turned you into a sniveling sob story! Sure, even with you dead, I could gain her memories... but what then? If I really do succumb to the same type of love that she had for you, I'd probably end up being in the same spot you are now! Would you really wish that on me? Especially since I'm the one who will receive ALL of her memories? It's like flipping the hand you were given on me!"

His heart clenched and he felt sick: catlike pupils expanding, he stared at her with quivering irises.

He didn't know how to respond.

"If I wait... until you have absorbed her memories," he stated coldly, swallowing hard, "and it turns out that you don't feel the same love... then, will you set me free...?"

"That depends," Ella retorted, hefting her cloak back on. "First, there's the problem of finding a mage who's skilled with dream walking... then, there's the issue with finding a necromancer, which won't be easy since black magic like that has been outlawed for hundreds of years. It could take a while. However, I don't make false statements: I'm serious about getting my hands on this mysterious girl's memories. All you have to do is say you're willing to live. If you still want to die, I won't... stop you."

Xaphile slowly turned to stare at her through several tendrils of his wet hair.

The boy was looking at the albino as though she were a lion that was about to eat him.

His eyes were so large and frightened that it made him seem fragile... but at the same time, there was also a glimmer of something faint.

Hope? Yearning? Excitement? Terror?

It could have been any of those, or none at all.

"Really?" he whispered, hesitantly turning around and staring at her as though she'd bite his head off. "You're not just... saying this? There's really... a way... for you to see into her memories? To know who my Ella was? And you're seriously saying... that there's a chance... that..."

He trailed off, mouth trembling and muscles starting to shake.

"The possibility is likely," she muttered. "I never lie to people... if there's a situation where that's all I can do, I choose the silent route. I hate falsehoods just as much as the demon race. So, for future reference, if I say I'll do something... you can count on it. So, let's shake on this: until I get a hold of her memories and we're sure that my feelings toward you haven't changed, you won't leave town unless someone is with you, and you won't let yourself die. Deal?"

So saying, she spit on her hand and held it out, quirking an eyebrow.

He stared at her, fearing the hope that had bloomed within his heart... but... in the end, perhaps...

"Deal," he muttered, spitting on his own and and clasping hers. "I don't know why I'm doing this."

"Sure you don't, loverboy," she snorted, getting up and grabbing her dagger from the ground. "Now... return to Amelia. I've already explained to the citizens of Chisago that she offered to be responsible for housing you from today onward. Octavius has his hands full as it is, and I'm sure the last thing he'd want is to babysit you. Plus, for some bizarre reason, that herbalist seems to be very sympathetic towards you. The least you can do is humor her and let her comfort you."

So saying, she sheathed her weapon and flung her cloak around in a circle before sweeping away, pulling her hood up. Slowly climbing to his feet, he stared after her with a limp posture... then, closing his eyes with a sigh, he turned to head back to the girl's home.

He wasn't happy with his situation... but that little spark of hope was all it had taken.

 

13: Chapter 12: World of Green

Chapter Twelve: World of Green

When he arrived back at Amelia's home, looking like a half-drowned cat, the girl was still sleeping in front of the fire. Shivering somewhat, he stumbled over to it and weakly sank down to his knees, leaning against the mantle and taking in the heat of the flames. He watched them dance, lifting his right arm and pressing a hand against his chest... feeling his heart throbbing painfully with each beat.

In truth, he didn't know what to do anymore.

He simply didn't know.

Nothing made sense to his mind. So, he stopped thinking and closed his eyes.

However, the sound of the chair creaking soon met his ears, and he heard a yawn.

"Huh?" Amelia mumbled, looking around with bleary eyes. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, ignoring how she jumped and whirled to look at him in favor of keeping his eyes closed. "You did."

"P-Phil, you're soaking wet..." she gasped, jumping up in alarm. "What happened?"

"I went for a walk and it started raining," he rasped. "I was drenched by the time I got back."

"Wait there... I'll go get a drying cloth," the brunette sighed, primly shuffling off down the hall. "No need for you to catch a cold."

Not that he needed her to tell him.

He couldn't find any energy to move after everything that had happened.

From the emotional agony of losing Ella, to the shock of taking his own life... then, ending up in a strange place with bizarre changes in his body, and then being tortured by a girl with Ella's face. He'd been beaten by strange people... he'd been whipped until he'd bled... and he'd been locked in a cage like an animal for weeks. And yet, even with all the unanswerable questions floating around inside his mind, he felt detached.

He still wanted to die.

But he would wait... if only because she had given him a chance to say goodbye to the real Ella. He could ignore the memory prospect... all he wanted was a chance to see his true love one last time. That was more than he could have ever asked for.

When Amelia walked back into the room with a grin, she held the cloth up and opened her mouth to say something... but then, her face fell.

She watched, helplessly, as Xaphile stared at the wall.

"This house," he finally murmured, speaking in a blank tone. "It's very old fashioned, but still somehow cozy... is this where you were born?"

"Why, yes... I was indeed born here," the girl told him, quirking an eyebrow. "This house is where I grew up."

"I see," he eventually murmured, not meeting her gaze. "A house like this... must have been nice."

Water dripped off his hair and landed on his shoulder as he said it.

Hesitantly moving forward, the pale girl knelt down in front of him and gently draped the towel over his head. Being careful about his horns, she gently began to rub the cloth against his soaked hair. His teal eyes flicked to look at her while she dried him off, but he didn't feel motivated enough to speak. After gently toweling his head off and moving to his shoulders, she dabbed at the fur on his chest. And yet, even though Amelia kept rubbing and patting gently until he was dry, he didn't move.

He didn't blink. He didn't speak. He only sat there... holding everything back the way he always had.

Eventually, the herbalist pulled the towel away and set a small hand against his cheek.

"I do not understand the sadness lurking inside you," she murmured, tilting her head to the side with a very gentle expression. "I won't ever attempt to pretend that I do understand it, either. Still, for what it's worth... in my experience, the warmth of home always has a tendency to make my sorrows fade a little. If you wish... you may think of this place as home, for now."

He turned his head and looked at her.

"Home?" he asked, narrowing his eyes a little. "This... doesn't seem right."

For several moments, the girl merely stared at him, obviously not understanding his reaction.

However, after a moment, she withdrew her hand and smiled.

"I don't particularly understand why you would say so, since it truly seems right no matter how hard I think about it," the girl sighed, looking at him with a soft smile before primly clasping her hands. "Sleep well, Phil... and... if you truly wish to go somewhere... please, at least let me know first."

Xaphile's face went blank for a moment in subtle surprise, then his bland expression returned and he nodded.

Just as Amelia stood up and began to walk down the hall with a yawn, he decided to actually ask her a question.

"Do you... know love?" he quietly inquired, making her pause mid-step. "Have you ever truly devoted every part of your being to someone else?"

"Huh?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder with a startled expression. "Of course I know love! And yes, I devote myself to everyone, all the time!"

"That's not what I meant," the boy stated in a monotone, not even bothering to blink. "What I'm asking is if you know true love."

She turned back around and tilted her head yet again, looking at him with a concerned expression.

"What brought this on?" she inquired, hooking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I have to admit, a question such as that... it's quite unexpected."

She didn't.

It was obvious.

After a moment, he merely let his head thump back against the fireplace and gave a small sigh.

"It's nothing important..." he croaked, slightly shaking his head. "Really."

"Well, then... I'll be off to bed," she murmured, giving him a look. "Are you sure you're all right, though?"

"I'm fine," he told her, turning and forcing a small smile. "Just thinking about a few things, that's all."

When she returned his smile with a relieved one of her own, for once, he was actually grateful that she was so naive.

It prevented her from seeing beneath the surface of his feelings.

"Goodnight, Phil," she sighed, beaming at him before turning and heading to her room. "Sleep well."

Then she was gone, with nothing but the quiet sound of a door shutting to mark her departure.

It felt like hours passed as he sat there, staring off into space.

Then, another song touched his lips, almost as if by instinct.

"The day we met... frozen, I'd held my breath... right from the start... I knew I had found a home for my heart..." he quietly hummed, voice cracking as a flash of the real Ella's face seared through his head; flawlessly, he continued singing, weaving the continuation like his own rhythmic pulse, "beats... fast. Colors and promises... how to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid... to fall? But watching you stand alone, all of my doubt... suddenly goes away somehow. One step closer..."

This song was a sanctuary for when he was feeling his worst.

After Ella had initially passed, he had listened to their compiled music tapes for days on end, memorizing the ones she'd loved.

Doing so had solidified her memory inside his mind, as well as the moments they'd spent together.

Now, because of it, most of Christina Perri's songs sometimes brought back vivid flashes of his memories... forgotten fragments of the warmth he'd always had when he'd been with Ella. And during them... he somehow managed to disappear inside of himself, in a manner similar to when he was in physical pain. These moments, when the past was suddenly right in front of him and felt like it was close enough touch, were strangely the happiest for him.

These delusional visions were a small consolation... but they were the only thing he had left.

So, for a few choice seconds... he fully went away deep inside his head... carried on the notes of a song he and Ella had both loved.

"I have died every day waiting for you," he quietly thrummed, deep voice reverberating through Amelia's kitchen. "Darling, don't be afraid... I have loved you for a thousand years... I'll love you for a thousand more. All along, I believed I... would find you. Time has brought your heart to me... I have loved you for a thousand years... and I'll love you for a thousand more..."

It couldn't last.

Like always, his voice died away and reality came back to him with a thundering jolt.

Ella was dead.

The realization crushed his momentary shred of happiness all over again and he slowly lifted a hand, pressing it against his tired eyes. He didn't want to move anymore... the emptiness that had been festering inside him for months was overwhelming. He probably would've cried like a baby all night if he'd had anymore tears to choke out. But he didn't.

Silently, Xaphile Heseroph curled up into a ball on the floor and closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

He didn't even notice it when Amelia, who'd been leaning against the wall, tiptoed away and melted into the shadows.

For the rest of that night, the boy remained huddled in front of the fire. Even though he'd promised the other Ella that he would live until they were sure nothing had changed after absorbing his Ella's memories or whatever it was she wanted to do... nothing could ease his pain. Having the angry clone absorb her memories wouldn't change anything... and he knew as much. All it would do, at the very most, was dissolve the barriers keeping the fake Ella from being kind to him.

It wouldn't change the fact that the two of them were completely different people.

Magic, if it even existed, couldn't change anything.

It couldn't fix his problems or his heart.

Memories seen or unseen, in the end, the real Ella... his Ella... she was gone forever.

Even worse, he couldn't get her out of his head... he couldn't make the time they'd spent together disappear.

His sleep was restless and troubled, to the point where it felt like he hadn't slept at all when he finally woke up. All night, the only thing he'd had were nightmares... nightmares about Ella. The real one, and the evil one... at times he couldn't tell which one was which, but both tormented him in different ways. In the end, he was actually grateful the sound of Amelia humming and the smell of something cooking woke him.

Slowly sitting up, he stretched and dazedly looked around, hands on his lap.

"Good morrow," the brunette called, whisking to and fro with quite a bit of pep. "Breakfast is almost ready, Phil! I was just about to wake you!"

"Breakfast...?" he groggily muttered, touching his disheveled hair before slowly crawling to his feet and dusting off the azure pants. "Interesting..."

When he tried to walk down the hall, however, she halted him by sweeping forward and holding out an arm to bar his path.

"You, my good sir, should put on the robe I gave you yesterday before you catch cold," she firmly told him, gesturing at the blue cloth resting on the ground. "I understand that it doesn't fit you, but you must understand. For me, it is... slightly embarrassing and a bit uncomfortable."

He looked at her, then glanced down at himself before he winced.

"Yeah, I get it," he sighed, rubbing his head and scratching his hand with one of his horns. "Sorry."

So saying, he unfolded the silken blue cloth and dragged it over his head, fluffing his hair out through the hole.

"Also, about the clothes I'm having made for you," she murmured, picking up some strange contraption and opening an old bread oven that had been built into the wall; heaving the handles close together repetitively, he watched with surprised eyes as the fire inside the oven grew brighter; then she shut it again. "Whew... what are your preferences in color? And also, what sort of clothes do you prefer? High collars shirts? Fashionable tailcoats? Robes?"

He lowered his eyes, thinking about it for a moment.

"My favorite color is black, but if it's clothes, I don't really have a preference," he murmured, lifting his eyes and regarding her with furrowed brows. "There's really only one thing I want. I don't care about style as long as whatever I'm wearing is comfortable... but... if it's possible... I'd..."

He instantly hesitated, wondering if it was going too far to ask for something, especially from a girl he had only met a little while ago.

"Go on..." she eagerly whispered, clasping her hands with a grin. "Tell me! If there's anything I can do, just say the word!"

He swallowed and looked at her, feeling highly uncomfortable.

"If possible," he muttered, reluctantly closing his eyes. "I'd really like a shirt with sleeves that are long enough to completely hide my hands. And also, a hood to cover up... well, you know...?"

When she blinked in confusion, he sighed and slowly tapped one of his horns: her eyes instantly flashed with recognition.

"Oh, I see," she murmured, putting some sort of cloth on her hands before turning to the oven and pulling out a fresh loaf of bread. "Yes, it can be done... but... what else? Are you fine with whatever clothes I choose to have made for you aside from that particular preference?"

"Well, if you're really going to do this," Xaphile sighed, giving her a look. "I'd very much appreciate it if whatever you bring back has a normal pair of pants and a hooded shirt with long sleeves. That's really all I want."

"So, you're giving me permission for the rest?" she asked, eyes gleaming behind her glasses. "Really?"

"Yeah, I guess," he sighed, rubbing his face and letting out a catlike yawn. "Feel free to choose whatever. I really don't care what it looks like."

She beamed, then nodded before momentarily setting the pan of bread on the counter.

"Well, once this cools, we can eat," she murmured, opening the kitchen window and setting the tray on the edge of the sill; then she lifted her eyes and froze, face draining of color. "Oh, no..."

His brows furrowed when she slowly covered her mouth.

"What is it...?" he carefully inquired, stepping over to the window and peering outside; he frowned, since there was a young boy and an old man kneeling in front of a small tree near the farthest edge of the marketplace. All around it, fallen apple blossoms and the rotted husks of apples were resting on the ground. "What... are they doing?"

"That's the tree Marty Crawford planted for his wife and daughter many years ago," she sighed, lowering her eyes. "Your magic is the cause of it."

"Huh?" he asked, feeling a bit startled; instantly lowering his eyes to her face, he stared at her in shock. "What are you saying?"

"It's all right," she sighed, lifting a hand and setting it on his shoulder with a solemn smile. "I understand... what we did to you wasn't right, so..."

"That's not what I mean," he growled, making her step back and look at him more carefully. "How am I the cause of this? I..."

The way she began looking at him cut his trail of thought off.

If I'm going to get anywhere with this, he silently muttered, I'm probably gonna have to lie.

There were plenty of excuses he could make, but he decided to go with the simplest.

After all, telling people he had taken his own life would probably make them think he was insane.

And the last thing he wanted was to get locked up again because of it.

"I don't... remember anything prior to a few weeks ago," he muttered, averting his eyes. "I don't remember much of anything aside from the fact that someone I once held very, very dear passed away. All I know is that when I woke up, I was all alone. I can't remember anything."

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked, at him with serious blue eyes. "Did you suffer an injury to your head?"

"I don't know," he stated, trying to keep the lie going; his face was twitching, though, because he completely sucked at telling falsehoods. "All I know is that I can't remember much of anything aside from the girl who passed away. That is all. In fact, when I first woke up, I... thought I was human for a little while."

The girl remained silent: he could tell from her expression that she was suspicious of his explanation, but she didn't seem eager to press the situation and find out the truth. Something he was grateful for, since he didn't have a clue how he was going to explain that he had killed himself and ended up in a completely different world.

"That could be problematic," she murmured, expression finally relaxing. "If you don't remember anything... does it also mean you don't recall your abilities as a sprite?"

"Basically," he muttered, tail flicking around in rapid manner. "I honestly didn't know I had any strange powers until recently... I still don't believe I do, in fact."

Her eyes widened and she tensed.

"You... didn't even know?!" she whispered, covering her mouth again. "Oh, dear... um, okay! Listen! If the stories of old were true, the powers residing within all woodland spirits were always called forth depending on whether they were angry or happy. So, perhaps... if you feel?"

She seemed just as uncertain as he, but after a moment, he turned and looked out the window again.

"Do you really think it's that simple?" he muttered, eyeing the two people in front of the tree with a grim expression. "To use these so-called powers of mine?"

"Well, I'm not sure since all I have to go off of are the old tales," she murmured, then followed his gaze with sad eyes, "but if it turns out that is how you can use them... would you please... h-heal the tree?"

He blinked, then looked at her in confusion.

"Why?" he asked, feeling a little wary. "Why do you want me to?"

"Because Marty Crawford's eyes look like yours," she stated quietly, not meeting his gaze. "He has eyes so sad that... you can almost feel his pain by looking at them."

He winced, feeling a pang of regret sear through him... but then he began to wonder about something.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, letting out a sigh and turning away from the window. "If feeling it is how this works... I don't know if I'll be able to do anything to fix it, but at the very least, I can try."

So saying, he padded down the hall and opened the door, stepping out into the streets once again.

Then he turned, walking towards the marketplace and ignoring how several people going to and fro halted in their tracks with taught faces.

Everyone stared at him with fear when he padded into the marketplace and carefully walked over to where the child, who turned out to be Kirby, was sitting by the old man. The little boy blinked and looked up with large eyes when he finally spotted the horned youth, and almost instantly his expression brightened. Wasting no time, Xaphile walked over to them and looked at the tree more closely, tilting his head.

It looked as though it was dying... and strangely, a freakish pulsing sensation began to sweep through him now that he was close to it.

Face going blank, he backed up a step, shivering slightly.

A wave of goosebumps rose up his spine as he stared at the tree.

The external pulse coming off the plant was the strangest thing he'd ever felt.

However, after a moment, he looked down at the old man's quivering shoulders and sighed.

"Sir," he stated quietly, feeling uncomfortable. "This tree... is it special to you?"

The old man stiffened and turned around, looking at him in disbelief.

However, Xaphile immediately realized what Amelia had meant by them having similar eyes: the man's rich brown irises had absolutely no reflective sheen, and even though his face was mostly expressionless, he somehow still looked like he was in copious amounts of pain. It was a look he recognized... he had seen this same expression on his own face every time he'd looked into a mirror after Ella's death.

"You're the one who did this..." he stated quietly, almost gently. "Why do you ask me such a question now? You've already destroyed my tree."

Keeping his face blank, he slowly squatted down and met the man's gaze, wrapping his arms around his knees.

His tail flicked back and forth when he tilted his head, regarding the old one with a keen expression.

"Answer the question," he quietly commanded, not breaking eye contact. "Is it special to you? And if so... why?"

The male in front of him was definitely very old... possibly in his sixties or seventies, with countless wrinkles, white hair, and a grey beard.

"This tree is special to me," Marty Crawford sighed, setting a hand on Kirby's shoulders. "It was planted in honor of my wife and daughter, who died a great many years ago. It was the only memento... I had left of them."

His voice was heavy and weathered... he didn't sound sad.

Merely tired and very world weary.

But that didn't mean the guilt didn't stab the boy in the gut.

Thoughts of the Evil Ella taking his locket away seared through him.

The same feeling he'd had back then had fallen across the old man because of him.

Nostrils flaring as the regret filled him, he lifted his eyes to the tree... then, without his knowledge, his teal irises began glowing again.

Standing up, he walked over to the young tree and tentatively set his hand against it... and deep inside, he willed himself to fix the mistake he'd somehow made.

He wasn't expecting anything to happen... he really wasn't.

But it did, and WHEN it did, it scared the fuck out of him: the moment he touched the withering bark, an icy sensation swept throughout his body and his eyes exploded with so much aquamarine light that it seemed to be shooting out of his skull. A bizarre green mark stretched across his fingers and began to extend, weaving up his arm and all across his torso, even sweeping across his face: it wound around him in glowing spirals and curvaceous patterns, illuminating his pale skin from the inside out.

Then the whole tree began to glow green with a hissing noise.

"Divines," Marty gasped, falling backwards with huge eyes. "What are you doing to my tree?! Stop it! Stop it, I say!"

Xaphile could barely hear him: somehow, he was becoming lighter all of a sudden... and the pain within his breast faded considerably. He basked in the sensation of having his pain lessened... the sensation of the crying plant reaching out to him, asking for his help in a way that stretched beyond the boundaries of the voice. The tree had a soul... and it was crying in pain, like his... he didn't want to let it continue suffering, so he continued reaching for it. As he did so, his dark hair reversed gravity and slowly billowed up towards the sky, drifting around as though he were underwater.

Everyone in the marketplace had been watching in sheer terror of his actions, not knowing what he was doing, and fearing the consequences.

But then... it happened.

The tree, which had been glowing brightly, erupted into fragrant bloom.

Everyone gasped and eyes widened in shock, since it didn't stop there... because the strange glow began to extend, traveling through the earth and shining up through the cobblestones as it expanded. The strange power touched other crying plants as well... and as it did so, somehow, all of the withered flora began to bloom just as vibrantly as the tree. He stretched this power on and on, silencing all of the cries of pain and need that resonated within his heart. However, as he did so, his body began to tremble... and he slowly sank down to his knees.

Hair still billowing around, he struggled to breathe properly, heart starting to palpitate.

"Stop!" Amelia squeaked, eyes widening in fright when his head lolled. "P-P-Phil! Let go of the tree! It's enough!"

He couldn't even hear her.

He was lost in a blissfully green place... a place where he was beginning to forget everything.

All of his pain was melting away.

"Demon... stop!" Kirby rasped, clasping his blue robe with both hands and tugging; the act made Marty stiffen in shock. "Let... go!"

"Marty!" Amelia shrieked, flailing her arms. "Make him let go of the tree! Hurry!"

"I-I-I..." the old man stammered, shaking his head as he stared at the glowing boy. "I-I-I... b-but...!"

"IF YOU DON'T STOP HIM, HE COULD DIE!" the brunette screeched, clutching the window. "ALL MAGIC HAS A LIMIT, MARTY! STOP HIM!"

The old man sat frozen, but Kirby was frantically tugging now, looking terrified beyond belief.

"Demon! Don't... die!" he hoarsely called, speaking so loudly that his throat sounded as though it were ripping. "Let... go!"

"Fine! I'll do it!" a nearby woman suddenly cried, tucking a basket full of fruit under her arm before hurrying forward. "Divines, protect me..."

With hesitant eyes, she shakily gripped the hand holding the tree and pulled the boy away from it; almost immediately, the godly aura surrounding his body vanished and his long hair cascaded back down around his shoulders. However, when his eyes stopped glowing, the life in them seemed to disperse before they rolled back. Limply, he began to fall, but the woman caught him; however, his weight proved to be too much, and she eventually sank down to the ground. Kirby instantly tried to crawl over, but Marty grabbed the child and prevented him from doing so.

"Is... is it all right?!" the old man croaked, watching as the woman patted the unconscious boy's arm. "What... what did it just do?!"

"Hang on," Amelia squeaked, disappearing from the window; within a few moments, she came running around the corner and hastened over to his side, kneeling beside him and patting his cheek. "Phil?! Phil, are you all right?! Wake up!"

"Phil?" the woman asked, furrowing her brows. "Who's Phil?"

"That's his name!" Amelia explained, patting his cheek. "Come on, Phil... wake up!"

She shook the boy's arm, but there was no response: he didn't even twitch.

"Is the... sprite... all right?" the woman whispered, watching as Amelia pressed an ear against his chest. "What did he just do?!"

Amelia listened for a moment, but then her expression twitched and she unexpectedly shrieked in terror.

Instantly pulling herself upright, she made an arcane gesture in the air and her hands began to glow gold.

With shaken eyes, she pressed them against his chest and started doing strange compressions.

"HIS HEART'S STOPPED!" the girl cried, shaking all over; once she finished the chest compressions, she pressed her lips against his own and gave the boy mouth to mouth resuscitation. Then she pulled away and continued. "BREATHE, XAPHILE! YOU CAN'T DIE!"

Kirby burst into tears when the girl continued trying to revive him.

However, when she breathed air into his lungs a second time, he coughed and she pulled back in surprise.

His face, which had gone bone white, flushed almost purple when he began to cough and hack as though he had lungs full of water.

Then he started breathing again, and his eyes slowly opened.

"Demon... okay?!" Kirby sniffled, looking at him. "Okay?"

His ears were ringing.

Slowly turning his head, he looked at the tree with glazed eyes.

Lifting a hand, he stretched out to it with a dazed expression, but instead of touching bark... someone caught his hand in their own.

"What were you thinking?!" Amelia whispered, making him turn his head; she was looking down at him with stunned eyes. "Why would you use that much magic all in one moment?! Even if you are a sprite, that was... that was too much! It nearly killed you!"

"Crying..." he rasped, voice coming out so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable. "All of the... plants... were crying."

She blinked, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

"That... that's no excuse," she stated quietly, pressing her forehead against his hand. "It was because of you that they started crying in the first place... and you need to understand! They'd be crying until they DIED if you had overdone yourself! You can't just... do things like that!"

He merely looked at her, feeling more exhausted than he had in several weeks.

"My first time..." he croaked, smiling in a dopey manner before looking at the tree with mellow eyes. "Magic... huh?"

It was indeed: where a withered husk had once stood, there was a beautiful young tree with gorgeous white flowers stemming off the branches.

It looked healthy, vibrant, and alive.

Strangely, though, the pulsing sensation he'd initially felt from it had vanished completely.

"Are you all right?" Amelia asked, drawing his gaze again. "You aren't hurting anywhere, right?"

The boy's pointed ears twitched a bit when he blinked.

Then, after a moment of thinking about it, he hesitantly shook his head.

"Just tired," he told her, slowly sitting up and groggily rubbing his face. "And strangely hungry."

Amelia blinked, then her tense expression relaxed and she laughed a little.

"Well, that's a relief!" she sighed, standing up and holding out a hand. "You nearly scared the life right out of me..."

Everyone in the marketplace watched as he took her hand in his own, allowing her to pull him upright.

"Why?" Marty whispered, looking up at him in disbelief. "My tree is hardly worth your life... so, why would you do such a thing?"

Xaphile slowly turned his head and looked down at him.

Then, reaching inside the robe, he pulled out the golden locket and carefully held it up.

"Because I understand you better than anyone else probably can," he stated quietly, tapping the locket. "I also have a memento. And I would be devastated if anybody destroyed it before my eyes. I refuse to be the one who forces that situation on someone else."

So saying, he turned his eyes on Kirby and gave a little wave before turning to look at Amelia.

Her eyes were soft behind her glasses and she was smiling.

"Let's go eat," she sighed, leading the way back to her home; as she passed, everyone who'd been watching knelt down, lowering their heads. "Breakfast is waiting."

Xaphile merely lifted his hand and stared at it, thinking back to how he'd disappeared into the land of green.

How all of his pain had faded away... how his heart had lightened from its burdens.

His hand closed and balled into a fist.

It was decided.

When the time finally came and he'd seen his Ella one last time, that's how it would happen.

He would let himself fade into that world of green until he completely disappeared.

With new resolve, he lifted his eyes to the sky and sighed, not even realizing that Ella had been watching him from the edge of the marketplace the whole time.

14: Chapter 13: Stars

Chapter Thirteen: Stars

Over the next few days, Ella kept a very close and watchful eye on Amelia Von Dolan's home.

Ever since the incident concerning Marty Crawford's tree, fear and unrest had spread throughout the village.

Ella, like everyone else in town that day, had been stunned by the strength of Xaphile's magic: with one touch of his hand, every single plant within a forty kilometer radius had become vibrant with life and bloom.

It was a very bad omen, and one she thoroughly hated since it was just one more annoying thing to keep her from lodging an arrow between his pathetic shoulders.

She didn't trust him. While it was true that they'd made a bargain, it didn't mean Amelia was safe from him, and she knew all too well that trusting the inhumane was dangerous.

The proof had been engraved into her own flesh.

Every day since she'd witnessed him using magic, she had lounged on a rooftop that towered above the marketplace, grumpily observing Amelia's home. She had chosen her perch because it had a perfect view of the entrance and windows, but for the most part, all of the curtains were drawn throughout the day. It was actually rather boring, since the horned devil stayed indoors more than she would have expected from a woodland creature.

Nonetheless, he did come outside for a few minutes each day... even if it was only so he could wash the supper dishes and help Amelia with the laundry.

More often than not, though, the clumsy idiot mucked everything up, and Amelia was forced to come over and guide him through the simple processes. Each time, however, the albino would scowl at the brunette's behavior: the herbalist didn't even seem to care that he wasn't a human like her. Instead of firmly reprimanding him for his blatantly stupidity, she simply laughed.

She treated him as though he were like any other inexperienced young man, and it irritated her, every time.

She knew why it irritated her, too... and that's exactly why she was watching him.

She saw herself in Amelia.

She feared that the naive girl would make the same mistake she had ten years ago.

However, for five whole days, nothing changed.

Then came the morning of the sixth.

Waking up early like she always did, she headed for the practice area in the northernmost part of the village. Pausing at the gateway, the pale girl greeted one of the guards.

As she was strapping on her practice sword, the man grinned mischievously at the extremely vexed expression on Ella's face. His green eyes began to twinkle as he eyed the girl up and down.

"Come to show 'em how it's done, eh?" he asked, winking. "Don't be too hard on 'em!"

"I'll try to behave," Ella grumpily replied, "but I'm in a very foul mood and I want to get it out of me."

"Sounds to me," the guard chuckled, eyes twinkling, "like somebody's gonna get his head whacked."

"It won't be me," Ella answered with an amused snort.

"I never thought it would be," the guard chortled, shaking his head. "Go easy on 'em: you don't need to kill."

"Probably not," Ella agreed as she stepped through the gate and headed for the practice lines.

There were several men working with their practice swords, but all of them were much older than she.

Angelo was standing off to one side, showing the two youngest men - a set of twins in their late teens - how to duel with the dull one-edged swords.

He was the one who'd saved her life when she'd made the big mistake ten years ago. It was no surprise that those events had led to her current life... the life of a warrior rather than a true countess.

Back then, after her leg had finally healed, she had forced Angelo, captain of the guard, to train her in swordplay.

The man had been very reluctant to agree in letting her battle the other warriors at first, and Ella knew deep down that the knight had only relented because he'd believed she would do badly.

Then he could convince her not to continue.

Only, it hadn't worked out like that: she had beaten all of the novice trainees hands down.

By simply dancing.

Ella's fuchsia eyes scanned the ranks of men and lighted on a noble named Olaf Grunwald.

Perfect, she thought to herself.

Olaf was the middle aged son of her late father's advisor, and because of that he believed he was better bred than everyone else in Chisago aside from Ella, who he'd constantly been flirting with since the previous year.

"Well, well!" the man drawled as she approached, speaking in an oily tone and smirking widely. "If it isn't our lovely Countess. Come to accept my hand? Or my rightful place as your advisor?"

"I shall never marry... and if you want to advise me in any regard," Ella stated calmly, raising an eyebrow at the man's arrogance, "let your sword do the talking."

The swords didn't have points and their edges were deliberately dulled so they couldn't draw blood, but they could and did leave bruises. The idea was to become proficient with real swords without killing people, but hurting them was another matter entirely.

Angelo felt that the bruises were a wonderful incentive to make all of the men and women in the barracks become better fighters.

It was actually a very good tactic to use, since it made them tolerant to copious amounts of pain and actually ended up enhancing their reflexes in the long run.

With a scornful sigh, Olaf raised his practice sword and lunged: Ella twisted slightly to avoid the thrust, whipping her sword in response and batting Olaf's aside with casual ease. The man's style was all arrogance, so Ella had generally gone very easy on him in the past.

However, today she simply didn't care.

Olaf was slightly overbalanced from his thrust, so she whacked him hard on his left arm with her own blade as she spun about. The man grimaced in pain, but he was too proud to cry out; instead he attacked the girl again, this time with anger to add to his arrogance.

Despite this fact, the man's anger couldn't match the anger inside Ella's heart, and she began to fight back with all of her strength and skill. Olaf never managed to touch her once with his blade, but Ella tapped him another three times in rapid succession.

The other men had grown silent, watching this fight.

They knew that although Ella was the youngest out of all the warriors AND a female to boot, she was still the best fighter in the entire town. They also knew that Olaf was going to get a beating he would remember painfully for days.

The albino girl was deliberately going for places that would hurt him, trying to provoke the man into continuing the fight. Angelo tensed, obviously aware of what was happening, but Ella knew better than to take her eyes off Olaf.

The thought of Angelo being disappointed in her stung a bit, though, and despite her resolve, she did glance at him momentarily.

It was then that she caught sight of Olaf's blade flicking toward her face and barely avoided the thrust.

That had been a dirty blow... not actually illegal since anything fighters did to win was okay... but the soldiers were warned not to go for the face since it was always possible to blind one another accidentally, even with practice swords.

Olaf obviously wanted to hurt her rather than win fairly, which he had probably guessed he couldn't do.

The teen's rage instantly erupted.

She whirled around, parrying his next attack with the ferocity of a lion before countering with a heavy blow to his stomach, leaving him wheezing and gasping. The girl then tapped his sword arm, then slapped him against the side of his neck. After that, she stabbed him with the dulled point of the blade and twisted it painfully.

If the swords had been real, Olaf would be dead, and everyone knew it; as it was, he would now be sore whenever he breathed.

"It's over," Angelo said flatly, starting toward them. "This fight has been decided."

Ella nodded and dropped her practice sword to the ground, lowering her eyes. She was just starting to turn away when Olaf snarled and lunged for her with his own sword upraised... aiming for her face.

She saw it coming out of the corner of her eye.

When Olaf tried to hit her, she instinctively moved to one side, brought her hands up, and gripped the man's wrist after the blow missed.

Then, she whirled around and used her grip to throw the man over her shoulder, slamming him heavily onto the ground. Before she released his wrist, she twisted it sharply to the right and purposely cracked it.

She felt grimly satisfied when the man let out a thin cry of pain.

After that, Ella kicked him in the fork of the legs, feeling even more satisfied when he screeched like a young woman.

"Sorry, but you won't be needing those," she sneered. "Only men are worthy enough to have them."

"Nicely done," Angelo irritably admitted. "It's unfortunate that his wrist is broken... he'll be useless for weeks."

"He's been useless all his life," Ella grumpily countered, not feeling at all bothered by what she'd done. "The reason I will never marry is simple: there isn't a man alive who could win my heart if he can't even best me in combat."

"But my lady," Olaf wheezed, clutching himself. "My father served yours! Out of everyone here, am I not the most logical choice?"

"No," she hissed, leering down at his weasle-like face in disgust. "I don't want a coward who would purposely attempt to strike me unawares as my husband."

So saying, she turned and stalked off, cloak billowing behind her.

After that, the pale girl stopped by the tavern to ask Drake if he'd heard any news about powerful magic users.

Unfortunately, like always, he hadn't heard anything, so she reluctantly headed to the market to observe Amelia's home once again.

However, on her way there, she actually bumped into Amelia herself and the brunette lost her balance. Stumbling, the bespectacled girl dropped several wrapped parcels and would have fallen over had Ella not steadied her.

"Deepest apologies," Amelia shyly murmured, giving Ella a startled glance and bowing with clasped hands. "I was not looking where I was going."

"No need to apologize," the albino smoothly explained, squatting down and picking her things up. "It was my fault."

Amelia, looking very flustered, knelt down as well and shakily helped pick the packages up.

"Here you go," Ella sighed, dropping the rest in her arms. "Those are all pretty soft and light... what exactly did you buy today?"

"Oh, it's nothing much," she mumbled, giving her a smile. "I had some clothes made for Phil, that's all."

Ella's eyebrow twitched, but she kept the irritation off her face.

However, now was as good of a time as any to get information about what had been going on with the creature inside the house, so she latched onto the topic.

"Speaking of that horned furball," she slyly drawled, making a good show of folding her arms and looking up in wide-eyed curiosity. "Has he been causing you any problems?"

"Oh, no, not at all!" Amelia murmured, looking just as surprised by her question as Ella felt by her response. "In fact, quite the opposite! I'm actually rather... surprised by how quiet and gentlemanly he is. His table manners are exquisite, he's extremely polite, and while he is a tad awkward and clumsy... he's very refined! It's hard to believe he's a forest creature. "

"Uh-huh..." Ella drawled, eyes growing half-lidded in disbelief. "Well, if there's anything about him that worries you... tell me. It's important."

Amelia's smile faltered a bit, instantly catching her attention... but instead of pointing it out, Ella let the moment of silence draw on. She felt triumph flare in her breast when the brunette finally sighed and awkwardly fiddled with one of her braids.

"Well... there are a few things about him that have begun to worry me," she finally admitted, shifting the packages and looking at Ella with a solemn expression. "Will you walk with me, my Lady? There are things I wish to tell you, and many more things I wish to ask."

"But of course," the silver-haired girl soothed, giving a look of feigned surprise. "If you wish to converse, by all means. What troubles you, Amelia?"

"Oh, don't misunderstand, please..." she instantly protested, eyes widening in a flash. "It's not that I'm troubled by Phil himself, really... he's a sweetheart. It's just..."

"Go on," Ella coaxed, biting back her rising irritation. "What is it?"

"I'm worried about his sense of self," Amelia weakly admitted, hefting the packages. "I'm afraid that he might be... very ill in the mind, Lady Ella."

The albino froze and her expression turned extremely dangerous.

"Ill?" she stated lowly, making the brunette turn and look at her. "What do you mean, ill?"

Amelia turned bone white when she realized just how pissed off she looked.

"Do not fear... it's not as though he's going mad or anything, really!" she squawked, frantically shaking her head; then she looked at the ground uncomfortably. "It's just... as each day passes, he becomes more distant. He hardly eats anything, even now, and all he really ever does is sleep. Day and night, he almost never opens his eyes."

Ella tilted her head and regarded her with furrowed brows.

"How does that make him ill in the mind?" she snorted, folding her arms. "Don't make me worry for you over nothing."

"Well, I don't know how else to explain it," Amelia helplessly sighed, hefting her parcels. "He seems to be extremely unhappy... and I'm afraid it could be my fault."

"Don't blame yourself over his actions," Ella muttered, giving her a somewhat pensive expression. "I think he's simply trying to lure you into getting close to him."

"Lure me?" the taller girl asked, blinking rapidly in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Look..." the paler of the two sighed, rubbing her nose. "What I did to that creature was uncalled for, but he still cannot be fully trusted since he isn't human. If he's unhappy, let him stay that way: he'll eventually give up the act and try another tactic. Just watch."

Amelia froze, halting in her tracks.

"What are you saying?" she asked, face growing distraught. "If he's trying to lure me into trusting him, why would he avoid contact with me so much? Shouldn't it be the other way around? It makes no sense!"

"It makes quite a bit of sense if you consider the circumstances," Ella countered, tilting her head back with a sigh. "At this point, we still only think of him as a beast waiting to strike. Sprite or not, he probably knows we won't ever fully trust him. So, he's acting pitiful and righteous to gain the sympathy of others."

"That isn't true at all," Amelia immediately retorted, making her mouth twitch. "I can assure you... that isn't what he's doing."

"Oh?" Ella sweetly asked, giving her an innocent expression. "Then what do you think he's doing?"

"I'm not fully sure, but he definitely isn't trying to gain sympathy," the brunette explained. "Plus, even if he was, I highly doubt he'd be able to pull off that horrible expression if he were only acting."

"What horrible expression?" Ella asked, giving her a look. "Explain."

"It's a look I see in his eyes now and then," Amelia mumbled, hefting her things yet again as they walked down the cobblestone streets. "Every time I see it, it's almost like something unpleasant cuts me clean down into the soul. I truly think something terrible happened to that boy. Plus, he himself said that he's lost all memory of being a sprite. Until the incident a few days ago, he didn't even know how to use his magic."

Her eyes darkened again.

"Preposterous..." she snorted. "I don't believe it."

"Regardless, I truly am worried for him, Ella..." Amelia murmured. "I fear that he is on the brink of letting himself waste away."

The albino frowned as something occurred to her. If the boy's story was true and he really had somehow taken his own life, there were things that needed to be discussed. And there were also several ways to find out if he was lying about everything, too.

"I'll be dropping by your home to chat with him tonight, then," Ella stated firmly. "At the moment, however, I still have much to do, so I must take my leave. Thank you for sharing this information with me."

"Oh, no, not at all," Amelia humbly sighed, watching as the white-haired girl nodded and whisked away. "Thank you."

Thus, hefting the packages, she happily hastened through the marketplace and all but ran to her house. There was no denying that she was excited: all of the clothes she'd had made for Xaphile had finally been finished, and she was genuinely eager to do something that might brighten his mood, if only for a few moments.

Upon entering her home, he was in his usual place by the fire, leaning against the mantle with his head resting lightly.

Ever since that first night, he'd offered to help with household tasks, but after going through everything and cleaning her whole home completely from top to bottom, there really hadn't been anything else for him to do. In the end, he'd taken to sitting in that spot with his eyes closed, looking tired and more than a little melancholy. It had become his regular resting spot.

When she gently set the parcels on her kitchen counter, though, his sleepy teal eyes flicked open and he looked at her.

Then, with a yawn, he unfolded himself from the floor and cracked his neck.

"Shopping again?" he rasped, voice coming out a little hoarse. "Want me to put anything away?"

"Actually, yes!" she exclaimed, turning around and handing him one of the packages. "This is yours! Once you open it, I want you to take the others and put them in the trunk you and I moved into your room day before yesterday."

"For me?" he asked, blinking at it in detached confusion; lifting his clawed hand, the boy hesitantly took the parcel and carefully opened it up, blinking when his eyes fell upon some sort of black cloth. "Huh?"

Pulling out the dark fabric, he held it up and gently shook it out... but then, his mouth dropped and he did a double take.

It was the closest thing to a modern-day hoodie that he'd seen since waking up in Aerika. The shirt still had that bizarre medieval flare to it, but it was something he could see himself wearing. The fabric was thin and cool to the touch, like a strange mixture of cotton and silk... and all across the sleeves, shoulders, and hood, strange vines and flowers had been embroidered with shiny silver thread. It was actually really cool looking rather than girly.

Then there were the pants he'd been given.

Brows furrowing, he held them up and tilted his head since they were also black, but had a strange shape. To his modernized eyes, they actually looked like something he could picture on a pirate, since they flared out in a loose manner, but looked very tight near the ankles. To think of this as a regular every day outfit was unreal.

"Do you like them?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back with a huge grin. "I chose quite a few different clothing styles that I thought were simple, but still flashy. Everything I had made for you is designed for comfort and easy movement, and the tailor was even kind enough to design a hole in the leggings for your tail!"

"I don't know what to say," he stated quietly, giving her a stunned look. "They look awesome. Thank you."

"Well, after you put them on," she kindly murmured, shaking her head with a grin, "please fold up my father's robe and set it in here on the counter. Now that you have clothes of your own, including undergarments, there's no need for you to wear something that doesn't fit you."

Xaphile looked down at the azure outfit resting on his lean frame and sighed.

"Thank you," he murmured, slinking off down the hall towards the washroom. "This is... more than I could have asked for."

When he disappeared, tail flicking out of sight, Amelia pointedly returned to her duties.

But when he came back into the room, she turned... and her jaw dropped in startled shock.

For the first time that she'd seen, his long black hair had been tied back into a ponytail to keep it out of his face.

It was actually kind of intimidating for her to realize just how much a simple change of clothes could alter someone's appearance. Instead of looking goofy and relaxed like he had while wearing her father's old clothes, his new attire literally made him look like the essence of darkness.

The shirt clung tightly to his upper torso.

A sharp v-shaped swath of cloth stretched down below his pectorals, greatly revealing the long stretch of black fur on his pale skin. It then loosened near the waist and hung down to his lower thighs. The sleeves, much like the robes he'd been wearing until this point, stretched past his hands in a flared manner before hanging loosely. The pants also fit perfectly.

Tail flicking around, he carefully pulled his hood up and hid the horns on his head, teal eyes gleaming like a cat's.

"How do I look?" he asked, shaking the shirt out and looking at himself. "They feel extremely comfortable!"

"You look... rather dashing, actually," Amelia told him, feeling heavily amazed. "Those clothes really do suit you."

"Thanks," he murmured, eyes unexpectedly mellowing out. "I really do appreciate you giving them to me."

It wasn't exactly a smile, but at least it had taken the emptiness away for a few moments.

Letting out a small sigh, he then returned to the fireplace and sat down again before slowly staring off into space.

He did this so often that it was unnerving: he always seemed to be looking off at something distant that she couldn't see.

Amelia took note of his taciturn mood and kept an observant eye on him while she ground up several herbs for her poultices. In truth, Xaphile hadn't exactly left her home for real since he'd used his magic to restore Marty's tree. She'd spotted Kirby sitting near the now-empty cage several times, but aside from that, the little boy hadn't visited them.

Amelia had come and gone during the week, since she constantly did trade with people outside of the safety of her home, but she and Xaphile only ever really conversed with each other during mealtimes.

Which, it should be noted, he now prepared of his own volition.

In his own words, he had repetitively told her that he didn't feel comfortable sitting back and doing nothing.

Nor did he feel comfortable living off of her for free: he'd actually demanded that she give him some sort of set task, so she, ever lacking good ideas, had spontaneously decided to give him the duty of making their meals since she hated cooking.

Truthfully, out of everything so far, she had been the most surprised to discover that he was excellent at it. Everything he made seemed to taste delicious, particularly the things he'd made with eggs. The young man seemed to be a genius with eggs.

While she worked, time seemed to fly by as it always did... she had gotten nearly sixteen remedies ground up and mixed into several small containers when Xaphile finally stood up and sighed.

She blinked and turned to look at him, then glanced at the window in surprise: the late afternoon sun was shining into the kitchen, alerting her that it was getting dark.

"Oh, dear," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I lost track of the hour... is it time to make supper already?"

"Yes," he stated quietly, not meeting her gaze. "I'll get started if you want me to."

"By all means, Phil," she yawned, putting her medicines away with a sigh. "There's a basket of freshly bought eggs, herbs. and vegetables in the basket over near the bread oven."

That was all it took.

Walking over to the sheet of metal he'd asked for on his second day of kitchen duty, he gripped it and headed over to the fireplace. Setting the sheet across the flames with the help of four metal pegs he'd driven into the wall several days ago with her permission, he headed back over to the basket and began to pull things out of it.

Seven eggs, a myriad of vegetables, and various spices.

Using the counter, he began chopping up the plants with deft movements, mesmerizing her like always. His tail gently flicked back and forth as he worked, occasionally brushing against the wall behind him.

Once he was done chopping, he grabbed a second thin sheet of metal and a huge handful of pickled olives resting in a nearby jar before heading over to the fireplace again. Squatting down, he held his hand above the makeshift oven tray and crushed the olives, dripping their oily juices onto the heated metal.

Once it had been coated, he skillfully cracked the eggs across the top of it... then he sat back and waited, wrapping his arms around his knees with watchful teal eyes.

His actions never ceased to amaze the girl.

Until that point, she had never before seen food prepared in such a manner, so it was actually rather interesting to watch.

Eventually, he stood up and added the vegetables, then began to push the eggs around with the second sheet of metal.

He did this for nearly fifteen minutes.

Then, donning her oven mitts, he pulled the metal sheet out of the fireplace and carried it to the kitchen counter.

After another seven minutes of letting it cool down, he carefully took two of her china plates out of a nearby cupboard and piled them both high with even portions of food before setting them down at her kitchen table.

Amelia, wide-eyed with wonder, immediately started clapping without thinking. She couldn't even help it: watching him cook felt similar to the time she'd seen a street performer's most impressive act.

"Why do you always start clapping?" he muttered, face turning red. "All I did was make dinner."

"Like I've said before: it's impressive no matter how often I see it!" she told him honestly. "It's so unorthodox... it really is."

"Whatever," he mumbled, letting out a huff before carefully sitting down. "It's scrambled eggs... nothing special."

"I beg to differ," she sighed, popping it into her mouth and crooning in delight. "It's very special! And utterly delicious!"

He didn't respond to her enthusiasm, instead choosing to eat. His eyes were listless, and he didn't seem to have much energy.

Glancing at the clawed hand resting on the table, Amelia took note of the unpleasant emotions resting behind his irises. Then, ever so slightly, she set her hand on his and gently squeezed, trying to offer him reassurance. She felt uncertain about it for a moment, but when his eyes merely flicked up to stare at her, she relaxed and squeezed again.

"If there's anything I can do to lessen the weight of whatever is causing your sadness," she murmured. "Just tell me, okay? I understand that your first impression of our village was horrible and disgraceful, but still..."

He instantly tensed.

"Thanks for the offer, but it's nothing," he stated quietly, closing his eyes. "Don't worry about me."

With that, he pulled his hand out of hers and continued eating. However, as he did so, the horned boy became more and more abstracted, eating mechanically with his slanted eyes fixed unseeingly on the wall. Amelia had an uncomfortable feeling that while Xaphile's body might have been there at the table, his spirit was far away in some remote place. The lack of expression in his eyes gave her that impression.

When the meal ended, however, he came out of his reverie and stood up to wash the dishes.

"Thank you for the food," Amelia murmured, watching as he stood up and carefully cracked his back. "Still, after you're finished, would you like to take a stroll with me? I'm sure it would be a nice change from sitting around all day... especially since it's going to be a clear night! The stars are always brightest this time of year!"

The boy thought about it with a frown.

He hadn't really done anything aside from sit around and do chores... a little excursion would be a nice distraction.

"Do you really want me to come?" the boy droned as he collected the dishes. "People in this town seem scared of me."

"Not anymore!" Amelia exclaimed, beaming at him. "In fact, today people asked about how you were doing."

"Eh?" Xaphile asked, looking mildly surprised. "People were asking about me?"

"Yes, so it's definitely fine," Amelia explained, folding her arms. "Will you come?"

"Fine, I guess I'll go with you," he grumbled, then he shook his head and brought the plates over to the tray. "Time to get to the dishes."

Letting out a huff, the boy set them down on top of the tray and lifted the board into his arms. Ignoring Amelia's gaze, Xaphile hefted the dishes outside and over to a small section of grass. Then he went back indoors and grabbed a bucket before heading over to a nearby water pump at the edge of the cobblestone street. With several powerful strokes, he began pumping water into it, face tight with concentration.

Until two days ago, the boy hadn't fully realized just how far behind in technological development the world he'd ended up in really was. It was mostly little things, but it was a big deal to him. For example, there were no electrical outlets in the walls of Amelia's home, and all of the lights within came either from oil lamps or candles. Foods that were quick to expire also couldn't be kept for a long time, since they hadn't invented a refrigerator yet.

Which also, once again, ran on electricity.

There wasn't even any running water in the kitchen: no sink, no faucet, nothing. Washing the dishes was a pretty big chore in comparison to how it had been back home: he had to pump the water himself and wash them in a bucket outside. There were two places he could get clean water: the pump, and a nearby well that he was way too scared to approach since it was nearly identical to the well he'd seen in the movie 'The Ring'.

There were also no modern vehicles, and no modern bathrooms: everything was horse-pulled, and there were outhouses instead of toilets.

Even the bath in Amelia's washroom was unusual: according to her, the aqueduct pulled water from an underground well, where it was sent to a magical basin somewhere within her home.

After being heated to a set temperature, it roared down a wooden contraption that had been built into the wall and automatically filled the tub.

It was a bizarre combination of practical science and real-life magic.

"I wish I was a genius with cars and modern things like other guys my own age..." the boy grumbled as he scrubbed. "If I knew how it all worked, maybe I could find a way to give these folks a hand with new-age conveniences. Such as a working toilet, for example... and indoor plumbing."

However, there were also other things that tried to eat away at him, and each time, he felt the cold creeps crawling across his flesh: he'd been in one shit storm after another since showing up in wherever the hell this was, so there hadn't exactly been any time to think.

There had been no time to ask the basic questions.

Even after a week, the poor guy was desperately holding onto a philosophy that belonged to an entirely different world.

That's what he believed this place was, truth be told: an alternate reality that was different from his own, but similar enough to greatly resemble it.

"Phil," Amelia called, making the boy pause in his scrubbing. "Is it all right if I bring your metal tray out?"

"Sure!" he called back, tail thumping against the grass. "I'll be done soon!"

She instantly swept outside and gracefully set it on the grass, then grinned at him and walked back inside. True to his word, he started scrubbing with all his might, thinking about everything that had happened.

He could still remember the feeling of his father's heart medication dulling his body's movements... even more, though, he remembered the bullet.

The momentary agony that had roared through his body.

He robotically continued washing the plates with a somewhat glazed look in his eyes.

Eventually, though he had nothing left to scrub, so he just sat there on his knees.

Staring off into space.

Finally, he stood up and carried the tray inside, setting the clean dishes on the table. Once he finished putting them away, he walked over to the fireplace and slid to the ground again. The sun had already slipped below the horizon, and the first stars were winking into existence.

When Amelia came into the room, glasses off and braids undone, she was smiling. Humming a little tune, she gently brushed her glossy brown hair, then smoothed the front of her rich brown dress. It was an old-fashioned high-collar sort of gown.

Blue eyes bright, she looked at him.

"I'm ready to go," she sighed, clasping her hands. "Are you?"

Wordlessly, he stood up and stalked towards the front door, not meeting her eyes.

By the time they started along the road, the sun had slid below the horizon and twilight had descended upon Chisago. Xaphile lifted his eyes to the sky, truly looking at it for the first time since he'd awoken in the forest. There were different stars in wherever this was.

There was no North Star... the big dipper was gone, and instead of seeing just a myriad of dots in the sky, it was almost as if the heavens had opened their doors and unleashed their splendor.

The dark, night sky was full of light and color... flecks of green, distant galaxies...

It was beautiful, but in a cold, lonely way.

This world had a moon, too, but it was larger and much paler than the one he was used to.

Loose strands of his jet black hair were sticking out of the hood, and they drifted around in the wind as he walked.

"Where am I?" Xaphile abruptly asked, gazing up at the stars without even realizing that Amelia had glanced back at him. "This place... isn't where I was born and raised."

"Well, that may be so," the brunette murmured, primly folding her hands, "but Aerika is a truly beautiful land, if you can just look past the dangers it holds. I'm sure you'll come to see that, as well."

"Answer me," he quietly told her, not lowering his eyes. "The name of this country is called Aerika, right? What about this world?"

"Eh?" Amelia murmured, halting and turning around to face him with wide eyes. "The... name of this... world?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "Tell me."

"Atlas," she told him, smiling a little. "This world's name is Atlas. Do all woodland sprites not know about that? Or is it yet another unfortunate aftereffect of your memory loss?"

He didn't respond; merely looked into the abyss of beauty resting so high above him.

Slowly lifting his clawed hands, he took his hood off, revealing the horns sticking out of his skull.

A cold wind swept through the street, but he didn't notice.

Long black hair billowing around like a cloud of shadow, he gazed at the sky with eyes that reflected the stars above.

Slowly lifting his arm, he stretched his clawed fingers out to them, wondering if the planet he'd been born and raised on was hidden somewhere among those distant galaxies.

For a long moment, he held his hand out, praying someone would take it... someone from the real world, anyone.

His arm trembled as he held it out to the sky.

Glitter and diamonds... that's what these stars looked like to his yearning eyes.

They were so cold.

Unfamiliar.

And he was here, alone.

The only one who didn't know them.

Slowly lowering his hand, Xaphile Heseroph shivered and continued staring at the sky with a bleak expression.

For the first time, he truly wanted to go home.

To Connie... to the world.

His world.

This place... this wasn't even the same planet he'd been born and raised on.

It was obvious.

He didn't know how, or why, things had become so warped and strange... he didn't even understand his body, or how Ella was still alive in wherever this was. He didn't even want to know.

The one thing he did know, even without any set fact to go with, was the situation he'd ended up in was a permanent one.

He'd felt it upon waking up for the first time after putting his father's pistol against his head. This was his new reality until he could end things all over again.

All he could really do at this point was roll with whatever came his way.

"Phil?" Amelia asked, tilting her head. "Are you all right?"

At the sound of her voice, his teal eyes finally fell and landed on the dirt.

He didn't want to raise them to the sky again.

If he lifted his eyes, he would see things that made him unbearably sad.

When he started walking down the cobblestone path again and moved past Amelia, he didn't notice how intensely the girl was looking at him. He kept his eyes trained on the ground even when she hefted her skirts and trotted up again.

"Are you all right?" Amelia suddenly asked, making him turn his head. "What are you thinking about?"

"Don't worry about it," he stated simply. "It's nothing."

"But whenever you say that, I only worry more," she sighed, moving forward and setting a hand on his arm. "Look, Phil... I really do understand that you're probably... very mistrusting of me. After all, I'm a human, and the people of this village did some pretty terrible things to you. I'm sure you have your own share of fears, as well... but I swear, I won't betray your trust. If something is troubling you, then... you can tell me. I promise."

He blinked and looked at her, startled in more ways than one.

"I'll admit that your friendliness is strange," he stated quietly, looking at her with large, unblinking eyes, "but you're one of the only three people in this town who showed me kindness of any sort. I've already gotten more than I can ask for."

For a long moment, the strangest expression seemed to flash through her eyes.

Slowly turning, she gazed up at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, frowning. "You keep saying that, but why?"

In an instant, it happened.

Teal eyes mellowing into puddles of aquamarine, he gave a weak grin, shrugging awkwardly.

Her face went slack.

"That's how it is," he croaked, shaking his head. "I'm just grateful not to be locked in a cage anymore. At the very least, I should handle my own problems without any outside help... that's how I've always done things. Plus, even if I did explain half the crap eating away at me, there's no way you would be able to understand it."

She bristled, looking a little upset by the last part.

"And just why ever not?" she quietly demanded, folding her hands. "What would make you think I couldn't understand?"

"Simple," he stated just as softly, teal eyes saddening immensely. "I don't even understand most of it myself. And if you really must know... that's actually what's been bothering me. The fact that I can't seem to understand anything. I mean, this world for one thing... I don't know anything about it. What is magic? And this strange power I suddenly seem to have? What are the names of the cities around here? The countries? I don't know anything about this place."

Her eyes flashed with recognition, and her face softened into a sympathetic expression.

"Well, if that's all it is, I can definitely help you," she stated firmly, stepping forward. "I have a great many boo-"

She stopped talking and let out a squeak when her shoe caught on an uneven cobblestone.

Flailing, she tried to catch her balance, but instead she fell forward. However, before she could hit the ground, a set of strong arms caught her. Tendrils of dark hair billowed around her like a cloud as she was carefully pulled upright. Lifting her eyes, she blinked at Xaphile with a startled expression, then backed away and bowed.

"T-thank you..." she stammered, looking at him. "That would have been a nasty fall..."

"No problem," he muttered, dragging his hood up with a sigh. "Just watch your step."

Amelia blinked and fiddled with her thumbs, mentally scolding herself for purposely leaving her glasses behind. They actually hurt her eyes quite a bit, and it felt nice to not wear them once in a while. But because she was blind as a bat without them, accidents like the one she had almost had occurred quite frequently.

"I apologize," she sighed, turning and heading back towards her home. "Let us return home... we've had a nice walk, and I'm sure Lady Ella will be arriving soon."

He froze in his tracks.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, furrowing his brows. "What is she... coming for?"

"She wants to discuss something with you," Amelia explained, not turning around. "I'm not sure what, exactly. She'll be arriving at any time, so we should probably head back now."

Xaphile lowered his eyes to the dirt, expression growing hollow from the inside out.

He didn't want to deal with the doppelganger.

But in the end, it apparently didn't matter.

After all, these days, he never got what he wanted