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<p>Cass has nightmares, so she avoids sleeping altogether. </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/parasomnia">Parasomnia, a short story about Cass</a></b> </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/beloved-of-the-moon">Beloved of the Moon, a novel</a></b> </p>
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<p>Chandra comes from a long line of prophets, and she was called at a young age. </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/hello-traveler">Hello Traveler, an excerpt about Chandra</a></b> </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/hello-traveler">Hello Traveler, novel</a></b> </p>
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<ul>
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<li><b>role:</b> stalker </li>
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<li><b>age:</b> ancient </li>
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<li><b>mental:</b> brutish, stubborn, simple-minded </li>
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<li><b>physical:</b> tall, well-built, starry </li>
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<li><b>height:</b> 5'10 </li>
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<li><b>style:</b> ghosts don't wear clothes tbh </li>
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<li><b>residence:</b> far from home </li>
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<li><b>likes:</b> dreams, novelty, silence </li>
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<li><b>dislikes:</b> attachments, familiarity, animals </li>
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</ul>
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<p>Tall, imposing, and sinister. </p>
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Chandrakant | means <i>beloved of the moon</i> | incubus♂
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<p>Chandrakant is an incubus. </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/beloved-of-the-moon">Beloved of the Moon, a novel</a></b> </p>
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<ul>
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<li><b>role:</b> dream-catcher </li>
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<li><b>age:</b> ageless </li>
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<li><b>birthday:</b> birthday-less </li>
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<li><b>mental:</b> silly, flirtatious, noncommittal </li>
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<li><b>physical:</b> whimsical, constantly shifting between forms </li>
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<li><b>height:</b> 5'8 </li>
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<li><b>style:</b> playful, adorned in plenty of colors and patterns </li>
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<li><b>residence:</b> Cass's apartment </li>
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<li><b>likes:</b> girls, jokes, snacks </li>
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<li><b>dislikes:</b> ghosts, accountability, commitment </li>
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</ul>
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<p>Funwa is a baku. </p>
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Funwa | means <i>dockman</i> | baku♂
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<p>Not much he'll reveal. Don't worry about it. </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/beloved-of-the-moon">Beloved of the Moon, a novel</a></b> </p>
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<p>She's been fighting her whole life against God, though she keeps her struggle close to her chest. </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/hello-traveler">Hello Traveler, novel</a></b> </p>
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<p>Trace would rather not talk about herself. Her past is characterized by long stretches of silence, loneliness, and darkness, and she has grown comfortable with solitude, treating her interactions with others as a practice in balancing connection and distance. </p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/the-castle">The Castle</a></b> </p>
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<p></p>
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<p>Pilot, fighter, and Chandra's protector.</p>
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<p><b><a href="/story/hello-traveler">Hello Traveler, novel</a></b> </p>
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<!--230519-->
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<h1>✧☽ Beloved of the Moon☽✧ </h1>
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#cass #chandrakant #funwa<br>
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<br>
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<p>His strange draw to the girl was revolting. She had encountered curiosities and delicacies before, but she had no such traits. She felt like poison to him, deep and seeping, and cast a heavy blanket of dread over him whenever he drew too near. Yet he kept returning, finding his errands and meetings strangely placing him in her path again and again. What sort of girl was this?</p>
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<h2>Chapters </h2>
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<ul>
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<li><b><a href="/story/beloved-of-the-moon-1">1 ｡･ﾟ★ﾟ The Night's Claim ﾟ★･｡</a></b> </li>
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<li><b><a href="/story/beloved-of-the-moon-2">2 ｡･ﾟ* Waking to Shadows *ﾟ･｡</a></b> </li>
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<li><b><a href="/story/beloved-of-the-moon-3">3 ･｡･ﾟ Dream-catcher ﾟ･｡･</a></b> </li>
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</ul>
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<!--230519-->
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<h1>Beloved of the Moon - Chapter 1 . The Night's Claim </h1>
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#cass #chandrakant #funwa<br>
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<br>
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<p>Silver, predatory eyes burned in the dark, locked with hers. She froze as prey without escape. All was dark, motionless, and silent, as though the world ceased to exist outside of the glint of sinister intelligence before her. He stepped forward and paused, breaking eye contact to look over her body with unnerving possession. In turn, she examined him. His form was darker than night, only visible as a silhouette in front of her moonlit bedroom. Nothing about him was perceptible but the intensity of his eyes.</p>
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<p>No one had access to her room but perhaps maintenance and the property owner. There was a bestial grace about his movements, though, an almost supernatural glide in his approach. He made no sound as though he were a phantom. He couldn't be human. He was evil. An oppressive hatred filled the room around him. His form was human, but he was something else entirely.</p>
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<p>She howled desperately, with increasing force, but was utterly silenced. She was under a spell, but it felt tenuous, as though with enough strength, her voice could breach the wall over her and save her. Her heart stopped her limbs from joining the fight. The smallest impulse in the smallest muscle strained her heart. If she were able to successfully burst through that wall to move even her pinky finger one millimeter, it felt as though her heart would burst, too.</p>
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<p>Can't people still move their eyes under paralysis?</p>
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<p>She was involuntarily transfixed on the imposing presence that seemed to steal the very air from her lungs. Her chest was locked by the same enchantment, iron hands grasping her lungs tighter and tighter until blind panic eclipsed the scene playing out before her.</p>
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<p>The final shock was the sickening numbness that cusped the outer blades of her feet before black swallowed her up.</p>
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<h1>Beloved of the Moon - Chapter 2 . Waking to Shadows </h1>
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#cass #chandrakant #funwa<br>
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<br>
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<p>The skin-memory of the rhythmic touch that cusped the outer blades of her feet never ceased. She awoke with a jolt, ripping her blankets off from her and examining her legs.</p>
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<p>Clean.</p>
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<p>Of course it was a dream, but she had never had a dream so physically real.</p>
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<p>People always say, "How do you know it wasn't a dream?" in cases like this, but her dreams were unambiguous. If they were coherent, they were always mired in a confused haze where her mind knew there was a world outside of this and that everything she knew in this limited state was wrong somehow, though she could never solve it until the moment she woke up. Her perception was always warped, fluidly switching perspectives and scenes. No dream had such clarity.</p>
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<p>No, it couldn't simply be a dream. It was real in some way. She was fully awake in her bed, watching a living dream play out in front of her. At least, her mind was awake. Her body had been asleep. Doesn't your brain paralyze your body at night to keep you from acting out your dreams? But then again, it wouldn't paralyze the lungs. And doesn't dreaming take place during REM? There was nothing rapid whatsoever. She couldn't move her eyes at all. No, there was something really strange about this half-dream.</p>
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<p>She didn't feel like reading about the dream-state on her phone. Those threads were always full of schizophrenics and amateur therapists.</p>
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<p>Was it real?</p>
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<p>The thought froze her in the middle of her shower.</p>
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<p>What if there had been an intruder while she was in REM, and she woke up before the sleep paralysis wore off? What if?</p>
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<p>She tore out of the shower, leaving a trail of water from window to window, combing the perimeter. Even the deadbolt was in place, and her keys were tidily hanging on their hook. Her kitchen, her bathroom, her walls, her floors, everything was in its place without signs of tampering. No, even someone with a key to the room couldn't have entered.</p>
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<p>She sighed with relief that she could absolutely rule out maintenance. The guy they send out was always uncomfortably flirty with her for someone who had unlimited access to her room. He seemed nice, so she didn't want to suspect him.</p>
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<p>If there was a real intruder, he was a master trespasser, and no master trespasser would waste his time with a random room in a dilapidated apartment with a shifting foundation.</p>
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<p>Finally, she returned to her bedroom and examined her bed with unease. It was in a panicked disarray, with every sheet and blanket thrown on the ground, but it was otherwise clean. Wasn't sex bloody or messy or something? Or was it not? She didn't feel any different, apart from the tortured numbness when anything brushed against the blades of her feet. She really didn't know what to look for here, and she really didn't want to look up anything at all about sex on her phone.</p>
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<p>There was no sign of escape either.</p>
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<p>She turned off the shower-head, returned to her bedroom, held her breath, and listened to the apartment. The usual hustle and bustle and random thuds were clearly coming from neighboring units. She couldn't let herself be confused. The man in the night had been huge. She didn't own any furniture. If he wasn't in any of the closets or other rooms, where could he possibly hide? But he had been so smooth and otherworldly. If he was still hiding here, he was capable of perfect silence.</p>
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<p>An alarm rang out.</p>
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<p>"School...I just have to go."</p>
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<p>She caught her eye in the mirror by the bed. She was still soaked in soapy water, her hair a lathered mess, and she was still undressed. She studied herself a moment longer, struck by how normal she looked. Nothing could have happened. It was just a bad dream, nothing more.</p>
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<p>Then she performed the world's quickest shower rinse, threw on the same clothes from yesterday that were still hanging over a chair, didn't bother with any combs or makeup, and rushed down the street with her backpack. She didn't realize her notebook was missing, so she had to fat-finger all her notes on a phone app. All the seats were taken but a few in the very front and center, so she was in the direct blast of the instructor's every snide comment about students abusing the technology in the classroom policy to play games instead of learn.</p>
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<p>Of course.</p>
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<h1>Home - Chapter 1 . Hall of Monuments </h1>
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#katherine #driscoll #master<br>
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<br>
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<p>Deep black is all around. But from far above, tiny swirls of ice catch the light, like lost stars adrift in space. As they sink into the darkness, they lose their individuality, piling into bitter cold.</p>
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<p>I am a stone.</p>
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<p>My legs, my arms were so numb that I could not find them. Did I still have them? My body leapt, thrashing, swinging, scrambling for any confirmation from its members. Stone struck stone. I reeled, clenching as my femur howled louder than I did. I cowered. The only comfort I found was in my own embrace, empty as the echoes of my own scream from distant corridors.</p>
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<p>Alone.</p>
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<p>But the pain affirmed I was alive and whole.</p>
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<p>As the pain subsided, I looked about. I was laying upon frozen stone, rough but cut with an artisan's hand, laid in an intricate pattern. The night sky extends overhead. Before and behind, darkness. I extended my arm and a hand enclosed around mine.</p>
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<p>"Whoa!" My arm shot back, and the hand let go easily. "Who-" I jumped to my feet, pain no longer a concern, and backed into a wall, hitting my back and ricocheting forward. Someone caught me and supported me against his chest for a split second before steadying me on my feet. I looked up, and for a moment, I thought I saw a man's face before me.</p>
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<p>"Hey, careful! I'm just as surprised as you are, okay?"</p>
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<p>The charisma in his voice and firmness in his build, or perhaps the mere presence of another in this void put me at immediate ease. I slowly extended my hand in search of him again, and he took my hand.</p>
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<p>"It's further ahead. I'll take you there."</p>
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<p>"Where?"</p>
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<p>"Oh-Well, you will understand when you see it."</p>
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<p>"What?"</p>
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<p>But he fell silent, leading me through the dark. His footsteps were confident, a stride, even, when my eyes could not distinguish the difference between impending wall or leagues of hall. Or worse, some bottomless pit or other hazard. But I surrendered to his confidence, closing my eyes and listening to my footsteps trail his.</p>
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<p>As the questions bubbled up, I asked who he is, what we're doing. Inwardly, I wondered how I ended up here. What was I doing before this? My head was empty. My head was devoid of any fragment of time before he met my hand in the dark. But he didn't really respond. I would just have to wait and see.</p>
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<p>But wait for what?</p>
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<p>He halted and released my hand. We were still in darkness. A door opened.</p>
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<p>"After you."</p>
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<p>He guided me in with a hand on my back. He followed. His footsteps trailed away, and faint white light bloomed. As he moved through the area, he left eerie globs of light at each pedestal, pulling the veil back, revealing breathtaking stone mosaic, statues, treasures, artifacts, stories-tall tapestry emerging one-by-one.</p>
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<p>"This is a castle! How could this be? Filled with treasure!" My confidence in him wavered. "Why would you bring me here? Who are you?"</p>
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<p>He appeared at my side, and I beheld his form. He was flat like an afterimage. He moved strangely like he was between dimensions. An impression of a man. I was horrified.</p>
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<p>"Stay away!"</p>
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<p>I sprinted for the door, and he caught me.</p>
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<p>"Relax! I know how I look. Forgive me. I can't change myself. Please don't be scared."</p>
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<p>As he stammered, he held me a little too long. It was strange. He felt like a man, but he did not look like one. It was unnerving. I pulled away but stood in place this time. He had been friendly so far.</p>
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<p>"I'm sorry." I could barely look at him. He looked horrible. Like a tear in reality. "You're a ghost?"</p>
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<p>"I'm Driscoll. It's been so long. You're finally here. And you look so beautiful. Please, tell me your name."</p>
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<p>"Katherine."</p>
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<p>"Katherine." He savored the name. "Welcome to the Hall of Monuments. It serves as a memorial to the life of my master."</p>
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<p>"Then he is a ghost like you?"</p>
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<p>Driscoll ignored the question.</p>
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<p>"It's more a museum than a castle. I wonder if it's best to let you wander the hall unguided. See for yourself who he was. But he waited for this day. He always knew it was coming. The day his twin soul would appear, be drawn to his. He always knew. He spoke so fondly of you."</p>
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<p>"Of me? Did he know me?"</p>
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<p>"He knew of you."</p>
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<p>And again, he brushed aside further questions, stepping aside and granting me run of the hall. So I glided over to the center, to the large, shallow pool. I knew at once what it was and vocalized my thought.</p>
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<p>"A scrying pool."</p>
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<p>"It sure is."</p>
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<p>But I did not quite know what that word meant. It just seemed to fit as a natural definition for what lay before my eyes. I knelt by the water, dipping my finger into it. Scrying pools must be magic of some sort. Magic and ghosts. It was uncomfortable.</p>
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<p>"Am I in Hell or something? Who are you?"</p>
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<p>His labored pause made my skin crawl.</p>
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<p>"Are you not lucid? You're dreaming, Katherine."</p>
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<p>And with that, I awoke.</p>
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<h1>Home - Chapter 2 . Was I in Hell Then? </h1>
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#katherine #driscoll #master<br>
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<br>
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<p>Keeping my eyes closed made no difference. I was awake, and it was past time to scramble all my items together and run off to work. No matter how hard I tried to preserve specific scenes, people, words, the details slipped through my fingers. All that remained was a bitterly nostalgic aftertaste that soured any attempts to focus throughout the rest of the day. My mind had a foot in another world, and I could not shake that feeling. I went about my routine until Mr. Humke came to the backroom where I was sweeping.</p>
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<p>"You don't need to clean up. I'll get my kid to finish. You go on ahead, Kath'rine. No one else is coming in today."</p>
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<p>He never pronounced all the syllables.</p>
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<p>"Yessir. Thank you. See you tomorrow."</p>
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<p>"See you Monday. Have a nice weekend."</p>
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<p>"Right!"</p>
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<p>I gathered my things quickly and hopped in the car. I flipped through my phone's music library longer than the commute itself would have taken, until I found something slow enough not to clash with my mood but varied enough to not be boring or cheesy. It's not like I had anywhere else to be.</p>
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<p>I stopped by the grocery store on the way home and picked up enough for a simple sandwich to eat alone in silence.</p>
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<p>Hell.</p>
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<p>I was pretty sure I had a dream I was in Hell. All I remember is what I said to- Was someone else in Hell with me? I mused after the scene, the face, the context, and scraped nothing more. The weird guy on Discord was talking about lucid dreaming opening your mind to demonic contact. He's an idiot, but something from that conversation must have bothered me deep down. Idiot Elerias gave me a nightmare. Hilarious. A smile crept over my face. He totally got me.</p>
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<p>----</p>
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<p>It was bitterly cold out. I didn't want to spend my break inside, though, so I sat, butt frozen to a metal bench, watching my breath crystalize. Lane was in today, and her queer judgmental glances in my direction bothered me. I couldn't tell if Mr. Humke had said something to make her think less of me, if she was jealous, or if it was something as simple as her thinking my shoes were dorky. She was perfectly civil when we did speak, but we never had smalltalk in the year and a half I worked for Mr. Homke. He had her working since she was a toddler, from the sounds of it, so even though I only met her a few months after I started working, she had a lot of seniority. She'd probably inherit the business, too. Ah, well. Mr. Homke did say once he would be open to selling the business to me. Would she not inherit the business? Thinking of her always sank a stone in my gut.</p>
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<p>I looked up at the sky. It got dark earlier and earlier. It looked like midnight out here, and the sky was the perfect combination of cold and dry, so that every star and its halo was visible. The moon was robed in rainbow. And it was exactly 6 P.M. The stars looked like snow in a way, caught in the air. Like the snow back then. I reached out my hand and met another, clasped around mine. My break was over. I snapped out of daydream. Back when?</p>
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<p>That touch haunted me all day. No one had ever held my hand. Not even Mom and Dad when I was little. Where did a memory like that emerge from? It made me feel bitterly lonely. And sexless. Such a masculine hand.</p>
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<p>I carried that itch to the very end of the day. I washed my face before bed, and before finishing, made eye contact with my reflection for a moment. The bathroom had terrible lighting, but the light still caught in my eyes in a way that looked kinda cute. My face definitely had a cuteness to it. Maybe not beauty. Certainly nothing sexy. But I was pretty. And that prettiness was enough to feel confident that some guy could notice me, clasp my hand like that.</p>
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<p>I reached my hand out in the same way, but the feeling was empty and alone, nothing in the middle of my bathroom. But my mind could almost insert some kind a guy willing to touch me. I swear I had felt that some time. In some dream or something. Probably something stupid, like some book character or something. A total figment, maybe even. Certainly no one real. I looked back into the mirror and saw quite a plain girl, stuck in some small business with no upward mobility, and nothing really special about her to capture any guy's interest.</p>
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<p>And if I ever did strike some guy's fancy, it's not like I'm all that fun. I don't drink or smoke or party or have any of that mystery or thrill. What boy reads? Or does quiet things? Probably one who doesn't reach out and grasp a girl by the hand and tell her she's pretty.</p>
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<p>I slumped into the bed. It was stupid, but I pretended I was next to someone. Just hands clasped like that. The memory was so tangible, it was indistinguishable from the real thing in the dark. He was right there.</p>
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<p>"--You never got the key."</p>
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<!--230519-->
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<h1>Home - Chapter 3 . Hero Over the Shadows </h1>
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#katherine #driscoll #master<br>
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<br>
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<p>The horrible vision, the tear in reality. The Half-Man was before me again. And I knew at once this was Driscoll the Historian, and we were in the Hall of Monuments. He no longer scared me. In fact, he was exceedingly comforting. I dreamt of him every night. Or at least, I've dreamed of him at least twice. But it felt like a hundred times.</p>
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<p>He took my hand in both of his and dropped a fine chain into my palm. His hands felt firm, though they lacked warmth and visible form. Then he tied it around my right wrist.</p>
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<p>"Just the right size, after all these years."</p>
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<p>"What sort of key is this?"</p>
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<p>"I think you'll understand better later. Just don't take it off until you do."</p>
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<p>"Why do you talk like that? It's annoying. Just tell me. What is there to veil?"</p>
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<p>"I." He started before he knew how to respond. "Yeah, I see how you'd be confused. I'm confused myself. But I have to do my job. Here, come see this."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>He strode over to the head of the hall then hung back, letting me take my time with the series of faded tapestries all around.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>A man faded into anonymity in grand clothed stands behind a woman. She looks eerily like herself, same long dark hair and small frame, though her face is moth-eaten. All around them is the opulence of a granite hall, arranged tastefully with treasures, warm colors, and rich fabrics.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Katherine lingers for a long time, gazing at herself next to a man of such a captivating presence. His features were soft and effeminate, but he had an attractive figure. Despite the apparent age of the tapestry, the scene felt so modern, like he could walk out of the portrait to greet her.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>In the next scene, the hall is in decline. Behind Katherine, an entire wall has collapsed and been buried in snow. The man has turned his face, fading away. Katherine is left alone, once again without a face. She shivered at the disfiguring depiction of herself.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The scene shifts to an invisible man's shadow serving her. She looks detached and alone. The man from earlier, just outside, has his gaze is fixed upon her.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>She walks over to the next scene, seeing a depiction of herself frozen and barren. She is speaking, but no one else is present.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>In the final tapestry, the man stands over the defeated forms of three shadowy figures in the chapel. His victory, though complete, feels cold—detached. The once-grand figure from the first tapestry is now a shade of his former self, spectral, barely clinging to existence. In the distance, the woman waits still, her stance and expression unreadable.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Katherine crept closer to better examine the shadows. She was drawn into their cold, oppressive presence. Their forms were barely discernible, shifting, half-real, as though from another plane.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Creepy..." She breathed. Without freeing her eyes from the faces of the fallen, lost in the snow, she asked aloud, "What happened to him? He was so vivid in the first portrait. But here, he's so grave."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"It cursed him."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>His voice, usually carefree and chummy, had taken on an unexpected softness—almost introspective. The change was jarring, a glimpse of something deeper, older. It wasn't the voice of the Driscoll she had come to know—the one who tripped over his words and smothered her in gifts. No, his words were an echo from a time the tapestries never revealed. A Driscoll untouched by the long haunt of his hall, a man who was once whole. For all his anecdotes about his master's hopeful prophecies and martial prowess, he never spoke much of his personal connection to the man.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>She turned to the half-man, but he had no face to read, so she looked at her feet instead. He remained in somber silence.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"So this is your master? A hero who fell to this three-headed beast?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Not quite. But he will in the end."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Are they prophetic? Because the third seems to be us...That's you, isn't it? Yet...I never saw the hall like that. I've never seen him before...Anyone like that, really."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Um, well, uh...The nature of time...Yeah, I've lost my sense for it. I really don't know..."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Katherine studied him curiously. Up until this point, he might have looked strange, but he felt and acted substantial enough for her to forget they were a different substance. After her peaceful nights of idle chatter, joking around, and exploration the halls, the deep undercurrent of dissonance and isolation caught her in its murky grip. Her earliest suspicions whispered in her ear against consorting with ghosts. His mind wasn't like hers. And though he had built a camaraderie with her, it wasn't based upon any evidence of trust or shared challenges. It was built on gifts and unfulfilled promises.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>She took a few steps back, fingering the bracelet he had given her and scanning the familiar walls of the scrying room.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Was she silly for doubting him?</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"I'm sorry...I know my master's journey is heavy, and I'm..."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>His voice broke, then a few moments of strained silence.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"I am the custodian of these halls, his servant, yet, my mind is disappearing like dust. He was a hero, and you were his first love. But another suitor approached you. He was angry after you, a jealous suitor, who would not concede you over to my master. Though your love never faltered, and I think you still feel it now, the other man summoned him for a duel. Though he fell, he cursed my master bitterly, leaving the victory hollow. Though he might live, he can no longer reach you. He may watch from after but never touch you. He filled a palace with treasure, signing it all over to you, and you may have it, but...you may not have him. Not until this curse is broken. And it will break. But the slain will never live again."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>His voice trembled at first with regret or doubt but ignited into anger. He had never been so animated before.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Who were you, before this?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Driscoll did not answer. He continued pacing briskly, now handling his broom and dustpan with a rough vigor.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Why aren't you in the tapestries but in this moment?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Driscoll seemed to decline to answer, so she set herself upon the throne at the head of the hall. Though frozen, she had wrapped it in old tatters enough to be bearable for lounging. She had never seen Driscoll so energetic. How she longed to be able to read him.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Finally, Driscoll's sudden bout of janitorial work slowed and became more meditative. Then he cast away his tools entirely and joined her.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"I..."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
@ -0,0 +1,13 @@
|
||||
<!--230519-->
|
||||
<h1>The Castle♡ </h1>
|
||||
#freefall #trace<br>
|
||||
<br>
|
||||
<p>There he was, lying before me. The dagger Yuri had given me had a miraculous weight: that of hope, that of duty. Sliding it through my hand, I almost dropped it. I was badly shaking. I had envisioned doing this hundreds of times in my head, taking my father's life in a different way each time. Life is too short, I thought. It can be taken so easily... </p>
|
||||
|
||||
<h2>Chapters </h2>
|
||||
<ul>
|
||||
<li><b><a href="/story/the-castle-1">1 ｡･ﾟ★ﾟ Ghostly Tower ﾟ★･｡</a></b> </li>
|
||||
<li><b><a href="/story/the-castle-2">2 ｡･ﾟ* Glimmer of Light *ﾟ･｡</a></b> </li>
|
||||
<li><b><a href="/story/the-castle-3">3 ･｡･ﾟ Silent Rebellion ﾟ･｡･</a></b> </li>
|
||||
<li><b><a href="/story/the-castle-4">4 ｡･ﾟﾟ･✧ Weight of Freedom ✧･ﾟﾟ･｡</a></b> </li>
|
||||
</ul>
|
||||
@ -0,0 +1,32 @@
|
||||
<!--230519-->
|
||||
<h1>The Castle - Chapter 1 . Ghostly Tower </h1>
|
||||
#freefall #trace<br>
|
||||
<br>
|
||||
<p>She was frail, a wisp of a girl whose pallor blended with the stone walls of the castle that confined her. Her fragility masked her sex; there was no makeup to soften her harsh, angular features, no vibrant silks to drape her slight frame. She spoke seldom, aware her words carried as much weight as the dust motes dancing in the narrow stream of light through her window. And yet, she resented her own insignificance.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The castle, her home, was a prison in all but name. A high tower room, perched just far enough above the courtyard to turn escape into a suicide mission. No locks on the door, no chains on her wrists. Yet she was bound as surely as any prisoner. Her curse—at least, that's what she believed—was not chains of iron but of hatred. Her mere presence sowed discord. Arguments exploded whenever she entered a room, anger stirred from the quiet like a tempest. So, she stayed away.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The king, her father, was beloved by all. His reign was prosperous; the kingdom thrived under his steady hand. But in his heart, his eldest daughter was a blight. A disappointment. A stain on the crown. His second daughter, the golden princess, was everything he could have wished for—graceful, beautiful, sought after by princes and knights. She was adorned in roses, while the elder daughter, this wretched thing, was hidden from view, out of shame and superstition.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Her existence was whispered of but seldom acknowledged. She lived for years in isolation, her company limited to herself and the endless echoes of self-loathing. She tried to escape, in the most permanent of ways. Poison, falls from the tower—futile gestures, as if the curse itself wouldn't let her die. As if her suffering was preordained to last.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Then came the day Freefall returned. He was not real, of course—just another of her creations, like the imaginary friends of her childhood. But Freefall was no doll. He was cynical and hollow, a reflection of the very world that scorned her. His sickly yellow eyes never left her, even when she tried to forget his crouching presence in the corner of her room. Yet he was always there, brooding thoughtlessly.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"You've been gone too long," she whispered.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"I never left. I've been here, waiting."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>His gaze made her feel diseased, tainted. She shuddered, wishing he would leave, yet terrified of the silence he would leave behind.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Would you promise to stay?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Freefall chuckled, low and bitter. "Have you ever considered," he murmured, "that perhaps you are my demon, and not the other way around?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>She recoiled. His words lingered, long after the shadows crept in and took him with them.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Loneliness suffocated her, creeping into her soul like fog on cold mornings. Occasionally, she found respite in writing, drawing the worlds in her mind onto parchment. But most days, she cried, hugging her knees to her chest, pleading with the walls for a friend. No one came. And certainly not the sort of shining knight who could save her.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>There was no speaking to her father. She could not change his opinion of her. She could not please him. He would only turn red-faced and snarling. She did not wish for that most of all, so she returned to seclusion. She understood for the first time how the damsels in fairy tales felt. They could not save themselves. They had to have someone. She had no one.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The girl awoke on her sixteenth birthday. She remembered her birthday, but no one celebrated it. But a single note slid under her door.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
@ -0,0 +1,62 @@
|
||||
<!--230519-->
|
||||
<h1>The Castle - Chapter 2 . Glimmer of Light </h1>
|
||||
#freefall #trace<br>
|
||||
<br>
|
||||
<p>December 29, 2006</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Your Highness,</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>I write in celebration of your birthday, though it seems the kingdom doesn't celebrate it as it does your sister's. I must confess, I don't understand why. I have no right to pry into royal matters, but my curiosity has overtaken my better judgment. Who are you? Why are you hidden away? Forgive me for the intrusion, if it is unwelcome. I require no answer at all.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Long-Life, Yuri</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>____</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The princess started to cry. There was a knock on her door, then it opened.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Princess?" a servant in his early thirties entered. He paused, taken aback by her tears.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Yes?" she stifled her sobs, quickly wiping her face. "What's your name?" she asked, voice hoarse.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Alexander," he dipped his head cordially. "Alexander Goulding."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The girl was still holding the letter. Suddenly, she was embarrassed and tried to hide it.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"I was the servant who delivered the letter. You do not receive those often," he spoke normally.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The girl looked down at the letter in her hands, suddenly self-conscious. "Did you deliver this?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Alexander nodded. "I don't screen many letters. But the boy who brought it—Yuri, I think—seemed sincere. He's about your age."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>For the first time, someone spoke to her as if she was more than a ghost haunting the castle. She wasn't sure how to respond.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"The king has spoken very poorly of your habits. You are a hermit within the royal family. He fears you are insane, but you seem very pleasant to me," Alexander observed. "Dare I say, I enjoy your presence more than your sister's."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Pleasant, as if that word could ever redeem the depths of her solitude. But there was a kindness in his voice, a rare gentleness.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Do you stay in here for any particular reason?" Alexander asked, his tone soft but curious.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Would you mind if I was honest with you?" the girl asked. "Even if it seemed impossible?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>He hesitated, then gave a slow nod. "I suppose, my princess."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"Tomorrow, I'll come down to eat dinner with my family. Be near enough to see their reactions. Allow me to arrive unexpectedly."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Alexander's expression flickered with uncertainty, but he didn't object.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The next night, she slipped through the halls and long corridors and spiral stairwells she had crawled through as a small child. They were unfamiliar to her and instilled wonder in her. The tall ceilings and sweeping tapestries loomed over her with austere oppression, yet the stonework was beautiful. She envied those who would chance to really live here.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>When she entered the banquet hall, conversation halted. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as she approached the long table, her eyes lowered, face set in a mask of indifference. She sat without a word, folding her hands in her lap as the tension in the room grew thick, like a gathering storm.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"So, the princess has decided to bless us with her presence," one of the other princesses—her sister, though she barely recognized her—sneered. "I thought the royal family was beneath you."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>"She is just that way," the king's voice rumbled from the head of the table. His gaze was cold, dismissive. "If she wishes to live her life as miserable and alone as possible, she will never have it any other way. My only regret is bringing her into the world at all if she brings nothing but pain and grief."</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>It didn't take long for the tension to erupt. A servant was too slow to bring the spices, and that was all it took. Tempers flared, and soon, the room was filled with shouting. Accusations flew over trivialities, but the girl knew better. She was the spark, the unseen force that always seemed to drive her family to madness.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Throughout the chaos, she sat quietly, only once breaking her silence to ask, "May someone pass the milk?"</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>The king's fury reached its peak, and he growled, throwing her glass at her head. When he missed, he stormed out, spewing threats and insults. Slowly, the rest of the family dipped out, until only she and Alexander remained in the now-empty hall.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
<p>Alexander stood at the edge of the room, watching her with something like pity in his eyes. She met his gaze and held it for a long moment, communicating without words what neither of them could say aloud. Then, without a word, she rose and returned to her tower, untouched food left behind.</p>
|
||||
|
||||
Loading…
Reference in New Issue