Fantasy beyond what eyes can see

[TrashRabbit]

Her impassiveness chills him but does not cool his anger. In fact her lack of reaction inflames him like a bellows. His own anger is a surprise. And his inhibition to display it feels so foreign and indulgent. Some part of him wanted her to yell back. To tell him he was being terrible.

"I would like to know who you are, what the hell you've done with the princess. Because that is the only explanation I have unless you decide to enlighten me."

He said it with as much command as he could muster. He hoped it wasn't true, but he liked it far better than thought that he was nothing and no one to her and so terribly empty. What if the dreams were magics-- What if hadn't loved. What if he hadn't served her. What if she had never been wonderful?He didn't look away-- If he couldn't trust himself then he could trust nothing and his action were past the point of mattering.

 

[mon]

Ashwyn rose a brow and the corners of her lips twitch as though wanting to smile, despite there being nothing to smile about. She doesn't in the end and merely sets her utensils down. There is minute confusion on her face as she answers.

"But I am the princess," she answered almost in a sigh. Sure, she wasn't wearing a crown or a neon sign that says "Princess Ashwyn Winters", but she was the only occupant in the castle fit only for royals. His question didn't make any sense and his words confused her.

"I can't explain what I don't know, but what I do know, if you don't ask, how am I to answer?" she muses aloud, this time breaking her royal demeanor to lean her arms on the table top. Her palm props under her chin as she studied him. She looked awfully bored of the conversation already.

"I am Princess Ashwyn Winters, youngest daughter to Amara and Septimus Winters, sole survivor of the royal blood line and you," she says, standing up with an apple in her hand. It bounces in her palm, tossed up and down as she walked over to where he's seated. Standing behind his chair, the babe peered down at him, contemplating for a minute before inevitably shoving the red fruit into his mouth.

"Need to eat more," she says in the end, finishing her sentence with a satisfied smile. She's never liked eating fruits. Apples even more so.

 

[TrashRabbit]

"Look at you, You're being awful cute about it.," He says ruefully, "I think you do know what I mean. If you are--" He pauses. Because how ridiculous was it to accuse some one of being an imposter when he hadn't even known her name until a moment a ago. He hopes her name would mean something. would jog something. But his confusion at the whole convolution of his situation continues like a yawning void. It occurs to him that perhaps she cannot freely tell him things, even she liked to. If there was enough magic at work for a buffet surely there was more. "--If you are yourself. Then you were not always like this. You were different. And something happened." He said this firmly. Something that some one went to some length to see he forgot. "What was done to you Ashwyn?" He says. He does not mean to use her name, but having had the word of power returned him, his lips were eager to use it as they were well acquainted with the shape of it. "And what was done to me?"

 

[mon]

His continual doubt would've been amusing if it wasn't such a pain to refute. The reminder of her curse was nothing pleasant and even if she can't feel the offense, she knows it's taken. Part of her is baffled that he hasn't heard the exaggerated stories of her. How she's an Enchantress, a witch, a person who steals human hearts because she has none herself. All of them untrue, except maybe the last one. Would it count as stealing if she was given one?

No, it wouldn't.

Long ago she was offered a heart by the man she calls Tuesday and in that time, she had refused to take it. Why was a question she could not remember the answer to. She wonders if the rumors were buried under the avalanche of tales on the Great War. The period of peace had been short but golden. Time flew quickly when you have no mind to it.

"Haven't you heard the stories? The ones that warn children like you from coming up to the North," she's teasing him, clearly taking advantage of the fact that he can't speak momentarily. "You're right to say I haven't always been like this," she considers carefully what she says to him, just toeing the lines of propriety when she takes his hand and guides it over her chest. His palm rests on the place where it should beat but it doesn't. There is nothing there except skin and bones and a hollow void shaped like a mold for her heart.

Her voice dips into a whisper, so quiet and delicate as though breathing would cause her words to shatter into a billion little pieces.

"I am under a curse, Tuesday. I have no heart." Sapphires flicker up from his hand to his eyes. Something in them swims when she pulls away. The distance she puts between them becomes unbearable as she plops back into her seat.

"And why would I know what's been done to you?"

'Why would I know' isn't exactly the same as 'I don't know'. Her words give hope while killing it.

 

[TrashRabbit]

He startles as she comes up behind him with her apple of silence, rather abruptly popping it in his mouth like he was a roast pig. His blue eye's go wide and she leans in so close. For a moment, as she speaks, he is frightened.

He had heard so many stories. Too many stories. the world was full of them. Rumors and legends and gossip. And he had learned quickly with his new memory that world was full mostly of lies. That he couldn't believe everything he heard. The inn maids talked about a heartless princess to the north but they also spoke about mermaids, and rumors of a knight in dark armor who slayed dragons. And having never seen anything of those likes had taken them all for that; Stories.

She is cold beneath his hand where there should be nothing but heat. And her words linger in his ears and the way she says his name so close to his ear makes him tense. But realization stills the anger in him so abruptly that he forgets to breathe. His anger had made him feel as if there was some danger, some threat and if it wasn't her then it was still to be discovered. His anger had made him feel as if there was something to fight, and in fighting a way to fix what ever was so deeply terribly wrong with both of them. But what was hidden was not a danger but a tragedy and it cooled the fire in him into a deep shiver.

He has to take a bite out the apple and chew it to get it out of his mouth. It gave him a moment to run all the limited he had, to try to push it into a pile into his minds eye and damned it make some kind of picture some kind of sense.

"I am--" He said feeling very unsure of his position in this situation. Unsure of his role in her narative. Unsure of his proximity to her curse, "-- I am your Majesty's Royal Thief and If anyone would know what had become of me it would be you."

 

[mon]

The ghost of a smile on her lips fades and for once she is frowning. She was eating the rest of croissant and at his conclusion, she stopped chewing suddenly, like a machine that's been switched off. Logically, she knows he shouldn't remember. The witch's spell never had any errors or loopholes. She had explored it all in her time of solitude, trying to find alternatives for her curse to no avail, and yet here it was presented to her. The perfect flaw in her grand scheme of things.

She considers him carefully and then ultimately decides to shrug.

"Are you?" Ashwyn asks, placing doubt where doubt shouldn't, "Even if I do know, why should I tell you? I'm a heartless princess. I do not care."

And yet the grief plastered in her voice sounds awfully like she does. She doesn't feel it even if she hears it.

 

[TrashRabbit]

"I am," He says defensively. He'd rather eat gravel than have her sound so heavy and so bereft. But she was heartless and what was lacking a heart other than an endless form of empty grief. "And you'll tell me because it wasn't you who made me forget."

A bluff. He didn't know that. He was sure of that. He would like for it to be true. Perhaps she had...And that idea hurt so bad he could not even pretend it away with anger.

 

[mon]

Ashwyn was silent for a while and for a moment, it seemed as though she was no longer going to carry the conversation and wanted out. She did, truthfully, but something kept her rooted in place. A stubbornness from who she was long ago.

"You're asking the wrong question," she says at last and she could no longer bring herself to look at him. He's asked no question but she's called his bluff, because Ashwyn knows the truth. Knows that while it wasn't her who's stolen his memories, she was the one who instigated it.

"The question isn't what happened to me, but how do I make you care?" There's heavy implication in her words and she watches the meaning sink down, digested as it repeats in his mind. How do you make a heartless princess care? Is it not by breaking her curse? Ashwyn relaxed in her seat, wondering how he'd take it. He's already cracking through his own spell so why not have him break hers?

"I don't need to tell you," she says, this time getting up to leave the dining hall. The room was large but the space was too small for the both of them to occupy, now at least. She reaches the threshold of the door and over her shoulder, she smiles a small dejected smile.

"You're already remembering."

 

[TrashRabbit]

She was heartless yes, but he did not think the words she used were intended to hurt. She would have to have a heart to perform that sort of impassioned wickedness. So it must be a riddle. The good news was that he could be very very patience. The bad news was he considered him self dumb as a rock. He doubted if riddles had ever been his strong point. His no nonsense straight to business problem solving skills were of no use to him here, not when the princess couldn't give him a straight answer.

And he already cared, or he would have left. He may have lost his memory but certainly not his loyalty. He follows after her, because his other option is a to alone and he doesn't think he can bear that.

 

[mon]

It's been a while since Ashwyn's last seen a mule or any four-legged animal for that matter up close. She's seen deer in the distance and the occasional porcupine, but even they seem to know better than to cross the invisible boundary set by the Witch. Because of this, she was actually quite happy to see Russell and spent her time with the animal immediately after her mule.

Food was not a problem. The castle was enchanted to provide the necessary provision at all times, but even so, Ashwyn chose to personally hand-feed the animal to watch it eat. It made her miss her horse and reminded her of how fun it was to ride.

 

[TrashRabbit]

He keeps his hands in his pockets and follows her just in her shadow but breaks away to poke around the stable as she feed the mule. The stables were not where he thought they might end up but its good to see Russel looks fine after the storm. Russel, being a mule, is an indomitable sort not bothered by much. He thinks Martha might miss the animal more than him once she realizes they were missing. He feels a bit guilty for not being in a hurry to go back. But there is too much of a mystery, too much of his selfdom tied up in magic and intrigue to give up. His emotions might be twisted up like a rag in a laundresses strong hands but he needed to know. She seemed to think he'd remember on his own, and he was not so sure. It was being here that had brought the clear dream.

he brushed the dust off some of the gilted tact- the princess had loved to ride and he was surprised that there was not a horse already here-- he did not question that shouldn't have known this. But perhaps not having a heart meant you couldn't have hobbies. But something about that seemed wrong, he'd known plenty of heartless bastards in his life with hobbies and crafts. and sometimes the princess looked pained. He wondered if her heart still felt but was only locked up so very far away she could no longer feel it? The more he thought about the specifics the more displeased he became with the state of the situation. If how was the wrong question maybe he aught to ask who?

"Ash, where the hell is your horse?" He asks. He is standing some three or four stalls over when he Realizes he is looking for the animal. A horse he woudln't have been able to describe and the feeling like he's dropped all his thoughts out through the bottom of his skull washes over him and is replaced by an unpleasant buzzing.

 

[mon]

The nickname brings back familiarity and it was never something she had minded in the past. His question makes her shrug in defeat. Most if not all the residents, servants and maids had left the castle during the war. With the royal family masaccred there was no need to stay, thus many things were taken away. Family heirlooms, expensive treasures, animals all the like. It was no wonder that her horse would be taken too and she couldn't blame them for doing so.

If the horse had stayed, it would've probably been killed or died. She missed it, or well, she missed it as much as she could miss.

Her hands patted the mule's head, "For a Royal Thief, you sure speak casually," Ashwyn muses, neither bothered nor pleased.

"So what exactly is a Royal Thief suppose to do?" She remembers of course, but it was always much more interesting to ask the one who's forgotten.

 

[TrashRabbit]

"Speak casually, keep you out of trouble, exasperate your other retainers," He says, "...Steal secrets. There were things to be done, you feel me?" the strange moment of clarity had leaves him and he can't help but feel displaced in time. He decides to check the rest of the stalls as he talks anyway. He does not remember the war. People spoke of it. But having previously thought of himself as a visitor from another kingdom altogether it had not crossed his mind that he had played any large part in the war.

 

[mon]

It amazed her how much he remembered. Just how much of those locked away memories were stolen back from the Witch? Last she recalled, he didn't even remember being a thief let alone one personally hired by herself. Ashwyn could only nod at this, unsure of what to do with his regained memories. Should she try to pry for more and risk him breaking the spell altogether? The past her wouldn't appreciate it. After all, she had requested it for a reason, but now that reason seemed absurd. Why should she endure this stupid curse when he had the power to break it?

Because forcing someone to love a monster is crueler than being a monster.

For better or worse, Ashwyn held her tongue.

"Preposterous," she muttered, shaking her head. She was a princess. Was there really such a need to hire a maverick? She really can't understand what she was thinking in the past, but back then she had a heart, and that heart loved Tuesday more than the skies loved the sun. Without it, there were only memories left of actions and decisions she could no longer relate.

 

[TrashRabbit]

"Exactly," He said wickedly, skipping back over to her and Russel. He leaned over the stal door and held out his hand; "Would you like these back?" In his palm were the earrings she'd been wearing last night in a field a long time ago, it had been and easy thing to snag them when she had leaned in to kiss his cheek. He was expecting a certain reaction and he doubt he'd get it, but the urge to pull this old gag was so ingrained in him. He smiled and remembered-- That he had taken these in a dream. He blinked and went tense. The earings were very real, made of big square rubies. He held them out never the less-- what was one more mystery.

 

[mon]

She stared at the gems in his hands and she recognized them as hers immediately. She had always worn those earrings and in the past Tuesday had always been cheeky enough to display his skills by taking them from under her nose. Now was no difference, except those earrings had been taken a time long ago. She had forgotten they were even gone.


"When did you take it?" she asked him, standing just close enough for her to pick them from his hands.

 

[TrashRabbit]

He wasn't sure. Had he stolen them from a dream? Had they simply been in his pocket all these months along with all the other things that lived in his pocket?

"Last night. You're asking the wrong question," He says. Mostly to mock her. He puts his hands back in his pockets, and find the familiar set of things and objects there-- The earrings had not been there yesterday he was certain.

 

[mon]

She catches his lie with a frown. The glint in her eyes harden as she slips the earrings on her ears, replacing them with the blue ones she's usually seen wearing,

"Not possible. These were missing for some time already. I've thought I've lost them," Ashwyn answers, looking up at him in thoughtful accusation. Ultimately, she decides to shrug the matter off. He was Tuesday in the end, the man with itchy fingers. Stealing was least of her concerns.

*itchy fingers is an idiom for someone who's hands constantly need to cause trouble, aka stealing, etc.

 

[TrashRabbit]

He laughs.

"I stole them from a dream, how does that sound instead?" He asks as she puts them on. He feels pleased with himself in a way he never has in the past few concrete months of his life. But he senses this feeling is what a caper well feels like. "I suppose I've also stolen poor Russel? Though I don't think he minds."

 

[mon]

His laughter tinkles in her ears and settle down somewhere in the hollows of her chest, where her heart ought to be. She has no idea what he's saying and can only shake her head at the nonsense. The mention of Russell has her attention perking and she knows, morally that he ought to bring the poor mule back. The thought of it has her going quiet and she can't help but stare solemnly at the ground between them.

"Are you going to leave?" she asks quietly, face impassive but words bleeding don't. Don't leave.

 

[TrashRabbit]

He paused, unsure. Twenty minutes ago he might have worked himself up enough to have stormed out. But now he wasn't sure.

"I think someone has worked too hard to keep me away to just leave..." He says carefully. She had tried to push him away-- but how much of that was just the crassness of not having a heart. " I can bring Russell back when I feel like it. Its not as if the inn owner isn't rich enough to replace him. That is I suppose if you will have me? Perhaps with enough time I can make sense of this whole puzzle we've gotten ourselves into. "

 

[mon]

She looked relieved at his answer, visibly relaxing as she nodded.

"There's a hundreds of unused rooms in the castle. I haven't had any guests in a very long time so you're welcome to stay," she said, choosing not to comment on their curses and spells. While she lacked the heart to feel pity for herself, it didn't mean she particularly enjoyed receiving it from someone who was in the same boat as her. Talking about it only made her bitter with the reminder that she has lost something valuable, but was it truly something she could not live without? Ashwyn was still breathing, walking, eating, sleeping, all these things which a normal person can do. And yet she found herself longing for something which hindered her down with baseless emotions.

Maybe it was a humanity thing, she thinks, the need to have a heart was an intrinsic desideratum like wanting to be loved.

"But I should warn you, Tuesday," she said, suddenly sounding very serious, "Don't try to pry too much into this mess. The more you dig the deeper you'll fall."

And I don't want you to hurt yourself, she thought but did not say.

 

[TrashRabbit]

"I think, not knowing who I am places me firmly at the bottom of the barrel already, so I'll take my chances," He says. He is just as serious. And he sounds so very much like himself when he says it. He has the same low mild tone that he had once informed her he thought one of the bishops was plotting to kill her; and it had been true. "You seem to worry about me, but I'm afraid what you want for me isn't what I want for myself-" His own words chilled him. With so little of the situation illuminated the possibilities this opened seemed daunting. The possibility that he couldn't trust her, not really, not anymore-- Had he ever? He tried not to get confused again, where his senses and his physical memory did not line up. "Let me worry about me. Just as soon as I finish remembering who that is-- you see my problem," He said with a laugh, trying to play it down with a joke.

 

[mon]

Seeing how he wasn't going to back down Ashwyn can only sigh. She did her best to warn him, but whether or not he took her warning to heart was not something in her control. He had always been a resolute man, accomplishing whatever he set his mind to. She's known him to be this for years now, thus she knew it was also pointless to continue arguing.

Just because she couldn't stop him though, didn't mean she was going to give up just like that. Her hand reached out and pinched his cheek.

"Suit yourself," she said, face poker when it should be teasing with laughter, "Don't say I didn't warn you." She patted the place she pinched and turned from the stables. "Some things are best to be left forgotten, but when have you ever been someone to listen to what I say?" The same could be said for herself, really. If anyone could match in stubbornness, it was Ashwyn. The things she wants to forget, she can't and yet here was Tuesday, wanting to remember the things he's forgotten. It was truly unfair.

"Since you're staying, you might as well pull your weight and help me out," she smiled at the thought, "There's much to be done."

Patting Russell once in good-bye, she picked up her skirts and began walking back into the castle. There was a section there tucked in the back where a large room made of glass walls and glass ceilings was built. Plants and flowers of every kind hung from ropes and formed aisles of foliage. There were a few trees scattered around too, each one fenced by an assortment of flowers. Walking in, anyone would recognize the room to be a green house; a very magnificent one too, taken with care.

Ashwyn had never been a huge fan of plants or flowers but being cursed to stay in the palace for years end, nothing to do and no one to keep her company, she busied herself in gardening, in hopes that one day (maybe), her labor would come to fruit and bring a smile to the one who smiles for her. Looking at Tuesday, she was glad her efforts did not go to waste.

 

[TrashRabbit]

It takes a moment for him to take it in, and decides that yes the green house is lovely and it sneeks up onto his face slowly until he is beaming. They were not just regular flowers but things from afar, plants with delicate blossoms and intricate leaves. It is jungle like in a way he's never seen and is smitten instantly. All the green and warmth in the middle of winter seems magic. And he almost asks if it is, but the roof and walls seemed perfectly ordinary.
"I was curious what you kept busy doing, I didn't expect this," He says with a gesture at all and a spin.