Fantasy ♡ need you like a heartbeat. (starboob & ellarose.)

[ellarose]

"Punch up the umami, yes. The metaphor has not gone anywhere! It can assure you, it is right here." Millicent nods, touching a hand to her forehead to indicate that it's in her mind, probably. Tracing a vague, glyph-like shape in the air, she proceeds to flick the tips of her fingers with her tongue and hums thoughtfully. "The elements are all very palatable... well, except for fire. I must admit that the charcoal, toasty-toasty flavor of fire is not my favorite. It is very bittermelon. Tastes like hatred." She tilts her head as Willow offers to take over the cooking.

"No, no. It's more of a..." Millicent makes an impressive sound effect with her tongue that accurately imitates chopping to correct the phrase 'chip-chopping'. She swirls her finger and her knife glows gold before continuing to chop the carrots all by itself. It moves from carrot to carrot before proceeding to chop the green onions, scraping the pieces neatly to the side. The cutting board floats and tilts, the pieces get scraped into the pot on the stove, and it proceeds to stir on its own. "You ought to observe me. I wouldn't want you chip-chopping your finger off if this goes toasty toasty! If you did, however, I'd be curious if you'd be willing to lend it to my favorite finger wreath? I put it on my door in the winter months to scare the carolers." (Never mind the fact that it seems pretty unlikely that carolers would show up to a secluded cottage in the wood anyway.) Still, the witch's expression gleams with mischief as if carolers are something she has experience with. "They will never take my figgy pudding, Willow James. Claiming they won't leave until they get some... well, I tell them that they will never leave at all if they do not stop their incessant howling!" The ladle snaps against the edge of the pot a few times as if to punctuate this point with a vengeance. She peers over at the white board to study the symbols written there and then claps her hands.

"That is not to say that I doubt my abilities. I am the hex girl of the wood and an excellent artist. That is what happens when you devour the soul of a painter." What? Millicent, very casual in spite of the words coming out of her mouth, taps her foot as she waits for whatever it is that she clapped for. A heavy-looking tome sails in through the wall and lands directly into her open hands. The cover is gilded with gold leaves, swirls and gleaming amber stones. "Heh. With enough practice, I believe I would take over the entire forest, as well as that which stands on your side of the gateway!" With the grand swish of her arms, the tome levitates in front of her as she throws it open. The flipping pages are yellowing and slightly wrinkled, sprawled in handwritten entries of midnight black ink, pressed plants, and detailed paintings. (Some of these paintings include the glows of auras as they look from Millicent's eyes, anatomy, and the human heart.) A feathered pen drips in ink over a blank page, creating a bold and sprawling headline that says 'Runes'. She angles a playfully conspiratorial look at Willow. "So it is a very good thing it is not my goal to take over the worlds. I've no interest in world domination and everyone ought to consider themselves lucky for it."

Millicent brightens at her use of the word 'lucky', glancing back at the dragon with the same name who has been looking over her shoulder. "You're the same, aren't you Lucifer? So strong and powerful... and yet you would rather have fun than destroy the worlds." She swirls her finger so that the hand garland hanging on the selves over their heads dangles down and detaches one before affectionately throwing it towards Lucky. "There you go. Dinner! Tasty, tasty."

The witch of the wood then leans over her tome and proceeds to record everything that she just learned from Willow in her newest entry. She uses the white board to practice sketching the runes a few times before recording those in her tome for safekeeping as well. Millicent pores over the page she just created, the new information settling in with her expression of deep contemplation as she no doubt considers ways to implement runes with everything that she already knows of magic. The soup on the stove begins to boil over and she manages to create a rune based on Willow's feedback that calms it. Millicent grins brightly at her success and then finally prioritizes the food. The sunlight streams red shapes all around the kitchen now, reflecting off of rainbow stained glass and creating all sorts of colorful patterns around the cluttered kitchen. "...Juliet would have hated this. She had so much trouble learning how to write." Millicent muses, "Those governesses in Amoria strike the children's wrists when they make mistakes. Hmph. And they have the audacity to call me wicked. Many of her teachers quit. But with my lessons, her handwriting is at least legible now." Talking about the archer, she keeps sneaking fretful glances out the window. "She has potential and yet she closes herself off to it. But with her energy and yours together... your aura is golden. I've never seen anything like it."

Then Millicent shakes her head, as if deciding right away to change the subject from Juliet. She instead busies her magic with setting the table and enchants one of the hand garland hands to use the ladle to fill them with stew. She cracks open the window slightly and waves the steam towards it, as if she might push physically the scent outside with her hands and draw her friend back with it. When a cold wind and a few flakes of unexpected snow rush in, she hops a step backward and quickly closes it back up. "...Snow."

"You may peruse the entries about auras if you are keen to know more." Millicent addresses Willow again with a nod. The levitating book flips to that chapter when the flutter of her fingers requests it. "This tome has been passed through my family for generations. It will grow a monstrous mouth and devour anyone who searches for the forbidden entries, so be sure not to venture too far. Many have lost their lives searching for my family's secrets. You will hear a grumbling noise when you get close."

Within, there are entries detailing the ways that auras can be uncovered through various means depending on one's bloodline. Namely through the senses. They can be understood through touch, hearing, taste, smell, and sight-- which is naturally the most detailed entry in the book due to witch's family affinity for it. (It accompanies drawings of the anatomy of their eyes, the way they glow gold while tracing memories from objects and, in rare cases, other people.) These abilities are often inherited, though it is also possible to curate such a skill with enough practice and meditation at designated points of the wood and kingdoms. (There is a messily marked map among the entries, indicating that someone in Millicent's family traveled to obtain this information.) Most people cannot sense magic auras in more than two ways. (In Millicent's personal entries, beneath those that might have belonged to her ancestors, she writes that she can sense aura predominantly through sight and taste-- which may be part of the reason why she uses the soup analogy to make sense of things.) Beyond those entries, though, there are also studies about how auras can potentially be felt-- not by touch, but with the heart-- and that the information on this form of sensing is severely limited due to how rare it is. Even rarer than her family's already rare sight. It is the one sense not attained through bloodline, but through one's heart.

"Dinner's going to get cold at this rate." Millicent fusses as the warm colors streaming into the kitchen fade. The firefly lights grow brighter to provide light as it disappears and the sun sets in the sky. She casts a gold bubble over the table to keep the food fresh and warm as if it was first served-- save for one, which she deliberately leaves out. "If she's doing this on purpose, she'll be the only one eating a cold meal tonight." She purses her lips, shifting from one foot to the other as she peers around the room as if searching for something. (Her eyes are glazed gold, though, and so it's fair to assume they might be looking someplace other than the kitchen.) "Hm. Unless she snuck in through a window. So quiet, that Juliet." She's talking to herself, whispering under her breath, and then suddenly her head vanishes from her body. Her headless body paces before sitting itself down at the table, arms crossed, and stays this way without explaining anything at all.

Jeffery Von Willigans pads into the room in the meantime, hissing once to announce their presence. (Or, perhaps, to communicate something to Lucky that only they might understand.) They pay no mind to Millicent's headless form, clearly used to such a sight, and then disappear into a hole at the other end of the room. The pots and dishes used for cooking clink and clank in the sink, which overflows with frothy bubbles as they begin cleaning themselves.

It's quiet aside from that magical scrubbing for a few minutes before there's a jostling at the door. A breath of cold air shudders in through the cottage before dissolving as the door closes again. Juliet walks in with Millicent's floating head tailing her from behind like a shadow. Her red hair is tousled, speckled with white flakes that melt rapidly in the cozy kitchen, and a small pine branch sticks out at an odd angle. Her cloak and skirts wear a lace of frost and a few fresh but notably small cuts stick out on her cheeks and neck, as if she had somehow gotten into a fistfight with a thistle bush while picking berries.

"Just you wait until I reunite with my body, Juliet August!" Millicent chides her on her way in. Juliet rolls her eyes and sets the basket full of bright red and blue berries down on the table. The witch magically fastens her head back onto her body at the table, twisting her neck back and forth the way a girl might pop a head back onto one of her decapitated dolls. Once she does, she lunges up onto her tip-toes to tug scoldingly on the archer's earlobe. "Back before sunset. Those are the rules!"

"...I lost track of time. The sun sets faster than I'm used to during the winter cycle." Juliet bats her away, holding onto her composure and appearing only slightly annoyed by Millicent's motherly pestering. When she catches sight of Willow James, however briefly, her cheeks brush with a faint shade of pink. With an affronted little huff, she removes Millicent's hand from her ear and rubs over it. "Anyway, we're even now. Don't throw a fit."

"Fine, then. Then in the words of a skeleton from an alternate universe..." Millicent begins, none of her words making any sense. "Bone apple teeth." Neither of them elaborate on what they're even on. Millicent gives up on her attack and settles herself down at the table. Juliet lowers herself into her own chair and immediately begins wolfing down her food. Unlike the night before, where there was chatter, stories and music, they both eat their food in silence all while casting childish glares at each other from across the table. Both of them seem much too stubborn to break their silence now that they've chosen this route for themselves.

Grace huffs exasperatedly from her place on the floor, hiding her face in her paws as if she finds the scene unbearably awkward. Jefferey Von Willigans walks in to sit beside her and spectate as well, though they seem much more pleased by the uneasy atmosphere. (It's either that, or they're feeling playful... which is probably the case, because they open up their possum hand to Lucky a moment later to reveal that they've stolen one of the dragon's scales-- presumable one that they offered to either Millicent or Juliet during their apology earlier. A smile stretches over the possum's face as they wag it tauntingly... and then they tuck it into the frilly bow around their neck like it's a pocket and scurry off to hide in the wall with it.) Grace rolls her eyes at these antics, perhaps finding them just as childish as their human companions in that moment, and presses her paw down on the possum's tail before they can disappear and forcing Jeffery Von Willigans to skid to a halt. She nods at Lucky, then, not fully realizing the implications of her actions. (...Or maybe it's her own way of apologizing?)

 

[starboob]

It might be a trick of the light or perhaps it’s her golden aura, but the second the ancient tome flies through the wall and lands in Milfred’s hands, Willow’s green eyes shimmer with awe, utterly dazzled by this work of centuries. When it’s offered to her to study, she almost can’t believe it; her fingers graze the pages gingerly, not necessarily scared that it will come undone under her touch but overcome imagining all the stories hidden within the pages, wondering who has contributed to this book and how strongly their essence might cling to its pages. She thanks the hex girl of the woods profusely for even allowing her to gander at it and takes her warning with a reverent nod. Willow would never think of stealing magic or family secrets from another casting family––already her own has lost so much and she wouldn't want to do that to another. She would much rather build up the knowledge base on her own with her little notebook. (Seeing this collection makes her wonder what her family’s tome would have looked like had grandma Elva not lost hers and if the Yeongs had a habit of tracking this information.) With this in mind, she asks if she can take notes of her own. She wouldn't necessarily be offended if Milfred requested that she keep this information only to herself, because she understands that this blessing/curse is something unique to her lineage. Had the sorceress offered a more personal magic lesson of her own, perhaps explaining elf magic, she might have asked that the hex girl not take notes or she would ask for those passages to be kept secret from evil eyes.

As she pours over the tome, she pauses to look over at Milfred’s progress and makes corrections as needed––mostly small adjustments like the length of her lines and making sure the pen doesn’t leave the board until she’s finished the stroke. Runes can be so particular. (She also finds herself amazed by the kitchenware taking all the effort out of cooking. It’s not that Willow doesn’t know that such enchantments exist, it’s just that there is a strict rule in the Yeong household about magic in the kitchen: it’s not allowed. Everything in the kitchen must be done by hand. She doesn’t know the reason behind this rule, but she’s never questioned it either. Sometimes it's nice to do things herself without the aid of her magic.) The smell of the soup fills the kitchen until it’s wrapping Willow like a warm blanket, making it harder and harder to concentrate on her studies of auras as hunger pulls her attention. But ever a scholar, she persists, reading about the different ways an aura can be read and how one might hone the skill for themselves. The section on feeling them, albeit small, does resonate with Willow as she wonders if her emotional sponge tendencies might lend themselves here, but she doesn’t dare think she’d be special enough to have such a rare ability to feel out auras with her heart. While there is the most information on seeing them, that doesn’t feel quite as intuitive to the sorceress, so she focuses on smell, hearing, and touch as those are her best senses. (The winds tend to affect these senses the most.) She makes a note of the locations on the maps and hopes there will be an opportunity to visit these places herself. She’ll have to ask Juliet.

Speaking of the archer, she notices Milfred’s quiet utterings and looks up, curious about her worry and wondering if she herself should be worried. While she understands that the wood is dangerous at night, Juliet seems more than capable of handling herself. But those worries are silenced when the hex girl’s head disappears. Willow almost faints from shock. (She does squeak at the same time Jeffery Von Willigans hisses.) She cannot stare without feeling sick, despite her curiosity, and buries her nose in the tome while she waits for the return of Milfred’s head. (She really, really hopes the head returns and this is not just some bizarre stunt for the evening. ‘Thank the gods Sawyer can’t do this. Or doesn’t do this.’ She has enough nightmares from the time she caught her half transitioned and naked in their lab.)

Once the archer and the head finally return, Willow does not look up until she is assured that Milfred is put back together again. When she does finally look up, setting the tome to the side, her brow pinches in concern seeing the state that Juliet is in, not able to make sense of it given that she know the woman to be agile. Her eyes ask the questions her mouth refuses. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’ She also shoots the hex girl a disapproving look over the ear pull, surprised that she’d call out the governesses slapping Juliet’s wrists but seeing nothing wrong with pulling on her ears.

The sorceress is also shocked by the mention of the winter cycle as when she left Elsewhere it had been summer. This causes her to wonder about the seasons on each side, but that thought will have to wait as she doesn’t feel comfortable asking questions (or doing much of anything) with the tense air filling the kitchen. She sits at the table, tense, as the two women eat and exchange glares. Willow’s hardly able to touch her food, but she does stare at her bowl, finding that it’s the best distraction and, perhaps childishly hoping, that if she doesn’t look up and acknowledge what’s happening, she’ll turn invisible. Not like she has object permanence or anything.

Meanwhile, Lucky stares at Jeffery Von Willigans in utter and pure shock. The horror! The little rodent of unusual size has captured one of their magnificent, beautiful, and priceless scales for their own nefarious intentions. The dragon growls, light blue smoke huffing from their nostrils, baring their fangs and one hundred and ten percent intent on chasing their mortal enemy through the walls. However, before they can even shrink down, Grace comes in for the save and Lucky’s scales take on a faint pinkish hue as if they’re blushing. (They very much take this as a sign of an alliance.) The dragon smirks and steps in front of the possum, trilling in a satisfied manner, tugging on Jeffery Von Willigan’s frilly bow to force the scale to drop. They gather the scale with their tongue, causing it to dissolve, and finish with a hiss. They then take the spot next to Grace and nuzzle against her (or try to).

Throughout the entire dinner, Willow takes maybe three bites of her soup, knowing that eating is a necessary part of functioning, but cannot bring herself to choke down more than that, the food feeling more like cement in her mouth. Just as the two women are about to storm off to their separate areas of the house, Willow finally pipes up and demands they play a game, because she personally hates going to bed with tension in the area. “I want to show you both this card game we play back home,” she says as cooly as possible, trying to hide the shake in her voice or the staccato rhythm of her heart. She doesn’t explain her ulterior intentions and just summons a deck of playing cards from her bag and begins setting up the game before either woman can protest. “There are two major rules to this game: you must remain silent and you cannot talk about the rules. Let the game of Mao begin.”

It’s an exceedingly frustrating game to play if one is playing for the first time and even after a few rounds, it remains frustrating; all the rules are based on pattern spotting and new rules are silently added with each round. But that’s the point. It’s supposed to be frustrating. (Grandma Juniper introduced Willow to this tactic long ago. There is a sacred rule in the Rhode Island house that fights are not to be left unresolved before bedtime. It’s bad for sleep hygiene, or so her grandma claims, so whenever a fight would break out between grandchildren or even grandmas or grandmas and grandchildren, it became a rule to play a game to ease the tension. Through the game players can redirect their frustrations or even take out their frustrations on each other through competition. And Mao is not a game for making friends, therefore it's perfect for releasing frustration.) She doesn’t know if this will work, but she also can’t not try. She won’t be able to sleep without trying.

They end up playing several rounds of the game, enough that Willow loses track, and it’s a rare show of her surprisingly competitive nature––which starts to come out as both Milfred and Juliet catch on to the game's rules and become actual players. She tries to play it cool, like she’s disaffected, but her tightened brow and pursed lips make it very obvious that each loss feels personal. When it’s finally time for bed, the air is noticeably lighter and Willow is pleased with salvaging the evening.

As with the night before, Willow and Juliet share the space on the floor and the companions take the bed. Lucky tries to snuggle with Grace and is rejected. They take it in stride and settle for curling close-ish to her, at least as close as they can get without her moving away. Before they go to bed, before Juliet can turn her back on Willow, she pulls her to sit up and face her, perhaps feeling she has missed out on valuable Juliet time with the antics of the day. Rather than ask her any pressing questions that might accidentally make the air awkward, she shares some about herself.

“I was raised by my grandmas, pretty much.” She doesn’t elaborate on the reasons this might be, because it’s such a can of worms and not the point of the story she wants to tell. “They taught me all there is to know about love. Well, I learned from others too, but their lessons were the earliest, most prominent, and impactful. Theirs just taught me so much about the trust and passion and commitment it takes to truly build together. Their story isn’t even a happily ever after––I mean, it is now but it didn’t start that way. They’re, like, ancient and still find ways to surprise each other and make each other feel special. They still have fun. I caught them in the garden once pelting each other with weeds, chasing each other,” her eyes start to get misty thinking about them, her ocean heart swelling. She takes a long pause to soak in the memory, then finds her train of thought again.

“When I started this undertaking, I’ll admit it was selfish––I was doing it because I hadn’t met my person,” she whispers, looking away from Juliet though blankly playing with their thread, twirling it around her forefinger. “And all I’ve ever wanted is a love story. My best friend growing up used to tell me all the time that I was born on the wrong side and I’d fit in more where folklore is real,” she chuckles. “But, you know, the more I thought about it, the more relationships I saw falling apart on my side, the more people I saw settling, or just using others for pleasure,” she drops the thread and twists her fists around the hem of her oversized sleep shirt. Her brow is pinched together and something roils in her stomach as ghost lips remind her of cold empty beds in the morning and answering machines left unfilled. “It couldn’t just be about me. And when I thought of my grandmas, my cousin and her lover, and my former lover with her current one… I want to defend that. I want to change the way we see love and view the threads and treat others. I mean, love is… it’s everything, Juliet. I know it sounds naïve, but I don’t know who I’d be without it. Even if the relationships I named are solid as a rock, even rocks can crack under enough pressure and I don’t want this to get worse. I don’t want that pressure to build around the few good relationships I’ve had the privilege to witness. So, yeah. Just wanted to tell you why I’m here and why I won’t leave no matter how hard or terrifying it gets. I am going to save love and I'll help you clear your name, too.”

They go to bed not too soon after that, with Willow facing Juliet and Juliet facing away.

When the morning comes, the sorceress manages to wake before the archer for the first time since they started their journey. Ever so quietly, she slips from beneath the sheets, pulls on her grandfather’s flight jacket, and sneaks out the window the way she often does––by throwing her staff out the window and sliding down it like a firefighter. (Lucky only perks up once, sensing their companion has roused, but the sleepy dragon only moves enough to cover their eyes with their tail.) She stays within the boundary of the cottage’s protection, knowing well enough by now that the wood is a dangerous place. At first she tries to warm up behind the boring looking guest house and ends up feeling too exposed out there, struggling with just her basic runes, so she slips into the house itself, remembering that it’s decently sized enough for her purposes. As always, she starts by stretching and then practices her wind manipulations, causing the trees around the property to sway violently in whatever direction the sorceress chooses.

She then summons her keychain from Juliet’s room and unclips the mirrorball. She closes her hands around it, letting it heat up in her palms. The pieces detach from the keychain allowing Willow to spread them throughout the room, creating a loose sphere of mirror shards around her. Then she begins her exercises, stretching out a few pieces of mirror and hopping through the portals. She falls out of some that float from the ceiling, runs out through others, jumps up from pieces on the floor, catches herself by falling backwards through another––exit points shrink as quickly as a new entrances open––and her feet rarely touch the ground. To an outsider, it might look like she’s bouncing back and forth between all the different pieces as the mirror shards breathe to a rhythm only known to Willow. And it gets more complicated when she pulls out a few other Willows from her mirrors, allowing them to join in on the exercise; they laugh together and some up the ante by moving exit and entry points, providing an extra layer of challenge to her practice. This goes on for about an hour, before the original Willow, who really looks no different than the other Willows, claps her hands together and then invites the other Willows into a group hug, pulling them back into herself. She finishes by snapping her fingers and calling all the mirror pieces back into their mirrorball form, clipping the keychain back onto the collection and stuffing it into her pocket.

Feeling refreshed and satisfied with the buzz of magic coursing through her, staff in hand, she waltzes into the kitchen and sets herself up near the counter. “Morning…” she taps her chin, “I think today I’m going to try out the supernal eater of souls for you.” She’s not sure how serious Milfred had been about eating a painter’s soul, but with the caster’s desire to sound mysterious and vaguely threatening, she thinks this ought to please her. “So, good morning, the supernal eater of souls. Do you know if Juliet is up yet?”

 

[ellarose]

Juliet goes to sleep with her fists and legs tucked close to her chest, curling herself as tightly as she holds onto her secrets. She never should have read that letter. Sitting on that stump with a full basket of berries resting by her feet, she had investigated the crinkling noise in her pouch and rediscovered the letters that Willow presented her with. ('Love letters', she had described them in handwriting that looks very much like it belongs to Willow James. Referring to her as the person at the other end of her thread. Her star-crossed lover, her... lobster? Admittedly, that part did not make very much sense to her. Unable to read any further than that, she refolded it and tucked it away. She should have torn it up, as the vicious voice in her head instructed her to do, but her fingers seized up as a soft, wind-like whisper told her to keep it safe instead. Just in case. Just in case what...? Just in case they fall in love? No. It's not going to happen. Not again. Never again.) Infuriated by her weakness to tear a simple piece of paper in half and needing to test the strength of her resolve, she pulled the little red crystal out from under her bodice and traced her closest target with its guidance.

Intercepting the target's carriage went without incident-- although without any better places to hide along the dirt road, she had to make do with a thistle bush. Gathering energy between her palms, which were clasped as if in prayer, she then pulled them apart to sculpt an obsidian arrow. Seemingly, this is done with her mind. In this world, the power of a wish-- of desire-- is everything. It's this same energy that calls a companion forth, what gives them shape. When a person makes their first wish, their first wish that comes from the furthest depths of their soul, that is when their companion appears before them. Juliet does not understand the magic in Millicent's tome, but she understands this feeling, this gift that she has been granted. It's something that takes more than wanting to be loved. If wanting to be loved was enough, then...

It's Juliet's unspoken understanding that these arrows are drawn out from the inside of her cursed heart, siphoning the part of her that is so hurt that it wants vehemently to hurt those who cause harm. A goddess of vengeance, attracted to the tragedies she carries with her, sharpens her heartache into a weapon she can use to fight for her cause.These midnight-misted arrows are not designed to destroy, not to murder, but to make powerful, manipulative people feel weak for once in their lives. She chases and hunts those that fortune and love favor undeservingly. Striking her targets with these arrows offers her a rush that, for a few seconds, makes her feel alive again. Hyperaware of her fingers on her bow, of every breath that escapes her lips. Like this, her pain does not have to be a heavy weight that she bears in silence. Like this, she can expend it to help those like her, who are constantly settling and suffering in the name of 'love'. ('Love' was broken long before she got her start. The Lightless appeared before she began this line of work, too. While she has never met them, she believes that there are others who possess this gift. There have to be. At first she thought that whoever targeted Paris Brooks had ruined her forever... but now she knows that they set her free.The system needs to be destroyed so it can be built anew again.)

Willow James says that she believes in love because she has seen it with her own eyes. Juliet August cannot bring herself to see it through the same lens when acts performed in the name of love have only ever backfired. Words, like promises, are lovely until they're broken. (She's heard enough of them, she's heard enough.) Love exists, but it's a killer. It's a curse that haunts her endlessly, along all of the ghosts of what might have been. She goes to sleep thinking of Willow. 'All I've ever wanted was a love story' with her fingers wrapping around a thread that never should have tethered someone so starry-eyed and hopeful to a hopeless, wretched someone like her. Her name will never be cleared, splattered with blood.

Juliet sleeps a deep, dreamless sleep. It seems to deepen every time she secures a new target. (If the archer is afraid of what effects this gift might have on her health, she doesn't let it show. It doesn't matter. As long as she's doing something purposeful with her life, it doesn't matter.) Not even the beams of sunlight streaming in from the window wake her. (And usually she rises before the sun.) Grace eventually decides to use her companion as a bed (as if she doesn't have the whole bed to herself already) curling up on her chest and finally rousing her. Pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she surveys the room and discovers that Willow has already vanished. She stares dazedly at the imprint of the sorceress's body in the nest of blankets where she slept. Willow James. Sparkling green eyes, a crinkled freckled nose, curls that look like they'd bounce if she tugged on the ends. When she says words, she sometimes finds herself wanting to believe her. And that is very dangerous.

Thinking back to their training (the 'training' being Willow finding the portraits in the sitting room) the dinners they shared involving animated stories and frustrating games, she decides that it is time for them to go. While their ambitions may not align, they both require that they move on to face the monsters that await them ahead. (And if they stay in one place for too long, with Millie and Willow getting along this way, she might start to find that...) No. Better that they keep going. She has to keep going so she can outrun her demons and her thoughts.

Juliet changes into her trousers and blouse with this in mind, lacing up her worn but comfortable pair of boots. She packs her bag with essentials, takes inventory of her new arrows, and then sets off towards the kitchen to inform Millicent of her intentions. (The witch will know already, however, as she snoops on everything that transpires within her cottage. There are enchanted ears hiding in the corners of every room and shifting eyes in every painting.) Still, it's a part of their rules that she give Millicent a proper goodbye whenever she intends to leave. (...Millicent's reaction to her reappearance after her disappearance had rivaled even her mother's in intensity. They don't talk about it anymore, but it lingers whenever they speak of the rules.)

“So, good morning, the supernal eater of souls. Do you know if Juliet is up yet?” Juliet catches this much of the sentence as she walks into the kitchen behind Willow, her footsteps light and unnoticeable. She wonders if tapping the sorceress's shoulder is a good idea and thinks better of it, recalling just how jumpy she is. The witch of the wood, of course, notices her presence right away and wastes no time in pointing this out.

"...Shall we ask her? Are you up, Juliet?" Millicent asks, nodding behind Willow to indicate Juliet as she silently enters the kitchen behind her. The witch defiantly snaps her gaze back to the sizzling pan in front of her, where she appears to be cooking some eggs with mysteriously purple colored yolk. "Are you leaving, Juliet? You really should have gotten an earlier start if that was your intention. Listen to your big sister and stay here a day longer."

"I'm the big sister. I'm taller." Juliet claims nonchalantly, swiping an apple from the fruit basket on the counter and tossing it idly between her palms. She stares at the ruby-red fruit as if it's the most fascinating object in the world in order to justify avoiding Millicent's gaze. (Which is not set on her, but rather trained on those toxic-looking eggs.) They're on speaking terms now, but the air between them still feels a bit uneasy.

"I'm wiser and I'm older, therefore reason dictates that I am the big sister." Millicent points her nose in the air, indignantly shaking her head the way a poodle might shake off after an unwanted grooming. With her short stature it makes her appear much more like a little girl. (Neither of them realize fully how carrying on with this silly fight makes them both appear like children.)

“Reason dictates that we need to travel to Okeanos as soon as possible.” Juliet says, glancing meaningfully at Willow as she recalls their conversation from the night before. Their resolve may differ greatly, but it’s true that they both have their own business to attend to elsewhere. “We’ve rested well and replenished our supplies. Spending any more time here would be irresponsible.” She nods sagely, carrying on with their argument. This is how it is with Millicent. “And my sense of responsibility is what makes me the big sister.”


“I believe it irresponsible that you overwork yourself so. You never take a proper break, Juliet. Tell her, Willow.” Millicent snips, before turning to the other caster. She waves her frying pan with purplish eggs around as if they’re going to tempt her to her side. “You’d like to stay here a day longer, wouldn’t you?”

“…Don’t bring Willow into this. She knows as well as I do that there is work to be done.” Juliet crosses her arms and turns to the sorceress, producing her rolled map from her cloak and holding it out to her. “I’ve checked. If we leave soon we can make it to the first campsite before sundown.” Millicent’s lower lip sticks out. (By doing this, Juliet thinks she is proving that she is the childlike one among them.) She always makes a fuss when Juliet tries to leave… but it cannot be helped when she does not wish to travel anywhere. The archer can no longer stay the way she once did. She’s too restless to stay in one place for much too long. Steeling herself to the guilting attempt, she continues. “We can return again on our way back to Amoria.”

“I wanted to paint Lucifer today.” Millicent tuts disappointedly, trying to appeal to Willow as well as Lucky. “I had the perfect costume picked out and everything! They will look positively dashing in it. Perhaps they could stay with me?” From inside the wall, Jeffery Von Willigans hisses at this idea. The witch doesn’t acknowledge her companion’s protest, happily prattling along. “We’ll have such a fun time together!”

“…Lucky will be coming with us. They are protective of Willow.” Juliet recalls what Willow James told her when they first met. Either way, she needs to keep them anchored to their task before they are entirely derailed. Given that the sorceress is so prepared, she figures that she is also prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. “Are you ready to go, Willow?”

Millicent beseechingly shakes her head ‘no’ at the sorceress (and Lucky) in a last ditch effort to get them to stay. Good grief.

 

[starboob]

Even with the warning that Juliet is behind her the sorceress still manages to spook herself when she turns around, making a small shrill noise, and placing one hand over her heart and another over her lips. “You really are quiet,” she breathes out. Once her initial surprise melts away, her eyes warm as she admires the archer who looks like a benevolent spirit even after waking. Meanwhile, and much to her utter horror, Willow probably looks only marginally better than one of those trolls from the other day on account of waking up and heading straight into a private training session. This, at least, inspires her to snap her fingers, immediately changing herself into something more presentable, something she hopes makes her resemble a dashing knight. (The effect is likely not achieved. For herself, she’s selected a light gray pair of trousers that she is “borrowing” (stealing) from Milfred, a dark multi-color argyle print sweater that she tucks into the pants, along with her signature burgundy adventurin’ boots; she’s also decided to wear the shoulder armor only on her left side for seemingly aesthetic reasons only. Her sword is also strapped to her hip to fully complete the dark academia meets Evermore meets knight on a heroic quest mish-mash. It’s quite the look. She thinks Meredith would be proud.)

“Wait? Leaving?” The sorceress’s head turns between the two women, completely distraught over this prospect, and obviously on Milfred’s side that they should stay another day. Had Willow James known that yesterday was going to be their last day here she might have tried to do more with it, to really cherish it. (And for most of it, Juliet wasn’t even there and when she was there, it was awkward as heck! It’s still a little awkward with the two women bickering like siblings.) “But–but! Juliet!” She starts to beg, on the verge of reaching over to tug on the woman’s arm and join in on all the childish antics. “We didn’t even do any training here to prep for Okeanos and you know that I am woefully unprepared to handle so many Lightless––especially if they’re attracted to our heroic aura. I-I’m not trying to be deadweight, so I need at least a day to run some drills. You still haven’t given me any pointers on how to use Daylight––that’s a name I'm trying out for Mrs. Pointy.”

She’d continue to argue––even thinking to bring up the fact that, so far, they have failed every time to meet their destination by sundown––but the smell of something toasty toasty interrupts her mid-thought. She looks over at the curiously purple eggs first, but they’re only as crispy crispy as they should be. Her eyes track around the room until she spots the bottle tucked into the side pouch of her bag, a thick roll of fresh smoldering papers inside.

“Ahhh!” She snaps her fingers to stop the embers from turning into a full fire and then summons the message into her hand. It’s yesterday’s paper, according to Sawyer’s coded sticky-note. When she peels it off, revealing the cover photo and headline, her stomach lurches and she almost drops and recoils from the paper as if it were made of hot iron. ‘Ugh! Get a grip, WJ.’

It has to be a joke, just Sawyer messing with her because she knows how much she cannot stand any ounce of news or mention of Dorothea. Her helplessly curious eyes speed over the headline. “The Song Bird Cancels Rest of Tour.” The byline continues, “Faints During Performance.” The article goes on to explain the bizarre and uncharacteristic account of Dorothea Birdsong being hospitalized for unknown causes; those close to the singer and actress (i.e., Kinsley, no doubt) disclose that it’s merely exhaustion from being on tour for over a year and that she’ll be returning home to recover with loved ones and a team of experts. There’s also an infuriating statement from her fiancé that gets cut off because of the way Sawyer clipped the article; while she hates reading news about her or him (and her and him), she is even more distraught that the story isn’t complete now that her curiosity has been triggered. “What the…” she murmurs, curious if the wolf clipped this in a sleep-deprived haze, but then she notices the writing scrawled on the back of the sticky-note and her eyes narrow, unamused.

She’s not sure what irritates her more, King’s half-statement or Sawyer’s cheeky note telling her to turn the page around for the actual content. (The wizard could have easily erased the front page. She could have sent the message with the actual article Willow is meant to read facing out, but Sawyer is Sawyer and she’s never understood Willow’s distaste for the celebrity and she never will. Willow won’t tell a soul what happened that summer.) After a few shallow huffs, ones that even seem to make even Lucky uneasy, she flips the page over and reads an article about one of the first couples whose thread snapped. They’re trying to get back together; they have a family they want to make it work for; they don’t want to give up just because of a thread. It's not incredibly interesting to Willow and she doesn’t quite know what to make of it or whether she agrees with their logic or not, but she understands the importance of keeping up with those who have been affected. Her eyes then glance towards the photo of the couple, noticing that Sawyer has circled it and there’s a scrawled out question over the image: ”Do you see that?” The sorceress squints at the image, inspecting it carefully but not noticing anything peculiar. The couple is sitting on a living room couch and nothing really seems out of the ordinary aside from the gross overuse of frilly doilies.

Still, she doesn’t think the wizard is wasting her time. Sawyer is a lot of things and while silly is definitely among them, she’s also serious. Willow unrolls the rest of the note from the wizard, where she goes onto explain what she saw and even has clipped a magicked copy of the photo that shows exactly what she saw. It’s far more haunting than what Willow’s eyes can see. Rather than a neat photo of the couple, they look disheveled, agitated, and their eyes appear like they’ve been burned out with a magnifying glass. The wife’s mouth seems to be cracked like a desert, forcing her to smile. In this version of the photo, the one Sawyer can see, the couple seem to be clasping their hands for dear life, fingers digging into each other so much that Willow can spot blood dripping beneath their fingertips.

The next part of Sawyer’s note encourages her to cast the spell she made up for one of Meredith’s shows––a picture’s worth a thousand words and this spell reveals them all. (Ugh, she used to be so wordy with her titles!) She finally looks up, remembers she’s still in the supernal eater of souls’s cottage, and motions for the two women to gather. “Sorry, my friend… She’s helping me research the love affliction in Evermore and sent me this article about one of the first couples whose thread just up and snapped. They’re getting back together, which isn’t necessarily surprising, but,” she points to the two photographs and taps the magicked one, “This is what my friend sees without a spell. Supernal eater of souls, you might just be seeing the same image with your special aura eyes.” She hopes Milfred doesn’t catch onto the possibility that there might be a mirrored heart of herself on Willow’s side. It’s not that she thinks that will disrupt anything, but… She just knows Sawyer would be weird about it and she just thinks it's for the best if both these weirdos (affectionate!) never figure it out. They really could take over the realms if they wanted. “She suggested I cast a spell on the photo to figure out more and I thought I could use this as a lesson for both of you––Juliet, you’ll have to catch up later on rune casting. Supernal eater of souls, do not attempt this without my supervision.”

Usually, Willow would be nervous with two new sets of eyes watching her cast, but after her lesson with Milfred yesterday and her earlier warm-ups, she feels a bit better––plus, she invented this spell and the repercussions of messing up are minimal. (Juliet being here does make her a little nervous, but she reminds herself that this is a pretty low stakes spell.) Since she is using this as a lesson, rather than imagine the glyph and draw it from her mind, she actually draws it with the tip of her now glowing finger. She starts by making a spiral shape that she will use to arrange the runes; she then draws a rune for truth (an oval with a slit across the short axis), a rune for secrets (a rose), one for souls (three vertical squiggles with the center one raised above its sisters), and one for speech (a less than symbol with three lines coming out of the open mouth). She repeats these runes three times and arranges them in a pattern on the spiral. Once set in place, the spiral begins to turn, the runes all glowing with a faint blue, and then the glyph siphons down and absorb into the photo. The reaction is immediate.

The photo shrieks, causing Willow to squeak in response, covering her ears. When the shrieking ceases, whispers fill the room and, despite it being daylight, the room goes pitch dark.

“Don’t drag us down––”

“Please!”

“Help me.”

It’s unclear who in the couple is pleading, whether it’s one or both of them. The whispers repeat themselves and the sound of scraping like metal against concrete punctuates the pleas. Then another voice cuts in and Willow doubts it’s from the couple.

“The fates have spoken.”

“Stay.”​

“Defiance is not tolerated.”

“Stay.”​

“Mend. Repair.”

“Stay!”​

The lights in the room flicker before returning to normal and the whispers and scraping disappear. Willow’s eyes are wide with shock as she looks up between the two women and then nods to Juliet. “Juliet is right, Ms. Eater of Souls,” she says, her voice shaking. “It’s time to go.”

She summons her notebook, has Lucky lick the newspaper article (their spit is surprisingly adhesive) and pastes it on a blank page, tucking Sawyer’s letter in between the pages before she sends the notebook back into her bag. Her hands resemble leaves in autumn with how much they shake and she clasps them together in a poor attempt to hide her nerves. “It has been a delight and pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she says to Milfred, sounding strong even with her quivering voice. “When I return, I hope that you’re a master of the runes I have taught you so we can practice more advanced stuff together, okay?”

As she has done with both Elise and Nix, she pulls Milfred into a fierce hug. She takes it a step further with her affections and buries her nose into the crook of the other caster's neck. She really is sad to be leaving so soon, but with that warning, the implication that there is something menacing beneath the surface of snapping threads, she knows they need to continue to Okeanos. “Goodbye is just a hello saved for another day, okay?” She boops the other caster’s nose with her forefinger and then grins. “I’ll make sure Juliet takes some breaks. She’s already let me compete with the giant frogs in a burping contest.

“Beside, this gives you plenty of time to think of poses for Lucifer.” Lucky trills happily at Willow using their approved nickname. “And so long as they are dignified, majestic, and ferocious, I am sure they will sit for several. It also wouldn’t hurt if you made them a few hand pies,” she giggles.

Lucky then expresses their own gargled goodbye to the caster they have grown so fond of while Willow hoists on her backpack and does a mental check to make sure that she’s got everything.

As they depart from the odd cottage (oddage!), Willow’s worry increases with each step. Enough that she once more doesn’t beg for as many breaks to marvel at the wood. Though she doesn’t know when she’ll be in this part of the wood again and though she knows to never take a moment for granted, her attention is on the shrieking photograph. (As well as Dorothea, but she doesn’t want to admit that.) She practically worries a hole into her lip the more she thinks about it.

With one hand on her staff, the other falls to Daylight, clutching the hilt. “What do you make of it?” she asks Juliet, tilting her head up and training her eyes forward to some far away place (maybe to Elsewhere). She doesn’t realize that it’s been so long since she’s spoken that Juliet might not connect what she’s talking about. It takes a few seconds, but she eventually clarifies, “About the photo back at Milfred’s cottage? Has anything like that happened here??”

 

[ellarose]

Stay, stay, stay. Juliet idly twists the end of her braid around her fingers, fixing her gaze on the path ahead of them as they venture out. Her thoughts about where they need to go next fight to be louder than recollections of the haunting voices that had been peeled off of that image, the expression on the woman's face and the darkness they'd been swallowed up in. (She tries not to think about the expression on Millicent's face when she left.) Stay. Those whispering voices had been insistent, demanding. Is fate going to fight back, attempt to take vengeance for those who have had their threads cut or tampered with? (It's too late, far too late.) Shackling two people who no longer fit together, prolonging their misery when they long for freedom more than they do for each other. The archer's heart aches for the woman, whose appearance was so mangled beneath her smile. What Willow presented them with was a visual representation of the people she's fighting for now. Those who are trapped and see no way out beyond forcibly bending themselves into the right shape, even if their bones snap apart with the effort. Sometimes cutting ties and leaving is the only way.

Willow James was quite distraught by the sight as well. (She supposes that it'd be stranger if she wasn't-- everything about that scene was unsettling, from the way the couple's eyes looked to have been burned out to the darkness they'd been plunged into as the voices spoke.) It strengthened both of their resolves to leave. As she thought, they are both ambitious in that way. Willow agrees with her, to some extent. Something must be done about this. And with that in mind, she wonders how the sorceress intends to save love. She wonders if she's going to play it by the books, try to figure out how to appease the fates which whispered their demands. They both want change, that is clear... Don't be a fool, Juliet. She's not going to agree with your methods. Remember--? (She knows, she knows, she knows.) Juliet is strangling her wrist with her braid by the time that Willow's voice draws her attention back to the present. She quickly glances around to ensure they're still moving in the correct direction, drawing her cloak tighter around herself. Their boots crunch in the freshly fallen snow. She hadn't layered up, however, as they won't have to travel far before the season makes a drastic change to summer heat the closer they come to Okeanos.

“Milfred…? Who is… oh.” Juliet begins, realizing mid-question that the name sounds familiar.Willow's used this name before, hasn't she? In her bag, she’d used it in what she assumed was a reference to Millicent. Although she's tempted to simply tell Willow the witch's name, she knows better than to go breaking all of her rules. (...Especially after insisting they leave on short notice.) Millicent has told her that possession of a witch's full name can be very dangerous. The reasons why were rather confusing to Juliet, but she takes it seriously enough that she has never revealed the witch of the wood's identity without permission. While the question about 'the photo' initially perplexes her, she quickly assesses the fact that she's asking if she's had any experiences that mirror the one they just had. Juliet drops the end of her braid and then picks it up again. Clouds fill her mind, as well as a wind that carries rain and voices that whip her skin like razor blades. Flashes of portraits that line a dark, lightning-lit hallway, depicting faces that morph and grow long teeth. Blinking past it, she gives her head a slight shake. There are some things she can't share. Some things she won't share. “It's not too uncommon to hear voices in the wood. Wraith’s Valley, as you've seen, and the Lover’s Graveyard.” It's something, which is better than nothing. Juliet catches a tiny winter sprite wearing a billowy white dress in her hand, twirling and falling alongside the snowflakes. The spite offers her a thankful chirp as she allows it to bounce off her palm and reorient itself. "Those places have always been that way, ever since I was small. They're filled with curses and remnants, so they may not be connected to the love affliction in Evermore."

Juliet watches to make sure the winter sprite has made it safely into the tree it'd been aiming for. Its ice-blue eyes light up as it reunites with friends and proceeds to travel on the winter wind with them, like floating white flowers among the snowflakes.

"We have only dealt with Lightless in the kingdoms of Folklore and they do not talk. But I suppose with a spell..." Juliet draws her finger in vague circles to indicate what Willow had done earlier, her cheeks turning a soft pink as she clumsily tries to articulate it. (The sorceress already knows that she is a lousy caster.) "With those shapes that you drew. Perhaps we would find voices in places we wouldn't initially expect."

They travel deeper into the wood. As they walk, Juliet traces their conversation back to Willow's concerns about practicing with Mrs. Pointy (who is now going by the name of Daylight) and produces her falchion to show her ways to hold her blade and her stance. She explains the importance of cardio and strong wrists, that falling into a predictable rhythm with her steps will give her enemies an advantage, and that fair-play is a fast way to get oneself killed. Though Willow seems like the sort to follow instructions very carefully, she emphasizes the importance of taking her opportunities to strike rather than timidly shrinking away or feeling empathy for an opponent who would not show it in return. While walking and practicing at the same time is not ideal, she gives examples of different swings and techniques as they make their way through the passage where the trees are always moving (like her) and in a way, they're rather eager to help with the lesson, throwing practice strikes at Juliet so that she can show Willow how to find openings and dodge. She's doing this, all the while hoping to occupy Willow's mind with something else and ensure that she feels secure before they arrive in Okeanos. (At first she finds it awkward to explain all of this and quite jarring to hear the sound of her own voice this much... but Willow James is earnest and a good listener, which gradually makes it easier for her.) The trees shift to create an exit from their pass once they reach the end, creaking as they wave goodbye with their snowy branches.

"Thank you." Juliet says, offering a slight wave over her shoulder. (It'd be rude to ignore them after they helped with the lesson.) She has always preferred the company of those trees to the partygoers in Amoria. She remembers dancing with one as a child and subsequently panicking when one tried to lift her too high into the air. (They were very kind about lowering her safely to the ground when they realized how frightened she was.) Then she nods at Willow. "The trees are very hospitable here." The snow under their feet becomes only faintly snow-dusted before they're walking on a dirt path under a blazing hot sun. The archer shrugs off her favorite red cloak and rolls it tight to store it in her pack and is quickly drawn to the splotches of shade under the foxtail palm trees. Many of them lean dangerously low to the ground, as though a giant had just rummaged through them to search for a lost pair of eyeglasses. Unlike the other path, full of energetic trees, many of these ones look as though they have given up on being trees altogether. (Also like her... but on the inside.) They have to duck under and step over many of them just to get around. Insects and pixies perpetually hum all around them. This trail is more rigorous than others have been, with rocks set haphazardly to act as stairs to help travelers over particularly steep areas.

"You will not have to climb any more stairs when we're in Okeanos." Juliet promises as she begins to scale the rigorous path, making it appear effortless as she steps from rock to rock. "There are stairs in the palace for aesthetic purposes... but we will be swimming then, so it will be unnecessary for us to climb them." The archer has never understood why they built stairs in the first place. Much like Millicent's magic lessons, it is a mystery to her. She turns and offers Willow her hand to help her over a particularly steep step. "The climb makes for decent training, though."

"The queen originally comes from Okeanos. It's the central kingdom of the seven sea kingdoms in Folklore." Juliet finds that speaking has gotten easier with time and also finds it might be helpful to explain things to Willow before they no doubt get swept into their mission of investigating the aquatic variant of the Lightless. "She was made to give up her tail when she was married in Amoria." This was also the case for her mother, although this information does not seem particularly relevant. (Her mother moved primarily because she wanted to stay close to the queen, to stand in solidarity beside her.) Juliet simply recalls Willow's resolve to speak with the queen and supposes it's better that she is given more context on their situation. In truth, she is curious to see Willow James attempt to reason with the queen. (And, overall, she is not opposed to trying to help princess Elise. She and Flynn were nauseatingly close ever since they were children. They are a pair who could be happy together, if only the entire world weren't rising against them. Kind of like... she knows, she knows, she knows.) "The most recent affliction is the queen's younger brother. If we can heal him, it may help in persuading her to consider princess Elise's engagement."

Eventually the path guides them to a beautiful view of a secluded village lined by waterfalls. (There are many small ones that curve between the stony buildings and two especially large ones that flow out from the closed eyes of a statue of a woman, flowing from them like tears.) A spray from one of the falls is misted over them with a welcome breeze and Juliet sighs with relief. It is rather draining to go from traveling in the snow to climbing in the heat.

"The Whispering Waterfalls." Juliet whispers, naturally. Because these are the Whispering Waterfalls. (It occurs to her once more that, even with her recent efforts to speak up, she ought to have mentioned this sooner. The rushing of the water drowns out the sound of her voice when she speaks this softly.) She sidles closer to Willow James, then, bringing her mouth close to the shell of her ear because she has no other choice in order to be heard. The sorceress's dark curls tickle her cheek as she leans in and her cheeks burn red. "...The Whispering Waterfalls. The guardian who watches over this village has sensitive ears and does not take kindly to those who raise their voice above a whisper. And--"

Once more, Juliet finds herself appalled at her timing. Before she can warn Willow about the vagabond souls that pass through, a bluish one grabs a hold of Willow's arm (with fingers that phase through her rather than gripping on) staring at her with unseeing, soulless eyes. Knowing her companion's tendency to squeak with surprise, she pushes past her need to respect personal space and quickly closes a hand over her mouth. She offers her an apologetic glance. (It will be better for them if they can pass through here noiselessly.)

"The dragon's flame." The soul motions towards her chest and then beseechingly to Lucky. Juliet tilts her head and squints, visibly confused at the request. "Will you light up my heart with the dragon's flame?"

Juliet thinks about it for a moment longer. (Which might be a moment too late, knowing Willow's heroic tendencies.) It's so strange. After all, how much noise does a dragon make when it breathes fire? Her heart pounds and she can only hope that the sorceress hasn't done anything in the time it took her to think it through. "...Willow, wait. It might be a trap."

 

[starboob]

Willow has practically unraveled her sweater tugging nervously at the loose threads; the memory of the darkened kitchen haunts worse than her own shadow. It’s only when she notices a hole forming at the side that she lets go of the thread, shaking it from around her finger before she casts a simple darning glyph to fix the damage. It’s not any easier knowing that there is nothing like this happening in Folklore. That spikes her worry as she had been hoping for a clue, something that could help her put the pieces of this puzzle together, but they still remain so thoroughly scattered that she doesn’t even know what worrying image she’s supposed to be seeing. Of course she knows that Juliet will not have all the answers; if she did, there would not be a love affliction in Folklore and her name would be cleared––or she would at least be on a path to solving this. It's not necessarily surprising that she doesn't have anymore information. Willow already knows she’s had to focus her efforts on the symptoms rather than identifying the disease. ‘It’s fine. We’ll work on this together. As terrifying as this all is now, we will get to the bottom of this. We are the champions of love––who better than us?’

When Juliet finally offers her those pointers it does help distract her case of nervies (scientific!). Willow unsheathes Daylight and begins to mirror the archer’s moves. (Hmm, maybe Fearless would be a better name? To pay homage to the god she hopes will invigorate her heart on this quest.) Though it is surprising to learn that even heroes have to play dirty, her books and movies and comics never suggested this, she trusts Juliet. She’s actually had to survive out in a dangerous world and Willow’s always had the comfort of a protected home. And, if she thinks of this like chess or any other strategic game, she supposes that she never plays fairly; she follows the rules, obviously, but she does exploit her opponent’s mistakes the second she spots them. This just means that she’ll have to figure out her own rules if the ones from her stories won’t suffice.

The trees whip out practice shots at Willow too and, admittedly, she misses more than she dodges or blocks, getting thwapped in the face or torso on multiple occasions (and now she’s the one who looks like she got in a fight with the wood). Lucky seems to find it all very amusing and she has half a mind to scold the dragon perched on her pack, but instead uses it to steel her resolve. ‘I’m going to get this. I’m going to.’

She doesn’t speak much all while this happens. Not while Juliet gives her the pointers; not as the season changes so suddenly from winter to summer that it forces Willow to change out of her sweater and into a white t-shirt with a rainbow band around the chest; and she doesn’t even ask questions about Okeanos though she has several. At some point, she loses her voice listening to Juliet, realizing she hasn’t really been able to memorize its timbre with how quiet she generally is. Now she finds herself trying to faithfully commit the sound to memory so she can produce it for herself in her mind.

The story of Amoria’s queen comes as a surprise to Willow and strikes a deep chord within her heart, recognizing what it must have meant to part with her tail. (She recalls her mer-friends claiming if they were tied to a land dweller, they would simply swim away for they loved the ocean more than anything else and how could they part with home? But she also knows that that had been grandma Elva’s same resolve with her hidden village before she met grandma Juniper; everything changed when their eyes met across the divide of darkness and she knows neither regrets their ever after. Everyone has their choices to make when it comes to the one at the end of their thread, she supposes.) She wonders if the queen believes it was worth it. She wonders if she is happy. She wonders if she really will force her daughter to forgo happiness for duty as she seems to have done. She wonders if the queen is willing to see another way, if she is willing to entertain change. (She wonders if she loves her daughter, truly loves her.) Willow isn’t certain of any of this and she is doubly uncertain that she’s the woman who can even change the mind of a queen. She’s just Willow James, a sorceress from Evermore, the girl from the Other Side. She sighs.

Sweat rolls down in endless beads from her forehead, slicking her back under her heavy pack, and she can feel her heart bumping against her chest with each step. She doesn’t even care that her hand must be disgusting when Juliet offers to help her up the steeper steps. It feels hotter than dragon fire out here so she believes it can be excused. She is so seriously tempted to jump and let the winds carry her towards the top or even hop on Lucky’s back, but Juliet is right. This is good training and her stringbean form could really use all the help that it can get. ‘If I can crush a watermelon between my thighs by the end of all this, then it will be worth it. It will be worth it. It will be worth it.’

“At least we won’t sweat in Okeanos either,” she jokes. “I feel dis-gorsting. …Speaking of swimming, do you have any idea how I might be able to breathe while we are visiting the sea kingdom?” While Willow knows several spells that can help her expand the capacity of her lungs and she can even outright change her anatomy with something more complex, she doesn’t know that she is fully prepared to perform such a spell in front of Juliet. A lot could go wrong with those spells too––like accidentally growing an ear on her butt or even outright exploding her lungs at worst––so it’s not without reason that she is being cautious; of course she is also Willow James and she is more than capable if only she believed in herself. ‘Someday.’

As they reach a clearing, the mist that hits her face is a welcome relief that helps her cool down after that strenuous hike. And the sight of the hidden village has her awestruck, almost causing her to gasp, but the feeling of Juliet’s lips pressed to the shell of her ear steals the gasp and nearly causes her to sigh out a moan instead. Her legs turn to jelly and she has to lean against the archer while she wonders how those lips would feel clasped around her earlobe… ‘Focus! She’s telling you something important.’

Even with the warning that silence is paramount, had it not been for Juliet’s hand over her mouth, she would have easily gotten them in trouble with the guardian. (Once again, her thoughts become inappropriate as she imagines other reasons for the archer to cover her mouth and keep her quiet.) Her cheeks pink before going pale when the cool touch on her arm reminds of why she almost gave them away in the first place. She casts a glance between the soul and Lucky. Her brows knit together at the request, knowing that dragon fire is not what lights a heart on fire at all and also recalling her conversations with Professor Hugo Frey after class. Souls can be wiley things, she knows. She also knows that dragon fire can be particularly dangerous with a wrong soul.

It doesn’t even occur to her to consider the noise factor of Lucky’s fiery breath, because entertaining the soul’s request is simply out of the question. It would not have been her choice either, given that Lucky is the one being asked to fulfill this request, and even they seem skeptical. (Dragons are often particular about their fire and who gets to keep it. They are not particularly keen on giving it to strangers whose motives they don’t know; they’re pretty responsible in that respect.)

The dragon looks at the soul and shakes their head and Willow only shrugs her sympathy in response. “Sorry,” she whispers. “We cannot help you. Perhaps the next traveler––” It takes everything in Willow to not cry out when the soul’s fingers on her arm turns to frost, splintering ice up the sorceress’s arm and locking her elbow. The appendage turns dark blue as it freezes under the grip and she’s not even sure she could pull away if she wanted to as the pain completely immobilizes her and collapses her to her knees. Her teeth grind into her lower lip until blood coats her tongue, tears springing to her eyes from both sources of pain.

This naturally activates Lucky’s fight instincts. It happens faster than Willow can even think to get them to stand down, knowing that they are not, in any way, going to be quiet. The dragon bulks up to the size of a trailer, flames sparking in their throat as they let out a low growl, but when they see those soulless eyes widen with greed, Lucky swallows their crackling fire. With few other ways to vanquish a soul, her companion does what is necessary to protect her and sucks in a sharp breath. The air goes still for a second. Lucky then throws their head forward and belts out a roar so fierce it leaves gashes in the stone. They are successful in blowing the soul back, effectively releasing Willow, but they most definitely awaken the guardian.

The two largest waterfalls, the ones falling from the stone statue, immediately stop flowing. Those stony eyes snap open, causing rocks to break off from the once sealed eyelids and fall with splashes that reach high enough to splatter some of the homes and even manage to get on the two women. Her great shoulders jerk forward as she breaks free from her frozen position and this once again forces more rocks, these ones the size of houses, to crash into the water. When the guardian opens her mouth to speak, her voice is low and gravely, full of enough wrath that Willow wonders if she might turn into a volcano. “Who dares make a mockery of my centuries penance? Whose tongue shall I rip from her throat and swallow for peace while I grieve?”

Lucky takes that as their cue to shrink away and hide behind Willow. Willow gulps. 'Oh. Duck.'

 

[ellarose]

Juliet is not fast enough to stop it, her heart falling like a stone in her chest, like the stones all around them, when the echo of Lucky's roar rings in her ears like a reprimand. She was not fast enough to separate the hostile soul from Willow James. She's hurt. (Just like-- just like-- no.)There is no time to think of everything she might have done faster because she needs to be fast right now. Enormous waves are roaring viciously, raising high over their heads from where the rocks smashed down. (There are no residents to worry about in a place like this, thankfully. The people who did live here had long since grown tired of quieting their voices. Babies cries and sneezes angered the guardian on a daily basis and naturally, it was not sustainable. Only brave travelers passing through stay in the homes here anymore and perhaps children who wish to explore the ghost stories their mothers tucked them into bed with. The wandering souls often convince (terrify) them into leaving before they can venture out too far.) This is a shortcut-- a risky one-- but Juliet has always managed to pass through these parts quieter than an afternoon breeze. She leaves it exactly how she left it, leaves no trace of herself behind aside from footprints that get washed away with the rain. She'd accounted for the risks of traveling with a companion. She knows Willow James to be observant and prepared. Like Wraith's Valley, she considered it a risk worth taking. Time, time, time. There's no time for any of this and she needs to be faster. Fast enough that they do not become the guardian's dinner.

With the graceful sweep of her arms, the archer nocks one of her minor time arrows (this one only gives them about a minute) and then releases it towards the incoming wave, suspending it in the air before it can knock them off their feet. (Droplets shift and shiver in the air as they are held still.) "Gracie." The fox nods and grows in size, kneeling down to invite them onto her back. Juliet helps Willow up, careful to avoid touching her arm and ensuring that she's sitting firmly behind her to ride. "Arms around my waist. Hold tight." She instructs just before Grace darts off like a fluffy red arrow through the flooding streets, her paws splash-splashing and spraying water everywhere.

Counting the seconds they have left, Juliet leans forward slightly as if that will help them move even faster. Twelve, eleven, ten... The waves framing them are trembling, about to fall and no doubt wash them towards the grieving guardian. Biting her lip with concentration, she reaches for one of her speed arrows and is poised to stab it into her still-healing wound when a stone collides with her wrist, knocking it out of her hand. "Damn." It sinks and she's about to reach back to replace it with another one when-- "Damn. Brace yourself!" Their time is out. Juliet manages to take a deep breath just before the waves suspended in the air come crashing over them, submerging and ripping them apart from each other with their force. The water bursts in her ears and everything fades for an instant with the rush of it all. She thrashes against it in attempt to reclaim control over her course.

Juliet blinks her eyes open once she stops turning underwater somersaults. Grace? Lucky? Willow? Urgently, she whips her head around to search for any sign of them, her braid flowing and following each motion like a red serpent. Instead of discovering any of her traveling companions, she notices her fallen arrow lying discarded among some rocks. Faint orange sparks still dance along the edges. Hm. Could be useful still. She starts to swim for it, knowing she needs to take whatever she can get... and the fates prove once more that they're actively working against her by ripping her back just before her fingertips can make contact with it. A harsh current pulls her up, up, up until it throws her in the air at eye level with the stone-sculpted guardian. A watery fist forms and snatches her around her torso, holding her in place. The archer coughs and blinks rapidly as big droplets roll down her face and drip from her eyelashes. From her peripheral, she can see that the guardian has closed a watery fist around Willow James as well.

When Juliet finally regains her breath, she searches around the area from above for Grace and Lucky. When she doesn't see them, she levels her gaze directly with the guardian's and glares.

"Well, well, well. Isn't this interesting?" The guardian's low, gravely voice dissolves into something silkier now that she has them in her grasp. The ground makes crumbly noises when she shrugs her stony shoulders. (The way she is now, her arms seem to be made of stone up until her elbow. The rest is all water, all the way down to her fingertips.) "Confess and do so quietly. Which of you is responsible for making all of this noise? If neither of you speak, I will eat you both." She hums and sets her sights on Juliet. "Was it you, firecracker? You redheads are always so feisty."

"It was one of the lost souls that caused all of this trouble." Juliet deadpans, keeping a cool head as if to directly challenge the firecracker' label she's been given. She speaks as loudly as she can while being quiet in order to be heard over the flowing water. "They attacked and so we defended ourselves. If behavior like this is left unchecked then this may happen again. We intended to pass through your falls with respect." She looks at Willow and then back to the guardian, bowing her head. (She doesn't struggle. Doesn't budge an inch.) "If you release us, we can show you. We won't make another sound."

"My first love was a redhead, you know. The story pains me too much to speak about, truly..." The guardian completely disregards what Juliet had to say. (If the archer's arms were free, she would be running a hand down her face. Actually no, she wouldn't. She'd have stared the same way she's staring right now, revealing nothing. Mentally, though, she is holding her face in her hands.) The stone woman leans forward as if just realizing something, her eyes widening. "Oh." A third hand emerges from the water and reaches in the space between the hands that hold Juliet and Willow, reaching for the thread that hangs between them. With a finger, it pushes down on the thread and it bounces back in response, unbreakable. Then it grips the thread and yanks on it. By extension, this yanks the hands holding Juliet and Willow forward and together. "What a beautiful thread you share! Could it be? Are you each other's first loves?"

The guardian stares at them with imploring eyes, as if hoping for an riveting tale of romance and love. Juliet being Juliet, however, does not catch onto this. Instead, she wonders why a guardian with such sensitive ears would be interested in gossiping with strangers. And why first loves, of all things?

"We've only just met." Juliet tells the truth. She looks down and quickly realizes that looking down is a mistake. (They're so high up, the houses on the flooded streets below look like building blocks. She fights a bitter battle against a bout of nausea and bites her lower lip.) She just needs to stand on solid ground again. Stand on solid ground and talk about anything other than love.

"So it was love at first sight?" The guardian tries to pry again.

"We've only just met." Juliet repeats herself, finding that that's all she has the capacity to say in response. She recalls the phrases of endearment in Willow's letter, the implications she's dreamt up because they're connected by this thread... and the lobster part that she didn't understand, just as she didn't understand what 'Starbursts' were. (It all mashes together in her mind, stirs a concoction she's not sure she can make sense of. She likes Willow James, yes, but not like that. She will never like someone like that-- love someone like that again.)

"If you were lovers I might feel less inclined to eat one of you. It would pain me to be the tragic end of a love story. I am not a monster." The guardian rumbles, growing visibly impatient with Juliet's stubbornness on this matter. (Even if they were lovers, it shouldn't be any of this guardian's business.) "Because you have awakened me with your noise, you shall only pass if you tell a story worth my while."

Juliet sighs. She shimmies her arm in the fists's grip, trying to reach into her belt for her knife. (There's no telling how much a knife will do against water, but... she sees no other way out at this rate.) If the options are 'tell a love story' or 'stab', then Juliet will chose 'stab' every single time. The archer secures her hand around the hilt and shifts to free her arm. Once this is accomplished, she stabs down and pierces through one of the fingers on the fist holding her.

"What have you got there?" The guardian gasps, pulling Juliet closer.

"A knife." Once again, Juliet tells the truth. (It's not like she can pretend it's anything but a knife when it's out there for all of them to see.) She proceeds to stab a second finger, weakening the watery grip on her even further. (What happens if it drops her, though? Will she be fast enough to use one of her grappling arrows before she can plummet to her death from this height?) She will have to be fast enough if she doesn't want to be this guardian's dinner.

"No!" The guardian bellows so loudly that she inspires a heavy rain to fall. (Breaking her own rules.) "Knives are not romantic." She turns towards Willow, as if looking for support on this topic. "Surely you agree? Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't eat her?"

Juliet August did not survive this long to become a guardian's dinner. She stabs the knife down until the watery hand loses its shape and collapses, sending her plummeting down, down, down towards the sea flowing through the village below.

 

[starboob]

Logically, Willow James understands that her and Lucky’s survival is dependent on her ability to plead their case. Logically, she knows that one should not take the threat of an angered guardian lightly. (They are not to be trifled with. She knows this.) At the same time? And also logically? Her freezer burnt arm meat is taking up all of her mental focus and she cannot think beyond her acknowledgment that this is an, ‘Oh, duck,’ situation. Immediately after that thought flees towards the forefront of her mind, it is quickly replaced by the overwhelming burn of cold against her nerves. (The dark blue spot isn’t too large, only the size of a hand, but it wraps around her forearm and it’s uncomfortable enough that she doesn’t want to move her arm at all. She can’t even move her fingers with a chunk of her arm frozen through; she can tell her hand is going to lose circulation in a few more seconds if she doesn’t––)

Juliet’s arm is around her waist, helping her up and onto Grace’s back, reminding Willow of the things she should logically be focusing on. She barely catches her companion’s directive and she’s just thankful that the archer probably cannot see her disbelieving pained look when she registers that she needs to move her arm. (The arm with fragile frozen flesh that could easily break or tear! She is most aware of this in this instance.) Still, she supposes any damage she might take can be healed with magic later; plummeting to her death is not exactly reversible. With a stifled whimper, she wraps her arms around Juliet’s middle, not even able to fully appreciate this position, and does her best to keep herself firmly planted on Grace’s back. Lucky, meanwhile, darts from Willow’s pack and flies next to them as a spotter, seeming to understand the precarious nature of their escape. Willow is too out of it to pay much attention to what’s happening around them so when Juliet shouts her warning, she has absolutely no idea what she’s even bracing for. Not until it’s much too late.

The water sweeps over her head and she can feel Lucky trying to reach for her with their claws, but the rush of water separates them. It batters the sorceress around, sending her tumbling so many times that when she starts to come around, regathering her wits, she’s at a loss for what’s up or down or left or right. She’s dizzy. She’s scared to look at her arm and fears that it might be shredded to bits. She doesn’t have enough air in her lungs to be thinking about this.

Trying to stay calm, because she knows the worst thing to do when submerged in water is to panic, she tries to scan for the surface but she doesn’t find it. Not before a current wraps around her, rights her, and lifts her from the water. While relieved to be out of the water, she is not so relieved to be facing the guardian. She coughs up water, feels it leaking from her nose, and takes a few shuttered breaths as she adjusts to being out of the water. Her shoulders shake with a shiver. With the way she’s held, she can’t inspect her arm, but she officially cannot feel her fingers and does not take that to be a good sign.

Of course she should probably focus her attention on the guardian so as to not insult her further. While she’s lost track of Lucky, she imagines they’re somewhere near, along with Grace. If anything, she’s certain their companions won’t let them perish and that puts her somewhat at ease even if she’d rather not have to fight a guardian.

Willow is more than willing to accept the blame on behalf of her companion and hopefully work out a deal so that no one gets eaten, however the guardian pins blame on the redhead––Juliet––before she can even speak; and now, somehow, they’re supposed to tell her a love story? (Willow ignores the sting of Juliet’s responses to the guardian's queries about their thread. She isn’t lying and it’s not like Willow can even say what she feels for her future lover is anything more than curiosity, but she still imagined this going down differently. Maybe not total instant-love, but at least instant-interest? Time and time again, however, Juliet August has shown very little interest in Willow James. It’s been easy enough to forget over these last few days, but the guardian’s prodding is serving as an unwelcome reminder of the facts.) Okay, her own love story may be a work-in-progress, but she’s totally got stories on stories about love. She eats love stories for breakfast. (Not literally, obviously, but she does usually eat brekkie while reading a love story.) She could recite these stories in her sleep. She could––

What?
Just what is Juliet doing?

Willow blinks, looking over to see that Juliet has managed to free one arm, unsheath her dagger, and is now stabbing the guardian. ‘Oh. I guess that might have been a trap?’ As she can think of no other reason why the archer would outright start attacking a guardian. Now she’s upset with herself for not spotting the danger in front of them. ‘You need to be quicker, WJ.’

She needs to think quick, too, if she’s supposed to vouch for Juliet while Juliet actively stabs the guardian. “With all due respect, Your Reverence, knives are definitely romantic,” and Willow does fully believe this. She might not be a blacksmith wife, but there is something undeniably attractive about a well crafted knife. “What’s more romantic than a good defense, y’know? And, also, didn’t you just say you’re a fan of a good love story? And that if we were lovers you’d be more likely to spare us? Well, I’m not claiming we’ve got anything going between us,” not yet, anyway, “but you obviously saw our thread. That means there’s potential. Are you really willing to stop a love story before it starts? It could be freakin’ epic––like pirates and faeries in space epic and…”

Before she can even finish making their case, she watches the archer fall. Thankfully, she’s learning to be quick and it takes only this visual to inspire Willow to gather as much wind as she can into her lungs to pierce the air with a whistle a split second later. Lucky appears from one of the stone cut homes, not even needing to be told what to do once they spot the falling mess of red. They dart towards her and––

The water guardian grows more arms and now holds three guilty parties in her hands. She specifically holds Juliet upside down and shakes her scoldingly. Lucky struggles in the watery grasp, shifting between multiple different sizes to attempt an escape, but the guardian manages to keep up each time, her own fist growing or shrinking to match the dragon’s size. She looks incredibly irritated now and Willow is regretting that whistle strategy.

“Well, wasn’t that rather pathetic? I knew I should not have trusted a redhead. Not after Rowan,” the guardian sighs wistfully, clearly lost in a memory as her stony eyes begin to well with tears. Even that small amount of tearshed seems to cause her to stiffen, but before the waterfalls can begin again, she inhales sharply and stifles them. She instead simply lifts Juliet a little higher, looks at Willow, and warns, “Gingers lack souls.”

Though Willow might not be able to find the proper words to speak out against that statement, partially because she doesn’t really like speaking out in general, especially where authority is concerned, she is not able to school her expression. It speaks her offense plainly. All she can think to get say is, “Your Reverence, with all due respect, that is a moldy onion to have.” (Even just admitting that causes her heart to stutter and beat out of tune. She can feel the headrush right up to her ears.)

“I do not possess any moldy onions––what does that have to do with anything? Moldy onions?” The guardian is appropriately confused by the Willowism and while Willow herself doesn’t really know what she’s doing, she does recognize that she has her attention and she can only hope her companions seize this opportunity. (This reminds her of when she used to distract her teachers with questions about their interests to buy everyone, mostly Meredith, more time to complete the previous night’s homework. She occasionally used this ability to cause her teachers to forget to collect assignments altogether. Meredith likes to call it the "earnest Willow James charm.”) “Speak what you mean, mortal.”

“Speaking what I mean means speaking what I mean and what I mean is what I speak and what I speak is what I mean.” This is also how she used to stall for time whenever Leif was done hanging out and she wanted to squeeze a few extra minutes of playtime with him. Now she’s using it so that Lucky, Grace, and Juliet can do something while she holds the guardian’s attention. 'And Leif always said being an annoying little sister was good for nothing. Well look at me now, Leif. Look at me now...'

“Speak what….” She blinks her stony eyes, perplexed. “Woman, you make no sense.”

Willow gasps in shock. “I would never make cents. That’s forgery and I have no intention of going to jail for such a high crime. Do such laws not exist here in Folklore?” She asks the question innocently enough, tilting her head to the side. From her peripheries, she’s pretty sure Lucky has managed to work their way out of the guardian’s fist, but she’s too scared to check for sure. “That seems irresponsible what with the dangers of inflation, the economy… Do you all have an economy?”

“...Not cents," she clarifies, forming two new arms to massage her temples. "Sense.”

“That's what I said, cents.”

“Sense.”

“Cents...?”

“Sense!”

“Ohhh, sense.”

“No, cents! Wait––” The guardian finally realizes that Willow has got it right, but it’s too late for correction. It’s too late for anything with Lucky now flying behind her at their full titanic size, rivaling the stone guardian herself. They growl a warning, curling their lip to reveal their row of sharp teeth; Willow can feel her throat warm and she knows the dragon is waiting for her signal, which she gives once she's sure that Juliet is out of range.

The sorceress gleams, clicks her tongue, and with a wink, she politely whispers, “Yippee ki-yay!”

Everything is coated in bright hot orange.

 

[ellarose]

The water sparkles in the daylight, trickling lazily now around the partially submerged village homes that rock from side to side. Side to side, like those hypnotizing pendulums swinging in those grandfather clocks in Millicent’s storage chamber. No, no. The homes themselves aren't rocking. That would be Juliet herself, who dreads to open her eyes but cracks them open anyway, discovering after very briefly blacking out from panic that she is now hanging upside down in the guardian’s watery fist. Blood rushes to her head and her cheeks blush a red that rivals the color of her hair. Damn. Nothing has changed. If anything, this is even worse than before. The guardian gives her a shake, the whole world shakes around her, and she regrets her entire existence as she proceeds to scrutinize her. “Gingers lack souls.” (What? …Is that true?) She closes her eyes, furrowing her brow as she presses them tight. She’s not pulling this scrunched-up face because she’s particularly offended, but because she cannot take another second of seeing what’s below her. Her throat clicks as she swallows bile and tries to overcome a bout of nausea. (…At least she didn’t eat any of Millicent’s bruised eggs that morning. The name sounds about as appealing as they taste-- they never sit right with her. The purple of the egg, of the yolk, their existence makes about as much sense to her as casting does.) Deep breaths, deep breaths. Don’t think about love, don’t think about her hands on you, don’t think about how high you are—

Willow James engages the guardian with talk about moldy onions. (Normally, Juliet’s attention might have been captivated entirely by the mention of food… but when it comes to moldy onions specifically she makes an exception. Her unique position also puts her in the unique position where she does not want to think about food.) Instead, she takes a steeling breath and knows she has to take this chance she's been given to make herself useful now that the guardian’s focus has shifted. She swings her weight back and forth, using her momentum to hack away at the watery fist around her legs with her knife. (Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me.) The water flinches back until she’s dangling only by her ankles. An icy cold stings her fingertips and wraps around her heart. (Don’t touch— so high up— don’t touch—) Where is her mind? How is this useful? But what can she really do, when she’s at the mercy of a massive guardian?

Willow shouts out, there is a blast of orange that’s so bright it blasts Juliet’s eyes beyond her eyelids, and suddenly there is nothing there to support her. (Rock crumbles, water roars, and she’s at the mercy of the air now as her vision fades and—)

A fainting spell whisks her away for a moment, but only for a moment because her survival instincts claw their way back up to the forefront of her mind. Juliet realizes that at some point connected with something solid and blearily opens her eyes to find herself surrounded by glimmering scales. This is a somewhat familiar sensation-- she's flown on Lucky's back before-- but now the dragon is much larger than before. She realizes she's slipping as they turn a corner and holds on tightly. Willow James seems to be sitting further up, the dot of her silhouette by Lucky's head and she breathes out a sigh of relief.

Grace. Juliet whips her head around to search for her companion in the chaos. Lucky seems to be scouring the area for her as well and she feels a pinch of affection for the dragon. Ignoring her shaky, sweaty palms, the archer begins climbing the dragon's colossal back to bring herself closer to Willow. It's on her way there that she notices a flicker of orange in her peripheral and pauses her climb to check.

Juliet's stomach drops when she sees her companion trapped beneath fallen rubble, flinching as she tries to paw her way out. The rocks around her much too solid to risk changing her size-- any smaller and they might fall and crush her, any larger and they might cut right into her. "Lucky, keep flying until you reach the path with pink sand. Take her to safety." She instructs, releasing her hold on the dragon, allowing herself to slide down the length of their tail until she splashes into the heart of the flooded village below.

Hopefully Willow James will not entertain any heroic ideas of following behind her this time around. She's hurt. Juliet intends to start at a run but sways on unsteady feet, needing a moment more to right herself after being tossed about willy-nilly like a child's plaything. Then she pushes past it all and hurtles towards Grace, her boots sloshing through the floodwaters. "Gracie." Up close, she notices that the fox has brought her discarded arrow back in her teeth. She's always been such a good girl. "Here we go..." She whispers gently, hefting some of the rubble up to give her an opening to escape through. Once she's sure her companion has escaped, she checks her over for injuries. Grace simply huffs and shakes her head as if to insist that she's fine and that they need to move.

Echoey sobs begin to flood the streets like the water does, prompting Juliet and Grace to trade a weary glance. The cliffs surrounding them rattle as sharp, zig-zagging cracks line their sides. Grace immediately shifts to a size appropriate for carrying her and the archer nods.

"Alright." Juliet climbs onto Grace's back and then decisively shoves the sleeve of her blouse up, unwrapping her wounded arm and stabbing the arrow into it. The cliffs begin caving down into the streets behind them, sending a spray after spray of water at them. Juliet's hair flames a glowing red-- and by touch, Grace's fur illuminates the same way.

Together, they flash like a blazing flame through the flooded streets, carefully darting around the rubble falling in their path as the sobs become louder and louder. Juliet and Grace manage to outrun the complete destruction, making it out into the clearing of pink sand at the very last possible second. A wall of rock entirely closes off the path they took through the Whispering Waterfalls.

Once the magic fades, Juliet and Grace collapse side-by-side in the pink sand, catching their breaths.

A haunting sob continues to echo from the falls, but there does not seem to be any immediate danger to go along with it. That guardian was not much of a guardian, anyway. She chased all of the people who once lived there from their homes. Because of that, the archer cannot bring herself to feel all too much sympathy for what happened. (Especially not when she considers just how rude the guardian was. Shaking her about in the air, touching them without permission, criticizing the color of her hair-- going as far as to insinuate that she does not possess a soul-- endangering Gracie...)

"I suppose we'll have to change the name of this place to the 'Wailing Waterfalls.'" Juliet observes critically, directing the comment at the guardian's unreasonable behavior. She rubs the back of her sore neck as she brings herself to sit up. This clearing is covered in shimmery, pearly pink sands. (She once gifted princess Elise a bottle for her birthday, since the color reminded her of her. Of all the lavish gifts brought to her that day, she was particularly fascinated by the sand.) Dusting the sand from her trousers, she carefully tests her balance for a few slow steps before approaching Willow James. "Are you all right? Do you, ah..." She gestures towards her frozen arm when the words elude her and guilt tightens around her throat. "Have supplies for this? I can help you with it." The answer should be an obvious yes-- of course the ever-prepared Willow James will have supplies-- but that doesn't really occur to her when her first concern is making sure that she's all right.

 

[starboob]

Orange. Brilliant orange. Hot like the heat of that summer spent rolling between bedsheets. Fresh, too, like all those tangerines split open and shared. The fire around Willow James is as threatening as everything she associates with the flame; that is to say, not very threatening at all. In the flames that encircle her, there’s more than just orange––yellows and red, naturally, and also pinks, soft blues, purples, greens. They all converge together in a mess of tie-dyed flames. Tiny dancers with skirts made of flame appear and spin around Willow; she waves at them as she falls down towards the water. A fiery knight with a flame sword climbs up the golden braid of her lover to steal just one good honest kiss. It’s only at this titanic size that Lucky’s flame can truly flourish with the magnetic beauty that dragon flame is known for. (One of her favorite legends tells that dragon fire was the first rainbow and that the rains simply stole inspiration from the great dragons. It’s quite a romantic story and she could have very well shared it with the guardian had Juliet not sensed danger and probably saved them from being tricked and eaten.)

Willow falls freely, her curls whipping around her head, straightening out, her green eyes sparking as she watches the flame bathe the guardian, pushing her backwards towards the other side of the pool. The flames don’t touch the sorceress. In fact, despite how close she is to them, despite the fact that she could move her hand out and touch them, it's like there is a magnetic field around her repelling them away. (A companion’s magic cannot hurt its companion. There are obvious exceptions to that rule, such as a companion going rogue, becoming hexed, getting possessed, etc. but even in those instances the harm would only be out of protection. Companions are the ultimate protector of the self, Willow believes, and the bond only becomes fiercer with age and copious amounts of play.)

Though she’s falling, she doesn’t seem particularly worried. She actually seems to be enjoying it as laughter bubbles up from her throat, contrasting the wailing guardian and Lucky’s screams that cut through the air like knives. (Like this, she feels free. She’s always felt free flying or falling through the air and, while she used to be scared of splattering herself across the earth like a bug, she cannot remember the last time she truly felt scared of heights or that she would die because she fell off of Lucky, her flying bike, or even her staff. When she’s falling, there is also a slowness to everything around her, like her mind is giving her enough time to act as quickly or slowly as she needs––she once thought this might suggest her knack for weaving, but Sawyer just laughed and then asked for the eye of newt.) She relishes in this freeing feeling for a few more long seconds. Satisfied, she whistles a three note tune and her discarded staff, which must have fallen from her bag at some point between the wave crashing over her and the guardian grabbing her, flies directly into Willow’s open hand.

Her frozen arm dangles limply at one side and it’s still too frozen for her to pull herself up, so she hangs there on her staff, waiting patiently for Lucky to gather her. It’s not a moment later that they do, the flames parting around them as the dragon sweeps under Willow giving her just enough time to drop herself onto the saddle before they dash over to a falling Juliet. (Time certainly turns to molasses when one is falling.) With the hurry of everything, Lucky isn’t able to catch the archer in a way that puts her anywhere close to the saddle, but at their massive size, there’s not much risk of her falling once she gains her grip and Willow has faith that she will, because she is Juliet August and has had to be quick.

All at once, everyone’s eyes are searching around for Grace, Lucky seeming particularly frantic about their newest friend. Though Willow doesn’t catch sight of the fox, she hears Juliet instruct Lucky before she slides down their tail. Willow doesn’t catch the instructions at first, but worry hammers through her when she spots Juliet darting towards some rubble at the same time the guardian lifts herself from her fallen position, eyes once more turned to waterfalls. But they’re angry this time and while she’s certain that it’s hard to see through those bleary eyes, she can tell the guardian is mostly aiming to destroy. She lifts her stony shoulders and turns the water-made parts of her arms to wings. Her torso shifts and Willow can guess what her next move will be.

“Lucky!” She chokes out, trying to steer the dragon towards the guardian, but they shake their head. It’s rare that her companion doesn’t listen to her and even rarer that they deny her request at the behest of someone else. (In fact, she can’t really think of an instance where they’ve listened to someone other than Willow James.) They’re darting towards the pink sands as instructed, and only turn their head back once to check on the rest of their party. When they spot what Willow is so concerned about, they don’t risk turning around and instead flip their body around, momentarily hovering perpendicular to the ground; they use this position to beat their wings in quick succession towards the guardian before righting themselves and continuing for the sands. The wingbeat sends a triplicity of currents that both puts out their fires (like the responsible dragon they are) and knocks the guardian’s head, toppling her off balance, ruining the trajectory of her wave, and causing her to fall back down towards the cliff she had once been a part of. Her face smacks into the rock and, incidentally, that knocks off her nose. Willow winces sympathetically and turns to face forward again.

She doesn’t see the rest of what happens as Lucky lowers to the sands, kicking them up and obstructing her view. She does hear the crash of rock and while worry kicks her heart into high gear, she has to trust that Lucky wouldn’t let Juliet perish––if anything, she knows they wouldn’t leave Grace behind and that fact is what helps her calm as she waits for the dust to clear. She’s not left panicked for long as a red dart finally makes it to the clearing and Willow relaxes, leaning against her dragon’s neck.

The red pair collapses and Willow turns to stroke Lucky’s neck affectionately, giving the other two some privacy to collect themselves. She whispers praise into her companion’s ear and they purr in response, flipping around so that Willow can rub their massive stomach. She laughs at this and obliges her companion, while catching what the archer says. She nods in agreement, chuckling at her observation. Juliet August sure is funny. “Or the Whining Waterfalls.” Even with her quip, she does feel a twinge of guilt at ruining the guardian’s home. She’s torn between the understanding that they were intruders in her dominion who broke her rules and that the guardian seemed a bit ridiculous with her demand for silence. (It also wasn’t their fault that Lucky attacked the way they did.) It’s all just very complicated and she doesn’t know what to make of it fully.

She turns, finally, to look over her other companions, eyes immediately locking onto Juliet’s re-injured arm, remembering the dart of red and recalling the same way that the archer turned into a dart after she stabbed herself with that speed-enhanced arrow. Her lips purse, ready to say something, but Juliet beats her to it and asks Willow about her own frozen arm. Right. She nods and waves her good hand through the air to produce a gauze infused with dandelions, sunflowers, and coffee grounds all baked together in the summer solstice sun––a warming gauze crafted specifically for frostbite. “Yeah, this should help.” She offers the roll and her arm to Juliet. She’d wrap it herself, but it is a bit awkward to do on her own especially since she can’t move the frozen appendage much. “What about your arm, Juliet? Is it really sustainable to stab yourself every time you need a boost?” She raises a brow, but doesn’t push the subject more than that.

Once her arm is dressed, refusing the entire time to let herself focus too much on the baby butterflies in her stomach, she summons supplies for Juliet's injuries and while she would help her, her wrapped arm makes her a bit useless in that department. She then looks over at Lucky and does a quick inspection of her companion. Satisfied that they aren’t sporting any injuries, she summons a large hunk of dried meat from her bag and offers it to her companion as a reward for their efforts. She also breaks off a piece for Grace and sets it on the ground before walking away, allowing the shy fox some distance to collect the snack if she wants it. (If she is not quick, the dragon will swipe it much like a certain archer does with a certain sorceress's food.)

Though Juliet the Quick is ready to get back on the road to make up for lost time, Willow suggests that now is as good a time as any to break for lunch, seeing as they skipped breakfast with Milfred. She also promises they can make up all that time, and then some, if they take advantage of Lucky’s current size and fly the rest of the distance. (Truthfully, on Lucky’s back, they probably could make it to the edge of Okeanos before the day ends, but Willow wants to experience more of Folklore’s wood so she keeps that information to herself.)

With the matter settled, Willow fills the silence while they eat by sharing a story of a guardian who exists in Somewhere who, like this guardian, weeps eternally. However, this guardian’s tear flow is made of pure ice slush and it makes her secluded part of the wood a popular place to visit for year round sledding. After a day of play, it's also nice to reward oneself with frozen maple syrup on a stick. She explains that this guardian doesn’t mind noise, in fact, it’s said that a less than jubilant attitude is what earns her ire. The story goes that she is a minor snow goddess and she weeps for her lost children who melt away each spring. While she grieves eternally, the sound of laughter convinces her to persevere. (Personally, Willow can’t really relate to having a mother who cares that much for her children.) It’s not her favorite story, she admits, then she quickly changes the subject by offering Juliet the portion of her meal she can’t finish.

They wrap up lunch, making sure to leave no trace that they were here and then load up on Lucky’s back. The dragon soars through the sky, taking them high above the earth. They sweep over plains of pink sands that slowly transform into flowing kelp forests that reach impossibly high. From the sky, however, they look like large blades of grass swaying in the wind. Willow doesn’t understand how they stand so tall without water and the increasingly aquatic looking landscape causes her to wonder if the ocean has receded in Folklore as it has in Evermore; she wonders if this is evidence of a different time. She even spots a village that resembles a coral reef, except rather than stretching out wide, the reef builds upwards sort of like a termite hill for lack of a better description. Another reef village has free floating components that surround the main reef; Willow guesses the only reason they don’t float away altogether has to do with the kelp bridges attaching them to the epicenter. There’s also a town that looks like a smack of jellyfish, but upon closer inspection it’s like a jellyfish version of some of those mushroom establishments they saw on their first day traveling the wood.

Each of these new sights causes Willow to gape and sigh with awe. In fact, aside from the beat of Lucky’s wings, that’s the only other noise that accompanies their flight as Juliet remains suspiciously silent. Willow doesn’t really think anything of it this time around, much too enamored with the scenery of Folklore. She almost regrets suggesting they fly, but she knows with the trek back there will be another opportunity for her to marvel at the aquatic themed locations.

While it feels like they have been flying forever, with all the wonderful new things to see, it has probably not been more than a couple of hours. Lucky begins to circle around the spot Juliet indicates is their campsite and, once they land, Willow immediately hops off of the dragon, bouncing with excitement and just barely able to keep herself from immediately exploring the coral forest they've landed in. However, being the ever chivalrous knight (in training) that she is, she offers her assistance to Juliet and Grace first. But soon after that she's running around the perimeter of the site, arms stretched out wide as if she thinks she has wings, but really this just makes her look like a little kid again. "Wowowowow!" She squeals, completely charmed with this part of the wood; she's never seen of anything like it before. (Meanwhile, Lucky gradually shrinks down to a wolf’s size and then proceeds to collapse on their side, spent, and soon their soft snoos fill the protected camp.)

Willow does a few laps around the campsite before coming to a stop, heart beating rapidly in her chest, but she's still very obviously buzzing with energy as she stumbles to the center of camp, head tilted back while she looks at the sky, slowly spinning to take it all in. With so much excitement contained in her small frame and it being well before sundown (fulfilling their promise to Milfred), Willow turns to the archer, mischievous and determined sparks lighting her eyes.

“Juliet August.” Willow starts, still breathless from her short run. Nevertheless, she draws her sword. “Fight me.”

 

[ellarose]

Juliet obliges the request to fight, producing her blade with a graceful flick of her wrist. Their first sparring match ends within one move. The next is the same. (As are the third, fourth, and fifth-- often ending with her blade at Willow's chin or her heart.) The sixth ends in three moves and that cycle continues through their sessions until they ultimately end within a total of five moves made as Willow James's dodging techniques improve. Progress is progress, however, and her fellow 'champion of love' is nothing if not persevering. Juliet does not show an ounce of sympathy as they train. Lara taught her that way, after all, and it's what she knows will have results. If she is too lenient, too gentle, she will not grow at the rate that she needs to. (Although she does still give the 'gentle nudges' from time to time, since Willow James has mentioned that she prefers that method. Juliet still does not understand it, but she'll oblige anyway.) Eventually she decides that they need to stop and conserve their energy for their travels. That and the sorceress is injured. Pushing herself too hard just before embarking on a dangerous mission would be unwise.

The next morning Juliet guides them on a trail beyond the campsite. This one is well-traveled and easy to walk. It's quite popular with people all across the kingdoms of Folklore because it is safer than most locations in the wood, making it an ideal spot for those who want to experience the wood without experiencing the wood in its entirety. Due to the rapid increase of Lightless cases, however, these trails have seen a scarce amount of visitors over the last couple of months. Within an hour they pass through a portal that leads them into a station-- or a fantastical take on one-- which is a circle of enormous coral trees with doors built into their sides. (There are signs hanging from the branches of each tree, bearing a label for a different location. There are some travelers scattered about here and there within, calling on pixies to supply transport to other residential locations in the kingdoms.) Juliet approaches the tree with the 'Lavender Coast' sign hanging above it and taps on the door there with the seahorse knocker. Before long, a pixie in a conductor uniform appears before them.

"Mhm, yes? What can I do for you ladies today?" The pixie asks, her bored eyes fixed on her clipboard as she scribbles away at it.

"We'll require a carriage to Okeanos, please." Juliet fishes in her cloak for her family's seal.

"Okeanos... really?" The pixie hums dubiously before peeking out from behind her work to examine the seal. It depicts a regal 'A' with a sprawling design of lions encircling it. The impressed gasp she gives at the sight of it causes the archer to shuffle awkwardly. (If mother were here, she'd pinch her arm and remind her to smile. Keep your chin high, show pride in your family's name.) The pixie then sheds some of her sparkly dust over the seal and it glows in response, showing her proof that it's authentic.

"Miss August! We are so delighted to have you here." The pixie flippantly tosses her clipboard over her shoulder, slathering ten extra layers of charm on her smile. This has no notable effect on Juliet, who simply nods and hands over her her pass book. The pixie presses a stamp into one of the empty slots, continuing to prattle on with formalities. "Your father traveled with us a fortnight ago-- headed to Dreamer's Cove on business. He's such a charming man! Although I'm sure I don't need to tell you that."

"He is very charming." Juliet agrees for the sake of being agreeable, just wishing this whole thing could be over with. She prefers not to deal with others on her travels... nevertheless, it will be faster and much more efficient for them to pass into Okeanos by carriage. The roads from here on are long and flat. Dreadfully boring (and hot) to travel on foot. Riding on Lucky's back is always an option-- but she does not want to tire the dragon out. (Or at least that is the reason she tells herself. It has nothing to do with her feelings on heights.) As well as that, entering Okeanos specifically this way will be convenient for escorting them and their belongings into the kingdom in an organized fashion.

"Such a nice man." The pixie sighs and then flies back into the coral tree. She gives a high-pitched whistle, yelling something muffled and incoherent from within before an entourage of pixies appears. (A few of them rub their eyes, as if they'd been napping on the job.) They quickly get to work summoning a carriage with their magic. The shape of the carriage appears in a shower of their glitter before it actually takes a tangible shape. It's a soft blue, decorated in swirls of white shells and pearls. Pastel horses that have fins instead of manes appear last of all. "There you are." She appears hesitant, like there's something she wants to add. (Perhaps a tidbit about carriages being intercepted, or passengers reaching their destinations feeling suspiciously sick... or maybe Juliet is paranoid. The pixie simply waves.) "Be safe out there!"

The endless trip through the desert of soft, pink sands is condensed as they ride in the carriage. (The seats are so plush and comfortable that Juliet is tempted to nap, especially as the sunlight streams in through the window. Every time her head is about to loll onto her shoulder, however, she jerks back up to stay alert. In contrast, Grace has no trouble falling fast asleep on her lap.) Out the windows, the scenery stays consistent until they reach the main road leading to Lavender Coast and pass the extravagant fountains at either side of the entrance. Then they're riding by clusters of white-painted stone buildings with roofs capped in an array of violets and blues. They dot the coastline and seaside cliffs. Usually this location is crowded with posh tourists carrying parasols, fishers and crafters. There are several galleries and stalls toting ceramics, shells, and fish-shaped ice cream cakes. Like the trail, though, they hardly see any people out on the streets until they reach the gateway by the ocean.

Their carriage pulls to a stop and Juliet is required to show her family seal again in order for Okeanos's gates to open to them. The attendant there gives Willow the enchantment she'll need to breathe underwater for the duration of her stay. (The enchantment comes in the form of a necklace, which looks to be made of transparent glass beads. Once it's fastened around her neck, she's encouraged to take a deep breath before it gets absorbed into her skin. Along with that, there are also drops for her to take in her eyes, to acclimate them to the water.) When Juliet passes the mandatory test that confirms that she does not need these enchantments, the attendant nods and signals for the carriage to continue on into the sea. With a 'splash', they sink right below the waves. The horses legs disappear, their torsos curling to create sea horse tails once they're fully submerged. The wheels of the carriage rise and turn inward, turning it into an underwater vessel that carries them high above the kingdom of Okeanos.

Through the windows, they can see caves that serve as residences for the merfolk here, decorated with vibrant undersea plants and ornaments that shine with the sun filters in at just the right angle. Eventually the enormous stone castle appears on the horizon. It stands neutral and tall among the vibrant rainbows of coral, sea anemones and multi-colored grasses. It's plainness stands out in contrast to the magnificent colors that frame it, but it is no less beautiful for it. (Especially with the set of elaborate stain glass windows it boasts, each of which depicting images that pay homage to the seven sea kingdoms in Folklore.) There are taken directly into one of the 'dry' guest rooms in the castle, which were designed specifically to accommodate their land-dwelling guests. It's there that they're encouraged to leave their belongings and companions. (Unless the companions have underwater forms, in which case they are permitted to come and go as they please. Grace must stay behind in this instance.) Once they've changed, Juliet motions for Willow to follow her into the hall. (Her legs shine with scales and turn into a tail as they swim through the halls, which bear a rather striking resemblance to the halls in the castle of Amoria. It's rather apparent that the queen must have been homesick when she redecorated.) They'll have to meet with the queen's family-- her brother, the king of Okeanos, in order to get more information on the aquatic variant and where to start. Their youngest brother was the victim. Juliet was not involved in this case, either, which makes it all the more intriguing to her. (Targeting royalty is rather bold, too.)

"Juuuu-liet! Long time no see!" Of course, not everything can be that simple. Juliet looks around for a convenient vase or statue to hide behind at the familiar sound of the voice calling her name... but unfortunately, she is not quick enough. Dylan, one of princess Elise's rambunctious teenage cousins, corners them alongside his six-year old brother. (They call him 'Guppy' and to this day, Juliet still does not know his actual name.) "Juuuu-liet!" The six-year old repeats in a sing-song tone, following his brother's lead.

“I’ve heard that Elise is in soooo much trouble. She's got her heart set on that pretty-boy guard, doesn't she? I swore I caught her smooching him in the foyer when I visited last summer.” Dylan's mouth quirks into a mischievous grin. He proceeds to swim after Juliet, even as she proceeds to move unaffectedly through the halls. He'll prod until he gets fresh new gossip from them, that's for certain. “You were there for the announcement, Juliet. What happened? How’d Ambrose react? Bet his eyes bugged out, just like aunt—”

“Have you nothing better to do than revel in your cousin’s misfortune?” Juliet sighs, haughtily flicking her tail as if to imply she'd rather him swim elsewhere.

“Revel in her--? Juliet! What kind of monster do you take me for?" Dylan grips his chest melodramatically. "Everything’s been so boring lately. Sweet little Elise keeps us all very entertained... and it's all thanks to you." He laughs, undoubtedly thinking of something he won't be able to keep to himself. Juliet braces herself to endure it as he continues prattling on. (She cannot punch him. He is Elise's cousin and of royal blood. She cannot punch him. She cannot. She settles for tightening her fist and imagining it instead.) "You weren’t here when aunt Viviane heard the news. It was hilarious!” To mock the queen's expression, he makes a scrunched up face that reminds Juliet of the expression her first governess made when she proudly showed her the tiny lizard she’d rescued in the gardens. “I bet she’s going to sequester Elise in the west tower again. Or maybe she’ll make good on her threats this time and throw her in the dungeon.”

“She won’t throw princess Elise in the dungeon.” Juliet knows this and doesn’t think it needs to be stated, but does so anyway because she knows that Willow James is a worrier who is already invested in the princess’s story. She does not want her to fret unnecessarily over the possibility. (Maybe, to an extent, she needs to say it to remind herself as well. The west tower, though, is a possibility and...) She blinks when she notices one of the portraits on the wall she's passing has been slashed through with claws. It depicts a couple-- their faces completely indiscernible now. The hall ahead of them is in a state of disarray, though Dylan and Guppy do not seem especially perturbed by the sight. "...It doesn't look as though it's been boring here. What happened?"

"We weren't here for that part." Dylan frowns and gives a big shrug of his shoulders. He does not appear even remotely concerned for his uncle. "That's what's been boring. Everyone keeps holding 'important meetings', trying to piece a story together... but they're not getting anything done. They're just sitting around, talking. Talking endlessly." That's when he fully takes notice of Willow James-- his blue eyes flickering at the opportunity to get gossip from someone other than Juliet.

"How do you do?" Dylan slicks back his hair in a way he must consider as charming and Juliet rolls her eyes. "I'm Dylan Maxwell. And this is Guppy." (As he says this, he stops the child midway through performing a somersault over his head by catching him and bringing him back down to their level.) He clears his throat behind his hand as if he needs to recollect his swagger. (...He never had it to begin with. Juliet keeps that thought to herself, busying herself by examining the nearby damage. Lavinia Laurence's gossip knows no bounds, for the word to have already spread as far as Okeanos.) "You're the heroine from the other side, right? Everyone thought Elise's head was up in the clouds when she mentioned the prophecy. I believed her, though." ("No, you didn't." Guppy betrays him.) "Okay, well she heard it from that wishing well... and that wishing well is a known liar. But that's besides the point!" He looks Willow up and down, from her eyes down to her toes and then back up again. "What's it like on the other side? How did you get here? Do you have any special powers?"

Juliet quietly swims further away from the group as they chat, finding that she's hearing a suspicious scrape, scrape, scrape from somewhere nearby...

 

[starboob]

Willow dreams of sparring. In her dreams, she dances through a sequence that lasts longer than five moves; that doesn’t result in her getting kicked backwards or her sword flying out of her hand. It most certainly doesn’t end with her looking up at Juliet with her blade poised under her chin.

Sparks fly each time their steel clashes. Willow grins as she pushes Juliet away, breaking their deadlock. She hops backwards a few steps, always keeping her feet moving and bouncing, making it hard to predict where she’ll go next. Juliet comes in for the lunge and Willow, bolder and braver in the privacy of her dreams, whips the wind against her sword hand, knocking her attack off course, giving Willow the opening to finish by kicking the weapon from her grip. The falchion falls to the dirt. Triumphant, the sorceress presses the tip of her blade against Juliet’s chest for once. Her grin widens at Juliet’s shock and then she demands another round, to make sure she’s really got it.

As she heads back to the starting position, she tosses her head back to laugh and when her head comes back down, eyes opening, the landscape around her is no longer the coral forest. Ash, a smoldering village, covers her vision. Blood mixed with fire fills her nose. Her fist squeezes her weapon.

She blinks.
Eyes open.

The dagger in her hand is now buried in someone’s chest; the teeth of the blade bite into the victim’s heart. Warm blood, thick and sticky, coats her fist, and the person in front of her gasps. Her other hand is clenched firmly around his shoulder as she holds the hunter up, making sure he hears the prayer whispered against the shell of his ear. He uses his last breath to curse her––

The sorceress bolts upright from her grandmother’s memory, bathed in cold sweat. She rubs her forehead, looking down at herself, at her hands, turning around to check her surroundings to confirm she’s in the coral forest, with Juliet, and out of the memory. Sweat rolls down her brow, slicks her back. Guilt pools in her stomach. Her lips purse, heart unsteady.

***​

Despite her startled wake-up, Willow James is as energetic as ever as they travel through the coral forest. Even while her legs and feet moan in protest, her excitement keeps her pressing forward. (This is all for her eventual “hero bod,” after all.) Even so, she would be a liar if she said that she is not relieved when Juliet informs her they will be traveling by carriage the rest of the way to Okeanos. Just imagining that full body sigh when she sits down adds an extra pep to her step.

The station that they enter is unlike anything the other sider has ever experienced. The stations back home, even the magical ones, appear more standard; more like what one imagines a subway station to look like. Since this one looks similar to the rest of forest (sort of), Willow doesn’t register they’re at the station until Juliet knocks on one of the hidden doors and a pixie conductor appears. Even then, she doesn’t fully realize what’s happening until the archer pulls out some form of documentation.

With the pixie’s comical reaction to the seal, Willow James is once again reminded that she and Juliet come from different worlds in more ways than just one. While she’s almost positive that Juliet doesn’t care about this stuff, the world she comes from does. (What will Juliet’s mother think? Her father? Will she be another person’s secret?) She shuffles awkwardly, appearing to mirror her companion, and she tries to remind herself that she cannot get ahead of herself with worries and assumptions. However, the cavalier mention of Juliet's father causes her to start and freeze, reminded of her own charming father. (Charming. Manipulative. Where does Juliet’s father fall? Either way, she hopes the archer never meets her own. She hopes he never finds out about Juliet, actually.) She sucks in a breath and counts to ten as the carriage manifests.

Once she’s slipped into the carriage, Willow lets go of her breath and pushes those thoughts to the side, peering out the window. Lucky joins her, perched on her lap, head under her chin, both of them with their noses practically smashed against the glass as if they’re children. The carriage is filled with the sound of their gasps and Willow whispering her amazement to Lucky, who agrees through a variation of trills. Though she’s not able to speak much when they reach the checkpoint at the coast, the sorceress is vibrating out of her seat when she’s given the enchantments to help her survive in Okeanos––it’s much more effective than her spells that would have needed to be reapplied every eight or so hours.

It’s not until their carriage is sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean that both herself and Lucky start to get uneasy. While she recognized, on the intellectual plane, that Okeanos is a sea kingdom, she never fully processed that she would be submerged. Not just submerged, but sunk. It dawns on her that where they’re going, they won’t break for the surface. Ever. There will be no wind. By the time she realizes this, realizes her mistake, it’s too late. An unfamiliar heaviness starts to weigh on her, a slight pressure building at the top of her head. ‘It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It shouldn’t be too many days.’

At the same time she starts to feel the absence of wind, Lucky starts to get queasy, hopping from her lap to lay flat on the floor. They even end up retching in the bathroom first thing when they get to the dry room.

With this unexpected issue, it doesn’t make it easy to part with her companion. Even in spite of being sea sick, Lucky James insists on trying to follow the women into the castle. Willow eventually has to trick them into drinking a sleeping potion because they refuse to be reasonable. It does make her nervous that Lucky won’t be able to watch over her at all, but there isn’t another way. At least she has Juliet. Juliet will protect her and she hopes that Lucky trusts that fact.

She takes a deep breath, trying to ignore how uneasy being this deep underwater makes her feel, and trails after Juliet, watching as her legs turn into a fishtail. The sight makes her wonder about how she acquired her swimsuit and how common they are––again, she can only imagine the ire of her mer-friends if they found out about such a garment. She guesses though that things must be different between the sea and land kingdoms in Folklore than they are in Evermore. She’s never really heard of anyone traveling between land and sea where she’s from––even the Charming street kids rarely spoke of the undersea cities and they went everywhere. (Not that Willow is particularly close with any of them even with her dating history.) It seemed to be something of an oddity that Willow, Leif, Clover, Crimson, Meredith and the other cove kids knew mermaids. Willow never thought much of it since her grandmas’ property was right against the seaside cliff; it only became apparent that it was odd when she mentioned it once to an ex.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a voice sneaks up from behind and startles Willow, causing her to zip closer to Juliet; she almost reaches for her hand before stopping herself, sparing herself from further embarrassment. She does still shrink behind the archer, once she’s flipped herself around, and only peeks over her shoulder at the two boys––one a teenager and the other a kid. The teenager immediately makes her nervous. (Teenagers are just so mean!) While she has done nothing (yet) to earn his interest, she is already on her toes (or flippers since she changed into her emergency diving gear).

Though she’ll need more data to confirm this, it does seem as though Juliet has a low tolerance for gossip-y types given her response to Lavinia and how she’s handling princess Elise’s cousin. This isn’t surprising, she supposes, when she recalls that Juliet herself has been subject to cruel rumors before. Even here, there seems to be an implication that her involvement in anything spells trouble, based on how the teenager says the drama with princess Elise is thanks to Juliet.

While she doesn’t appreciate that everyone seems to have something to say about the archer, she isn’t able to even twist her face into disapproval before the conversation turns to princess Elise’s eventual punishment. (Now it’s her eyes that are bugging out.) Whether the west tower or a dungeon, a cage is a cage. Even if Juliet assures that the dungeon is unlikely, she doesn’t deny that the tower might happen. Again. (If it comes to that… Willow James will break her out. She doesn’t know how, but she’ll figure it out. Even if it’s not particularly wise to free a princess and make an enemy of a queen, this is just how she feels. Though her convictions typically have as much resolve as a butterfly going up against a dragon, maybe this is her chance to choose something different? To let the fearless god flow through her. Whether or not she is the champion everyone is expecting, Willow James believes in love. She believes that people should be able to be with who they choose. True, she may not understand the complexities of royalty and a duty to one’s bloodline, but, at the end of the day, that’s all dust. All people have is their love; it’s one of the few freedoms and truths in life and Willow James will help all the lovers like her. She’ll help the broken ones who need to be shown love, too, because they could use it most of all.)

So lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t entirely realize that the attention has shifted over to her until it's too late and the teenager and his kid brother are greeting her. “Uhh.” Her eyes slide over to search for Juliet, to plead for help, but her companion seems absorbed in the torn portrait (that she barely registers as a concern) and therefore is unlikely to notice Willow’s silent plea.

She clears her throat and rubs the back of her neck, trying to remember what words are and what language they’re speaking. (Milfred had reminded her so much of Sawyer that she immediately felt comfortable, but all these noble types? They remind her of all the liars and dirty, dirty cheats of the world, immediately causing her stomach to twist and make her hyper-aware of her person.) “I am indeed Willow James from Evermore, yep.” She doesn’t say anything about the heroine part, unsure of what to make of the wishing well anecdote; unsure of whether or not she feels relieved she might not really be a prophesied hero and, maybe, simultaneously sad that it might not have been foretold. (Does this change her mission? Yes? No? It’s complicated and she can’t think about it right now.)

To the question about special powers, she thinks on this for a minute, realizing that the knowledge she’s a sorceress remains between herself, Juliet, and Milfred. While not ashamed of her identity as a caster, it’s fairly standard in Evermore, she does recall that there's a stigma around it in Folklore. Moreover, this being a secret means expectations can still be tamped down and, whenever she’s ready to blow everyone’s mind, she will have the element of surprise on her side. She can only surprise people with this fact once, so she would rather her showcase be like a firework show rather than the spark of a dead lighter. “Um, I can lick my elbow? If that’s what you mean.”

“No way!” Guppy’s eyes go big.

“Yes way.” The sorceress nods and pulls her elbow towards her face, sticking out her tongue to demonstrate her skill. (Guppy tries and fails to mirror this.) “I can also lick my nose.” She swirls her tongue over her nose, showing off this as well, even as embarrassment crawls down her spine as she realizes this is what she chose to show off. Of all her skills, even her banal skills, she went with this. ‘Quick what is something cool that you can do? Don’t mention your fire smelling abilities, nerd.’ “And Juliet is teaching me how to juggle knives. Right––”

Oh. Again.

The sorceress’s shoulders drop, realizing the archer has left her. She spins around, searching for the redhead, like she’ll suddenly appear in the corner behind her. ‘Juliet? Wherefore art thou? Wait… that doesn’t mean…’ She grumbles to herself internally as she politely waves the two boys off, who naturally follow her anyway, and tries to locate her companion.

“Elbow licking isn’t a special power,” Dylan points out, easily keeping up with the land lover. “Heroes usually have gifts that no one else possesses that makes them stand out as heroes. Like, sometimes, they’re from powerful bloodlines. Oh! Let me guess you have an enchanted talking sword…”

Willow completely tunes out the teenager, focusing on an odd scraping noise––it’s much harder to make out sounds underwater, her ears used to attuning themselves to whatever the wind carries. (Don’t get Willow wrong, she loves swimming. She loves being underwater, but she’s never experienced this kind of immersion before. It’s more jarring than she initially anticipated, especially without Lucky here to watch her back. She feels bad that she had to trick them and she knows she’ll be getting the silent treatment for at least thirty minutes when they eventually make it back to the room.) When she closes her eyes, the sound seems to be coming from inside of the palace walls. That wouldn’t be so shocking were these walls hollow, but she’s pretty sure these are stone. A garbled, smacking noise then joins the scraping.

Her attention snaps up when she hears someone address Juliet from down one hallway. “Lady Juliet, you must make haste––”

Next comes an animalistic shriek that drops the temperature of the water. When Willow rounds the corner, she spots a large, frozen breath of ice hanging in the water. She can’t see Juliet or whoever had been with her, but her second reaction (her first had been to curl into a ball) is to turn and face the boys whose eyes are the size of dinner plates. “Back––get back, th-that’s a hero’s order!” (Hero outranks royalty, right?)

 

[ellarose]

Juliet follows her mind as it’s drawn towards the sound, navigating the hallway as surreptitious as a shadow. She is a quiet creature by habit and now that she does not have to mind her footsteps, she is especially discreet. The voices of the kids behind her are rendered into background noise as she prioritizes the scraping. (Her mind unhelpfully provides the visuals of nails scraping against the inside of a coffin. Or nails against the floorboards, trying to find purchase before being dragged to an underground cellar.) Unhelpful. Her thoughts flinch back and search for a safer place to land, tracing back to the shredded ends of the portrait clinging onto the frame for dear life, swaying in the water like bodies from a tree branch. Briefly, she presses her hands over her eyelids as if to physically crush the visuals. Once again, unhelpful. Is this chill in her head or is it in the water? She passes over the broken shards of a vase and follows their trail into a bedroom.

There were many long afternoons over tea that mother tried to explain the royal bloodline to Juliet so that she might memorize it and use her knowledge as a conversation tool among the nobles. There were too many names, too many faces. (And were they really worth remembering, when they’d always looked down on her like a dirty stain they’d found on their pristine carpets? Juliet did not think so.) Her mother is not a storyteller. On her lips, the royal’s histories were recited in a dull list of events. No emotions or stakes, just dates and places that all melted together into an unconquerable beast of confusion.

However, Juliet does recall a story that princess Elise told her about her relatives in Okeanos once. That when her uncle was arranged to marry a princess from one of the southern sea kingdoms, they discovered that her thread was connected to his younger brother. They were made to stay away from each other with hopes to keep their arrangement from falling to pieces. (“Then why not allow the the princess to marry his brother instead?” An eleven-year-old Juliet scrunched her nose with confusion. Elise had offered her a weary smile and a “Why indeed. Our ways are quite unfathomable.”) Later, Juliet came to learn about the gifts that fairies bestow on royals when they are born and the gifts that can be passed down to their future heirs. Suitable unions are sought for in order to increase the power of the kingdoms. Love is ignored in order to seek out great power. Magic in the hands of a royal is— apparently— very different from magic in the hands of a witch. Juliet knows now that they simply labeled and chased gifted commoners away from their kingdoms out of fear. Like Millicent’s mother. (She’d read once in Millicent’s tome that witches came about because their ancestors had performed good deeds for the fairies, rather than having it bestowed on them by birthright.) Their acts of everyday kindness were turned into power, rather than their status.

With that in mind, Juliet naively thought that princess Elise could grow to become more powerful than any of them— with her status and her kindness hand in hand. Queen Viviane craves more for her daughter, however. Perhaps she feels entitled to it, for everything she’s had to sacrifice… but at what cost?

The story did not end well. They went through with the arrangement and the relationship between the brothers was forever strained. And the woman in the middle of it all was later afflicted with the curse.

(They blame it on the witches, but Millicent says she does not know how the curse came to be. Before the sickness began to spread, the curse is what the nobles feared most of all. Juliet would like to know whoever is responsible for the curse… perhaps so she could break their nose. Or, if anything, ask them why.)

What is this room? Juliet hears the scraping is coming from inside. She enters slowly and cautiously, discovering the bedspread in waving shreds like the portrait. Reaching for her dagger, she scans the room for any traces of movement and notices the wardrobe door is slightly ajar. While her attention is across the room, the music box on the other end clatters to the floor from the dresser. It pops open and a glittering pearl necklace tumbles out, floating like a spirit in the water.

“Take it back. I don’t want it.” A woman’s voice urges. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Who’s…” Juliet squints, fear sinking a blade between her ribs as she wonders if this is all in her head. What could have send that music box falling to the floor? Why does the woman’s voice sound so faraway? She clutches her dagger tighter. Can’t fight ghosts with a dagger. Is it a ghost, though? Or a memory? And why is she…

“I understand. This will be the last time. I promise.”

The voice is hollow. Defeated. Even while pretending to be steel, Juliet’s heart aches with sympathy.

That’s when Juliet notices the source of the scraping noise. A pair of scissors moves by itself, as if guided by a phantom. The tips of it’s open blades scraping against the floor and approaching the necklace. (Even underwater, this contact sends undying sparks flickering everywhere.) In a flash, the blades sever it, scattering loose pearls flying everywhere. Hexed scissors. Juliet lunges for them. Their shape warps and vanishes. She brings her empty hand back to find them covered in blood. She gasps, realizing it’s her own blood. Her palms have been slashed, as if she reached for the blades directly. Closing her hands tight and drawing them in towards her chest, she glances around the room confusedly.

“Lady Juliet, you must make haste!” A voice pulls Juliet from her thoughts and from the room. She whips her head around to find that one of the maids is swimming towards her, her eyes wild with panic. A louder and more urgent ‘thump, thump, thump’ replaces the scraping she once heard.

“What happened?” Juliet doesn’t move, calmly waiting for the maid to reach her all while attempting to see whatever it is she might be fleeing from.

“It’s the stone hydra! It… it has awakened!” The maid frets, grabbing onto the archer’s shoulders for balance when she reaches her. “Oh, sweet clam chowder. No one listened to me. They told me I was paranoid. But the castle has had a mind of it’s own ever since—”

“…The stone hydra?” Juliet’s brow furrows. That is not what she was expecting. (The stone hydra is displayed in the castle’s garden of glory, boasting all kinds of statues replicating the beasts the royals and their ancestors have felled protecting their kingdom over the years.) A pillar at one of the balcony windows collapses, drawing both of their attention to the other end of the hall. A snake-like head peers around the corner with an ice-blue glow, lending life to it’s once unmoving eyes. That same glow shines brightly in it’s unhinging jaw as it screams and breathes a wintery breath down the hall. She pushes the maid forward by her shoulders, then, urging her to continue. “Go! Hurry.”

While turning, Juliet notes with a sinking stomach that the doorway from before is gone. It’s as if that room had never been there at all. Looking down at her hands, however, they’re still bleeding. No. There’s no time for this.

“Lady Juliet, please come with me!” The maid urges. “This is not your fight. The king will take care of the hydra. If anything happens to you before the Lightless are dealt with…”

“Go. Take the young princes and the woman with them someplace safe. I’m going to distract the hydra.” Juliet, of course, is hearing none of this. (Stand back while the men take care of it… no. Ever since taking on this line of work, she knows she can prove that she’s just as capable as them. If not more so.) She swims towards the hydra before the maid can pull her back. (The mention of the princes is enough to have her abandoning her attempt to convince her, racing back to find them.) Juliet swerves as the nine-headed beast lunges towards her, making sure it’s attention is fixed on her as she maneuvers herself out of one of the open balcony windows. Sure enough, the stone beast follows her out the window, out of the castle, and she continues to guide it away.

“Distract the hydra… what in the seven seas does she think she’s doing?” The maid frets as she finally comes upon Willow and the princes. Her flushed face purses when she notices the princes. (She appears quite fed up with looking after unruly royals.) “…You two! What are you doing here? You were supposed to be at your lessons. Lady Ingrid has been searching everywhere for you.”

“Who cares about lessons!? That the hydra, wasn’t it?” Dylan starts to swim forward and the maid catches him by his scrawny arm before he can get too far. “Did Juliet go after it?”

“Is Jule-jule okay?” Guppy seems less fascinated and more terrified. (For that, he is likely smarter than his older brother.)

“…Always had a mind of her own, that one. I believe she’s too stubborn to die.” The maid huffs. She softens when she gathers the small prince into her arms. “Not to fret, prince Gabriel. The king is on his way. Everything will be fine.”

“You know, my uncle has an enchanted sword.” Dylan informs Willow proudly. “And he’s going to destroy the hydra with it. Isn’t he?” He tries to swim off again but the maid holds tight to keep him there. “I want to watch the battle! If it goes down in legend, then I ought to be able to tell the tale and say that I was there.” He puffs out his chest and the maid can do nothing but roll her eyes.

“No, I am not hearing a word of that. You are staying out of the way so that you do not get crushed by fallen rubble or some other such nonsense.” The maid lectures. “Do you know who will be blamed if you get yourself killed out there? Hm? No, we are all going someplace safe.”

“You, too.” The maid acknowledges Willow with a nod. She looks down at her legs, seemingly putting her identity together in her head based on that alone. “You… are her partner from the other side, are you not? If she does perchance get herself killed, we will still need a heroine to help us with the Lightless. Thus far, she’s the only one who’s been able to…” She shakes her head somberly and then motions her arms to herd the group to safety. “Never mind that for now. Come along, all of you. Let’s go wait until the battle’s done.”

 

[starboob]

In case anyone is wondering, hero does not outrank royalty. At least not when the hero’s name is Willow James. (A James is a James no matter where they go.) While the younger prince doesn’t necessarily protest when Willow tells them to stay back, the teenager is insistent on getting a courtside seat to the action. The sorceress pinches the bridge of her nose, one arm crossed over her chest in exasperation. (Ducking teenagers.) “No, you’re going to get yourself––”

Thankfully, back up comes in the form of a maid who might not outrank a prince, but clearly she has some level of authority over the two princes. Even so, prince Dylan is adamant on being reckless.

While Willow does recognize the similarities between herself and the prince, she believes that this is different because she’s an actual champion of love. This is her job. The prince’s job is to, like, do princely things. Princely things that do not involve diving headfirst into the action. At the same time, she intimately knows the frustration of always being told she isn’t ready. It's not untrue and it’s not that the truth hurts, per se, but she just wishes she weren’t treated as fragile––yes, she is very much scared of many nefarious villains (like the toaster), but that doesn't mean she wants to be benched all the time! (Still, wishing and wanting won't do anything for her when she still can't cast a useful spell without choking; when she still hasn't fully grasped the concept of dodging. It's not even been a full week of heroing. She still has a long way to go before she's ready to save anyone, let alone love.)

Okay, so maybe she won't be a hero today (or tomorrow or even the day after that), but she knows that she doesn't want to sit around and do nothing. She can't. She's already anxious and jumping each time the hydra screams, imagining Juliet in various states of being frozen solid or eaten altogether. She at least needs to watch, to take notes, and, perhaps, come in for a save. (Fat chance at that and even she knows it, but at least if she's there it will be an option.)

She knows what she has to do and she hates it. She really, really hates it.

The sorceress swims up to the maid who is playing a game of catch with prince Guppy using a whale shaped toy that launches through the water easily. (It reminds Willow of the coveted torpedo pool toy.) The younger prince happily does backflips and spins as he moves to catch the toy. “Um, pardon me, miss––I don’t mean to interrupt your game with the young prince, but I have had quite the journey to get here. You know Juliet, always so efficient with travel.” The maid nods in understanding as Willow layers on her thickest coat of Teacher’s Pet: Works on Most Authority Figures voice. “Anyway, if there’s any chance that I might get a little something-something to nosh on until supper… I can watch the princes.”

Dylan, the menacing teenage prince, narrows his eyes, like he’s caught onto Willow James’s game but says nothing of it.

“Oh, by the salted sea, of course! I’ll go fetch us a quick ‘nosh,’” she giggles. (The maid is clearly unfamiliar with the term, but context has given her everything she needs to know.) “You don’t mind watching them? That one,” she gestures to prince Dylan, “is quite the handful.”

“Not at all, miss.” She nods, placing one hand behind her back and another over her heart. “Being a camp counselor taught me everything that I need to know when it comes to dealing with and wrangling rapscallions. Or, should I say, rapscallops?”

She lost the audience with that one, but the maid is polite enough that she just smiles and gives the boys a stern look of warning before swimming out of the room.

Not even a second after the door is shut, prince Dylan is in Willow’s personal space. She barely turns and his nose is practically pressed against hers; he’s flipped upside down with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing a grin that says his demands will be non-negotiable. (He must think he’s being real cool.) “I’m coming with you.”

“Uh, no. Absolutely not! You need to watch your brother.”

The teenage prince scoffs. “So you’re telling me that you’re going to leave us two princes, defenseless––not a sword, trident, or harpoon between us––all by our lonesome?” For a prince, he sure is comfortable playing the role of damsel in distress. “Where we could get killed by the stone hydra or perhaps a ghost while you, a champion of love, a heroine, run off? Methinks you are abandoning your duties to the kingdoms.”

This argument, while not rock solid, is enough to leave the ever nervous Willow James stunned. She does try to work out a way to trick these two princes into staying put, but a shout from outside the door spikes her panic and simultaneously boils her blood. (“Some fool cut off a head!” “This is why women should stick to their stitching.”) 'How dare!' She knows Juliet is smart enough to know you don’t slice off a hydra head and bets those armored meatballs are getting in her way.

She needs to get out there and at least spot the archer––learn something from this fight rather than sit in a freaking bedroom and watch Guppy blow bubbles as he plays dragon. (Okay, it’s pretty cute but now really isn’t the time!) “Fine,” she agrees, and only because it’s the path of least resistance. “But we’re not going out onto the battlefield. We’re only going to watch, got it? Any funny business,” she points a stern finger at prince Dylan who feigns shock by pointing at his chest in a 'Who me?' gesture. “And… and you’ll be real ducking sorry, buster. Take me to best view the palace has to offer.” She then holds out a hand for each prince to grab. “Buddy system.”

Again, please let the record show that Willow James is not actively trying to endanger two crown princes of the sea kingdom of Okeanos. She is also not kidnapping them. Prince Dylan insisted on tagging along, making a loose argument that Willow fell for, and they couldn't just leave prince Guppy behind because that would have been wholly irresponsible... Ah, that still sounds bad. ‘I’m mist. I’m totally ducking mist for this.’ If not for her crimes endangering royals, then for lying to a palace official (the maid).

Though concerned about her crimes against royalty and royal staff members, all that is temporarily set to the side as they reach the balcony, peaking over the edge to get a better view. Streaks of ice breath line the water, statues are in all sorts of disarray, and bloody armored mer-men float up to the surface. The soldiers not yet dead try to corral the beast away from the castle and main part of the city, using quick movements and flashes of light to grab its attention. The hydra itself now has ten heads––make that twelve heads, seeing as one of the swish-happy soldiers just lobbed off another. (They really should not be going for heads without the means to cauterize the wounds and stop them from multiplying.)

“Look! There’s my uncle.” Dylan points proudly to a barrel chested mer-man wielding a glimmering golden sword. Although wielding is a relative term as his sword is still sheathed and he’s not even diving into the action. He’s behind a wall of royal guards, judging by their fancier armor, and just seems to be directing other soldiers. “Bet he’s waiting for a good opening. He’s a legend, you know.”

“A legend?” Except what she wants to say is, ‘If he’s such a legend then why is he hiding behind soldiers? Why isn't he actually fighting the beast?’ Somewhere she understands that it has to do with his royal lineage and how that makes his life worth more than the others, but she doesn’t agree with it. It makes her think he’s more of a famous coward than a legend; anyone can take the killshot when it’s perfectly set up. She narrows her eyes, lips pressed together as she watches the mer-man. “Has he fought the hydra before?”

“No, I think that was granddad.” The prince doesn’t elaborate on the tale and instead starts tugging them forward, threatening to take them over the railing. “These seats are for peasants. Can’t we please get a little closer? Just an inch?”

Willow yanks the teenager back and squeezes his arm, giving him a firm look that communicates perfectly they will not be moving even an inch closer. She wants to, of course. She doesn’t like being stuck up in this tower like a damsel in distress when she’s supposed to be a knight in shining armor, fighting alongside her knight in shining armor. And were it not for the two princes she somehow ended up responsible for, she probably would have tried to find her way to the action. To prove she isn’t deadweight. To prove she isn’t scared. To prove that she can do this––just give her a chance. But with the princes, with Juliet's worry, with Lucky's worry, with the dream from last night, she knows that in this instance it’s better for her to sit this one out. There will be other fights. A plethora more if the Lightless are getting worse and if royals are involved. (Again, her heart squeezes for princess Elise. It’s only a matter of time before it spreads beyond those who might have earned their affliction.) Before the other sider can say anything to the prince, her eye catches on the thread that hangs between herself and Juliet. It flows, as it always does, but for some reason the distraction is enough that her eyes follow the thread down to Juliet’s position.

Willow isn’t so rosey about Juliet that she believes the archer could have taken the hydra on her own, but she really is proving that those guards probably share a single brain cell between them. That’s not even her being mean. She actually just watched two of them swim into each other. Another throws his trident and she has to wonder whether he threw it with his eyes closed, because it completely misses the target. But rather than focus on them, her green eyes shine watching Juliet. (She’s even faster underwater.) A grin starts to pull at her lips and, while unseen to others, wisps start to gather around the thread, bouncing along it. The thread goes taut, even, though it doesn’t pull Willow forward. It just is. Her brow furrows together as she leans forward and tries to get a better look at it. She subsequently ends up letting go of both princes as she holds it, then plucks it and watches it bounce up and down. ‘Is this me? Can Juliet feel this?’ (She does sometimes wonder if she’s the only one who can see their thread. The archer has said nothing of it and doesn’t ever acknowledge it. It's like it doesn't matter to her.) 'Hmm.'

She's about to try something with the thread when, suddenly, she is yanked forward, the hydra having got caught on the string. Now its several heads are thrashing around, effectively tangling itself further, and this ultimately pulls Willow into the heart of the action.

"Look!" one soldier shouts, "A maiden!"

 

[ellarose]

Juliet carries herself like a silky red ribbon through the water, strategically weaving herself between the hydra’s heads as she occupies its attention like a flame on a moonless night and guides it away from the castle. As she does so, she begins to take notes on their movements and gauge just how smart this beast is. (Will it tangle itself into a stone knot while attempting to chase her down? Will it freeze one of it’s own heads if she dodges with just the right timing?) She seeks an answer to her questions with the eagerness of a bright-eyed investigator taking on their first big case, paying no mind whatsoever to the danger this puts her in. Stopping when she’s positioned herself just-so, she watches with no small amount of satisfaction as she stares into the open maw of one of the enraged hydra heads, the blue orb within gathering more and more light as it charges an icy breath. (Juliet’s heart thumps to life in her chest, knowing she only has a few seconds. It’s exhilarating. She’s alive.) She lunges herself upward just in time for the monster’s ice breath to freeze one of their other heads solid in a glistening, silent sculpture of a scream. It was so close that a bite of cold touches the tip of her tail. She swishes it with a flourish to brush off a few flakes of ice. It’s a reckless way to fight, but she’s quick. She’s always been quick. When she fights like this, where only her own heart is on the line, she can trust that she’ll be quick enough.

Moving high above the monster, Juliet peers down at it from above to get a sense of how it will attempt to recover from this. (The ice weighs the frozen head down, but this isn’t enough to snap the stone neck. And she knows better than to cut their heads off— everyone ought to know that two more will grow in a severed head’s place. No one ever said anything about freezing them, though.) A younger Juliet once studied all of the monsters in the garden of glory. Given that it wasn’t on the expected curriculum for young ladies, she enjoyed it immensely. An eleven-year-old Juliet stole Flynn Everson’s book about the creatures and would read a chapter under the covers each night. (He left it on the ledge of the fountain in the courtyard… in retrospect, it was so obvious sitting there that she understands now that it was deliberately set there for her to find. Princess Elise slipped and asked her about her favorite stories from the book one afternoon, even though Juliet hadn’t told anyone that she had it. The princess’s conspiratorial grin made her realize that they orchestrated that little ‘coincidence’. It was no secret that her mother would not let her keep any such book on her shelf, not even if she tried earning the coin to purchase it for herself. None of their mothers did.) Either way, Juliet studied the monsters and their weaknesses with rapt attention. She kept herself content by daydreaming about Lara coming back for her, about fighting the monsters in those books together.

That said, Juliet watches with an unimpressed glower as the castle guard approaches the monster, taking the hydra’s attention off of her before it can charge again. (…Where were they until now? Polishing their swords? Assembling their armor? Perhaps brushing up on the hydra chapter of their books?) Evidently they didn’t study it quite hard enough, though, because one of overzealous guards smirks at the sight of the hydra head that Juliet had conveniently frozen for them, takes what he must assume is an ‘easy target’ and slashes it clean off.

I could have finished this by myself. Juliet hisses an incensed sigh through her teeth, watching as the head rolls off and down into the reef below, startling the fish hiding there. Call her bold, call her arrogant, but the ‘reinforcements’ have made this fight infinitely more complicated. The guard laughs triumphantly, one of his friends pumping him on the back encouragingly. She watches him pointedly, specifically to watch his joy turn to horror when two more heads grow from the place he just slashed. Yes, you doodle-headed blunderbuss. Look at what you just did. (What? She’s rightfully furious that her strategy— which would have worked— has just been trifled with. Might as well derive amusement from some part of this. Princess Elise is always encouraging her to search for the small joys in life, after all… and watching an arrogant cad realizing their own mistakes is one of them.)

“Lady Juliet! We can handle it from here.” One of the foolish guard’s friends tries to get her attention, waving his finned arms about. Juliet pretends not to hear him, calculatedly watching the hydra as it is preoccupied countering attacks from the incompetent palace guards. “You’ll be safe in the castle. Don’t get in our way!”

“You don’t cut off a hydra’s head, you ignoramuses!” Juliet bites out, swimming decisively towards the hydra and timing her movements perfectly. She puts herself directly in front of one of the incoming ice blasts and deftly guides it towards one of the recently severed heads just as it’s in the process of growing back— causing the hydra to freeze itself in an awkward, misshapen place before they can fully regenerate. “If you’re fast enough, you can guide their ice breath like this and—“

One of the guards recklessly smashes his trident against the heads she just froze, shattering them. Four heads sprout up from there, bursting with fury. Juliet massages her temples for a second before narrowly missing another attack. “You oughtn't get so close to it. You’re in our way, lady Juliet. Back to the castle with you! Now.”

…It’s better when Juliet works alone. She doesn’t even have to think. Her body moves on pure instinct, because she trusts it to navigate a fight with ease. Whether she’s moving across the battlefield or dancing on a stage, the steps— or motions, in this case— have always come naturally to her. Thinking is unnecessary. She simply does what needs to be done, possessing a mastery of control over her body in a way she does not over her own mind. (She’s learnt to be content on her own, to rely on herself. Others simply… complicate matters. There’s more to consider, she needs to communicate her intentions to ensure that nothing goes awry, and… ugh.) If anything, she is relieved that Willow James was with the princes when this happened. They will be ushered someplace safe and taken care of. She is under no obligation to look after these guards the same way she looks after her new companion. (Complicated as it is to work with others, she does appreciate that Willow actually listens to her and trusts her instincts. She needs more experience, yes, but this hydra is a legendary beast. Knowing when to stay out of a fight can be just as important as knowing when to enter one when it comes to survival. The sorceress will never become the heroine she longs to be if her journey ends too soon. And she… can’t let anything happen to her.) The guards, however? They’re a lost cause. And the king— the one whose opinion matters when it comes to giving orders they'll listen to— is sheltered by even more guards who will tell her that she needs to move out of their way.

Now Juliet is at a loss. It's simply baffling. The guards continue to hack away at the hydra, creating an even bigger beast than they started with. Either she needs to wait until they all kill themselves with their own stupidity and handle it when she’s on her own again, or…

Hm. While Juliet isn’t inclined to give any of these men credit— surely one of the guards among them would know better? Surely one of them is competent enough to command their attention, to set them on the right track? At the very least, they ought to have realized their own mistakes by now. Unless… unless they’re building a larger monster on purpose? Her eyes suspiciously track towards the king, behind his protective wall of guards, and the enchanted sword that slowly gathers more and more energy in his hands. Are they fabricating a legend?

Juliet has dealt with kingdoms feeling powerless, incompetent or weak because they have to rely on one woman to handle their Lightless problems. Noticing the sneers the guards throw at her, the way they tell her not to get in their way…

Well, then. Juliet might find it in her heart to be flattered if it wasn’t so damned infuriating.

That’s when Juliet notices the shimmer of a thread, the way that two of the hydra’s necks get tangled up in it. (They’re the ones she’d been maneuvering herself around before. It’s almost as if she were a needle with a thread attached to her, sewing it together. As the hydra moves and wisps dance along the thread, it becomes even more entangled than before somehow. Furrowing her brow with concentration, she follows it with narrowed brown eyes until she sees—)

“Look!” It’s none other than Willow James, getting pulled into the heart of the chaos by that cursed thread of theirs. “A maiden!”

“Fear not, everyone! I shall rescue the fair maiden!” None other than prince Dylan proclaims, swimming after her. This turn of events gets progressively worse as Guppy tearfully follows after his older brother, clearly not wanting to be left behind. "Wait! Wait for me! It'll be okay, Will-will!"

“Prince Dylan, prince Garbiel! No, get back— it’s much too dangerous for you here!” The guards who are closest prioritize the princes over the ‘maiden’. The princes try dodging their attempts to catch them, creating a nonsensical game of cat and mouse between themselves and a cluster of the guards. One of them does manage to catch Guppy, though Dylan continues to elude capture.

Juliet’s stomach drops like an anchor. She does not want to sound like a hypocrite, does not want to outright tell Willow James to stay out of her way. But this is different. There’s a difference between herself and Willow James in that she has years of experience fighting creatures such as this. Still… it’s plain to see that the guards did not expect this turn of events, either. If this is all orchestrated, it throws yet another unexpected variable in their dastardly plot.

Okay. We can work with this. She just has to hope that neither of them will get killed in the process. While everyone is distracted with the princes, Juliet moves as fast as she can, swimming a few more loops around the hydra to pull it taut with the thread before swooping in to whisk Willow James out of the fray. She pumps her tail as hard as she can, moving them through the water swiftly while her arms are occupied with holding the sorceress bridal style. Together, they yank the lassoed hydra behind them and gradually pull it further and further away from the princes, the guards, and the castle.

The guards shout after them, alarmed, but Juliet treats it all as background noise. The hydra thrashes behind them, but their thread holds it too tight for it to do much harm aside from a few haphazard ice breaths and screams. (By now, their necks are much too tightly wound to aim their blasts appropriately.)

“…Doesn’t this seem strange to you?” Juliet asks casually, as if she isn’t dragging an entire catastrophe behind them. “They continue to chop of the hydra’s heads, even after seeing for themselves that they grow back. We cannot speak a word of this in the castle… but I’m inclined to believe that the king intends to write his own legends.”

The king, who never had the love of his wife. The king, who was not quite as competent in battle as his younger brother. The king with everything to prove. Wouldn’t he appear so wise, after all, if he ends the beast with one blast from his enchanted sword after the efforts of his finest guards did no such harm?

“You brought the princes with you.” Juliet sighs, changing the subject. She bites her lip. She doesn’t sound disappointed, instead rather preoccupied with figuring out how they’re going to navigate the situation they’re in. (They are already skeptical enough of her… Willow James will not be making the best impression by association with her as it is. This incident will not help.) “We will have to act more carefully from now on. I dislike it… but we ought to hold the hydra still and allow the king to see his plan through. His mood will be tolerable at best if we can at least do that.”

 

[starboob]

To be perfectly honest, Willow James blacks out the moment she’s yanked forward and is sent barreling towards the fray of snapping heads. She catches flashes of the blurry blue world around her, but, for the most part, she has no idea what is happening with herself; she can barely recall her own name and she most certainly has no idea how she's going to get herself out of this tangle. She vaguely hears the princes in the background, though she isn’t able to place why they sound so familiar, having temporarily forgotten everything that’s happened in the last hour while she screams her head off. (She does wonder if she is successful in literally screaming her head off if that will somehow clear her thoughts enough that she’ll be able to come up with a solution to save herself, since Lucky clearly cannot come in for the save and––)

Juliet.

She has Juliet. Or rather, Juliet has her–– either way she is safe and not being ripped apart by fourteen or so hydra heads. Immediately, the sorceress wraps her arms around the archer's neck, securing herself to her and trying to still her trembling body by holding on tighter as she fully comes to the realization that she almost McDucking died! ‘What in the bleeding lakes am I doing?’ (Now she deeply understands what grandma Elva meant when she said she didn’t want to be a hero after taking her first step into the frenzy.) Just what was Willow James thinking when she left Elsewhere? What was she anticipating when she said she wanted to be a hero? For as prepared as Willow James likes to be, she is not prepared for this and for as much as she likes to believe quitting won’t solve her problems… this is a rather large problem and she is very clearly in over her head. Where she might have been hurt the other day when Juliet cavalierly told her she won’t learn quick enough, it is true. How can she play catch-up to legends and the stuff of Folklore? Besides, she’s clearly not so fearless or as strong as she needs to be to save love–– she’s on the brink of crying because she almost died.

Still trembling, the sorceress peeks over Juliet’s shoulder, watching the chaos unfold as prince Dylan evades the guards trying to protect him. Her green eyes widen and a cold chill spills over her, knowing his involvement is entirely her fault and that she might have just gotten the maid in trouble as well. (This is worse than being deadweight.) It’s also obviously hard for her to miss the stone hydra Juliet is pulling. The heads are starting to bite each other as they try to free themselves from the invisible entanglement, but they are only successful in tangling themselves up further. (For a thread that looks so fragile, it certainly is proving its more than just a wisp in the wind and there is something comforting in that.)

When Juliet opens up a line of conversation that is distinctly not chastising, the anxious wannabe hero calms some and uses this as a welcome distraction. She looks at her incredulously, not understanding how a king with a legendary weapon could risk his men just for his name to be (wrongfully) emblazoned in the annals of history. It's just so selfish! Where there had been fear, anger rages in its place. Her mouth opens into a shocked ‘O’ and her brows downturn into a ‘V.’ “That’s not right, Juliet!” Even though she raises her voice, it’s not loud enough to be heard over the monster being dragged behind them. “What a––what a––” She settles on a disgruntled and frustrated noise rather than a word, her blood boiling in her veins the more she thinks about this. (This is why Willow James hates kings. They just take and ruin everything and everyone. She has yet to meet one that is worthy of her respect.) “We––”

She shuts her mouth when the archer mentions the princes and the same cold chill from before washes over her and pools in her stomach, replacing her fit of anger. “I…” She wants to defend herself and explain that she hadn’t meant to, but what does that clarification matter? They still got involved because of Willow. Even if she thought they’d be safe in the tower balcony, she wasn’t thinking. She never stopped to consider all the possibilities, especially with a chaotic teenager in the mix. She slumps against Juliet’s shoulder, burying her face in her neck, and whispers, “I’m sorry.” It also occurs to her that this might reflect poorly on the archer who already has a reputation and name she’s trying to clear. "I'm so sorry."

Though that moment of shame doesn’t last long as the archer continues and, just as before, her blood turns to magma at the suggestion. “Juliet…” ‘That’s unfair,’ she wants to say, but the archer obviously knows this. It doesn’t need to be said and realizing that her earlier assessment of the king had been correct, she finds her fight again. It’s enough to calm her tremble to a barely noticeable shiver and even returns her breathing mostly back to normal. (She reminds herself that while grandma Elva never wanted to be a hero after her first battle against the magicians, she never stopped fighting because she had too much to lose. Willow does too and if she wants to be a hurricane instead of a breath, she has to hold onto what and who she's fighting for. She has to remember why she's choosing to save love and infuriating kings are part of it. So even if she isn't supposed to be in this fight, she's here now and she might as well do what she can.)

“Fine,” she agrees, knowing she doesn’t really have a choice regardless. She also trusts Juliet. Juliet who has grown up in this world and understands it better than herself. Juliet who actually has to live here in the aftermath. Juliet who is cleaning up Willow’s mess, like she always does. “We can expose him as a fraud later.” This, she whispers, but she’s no less serious about it. (Already she’s trying to figure out how to get closer to the legendary sword. If she can just get a read on its magic, she might be able to tweak the enchantments that make it special. Perhaps she can make it turn into a sea-chicken when held by a coward; or rust its blade when wielded by the unworthy; or make it talk and tell the truth of its feats. But any of that assumes Willow can even figure out a legendary enchantment and she’s only half confident to that end.)

Feeling more comfortable than before, having regained part of her composure, she wriggles out of Juliet’s arms (with a great amount of reluctance) and swims beside her. She steals a glance over her shoulder at the beast behind them, the guards still pursuing the beast, and the king who watches it all like they're pieces on his board game. (The princes are being escorted back to safety now that prince Dylan has been successfully wrangled.) The king's eyes are set firmly on herself and Juliet, though from this distance it's hard to know his expression. She only knows that he is not stopping his guards from continuing their assault on the conveniently connected necks. None of their strikes land, but it's alarming nonetheless that they are still trying to make the beast even bigger. 'What game is he playing? Is he trying to...'

“Geez, is fourteen heads not impressive enough?” She decides to keep it to herself that she genuinely thinks the king might be trying to make a tragedy from this legend; like, she’d like to believe their status as the champions of love might actually mean something to him––especially considering his younger brother has been infected. While she tries to not let that unsettling thought consume her, it lingers in the back of her mind.

She turns to face forward, knowing that regardless of that possibility they still should try to give him his opening and salvage the peace. Her eyes then rake over the area in search of a spot that might give them some leverage to hold the beast down. When she spots something in the distance she quickens her pace and points, “There.” Not too far ahead of them is a rock large enough that it should give them an anchor point to hold it down. “If we split up and trap the hydra against it, that should give him his legendary slay.” The sarcasm isn’t even hidden from her tone as she takes to the right side of the rock and parts from Juliet.

The hydra behind them thrashes, screams, and blows puffs of ice as it struggles, as it becomes more desperate for escape. It won’t get that chance though as it’s dragged to an altar for the king’s ego. Willow gets behind the rock, braces her back against it, and tugs on the thread with as much might as she can muster, careful to resist the temptation of wrapping it around her limbs for leverage. Despite it being a mere thread, it doesn’t slip from her fingers. At all. It actually seems to respond to her want to keep it taut and gets tighter the harder she tugs. With little slack or give, she can feel each jerk of the monster and can feel her own wispy muscles struggling to keep it fastened against the rock for King Ego. ‘C’mon, WJ. You got this and even if you don’t, you kind of have to.’

“What’s. taking. him. so––"

“Charge the scourge!” the king roars to his men. “Remember the women waiting for your safe return and give it your all. For the honor of Okeanos!”

The sorceress doesn’t even have the time to process what's about to happen as she hears the sound of metal hacking through stone, effectively freeing the beast from their thread and creating a mass of writhing, snapping, winding heads so large that Willow doesn’t know whether to burst into hysterics or just pass away on her own. It easily shrouds the rock they were once able to hold it against and with so many heads, it has the focus to stare down the real heroines as well as the guards. Its near thirty maws unhinge showing blue orbs charging at the back of their throats.

‘I’m going to die. Lucky and I are going to die and it’s all my fault. Meredith is going to kill me. Sawyer is going to reverse haunt me. I never returned my library books. I’m going to make my family so sad––’

“Fret not! For your king is here.” Naturally, it's when all hope seems lost that the fraud swims forward with his enchanted blade aimed at the hydra. A golden ball of light weaves itself together at its tip, gathering in intensity at the same time it does size. “With the power of Seafury, you, vile fiend, shall terrorize no more and your existence shall no longer be a blight on the kingdom of Okeanos. I shall send you back from whence you came!” The king unleashes the blast at the center of the heads and the second the orb touches the monster, it explodes outwards and everything becomes bathed in gold.

Willow gasps as the light burns the back of her eyelids. Even when she cracks her eyes open, too curious for her own good, the light is too bright to withstand. Still, that doesn't stop her from forcing herself to focus on the dark writhing outline of the hydra if only to understand how the sword functions. ‘Purifying magic, maybe?’

The heads all screech under the blast, but their cry sounds less terrifying and becomes weaker the longer the attack lasts. Under the intensity of the light, each head shrivels up before turning to ash that dissolves in the water. “Enjoy the company of your fallen brethren,” the king finishes once the hydra is nothing more than an imprint in the sand. He straightens up his posture and slaps one palm against the flat part of the blade before sheathing the weapon with an unnecessary amount of flourish. He smooths back his billowing hair in a strikingly similar manner as prince Dylan had earlier. (Willow now understands where the prince got it from.)

The king finally turns his attention to the two champions of love and gives them a charming smile, but it’s hollow. Dull. Painfully fake. He offers his hands to them and Willow, feeling obligated to accept the gesture, sets her hand in his. The seconds their hands touch, she stifles a gasp, picking up on the traces of the spell still clinging to his palm. ‘Woah.’

“Be not ashamed of your loss. You fair maidens and champions of love certainly tried your best, but some beasts ought to be left to the men." He says men like he means to say real warriors. "After all, that was a legendary monster,” he continues on, mansplaining in the most infuriatingly patronizing way. (Who the duck doesn’t know about the hydra!?) “You would be wise to remember that, just as I am sure the scribes will remember it was I who saved the champions of love from the ferocious stone hydra.”

Oh. Oh. The sorceress is barely able to school her expression the second she figures out that the king has not only created stolen a legend for himself, he is also trying to insert himself into their legend. Willow is definitely going to get revenge now.

 

[ellarose]

"And what word did you use to describe my hair, again? Kingly?" The ridiculous farce ensues in the throne room, as the king asks his scribe to recite her record of 'the battle'. She's a young girl, no older than prince Dylan, much to Juliet (and the king's) initial surprise. The king's face has twisted with distaste over a particularly insignificant sentence (something about the 'the king's kingly face and kingly hair') which he ruminates over. "...I believe 'majestic' is a finer word." He flips his locks back in a manner that reminds her very much of Lavinia Laurence. (His face is just as-- if not more-- punchable as well.) "Hmph. I believe your brother was better suited to this task. Change it at once!" He starts to push the scroll back to the scribe, who seems to be doing everything she can not to incinerate him with a comeback, when his eyes catch a particular phrase lower on the page. "And do be sure to consult my guards again on the events of the battle. Some of your details are... not quite accurate." His suspicious gaze trails over to Juliet and Willow. Schooling his expression to be softer, he rests a hand on the girl's shoulder as if to console her. "I understand how shocking it must have been to witness such a gruesome battle. Perhaps you were not thinking clearly, due to the shock of it all... oh, poor dear."

Juliet seethes quietly on behalf of every woman in the room. This is too much. It isn't an appropriate time (it never is) so she masks her irritated scoff as a cough behind her hand. Thankfully, no one seems immediately suspicious of it. Knowing how she feels, she also offers Willow a discreet glance of warning, to dissuade any fleeting notions of speaking up herself. Her traveling companion is careful and quite anxious-- but she has shown that she can be quite bold in her own ways. Her very presence in Folklore is proof of that. (The memory of her irritation nearly makes her smile, in that she felt she could truly understand Willow in that moment. Then she remembers the way she trembled in her arms. The press of her face against her neck. Her breath on her skin as she whispered apologies. Juliet blushes and resists the urge to rub the spot or fidget as she faces forward again.) They are treading treacherous waters now and need to be careful of how they act before the king.

"Excuse me, your majesty, but it was your guards who did not appear to be thinking clearly on the battlefield. If you would allow me to speak with Lady Juliet instead--" The girl counters with the forthrightness only a rebellious teenager is capable of, unable to hold her tongue any longer. There's a glow of admiration behind the girl's words, especially when she says Juliet's name, but the archer can only stiffen at the sound of it echoing all around the throne room. Juliet. Discomfort wrangles her and it's a challenge to draw air into her lungs. Stop. This won't help. (Everyone loves to speak about her. Everyone has their stories, their theories. Lavinia accuses her of craving the attention when she often wishes she were invisible. That she could erase herself from all of their minds and disappear.) And she nearly did. Nearly. It would have been better for everyone if she'd stayed 'dead'.

The guards stir at the teenage girl's accurate appraisal of their skills (their lake thereof) readying themselves to reprimand her at the first sign of their king commanding it.

"Lady Juliet..." The king booms. Juliet's had so much practice holding herself together that she does not flinch, even when her insides shudder on their hinges. "Lady Juliet was fretful, having found herself in a dangerous battle she was wholly unprepared to fight. Repeating those frightful events would be most distressing for her. And so was her partner." He looks pointedly at Juliet, who does not appear even slightly shaken. His stare burns through her, searing her with an unspoken command to perform. She only keeps her eyes defiantly lowered, staying silent and still. If she does nothing, reveals nothing, then they will have nothing to use against her. If she remains impartial, the truth will be up to one's own interpretation. The king switches his tactics. "Listen and listen well. You mustn't insult the guards, the men who valiantly protect the people of Okeanos. Your king is a merciful man, but I will not be so lenient next time."

The teen twists her head from side to side, the dark springs of her curly hair following the motion. (She appears slightly frantic hearing the king's scolding, but also defiant-- like she expects someone in the crowd to rise up and agree with her. Oh, to be young and naive.) Juliet understands the frustration the girl is harboring all too well, but knows this tactic will not work. A lady must fight harder than any warrior on a battlefield to maintain a picture-perfect image of her composure, because her composure is the first thing a man will try to convince her that she's lost when she brings forth even the soundest of arguments. (The four Okeanos siblings are depicted on one of the portraits on the walls and Queen Viviane's cold, ice-blue eyes bore into her even more so than King Cedrick's. Always watching.) She has learned that one can accomplish much more in secret than they can bathed in the spotlight. An older boy swims forward and grabs the teenage scribe by the arm, yanking her backward. They look similar enough that Juliet assumes they're siblings, especially as the glares exchanged between the two of them seem to communicate a secret language that only exists between siblings. The brother comes out victorious.

"...Forgive me, your majesty. I will consult the guards, just as you've asked." The girl's desire to grumble trembles under her words.

"Very well. See to it that you do." The king dismisses them with a wave of his hand. The brother ushers her sister out, pressing her forward by the shoulders, and it's only after the double doors clamor shut that he asks, "Now, where were we?"

"Your brother, King Cedrick. You were speaking of his transformation. I understand if you find yourself too busy to discuss such matters with us. If you direct us towards whoever saw him last, we will be on our way..." Juliet replies matter-of-factly, wishing for a dismissal so that they might be able to leave. The sooner she can explore the waters beyond the castle, the kingdom, and the rumors the better.

"Ah, yes. My dear brother Zander." The king leans forward and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if this pains him to think about. (Evidently not enough, though, as he uses his absence as an excuse to forge his own legend. Zander was always known for his charm and prowess in battle. Had he been present, Juliet supposes that none of this would have happened.) "Dreadful shame he was not present to witness my victory. Just as it was a shame that Vivi could not stay long enough to see it, either. With Elise's spontaneous engagement..." He chuckles as if the matter is no more than a joke.

Juliet's jaw twitches as she raises her chin and clenches her fists. The king is not even slightly concerned about his brother, is he? Bold as it is to target royalty, she can understand why this happened. Many of the royals could benefit from such a humbling experience. The question is still who would be so bold as to do so? (She wonders, then, if she would ever be quite so bold. The risk of getting caught, with the reputation she's already garnered... it's too much for now. Perhaps someday, though.) ...King Cedrick may benefit from such an affliction himself.

"Do you have any relevant information for us, your highness, or should we take our leave?" Juliet speaks up before he can guide the conversation down an avenue of blaming her for putting the notion in his niece's mind. Before he can mention Paris Brooks or the wedding. Never mind the fact that he never answered her question.

"...An excellent suggestion, Lady Juliet." What? He claps his hands and signals for the guards. "We will reconvene tomorrow, then. You both have traveled far and must be exhausted after such a harrowing experience. I insist that you retire to your room at once."

***​

Once they are escorted out of the throne room by the guards, Juliet finally releases the sigh she'd been holding onto for the entirety of their meeting. "That..." She mumbles quietly. "Was a colossal waste of our time." Keeping her gaze fixed ahead, she notices the curtains twitching down the hall and braces herself. "The castle staff may have some useful information for us. Figuring out who saw the Lightless last should be our first priority." That's all she says as they approach the curtain... and as they do, she sweeps it aside with her hand to reveal the teenage scribe hiding behind it, squeaking like a certain Willow James does with surprise when she realizes she's been caught.

"...Well? Do you know something?" Juliet wastes no time in asking her directly.

"L-lady Juliet! A-and the other sider, too. Oh my gosh! Back there, you two were-- I..." The girl fumbles with her words and her scroll before hugging it tightly to her chest, her eyes wide and starstruck. Then she clears her throat, quickly pulling herself back together. The magenta of the scale patterns on her cheeks deepen with embarrassment. "I, uh...she asked you a question, Cassia, get it together!" 'Cassia' smacks her own cheek and shakes her head. Juliet blinks. "It is a sore subject for his majesty, to say the very least." She scopes out the area to ensure that no one else is around before swimming closer to the duo and lowering her voice. "It was Queen Adelaide. She went in to see Prince Zander just before his transformation. Evidently, it was the first time she spoke to him beyond formalities in thirty-one years. Needless to say, it didn't work. She was struck across the face before he fled and now she will see no one."

"Did any of the maids see him? Or the guards?" Juliet presses. When Cassia shrugs, the archer pushes a hand back through her hair and then glances at Willow. "...We'll have to ask around, then." If they're lucky, perhaps their evening meal will be served with some intel. Either way, it seems they'll have to sneak out in the evening to search for clues about the Lightless's whereabouts. "Thank you."

"I--" Juliet's back is already turned when the scribe girl finds the courage to pipe up again. Initially, she's under the impression that she's going to ask if she can join them on their travels. However, something must convince her to reign in her excitement in as she settles on a 'I'll let you know if I hear anything else.' It's a good thing, too, because she would have had to refuse. Looking after Willow James is one thing. If teenagers like Prince Dylan and this girl start tagging along as well... she doesn't even want to entertain the thought. It's already giving her a headache.

***​

The rest of their afternoon is spent uneventfully in the room, 'staying out of the way' as the king and guards would prefer. (They do have two unsettled companions to console upon their return-- Lucky in particular was not pleased that they were left behind.) On top of that, they left a small mess in the room for them to clean. As they occupy themselves with that, Juliet relays the story between the brothers and the queen to keep Willow informed. (And in the process of bringing up Adelaide and Zander's connected thread, she wonders whether or not she should mention their thread. What it did back there. She's never seen or heard of anything like it and she wonders if Willow knows anything about it. And yet bringing up their thread calls to mind the letter she started to read-- the letter she kept, for whatever reason-- her actions afterwards, and... she can't.) Later their dinner is delivered to their room by a maid who informs them that the 'kerfuffle' transpired in the east wing of the castle.

It's a few minutes past midnight that Juliet begins a lesson on 'stealth' as they sneak out of the room to search the castle for clues. "...Stay close." She whispers. (While she doesn't want to admit it, she recalls the vanishing room and does not want to find herself alone in such a place again.) The halls are lit dimly by floating shell lights and she teaches Willow to be mindful of nooks and shadows-- to mark out a path and move quickly from one place to the next like stepping stones. They're nearing the torn portrait when Juliet holds out an arm, hearing voices ahead.

"You're ruining my investigation, Prince Dingus. Didn't your mother banish you to your bedchamber for the remainder of the evening?" It's Cassia. "You should be in bed, getting your beauty sleep."

"Uh... no." Prince Dylan says in a voice that sounds like a 'yes' in disguise. He puffs up his chest and presses a fist over his heart. "I... just wanted to make sure that you mentioned my heroics in your record. The way I unhesitatingly entered the battle to save the fair maiden from the other side. I was really quite brave, wasn't I? I acted like a man and a true man does not get sent to his bedchamber... Or they shouldn't."

"Oh, forgive me. I was too busy watching the heroines of love dragging the hydra away to take much notice of you." Cassia snorts. "Perhaps you were too busy fleeing from the guards to notice?"

Juliet sighs and drags a hand down her face. (It's been that kind of day.) The fates continue to test her, for she cannot handle teenagers. "Do you..." She turns to Willow, vaugely waves her hand towards the teens who have yet to take notice of them. She has trouble putting her question into words. 'Do you know how to handle them?'

 

[starboob]

Well. The kings of Folklore are nothing like the kings from her books or movies. Or at least this one isn’t. (Maybe chivalry is dead.) He’s not just King Clown, he’s the entire circus and Willow honestly finds herself too stunned for words. (She can already imagine King Cedrick interpreting her look of disbelief as one of admiration given that he probably only fawns in the company of mirrors. She half considers charming his hair into being permanently droopy as part of her revenge against him.) She nearly rolls her eyes, letting her inner Meredith shine, but instead follows Juliet’s lead and just avoids looking at the king altogether, only catching glimpses when he’s too busy boasting about his male manliness or when his attention is on the scribe. (Willow’s heart goes out for the girl. Where she wants to speak up and speak now, she swallows her voice in favor of comfort. And, also, safety. Something tells here there’s a reason no one else speaks when the teen scribe looks around the audience for support. Those searing portraits, for example, seem to still everyone into silence. Even Juliet remains quiet, only passing warning glances her way. Even if she might have a sense of why no one comes to the scribe's aid, she is reminded of the lack of response from the council; how they all but laughed in her face over her concerns; how they tried to make light of her story and claimed she was seeing a pattern she imagined. They all but claimed she was being hysterical.)

It is those earlier events and Lucky’s scolding when they arrived back in their bedchambers, that occupy Willow’s thoughts as she tries to nap before the clock strikes midnight. (Privately, the sorceress also scoffs at the idea that these are bedchambers only. It seems more like a fancy cage, seeing as they aren’t allowed to leave. It isn’t said in so many words, but the message is clear when their dinner is brought to them and Juliet mentions the need to sneak out later. The alleged kerfuffle in the east wing is a good excuse to keep them in their rooms and, perhaps, would have been valid were they ordinary castle guests. However, they are the heroines of love. They should have been asked for aid––not that Willow is totally upset about being left out of the kerfuffle. After the hydra, she knows she isn’t ready for whatever else is out there and she’s more than happy to sit out and watch after that near death experience. Especially considering that Lucky has to stay behind while they’re in Okeanos. Even so, they should have been called and she should have been allowed to watch.) Then there’s also the intel Juliet provides on Prince Zander and Queen Adelaide to consider. As a romantic, she can’t help but to feel sorry for them. (It makes her all the more determined to help Princess Elise attain a love match for her marriage.) It also makes her wonder whether or not the Lightless all stem from a person’s foul character. Prince Zander almost seems like a victim of his brother, the king. Then again, she supposes they both can be terrible for different reasons. ‘We should try to speak with the queen.’

Needless to say, Willow doesn’t get much sleep prior to their sneaking around the castle. Too much occupies her mind and everything about Okeanos just seems fishy. ‘Oh gods. That’s probably rude.’

It takes more this time around to convince Lucky to let Willow go and for them to stay behind; they are especially mistrustful of anything the sorceress tries to feed them, but she promises about three hours of belly rubs when they return. She also reminds Lucky that she will be with Juliet and that Juliet did bring her back safely–– to which the dragon gives the archer a stern look, made even harder by their milk-white eyes. With the dragon finally settled and Willow dressed in a midnight blue suit and matching flippers, she follows quietly behind Juliet.

Though she is getting a lesson on stealth, Willow’s experiences with Meredith have her feeling aptly prepared for this compared to everything else Juliet has taught her. (Not only did they sneak out on a school night to go to the carnival, they also had to stealthily climb over the fence to avoid the entrance fee. And that’s not the only time Meredith got her to sneak around; there were others, too. Like sneaking into Kinsley Prescot's 18th birthday, then the boy's locker room (disgusting) to gather intel, and, also, one of Griffith King’s infamous parties. Once they even snuck around the Stake estate for revenge purposes that were ultimately fruitless, because Sabrina's pet chimera (terrifying) almost caught them.) Stealth underwater, naturally, is out of Willow’s depth but she finds herself adjusting well enough in order to make herself discreet underwater; she even finds some advantages to sneaking around in water versus on land.

In any case, the direction to stay close is easy enough to follow. (As easy as following their thread to find Juliet earlier. She does wonder what happened back there and is hesitant to ask or say anything of it, because it was so bizarre; she’s half convinced herself it never happened and that she must have accidentally cast a lasso charm or something else ridiculous, yet plausible. Or more plausible than their string just doing that. She hasn't decided whether or not to ask Sawyer about this.)

Willow doesn’t notice the voices ahead––hearing underwater is still something the wind kissed sorceress is adjusting to––but once stopped, she can make out the two teens. Everything the prince says causes her to roll her eyes (machismo, much?), while she finds herself liking Cassia more and more. (A good teen. An ally, to be sure.) The sigh coming from Juliet pulls her attention off the teens and she has to bite lip on a smile, because there’s something just so charming about her partner’s exasperation. Maybe it’s just that she’s expressing anything at all and that feels more like a truer Juliet; in a similar way that the Juliet she met at Milfred’s cottage felt more Juliet. Everywhere else, or at least amongst royals and nobility, feels more like essence of Juliet.

She looks back at the teens, who are now arguing over whether or not the guards or the heroines truly gave the king his winning shot, then back to Juliet. (Isn’t it past their bedtime?) “I think I can manag––”

“Willow James!” None other than Prince Dylan swims towards them, startling Willow enough that she squeaks and latches onto Juliet’s arm. “Oh, and Lady Juliet. I hadn’t seen you there––anyway, will one of you tell Cassia,” he jerks his thumb back towards the scribe who is swimming up behind him, “that my efforts are what really allowed you two the chance to wrangle the stone hydra?”

The sorceress’s brow twitches, but she remains pleasant, remembering that he is a teenager and she is an adult. She will not stoop to his level. “I can only say that you at least stopped them from cutting off more heads.” She is content on leaving it at that, but something in her heart lurches forward and forces her to open her mouth again. “I am not sure what the curriculum on monsters is here, but in Elsewhere we’re taught at age five that you never cut off a hydra’s head. Is the curriculum different here?”

Cassia snorts and Prince Dylan’s cheeks go up in flames. “I––I––”

“Thought so.”

“Excuse the prince,” Cassia cuts in, “he’s just a dingus as I try to remind him everyday, but alas, his thick-skull prevents the message from truly sinking in.” She leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “Afraid it runs in the family.”

Yes. Willow James decides she likes Cassia. (She also finds herself admiring her earlier outburst with the king and how she actually said something. It makes her think that if this teen can speak her mind when facing royalty, then maybe Willow James can too.) She laughs and nods her head while Prince Dylan haughtily crosses his arms over his chest. “Makes sense, makes sense. Now, Prince Dylan, Cassia…” (“Willow James knows my name...”) “Are you both aware that your growing bodies need all the sleep they can get if you want to become strong and remain sharp?”

“Well… It’s just…” Cassia sighs, her cheeks now flaming furiously.

“We just want to help! The adults won’t tell us anything so it’s not our fault we have to sneak around for clues.” Prince Dylan then raises a brow and does a once over of the two heroines, putting together exactly why everyone in the hall has made this surprise rendezvous. “Much like yourselves, apparently.”

“Hmm.” Willow James considers this, sympathizing with both teens who just want to make a difference. (Really, is she any different?) At the same time, they’re teenagers and while she doesn’t think they’re incapable, they are young. Willow James doesn’t know where her journey trying to save love is going to take her, but it could be dangerous and it is no place for teenagers who have entire lives to live; who still have so much to learn. The heroine on the rise nods and flashes her partner a look that implores her to trust where she’s going with this. “I actually do need some help learning more about the king’s sword, acquiring a map of the castle’s secret passages and hidden rooms, as well as just general ears and eyes on the gossip floating through the waters.”

“You’re just trying to get us out of the way,” the prince accuses with Cassia nodding in agreement.

“I am trying to keep you from harm’s way,” the heroine concedes. “But what I’m asking isn’t busy work. If you two want to be helpful, you need to understand that this isn’t a game of checkers we’re playing. This is chess. We need all the information we can get in order to build a solid strategy and we need that if we’re going to catch Prince Zander before he roams too far. The oceans are much more vast than land––the longer he is missing, the more likely it is that he’ll be lost-lost. You get me?”

“Yea––”

The water swishes around them, like something is swimming past them, but aside from the two teens and two heroines, no one else in this hallway. Yet the water moves like someone is pushing through it, swimming––no, thrashing their way forward like they’re fighting with something. The hall starts to echo with the sound of someone crashing haphazardly into the walls as they struggle. Though she cannot see the figure, she gets a sense that they’ve slumped against the wall across from the torn portrait––that, now, has magically fixed itself. Whatever is against the wall then roars at the portrait, slashes through it with their claws before barreling down the hall, continuing their escape. A low, guttural groan echoes from the end of the hall, followed by an agitated howl. (It reminds her of what werewolves sound like when they transform.) Then all is quiet.

The two teens stare wide eyed down the hallway, clearly having experienced the imprint of the past. Willow looks to Juliet, intent on following her lead––

“C’mon! After it!” Prince Dylan shouts, trying to sound like a leader. Before anyone can catch the teen prince, he darts forward. He only turns to make sure the scribe knows how to immortalize this moment. “Cass, remember to record how I bravely chased a ghost and helped escort the heroines––”

“Prince Dingus Maximus!” Cassia hisses, going after him before Willow can grab her, “Were you not listening to the heroines at all?”

“Oh. Fates.” Willow shoots the archer an apologetic look and needs no prompting to chase after them, going down the hallway that soon becomes impenetrably dark; but it's more than just the shell lights going out and it makes her wonder whether or not she’s even in the castle, still. "Juliet?" No need to panic just yet. She just needs to make sure the archer is with her and not just a glowing pair of neon yellow eyes––wait, what? "Juliet!"

 

[ellarose]

"My, my. I suppose you needn't even wear a mask to a masquerade. Your red hair announces your presence." A mellifluous voice speaks, sweeter than the music swirling around the ballroom. Her eyes glitter like chandeliers and champagne bubbles behind her mask. With a coy tilt of her head, she takes a red lock of hair between her gloved fingers and touches it to her grinning lips. "Juliet." Then she arranges the strand, smoothly caressing her cheek as she drapes it over her racing heart. Her hand sweeps downward after that, decisively interlocking their fingers instead, raising their hands to hold them between their chests. "There is nowhere for you to hide, is there? I suppose I shall take comfort in knowing I will never lose sight of you in the crowd."

A clock tolls and the hand disintegrates, sifting like a phantom dust of snow through Juliet's fingers. The woman's body in front of her vanishes into clouds of powder at her feet-- which weave themselves back into a silvery tail as the dazzling ballroom compacts itself, narrowing and darkening into an underwater castle hall instead. She blinks her brown eyes bewilderedly, adjusting to the changing light. Reality. She brings a hand to her collarbone, fighting an burning ache in her throat. Then she glances down at her palm to find that the cut from earlier reopened. Just seeing things again. She closes her fingers, peering left and right. With raven hair and black velvet clothes, she was the mistress of stealth, taking to the shadows like a mermaid to water. There is nowhere for you to hide, is there? The words dance down her spine and leave her with an unshakable chill. It's too dark in here. Far, far too dark.

She had a most bewitching talent for turning nightmares into beautiful dreams... until she became the nightmare herself.

Juliet's overactive imagination creeps up behind her and presses the point of a sharp, cold knife against her back. And then, before her blood can bloom in the water-- "Juliet? Juliet!" A familiar voice convinces the threatening thoughts to flee.

Willow James. All at once, the memories spin in Juliet's mind. The bantering argument between the teenagers, Willow's intervention, the phantom movement in the hall, the howl, giving chase and then... darkness. What happened?

"Willow?" Juliet reaches a hand out in front of her (it's so dark that she can't even see it) and treads cautiously forward. She only swims a short distance before her fingertips brush against something small and round. It glows softly at her touch and she cups it into her palm, finding that it's a pearl. "This will be..." A voice echoes in time with the pulsing glow from its center. (Hm. It sounds somewhat familiar, doesn't it?) Before she can reckon with this, she takes notice of the neon yellow eyes blinking open ahead as well as Willow's reaction to it. While quite dim, with this new source of illumination she's able to make out the outline of the sorceress-- from her head of dark curly hair down to the flippers she wears on her feet. (Damn. She's far too close to those eyes-- whatever they might belong to.) She must have gotten ahead of her for a change, worriedly chasing after the teenagers. Automatically the archer grabs her bow and nocks an arrow, aiming directly between the yellow eyes.

Whatever or whoever they're dealing with, they make a distinctly humanlike gasp before drawing back, turning and swimming away from them. In the process it activates an entire trail of pearls like the one Juliet encountered before. They light up all the way down the hall to the portrait and shine with varying levels of brightness. "Don't want..." With each pearl that the stranger passes, more echoing voices pour out from them. "Understand... See... Last time... Promise..."

"Hm." Juliet raises a brow while lowering her bow, closing the distance between herself and Willow. She moves so they're side by side, arm to arm. Just close enough to touch. (This is a practical decision, of course. This way they will easily find each other if they're submerged in total darkness again. And perhaps it will keep her from being swept off into another memory.) She bites her lip, staring in the direction that the yellow eyes retreated in. The voices roused by the pearls repeat ahead of them in a murmur. "This will be... promise... last time."

"Are you all right?" Juliet checks Willow for injuries as well as she can in the dark before facing frontwards again. The pearls sway in a long line ahead of them, as if connected by an invisible string. Her brown eyes flicker in the dark as she watches them, as if working through something in her mind. "I... think I heard these voices earlier."

Oh. Juliet tenses after giving this admission. With Prince Dylan and Cassia reacting to the 'ghost' and Willow reacting to the stranger with yellow eyes, she presumes it's safe to speak about the voices. However, there is no guarantee that sorceress can hear these voices as well. (She's fairly certain they're fragments of the conversation she heard earlier, before the hydra showed up, scattered out of their proper order.) Knowing that the younger two chased after the unseen figure, though, and that the yellow-eyed figure also took off in that direction... sigh. They best catch up to them and make sure they're all right. (Teenagers. What else needs to be said aside from that?)

"We can discuss it later." Juliet suggests, taking Willow's wrist (not for any sentimental reasons-- just to ensure she keeps up) and hurries down the corridor. "Let's--" When they pass the torn portrait, though, she stops short. Without explaining, she moves closer along the wall, studying it for any misshapen bricks-- anything that might lead them into a secret passage. (A secret passage that leads into a secret room, perhaps?) Sure enough, the archer notices some discolored bricks along that wall... but the moment she reaches out for it, the water pulses around her hand and then outward. Suddenly they find themselves in another hallway entirely. She blinks incredulously, forgetting her words as she tries to reorient herself and figure out where they are. (And she tenses once more, unsure whether or not this is just her.) This hallway also appears be in a state of disarray when she notes the frozen suit of armor, the torn carpet, and the portraits tilted at all sorts of odd angles. Damages from the hydra rushing through no doubt. Sensing a trace of movement ahead, the archer tugs Willow into a shady archway regardless to stay out of sight.

Silently, she peers out from their nook in time to see a cluster of guards swimming through. They're carrying what looks like a gestatorial chair over their armored shoulders-- only the place where the throne would be is covered over with a big white sheet. Based on the jagged edges, the archer doubts that they're carrying a throne upon it, either. If she has to guess, she's inclined to say it's some kind of statue. (And for an instant, she swears she sees it move.) Then they turn a corner and disappear.

"...We're in the west wing, now. Those guards are going to the garden of glory. Within, there are many monuments and statues dedicated to the royalty of Okeanos." Juliet informs Willow, tilting her head as she considers this development. "Princess Elise and I often snuck away there to play games as children." She blushes. Okay, that's not even slightly relevant to what's happening now! (Perhaps she is growing accustomed to Willow sharing stories over their meals...) She shakes her head to reorient herself. "Anyway, it was there that the stone hydra came to life. No one has been able to explain why or how that happened." She bites her lip. This may be because the battle was staged, of course. And then there's that thing they were carrying. "I wonder if he's already commissioned a new hydra to immortalize his 'victory'." She leans in a touch closer to the sorceress, keeping her voice low. "...Many of the monsters depicted in the garden of glory were slain by Prince Zander. He never wed. I heard he became absorbed with training and hunting." And, apparently, with drinking and seducing many women... although divulging that information would take them into a territory that leans towards petty gossip.

"With his recent affliction--" Juliet sighs. "It may sound presumptuous of me, but I believe King Cedrick is taking full advantage of the situation. I would not be surprised if he prolongs our investigation on purpose. We may learn something if we follow the guards, but..." Then she pauses, considering their options. "But you are worried about Prince Dylan and the young scribe." Somehow, she finds she can tell just by looking at Willow that this is the case. (There is also the matter of... whatever they saw, with the yellow eyes. And that howl, too. Could that have been another creature from the garden? Or...?) With that in mind, she nods decisively. Still, there's something uncertain about her gaze. "We will find them, I can assure you. Although... I cannot say what sort of magic it was that brought us here. We may very well go back to the east wing just to find ourselves here again." Unless... perhaps Willow James knows of some type of magic that might help?

 

[starboob]

Yellow. A happy color. The color of the sun and her sunny flowers. It’s always been a color that Willow James associates with warmth and the heat of summer; laughter, joy, and love. (It was her mother’s favorite color. It is grandma Juniper’s favorite color.) With two great pairs of yellow eyes searing into her like she’s an ant under a magnifying glass, she can only associate the color with fear. Death. The idea that she is about to be ripped to shreds by an entity that she cannot even see. (And she never even got to apologize to her loved ones for leaving in secret.) The sorceress swallows hard staring up into those eyes, the only source of light in this lightless hallway. Her lungs are frozen, her pulse is frozen, everything about Willow James is frozen in place.

It occurs to her when the archer doesn’t immediately respond to her call that she is alone. ‘Juliet isn’t here. Lucky isn’t here.’ She is all she has to survive and her survival is important to her––Willow James is not done living. She has so much to live for, still. So much still to enjoy. There are also her loved ones waiting for her return (counting on it, even). There is her dissertation she still needs to finish. There is still her mark that she wants to leave on this good life. She cannot die. It’s not an option. She won't let it be. She has to do something to fight for the life she holds so sacredly. (Again, she’s reminded that she’s been so reckless since crossing over––so desperate to prove that she is a hero, that she will save love, that she has thrown herself carelessly into fights she is not prepared for. The danger she’s been in hits harder without the protection of Lucky, her guaranteed shield.)

Slowly, she finds the rhythm of her heart, remembers how to breathe, and reaches for her staff. Willow James will not go down so easily, let it be known. Once the ironwood is in her hand, wisps of magic that usually crackle above the surface gather around the lightning cracked citrine stone. The stone itself starts to glow, challenging the two yellow orbs in front of her with a yellow of her own (a yellow that is as fierce as the sun). ‘A simple push spell should do it. That’s all you need, WJ. You can do that. You can do this. You can––’

The entity gasps and swims away before the sorceress can release the charm. Her shoulders drop the weight she had been carrying soon afterwards, not yet clear on what inspired the beast to leave her alone, and thankful that something scared it away. She blinks, then, noticing the trail of pearls it leaves in its wake.

Before she can inspect this further the force from the archer’s arm breezes past her own, causing her to gasp and struggle backwards before she realizes that it is only Juliet. (Ah, it must have been the archer who scared it away. Of course.) Once again, Willow breathes out a sigh and swims back to her side, nodding her head at the question while she puts her staff away. (How much did Juliet just see?) At the mention of voices, she tilts her head to the side. “Voices?” Though her question doesn’t suggest that she’s alarmed; it's not unusual for spirits to talk. “I only see the pearls, Juliet.” She closes her eyes to listen closer, but she still hears nothing. Perhaps being underwater is affecting her hearing? “You said you heard these voices earlier, though?”

But it seems the conversation will have to wait as there is the pressing need to locate the two terrible teens before they get hurt. (No, Willow James is not alarmed that her companion can hear voices. If anything she only assumes that whatever is haunting this castle wants to communicate with Juliet only, for whatever reason. The only alarming part is not knowing the spirit’s intention––is it trying to hurt the archer? Or does it trust only her to know its plight? Then again, the entity made itself known to the entire group earlier so it is possible it only has the energy to communicate with one person; perhaps the person who first stumbled across its imprint as Juliet must’ve when she went to investigate without Willow earlier. There is much to consider and not enough time for her to puzzle this out as they race through the castle.) “Juliet, what are you––”

A vortex swallows them in the next moment and Willow finds herself tumbling through the water, unsure of where she’s at. She only rights herself because Juliet grabs her a moment later and rushes her to a hidden nook. Floating just a bit above the archer, the sorceress also pokes her head out to spy on the guards, her eyes narrowing when the thing under the sheet startles. “What the…” She pulls back behind the nook, brows knit tightly together as she grips her chin in thought. Between everything that has happened in the last five minutes, including Juliet divulging she can hear voices, something feels off. That feeling only rises as her partner continues to share more about the dynamic between the prince and the king.

“Then we have to solve this before the king can throw us too far off course. Maybe along the way we can expose him for the fraud he is.” She lifts a brow, almost like extending an invitation to Juliet to take her up on this idea. “Tonight’s lesson is about stealth, right? I think we can expose him in a way that won’t point fingers or fins back our way. Remember the story I told at Milfred’s our first night there?” The one about hexing Kinsley into telling the truth without getting caught. “I can make it so our tracks are covered. It wouldn’t even be that hard––” The sorceress stops herself rather suddenly, not because she hears something or anything like that, it’s just that she realizes she’s “bragging.” (She’s not.) Heat creeps up her neck and she shakes her head. “Er, sorry.”

Willow recovers herself while Juliet puzzles out the choice between following the guards or going after the teens; and it’s obvious in her green eyes that she would much rather ensure the safety of the teens. (As much as she wants to expose the king, the teens take precedence. While they are not technically her responsibility, she cannot leave them to fend for themselves when she knows they are in danger and probably as prepared as Willow is to face these sorts of things–– that is to say, not very prepared at all.) However, Juliet is right to point out that they might be stuck in some form of loop right now and going after them might be fruitless. Something doesn’t want them in the east wing. (And yet, something else very much wants them there. She doesn’t think the entity would have revealed itself otherwise.) “I think if we go after the teens, we’ll find something connected to what those guards are doing––I kind of, sort of, think this is all connected. I just don’t know how.”

Still, there is the matter of making sure they don’t get looped again. “If I knew where the spell was located that’s preventing us from… I could probably…” She mutters to herself, rocking her head from side to side––a tried and true Willow James method of getting her ideas rolling.

Her eyes widen.

“Anchors.” She grabs Juliet’s arms. “We need an anchor. If something–– or someone–– is trying to keep us out of the east wing, we can use an anchor to keep us locked to a location. It should nullify the loop–– I mean, that is, if I’m even right on what’s going on.” Once again, her cheeks flush over being so cocky. (She is not being cocky.)

The sorceress clears her throat awkwardly, trying to move past her bout of absolute arrogance (no), and begins to think of what they should even anchor themselves to. In the past, she's only ever anchored herself when navigating new cities so that she doesn't get lost, but they don’t need a tether to help them navigate back to their start. They just need something to help them stay mobile, so that they won't be swept away again. The glint of their thread catches her eye and she chews on the inside of her cheek, recalling the oddness with the thread earlier, but this should work. It’s technically tangible and technically fixed to a location; that’s all an anchor really needs to be. (She once used a sink faucet to anchor herself.) “Using the thread as our anchor should give us plenty of freedom to roam without being sucked into loops or warps." And hopefully that will allow them to explore the east wing without interference––that they're being kept from it makes her all the more curious (all the more suspicious).

She gathers the thread and winds it around her hand, motioning for Juliet to do the same. Once complete, Willow takes her staff and waves the glowing stone over their thread wrapped hands. A shower of multi-colored sparkles drape over them, brighten, and then orbit around them like electrons, going so fast they appear as streaks of light. The streaks trace the outline of an anchor that hovers over and then attaches itself to the point where their hands and thread meet. It flashes and then the glow dies down a couple of seconds later, the anchor fading into darkness. Despite everything, the spell leaves little trace or indication of their anchor point. Only a vague tug towards their thread indicates they have been “attached” to it and that is what will keep them locked in place if something tries to snatch them. “That should last us a few hours.”

Not wasting another moment, the heroines make their way back to the east wing, moving through the castle as if they are ghosts themselves. Willow takes the lead at points, flexing what she’s learned so far from the stealth lesson, and taking pointers from Juliet. As they sneak down an empty hallway, Willow breaks the silence with a whisper. “Oh, and Juliet? The voices… I think whatever spirit or entity or thingy we’re dealing with, it’s imprinted on you.” She says this as evenly as she can so as to not alarm the archer, not knowing what her experience might be with hauntings. “It's hard to know whether this is a good or bad thing since its intentions remains unknown. For now, it just means you’re the navigator and our best bet at locating prince Dylan and Cassia. Especially if they've been caught by this thing.” This does cause her to wonder if they were looped too, but she shakes the idea knowing it will do nothing to help locate them if she worries over the endless possibilities. “What were the voices saying, anyway? That could help us figure out what the spirit might want or even help identify what or who we're dealing with.”

 

[ellarose]

Juliet bites her lower lip, nearly tilting her head to the side herself before stopping herself midway. She possesses a curious temptation to mirror Willow James when she moves her head from side to side in the most interesting way while she ponders. (Does the gesture work the same as the 'gentle nudges' do, she wonders?) If Millicent has taught her anything over the years, it's that magic can come from shockingly simple places. If summoning can be evoked from the wave of a hand, isn't it reasonable to presume that other magic can be called on by such actions? (She needs to learn more, she thinks, without revealing the extent of her intentions. Already she has slipped by mentioning the voices.) These wonderings immerse her so entirely that her heart leaps as suddenly as Willow reaches for her arms and blurts out the word 'anchors'. Brown eyes perplexed, she finishes tilting her head all the way. "Anchors." The archer repeats in such a level tone of voice that it's impossible to tell whether she understands or not. (She does not.) To by truthful, she is much too distracted by Willow James's hands on her. Even if she were paying the most vigilant attention, though, she likely wouldn't follow this entirely. The concept reaches her if anything-- she does understand the purpose of a ship's anchor-- and she supposes it is worth a try.

Rather than say anything more, Juliet observes Willow as she blushes and pieces together an anchor-related solution. (She ought to offer help, perhaps to mention that there is a sunken ship a few miles beyond the castle (although she does not want to go there, she does not want to see it with her own eyes) but her mind is silenced while she considers the ghost-warmth of her hands on her arms. Touch lingers, it always does, but the sorceress's touch is so gentle that she aches. (It reminds her of...) When she finally claws herself to the peak of that slippery slope, she is pushed down yet again when Willow James acknowledges and winds their thread around their hands where they both can see and feel it. It is... a strangely intimate affair to use it this way. To touch it like this, to speak of it like this. They've already used it with the hydra, yes, but... when they're standing this close-- she swallows. It taunts and reminds her that it's there. It exists and they both know it.) Juliet bites her lip again. It gradually slips out from between her teeth and she bites it again, harder this time to hold it in place.

As the gleaming lights spark and whirl around them, Juliet watches their flurrying in a dreamlike state. The floaty feeling she's experiencing is likely due to the fact that they are underwater and indeed floating... that's the practical way to think. Yet the experience is reminiscent of being briefly transported to some other world entirely. A distant place, not so near and yet not so far. (Not Evermore, not exactly, someplace in between.) It's nostalgic, especially when she glimpses Willow sprinkled with the dazzling glow of her spell. (No, no. This familiarity is misplaced. She's dizzy because of the light and tired from facing the hydra. They've never met.) If any amount of gold flashes in her brown eyes it is because they are reflecting the magic swirling about. Even if her reckless (and impossibly foolish) heart claims otherwise, she's rather convinced that none of it comes from within.

Juliet's silence from thereon stretches as long as the corridors they swim through. Instead of exploring the origin of her feelings, she furiously works at condensing them down into a tiny ball that she can easily dispose of, like an unsent letter. This takes such focus that the sight of Willow managing to swim ahead of her is what captivates her attention again. (Used to being in the lead, she quickens her pace as not to indicate that anything is amiss.) However, staying present and composed proves to be an even greater challenge than simply hastening when the voices are brought up once more. Why did I mention them? She ought to have been patient. Ought to have waited for Willow James to bring them up first. A spirit, entity, or... what?

"Oh. I must admit, I have never heard of a 'thingy'. Are they dangerous?" Juliet asks, a hint of her confusion flickering from behind her carefully curated mask. They do not sound to be nearly as threatening as the name 'starburst' implied, but she must check to be certain. If she is to be their navigator, she cannot afford to be much too lost. (There are many other questions she has not asked... such as if gingers truly possess no soul. Maybe that is why she can hear the voices? However, Willow does not suggest this. In fact, she does not seem particularly distraught by the fact that she alone can hear the voices, at least, and does not call her 'mad' as many have been known to do when she speaks of what she sees and hears. It is a most distressing affair to see and hear things that others cannot. To be convinced that the world she sees is always lying to her. Or, even worse, to have people tell her that she is the one lying. Concocting elaborate stories to have her way, for attention, for whatever else people convince themselves she wants. ('Please excuse my flighty little Juliet. She lives in a world of her own.' While Willow's touch felt featherlight, Paris Brooks's fingers felt like teeth around her arm.) The 'real Juliet' doesn't exist in anyone's minds. Perhaps not even her own.) Her hands tremble and the thread trembles as well. She wonders if Willow can see the cuts on her palms or if that is in her head as well. She tightens her fists scoldingly to stop the shiver, to keep Willow apart from her doubts and fears.

Although Willow cannot hear the voices... she believes her. She does not look at her any differently than she had a few hours ago. (The only other person to believe her in the past was Millicent. Needless to say, it is still unusual enough an occurrence that she is quite gutted by it.) She simply believes it might help them along, asks her what the voices say. The thread tightens around her hand.

"The voices..." Juliet starts, struggling to find her own voice. "There were two of them. A man and a woman, promising they would never see each other again." She nods. Of that she is certain. The rest, however... the woman rejected a gift, perhaps, before they parted ways? If she's to guess based on what she saw, a pearl necklace. Yet the scissors that severed them reminded her all too much of... she peers down at the thread wrapped around her hand. "In the hall their words were broken, though. Pieces were coming from the pearls." She stops at the torn portrait, this time gesturing towards it. She scoops her free hand under the shorn pieces hanging down from the gilded frame, smoothing them into place so Willow can see the entire picture for herself. It depicts a younger version of the pompous king alongside a regal woman, wearing a sparkling diadem in her wavy black hair. Their expressions are solemn and serious, their poses stiff. (This is not so unusual for portraits hanging on castle walls, depicting royal couples married of obligation and nothing more.) "King Cedrick and Queen Adelaide. They were afflicted with the curse and never had any children."

Juliet realizes then that Willow may not know what the curse entails. However, there is no time to explain when she notices the gleam of something small and sharp gliding towards them in the dark. It seems to be moving between them, towards their thread as if to cut it. "Get down!" She dives down so her stomach presses against the floor, tugging the thread just in case to ensure that Willow follows behind just as quickly. This spares their thread from being severed at the last possible second... and the scissors flying towards them lodge themselves into the king's one remaining eye in the portrait instead. (Oh. Why save the thread when she wishes it would just disappear? No, no, no. There's no time to think about that. It doesn't matter. It's the same nonsensical impulse that kept her from shredding that letter.) Juliet pushes herself up from the ground, reaching for the scissors only to watch wearily as they vanish again. "Do... did you see that?" She shakes her head and turns around, squinting in the darkness as if that might help her see whoever threw them. (Willow James did react to those eyes, so-- possibly?) "This way."

Juliet leads them towards the other end of the hall to investigate. (It's too late now to pretend she doesn't see anything, either. Even if she is just humoring her... Willow James has shown that she will not belittle her. And so she decides to follow her instincts.) The archer reaches her hand forward as they approach an empty wall. While at first nothing happens, slowly the stone begins to warp and waver before swirling around like a vortex.

"...attention, dingus. If we find the right portrait..." A voice echoes through. "...know, okay! I know! Let me..." Arguing voices. Teenage voices. "Ah, scallops! You're a useless sack of--" Cassia begins to show off her vocabulary, unleashing a spew of ancient mer-curses. Prince Dylan fires a few of his own back at her. Juliet understands some of it, possessing the blood and ability to hear them, although not entirely.

"Ah. They must be trapped inside." Juliet gauges, hesitating to approach. "You can hear their voices, yes?" She manages a small, reassuring smile for Willow. (...It means nothing. She knows that she was worried about them, that's all.) "It sounds like they're all right." Right after she says this, more creative curses spill out and she shakes her head. Well, all right in the sense that they still possess the energy to be at each other's throats.

It is going to be quite awkward to interrupt their argument, however. Never mind. Nothing can be done about that. Juliet takes a steeling breath to brace herself and then enters the vortex. In a flash, she and Willow find themselves in a hallway that looks like a replica of the one they just came from. This time, though, several portraits of the king and queen move across the walls like they're being moved along on an invisible conveyor belt. Prince Dylan and Cassia are frantically moving back and forth, studying the portraits as they pass.

"Oh, thank goodness." Cassia gives an overdramatic sigh that sinks her shoulders upon seeing them. (Perhaps she was genuinely concerned that she was going to be stuck in an alternate dimension with Prince Dylan for the rest of her life.) "Alright, you can give your pearl-sized brain a rest, Prince Dingus. Help has arrived."

"...No need, ladies! I am royalty. I can tell a fake from an original." Prince Dylan insists. Juliet believes his brain must be in pain based on the contorted expression on his face. "I just need a little more time to observe all of them."

"We don't have time for this." Juliet says plainly. Cassia watches her with shining eyes that make her self-conscious. She watches the portraits moving across the hall, noticing that their expressions and poses appear slightly different in each one. (Voices also echo off of them, but it is impossible to make any sense through the cacophony of them. Studying everyone's faces, the archer realizes she must still be the only one who hears them. Welcome to the hall of liars. What is the truth? What is a lie? What do you perceive?) She pinches the bridge of her nose, the thoughts in her head swirling like soup. Ah, soup. "So you believe the original will take you back?"

"Y-Yes. We fell in through the original... and the spirit we chased appeared to disappear through one of the portraits. According to Prince Dylan, anyway. I believe the original portrait will work as an exit as well." Cassia adjusts her posture and her voice so it sounds lower, telltale signs of a young girl who yearns to be taken seriously. "Where have you two been? Ah... Lady Juliet?"

Juliet is nocking one of her arrows, explaining nothing as she aims it at one of the more obvious fakes. She fires, the arrow hits her mark, and it falls off the wall. The portrait clatters and then dissolves into a smoky cloud of hissing shadows. The confusing garble of voices eases a bit, as if one of them was just silenced, and she realizes that she may be able to hear something important if they can trim through them.

"Destroy the obvious fakes and leave those that resemble the original." Juliet nods. It will help their progress and efficiency if they do not to have to check over the false ones over and over again. "It will be faster."

That might have been simple enough a task... but suddenly, one of the false portraits on the wall clatters as if a phantom is shaking it. Then there's a loud 'smash' as the glass breaks and shadowy versions of the king and queen with neon yellow eyes climb out. (The voices in Juliet's head raise to tortured shrieks.) One by one, a few of the other portraits begin to glow with neon eyes as well... and 'smash, smash, smash' more of these replicas climb out. Juliet whirls around as the teens yell with fright, nocking her arrows and shooting the clawing portrait monsters as fast as she can. Some still have their frames wrapped around their necks, others wear spikes of broken glass. (They begin to accumulate and sweat surely would have been beading at her brow if they weren't underwater.) "...I'll hold them off! Find the original."

 

[starboob]

Thoughts turn in Willow’s mind like stones as she considers everything that Juliet is saying in relation to the voices that she has been hearing. Her first instinct is to assume the voices belong to Queen Adelaide and Prince Zander, recalling that Cassia informed them it was the queen who last saw the prince. However, that assumes they’re even dealing with a spirit who is related to that particular situation. This could be a haunting entirely unrelated to that–– the castle, after all, has to be centuries old and who knows what spirits or entities (or thingies) have lingered behind to wreak havoc on the royal family. Even so, her inclination right now is to follow the breadcrumbs that indicate this is related to the missing prince–– there are too many coincidences for her to assume this is unrelated.

“Thingy?” She repeats the word back, sounding just as perplexed as Juliet. When she realizes that this common phrase must only be common in Evermore, she grins. “Ah, thingy is just referring to something that is beyond my scope of knowledge. Like, this could be a spirit, entity, or something else entirely. But I am pretty sure this is a spirit of some form that we’re–– or you, mostly, are dealing with based on what you’ve shared.” Though Willow’s own experience with spirits is minimal–– the Wraith’s Valley, for example, was entirely new for the sorceress–– she has known people in the past who have strong connections to the metaphysical. It really is not so strange to hear (or see) stranger things in Evermore and Willow is only now realizing how strange her world is in comparison to this fantastical one. (Folklore is strange, to be sure, but it is strange in a different way.) “I wonder if you’re hearing the queen and the prince’s last conversation before he transformed.”

As they arrive at the portrait and Juliet smooths her hand over it, Willow is not surprised to see the stoic image of the king and queen. Without meaning to, the sorceress glowers at the image of the king, feeling his annoyingly underserved ego emanating from the portrait, before her eyes fall to the queen. She doesn’t know much about her yet, but she is curious about her character. She wonders what she feels towards King Cedrick–– whether it is resentment, indifference, or (somehow) appreciation. It’s hard to tell based on this image, because while they seem entirely unmoved by the other, it is a portrait and portraits are worth a thousand words. (And she knows a spell that could reveal them all.) However, before she can even suggest this or wave her staff, she hears Juliet’s warning, catches a glimpse of something silver, but a sharp tug on their thread pulls her down alongside the archer before she can identify the danger.

A dull thunk comes from above her head and by the time she looks up, all she sees is Juliet grabbing at the king’s eye. She pushes herself off the floor and floats back up to a righted position, shaking her head. “No, I missed that. Just barely caught something shiny coming towards us.” She follows Juliet’s gaze down the hall and then eventually trails after her towards whatever it is she might have seen or suspects. Though she doesn’t know what her companion is aiming to do by reaching out towards the wall, she recalls that this is how they were looped back to the west wing not too long ago. (Of course, now, provided that Willow’s spell works, any loops should be nullified.)

While the sorceress does hear voices from the other side of the wall, and even can identify them as the prince and young scribe, Juliet’s smile entirely wipes her brain of all functional thoughts. ‘Ahh!’ Her heart thump, thump, thumps in her chest, their thread taking on the faintest pink glow.

She doesn’t exactly know what happens after that as she really only has the mental capacity to passively trail after Juliet, but she when she comes to, she finds that they are in another hall. The same hall? Her first thought is that they were looped and that she had been wrong or her spell hadn’t worked, her heart falling realizing how useless she is. (Deadweight.) But the feeling doesn’t last long as the squabbling teens and the vast differences between the prior hallway and this one become obvious.

She spins around, taking in the replica hallway. ‘Where are we? What is this magic?’ If this is a pocket dimension created by the spirit–– and, based on the numerous portraits, she does believe that it is–– then they need to get out of here quick. That the teens have been in here presumably since she and Juliet last saw them is unnerving and Willow finds herself trying to creep back towards the wall they first entered through, only to find that it is as solid as a rock. ‘Mist.’

Nope, nope, nope. Willow does not like this one bit and she likes it even less watching the portraits come to life. ‘Mist. I’m mist. We’re all mist.’ Even if she trusts Juliet to be quick and efficient she does think it’s ba-bonkers to think that even she can hold off all the shadows. Still, she’s their best bet and Willow knows she’ll only get in the way if she tries to help–– likely forcing the archer to worry over her safety rather than focus on the present danger–– and that goes double for the teens. No, it goes quadruple for them, because Prince Dylan really is a dingus maximus based on the way his lip recoils at Juliet's order, a shallow remark already leaving his mouth.

“You ladies go on and smash portraits–– Lady Juliet and I can handle the replicants.” He turns to Juliet and has the royal audacity to offer her a reassuring grin. (Juliet who did not scream like a weenie when the portraits came to life, might Willow add.) “Don’t be scared, Juliet, I shall defend you.”

Cassia appropriately smacks the prince upside his royal head, apparently not at all concerned about the repercussions she could face for touching his royal locks. Willow even openly rolls her eyes in response, also not fearful that he’ll do anything about it. (Okay, that’s a little harsh, she will admit. While the prince does seem to take after his obnoxious uncle, there is a greater chance he can be changed if he’s given enough evidence that women make for far better heroes than any man.) “Just admit you don’t know the original well enough and need myself and Willow James to assist your royal pearl brainedness.”

“I––I––”

“I––I––” Cassia mocks, perfectly impersonating the prince’s petulance. (Willow James gets the sense that she has had years to practice her technique and it’s certainly paid off.) “Bet Willow and I can find it before you, roly poly fishhead.”

Cassia darts forwards towards the portraits and begins punching the ones that are obvious fakes–– the ones where the king and queen’s distinguishing features are off or the background has them in a nonsensical location (like outer space). Dylan chases after her, at first trying to smash the ones she’s going for, but the young scribe is quick to point out that he’s just trying to ride her bubble trail. That encourages him to find his place on the invisible conveyor belt and actually get to work. Willow, meanwhile, juggles the task of watching out for the archer (not that she can realistically do much), swinging her sword at the fakes, minding the shadow replicas, and keeping her eyes on the teens (who are still finding it in themselves to hurl insults at each other). It’s a lot. ‘How does Juliet make this look so easy?’

The portraits seem endless. Like, there is no stopping their production on the conveyor belt and they seem to be coming down faster than they can smash through the fakes. (It reminds her of an iconic episode from an older TV series she used to watch with–– oof, not now.) It just seems like they’re multiplying and becoming more bizarre with each duplication. ‘There has got to be a better way to figure out the original.’

If only there were the time to think–– along with the portraits appearing endless, several spring to life before she can cut through them. They reach for the sorceress, attempt to slash at her throat with their claws, use their glass collars to cut her, threaten to pull her down into a pit of nothing but deadly neon stars. One grabs her ankle and she manages to hit it with her pommel, puffing the angry replicant king into smoke. (At least these shadows go down as quickly.) ‘Remember to dodge, WJ,’ she reminds herself, narrowly twisting away from a shadow queen’s suffocating embrace.

It’s impossible to continue examining portraits and fend off the replicants–– the hallway is now crawling with them. She can’t make out the teens. She can’t make out Juliet. She only assumes they’re all still there. Panic floods her veins and for the second time today, Willow doubts her grit. ‘The hero life didn’t choose you for a reason.’ (If she had more time, just a second of reprieve, she could think of something but all of her thoughts are frozen on the tracks and the only thing she can really do is fight for her survival.) Shakily, she swipes her hand over her wrist to pull her staff from its bracelet form to its full form. ‘Spells, spells, spells–– what are spells?’

(A gruff voice in the back of her mind shouts at her. “What the fuck was that? Can’t fucking believe you choked like that–– just when I thought...”)

(Dead. Dead. Dead. Deadweight.)

No, there’s no time to get in her head about this. Even a spell gone toasty toasty would be better than nothing at this point. But before she can even entertain that idea, the prince’s (surprisingly) shrill shriek cuts through her thoughts and Willow automatically bats her way through the shadows. When she finds Prince Dylan, he’s being wrestled down by four replicant kings and a fifth has its clawed hand poised to rip out his heart. The stone on her staff brightens as she scrambles for literally any spell, but before she can do anything, Cassia barrels forward and whacks the shadows with a piece of a broken portrait frame. Willow’s eyes shine with admiration and Cassia glows under the wordless praise, but the moment doesn’t last as the shadows demand their attention.

Without needing any prompting, the three of them press their backs together as the shadows continue to amass around them. “Prince Dylan, have you seen any portraits that resemble the original?” Willow asks, waving away a few shadows at once.

“Nng––” the prince uppercuts through a shadow, “––oo. No. They all look off!”

“Cassia?”

“Me neither.”

‘Okay. Okay. Keep it cool.’ The sorceress simply nods, trying to keep her composure. Trying not to think about the possibility that this is the parallel dimension cannibalizing itself. “Ehhh, what about portraits that resemble or symbolize the king and queen’s actual relationship? It’s possible the original is obfuscating itself.”

“Obfu-whating?”

“How have you made it this far––”

“Now is not the time for squabbling,” though Willow does agree with where Cassia had been heading with her remarks. “Try to find a portrait that has the king and queen’s vibes. Do a vibe check.” They give her a confused look. “T-trust your gut, when you find it, holler. I need to find Juliet.” As capable as Juliet is, the number of replicants exceeds past being obnoxious. “Watch each other’s backs and, Prince Dylan, don’t be a dingus.” His cheeks flame in protest, but Cassia pulls him back towards the invisible conveyor.

Though not necessarily comfortable leaving them on their own, the sorceress doesn’t see an alternative when she hasn’t heard anything from Juliet and cannot tell how she is faring against the shadows. The tip of Willow’s staff continues to glow and light her path forward. With the cover of shadows to hide her, inured to the danger of the situation, she spins a halo of light around herself that burns the replicants away upon touch.

“Juliet!” Her heart hammers in her chest, trying to look back to find the teens, trying to look forward to find Juliet, but everything seems to be shrouded in darkness. A lump forms in her throat as her mind supplies images of all the ways they might not make it out of here. Her free hand winds around their thread, tugging on it passively. 'Where are you?'

“Found it!" The teens yell in unison and then Cassia continues, "Willow James, Lady Juliet, come quickly! I-It's shrinking?"

 

[ellarose]

Juliet's focus is solely set on delaying the approach of the shadows, knocking them out arrow by arrow. When they accumulate, she resorts to using her net arrows to ensnare clusters of them at a time. (Upon doing so, the enchanted strings glow silver before shrink down to slice and dice them, dissolving their monstrous forms into black fireflies that flicker away towards the ceiling into nothing.) She excels in holding them back at first, affording the others the time they'll need to search for the correct portrait. Seeing as these are shadows, though, some of them manage to melt themselves completely flat against the floor and walls, slithering by like crafty vipers in the grass to advance on the lively group behind her. (She generally hears the back and forth, the planning that Willow tries to initiate, but it's all a blur with her focus being on keeping them safe from as many of these attackers as possible.) The archer does everything she can to stop them in their tracks... but she is only one person and has to trust that Willow and the teenagers will be able to handle the trickle of them that do manage to slip past her.

'Don't want... promise, promise... this is the last time... we are never... the last time, last time... back together...' The voices begin to speak with words that can be understood, although they still chop themselves up in pieces that Juliet can't fit together. (Willow James may be more equipped to puzzle out this part of the mission. She is so smart, with all her data and high schooling... so why is it Juliet who was imprinted upon? If that actually is the case, anyway. It could be something deeper than that. A thingy beyond the scope of their knowledge. Just like those obsidian arrows she can make with just a thought, a whim, a desire. That is not normal, either. Nothing about her is normal. How long will it be before the sorceress notices and leaves just like everyone else?) A king shadow snickers and grabs her tail, nails sinking in and drawing blood... but this is a gravely foolish mistake on their part, because a mermaid's tail is a powerful thing. Not to be trifled with. She pumps it hard and frees herself in an instant with the force of it, knocking it to the floor before obliterating it with a slash of her falchion. She flexibly bends her body to narrowly avoid another attack, bending her torso back before flipping entirely around and using her tail to volley them the way to the back of the horde. (It barrels through the others, clearing a path through the enemies as it topples other shadows before smashing and dissolving against the wall at the other end.) She smirks, the devious inner child in her coming out as she watches them struggle to pull themselves back into shape. Occasionally, it is refreshing to have foes that she can tear apart without repercussions. (And while there is something in her that longs to destroy, she is not a killer.) 'Meet me in... summer... the last time, last time...'

...A meeting? This phrase rings louder than the rest, because it is different from everything she's heard thus far. It's important. A clue. Perhaps it could help them pinpoint the next location they must seek out to unravel this mystery. Juliet simply needs to listen for a specific place and perhaps...

The archer readies her bow again as the shadows continue their wretched, jagged crawl towards her. They're struggling to hold onto their shape now, which is progress. And yet she chastises herself. She is fast, yes, she's trained to be fast. But the world keeps confirming that she will never be fast enough to outrun it. This is a waste of time and she knows it... but what else can she do? They're endless, they've shown that they can indeed harm them if the gashes in her tail are any indication, and she's steadily worn down by the onslaught. (At least she still hears the voices of the others behind her, informing her that they're still alive and searching for the original. Willow James has already improved greatly in handling a crisis, Cassia seems rather trustworthy for a teenage girl, and... well, Prince Dylan should be okay as long as he learns to listen to them. Whether or not he's capable of that? A mystery. If he wishes to survive he will need to. That will be his test.) 'Tell me...' Juliet thinks, staring searchingly into the mess of monstrosity. 'Tell me what I need to know.'

'Meet me in the garden when the clock strikes two.' The voices... respond? Juliet blinks perplexedly, so stunned she lowers her bow. To be honest, she didn't expect that to work as easily as it did. There's a laugh in the darkness, assumedly at the look on her face, and the archer immediately schools her expression into a glare.

'Is that what you wanted to know, Juliet?' Another shape, a familiar shape begins to form and the other shadows go still. The darkness surrounding her grows darker yet and the other shadows ultimately lose their shape... but not this new one, not hers. 'What are you fighting for, really? Wouldn't you rather stay here with me?'

Juliet nocks an arrow, her hands trembling. The shadow dips into the ground and she swallows hard, squinting as she efforts to follow her movements. Lost her. Thump, thump, thump, the archer's heartbeat pounds in her ears as she waits for shadow to make her next move.

'In a place like this we could stay together forever. Wouldn't that be nice?' The voice whispers from behind her now, one arm snaking around her torso while the other finds the back of her head. Her fingernail scratches a thin line down the side of her neck before deepening with claws, scratching four long angry lines over her collarbone. She holds tight but Juliet is frozen like this anyway. (Walls of dirt surround her and she stares dazedly up at a fogged moon that was six feet further away from her than normal. She's in the ground, she can't move...) 'All you have to do is stay.' The shadow embracing her begins to spread, attempting to embed her in it when...

The thread Juliet tied securely around her hand moves, just slightly, effectively burning off some of the shadows that had swept over her. "Juliet!" Willow James calls for her, dragging her out of her grave and back into the present. She narrows her eyes and whips her head around, seeing nothing in the darkness.

'Friend of yours?' The voice taunts, mocking laughter accompanying the word 'friend'. 'Oh, Juliet. Will you ever tire of tragedies?'

Juliet thrashes out of her embrace and she dissolves as if she were never even there... with the exception of her laughter, which continues to echo long after she disappears. A chill rushes over her and briefly she endures the sensation that she's all alone in the world. Then the thread yanks her backward, pulling her towards a shrinking portrait. It just nearly vanishes entirely before she's yanked outside of it and thrown against the wall of another hallway.

"S-sorry." Cassia releases her hold of Willow's waist, swimming backward to maintain a polite distance from her. "The portrait was shrinking so fast and I-- I panicked, so..." It seems she must have grabbed her and pulled her out. Thanks to the anchor Willow James cast, it seems that effort managed to pull Juliet out as well just before the doorway could close to them forever. "Are you okay?"

"Hey! Are you going to tell them how I was the one to find the obfu-portrait?" Prince Dylan asks, bringing his hands to his hips and puffing out his chest. "Go on. I'm waiting."

"Obfu-what?" Cassia seems to put it together that he's referring to their earlier conversation and can only shake her head. Then she waves her hand about with a flourish and bows mockingly. "Right, of course. Prince Dingus here found the obfu-portrait. Does that account of events please his highness?" Prince Dylan laughs triumphantly, allowing her mocking tone to bounce right off of him.

"Obfu... what?" Juliet rubs the side of her head, unsure if she's genuinely confused or if she hit her head too hard. She gradually sorts herself out after her rough landing. Still, though, she doesn't understand the concept of an 'obfu-portrait'.

"Lady Juliet!" Cassia gasps from the other end of the hall, racing over to her. Eyes wide with worry, she looks from her collarbone down to her tail. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing." Juliet assures her, bringing a hand to trace the gashes over her collarbone. (They remind her of the gashes through the portrait.) It doesn't matter. Doesn't hurt. Much. She'll be fine. What's more important is that they see this through to the end. "What is an obfu-portrait?"

"...It's a long story which revolves mostly around Prince Dylan's inability to read." ("Hey!") " Willow James advised us to search for the portrait that illustrates the king and queen's true selves. She asked us to do a vibe check?" Cassia glimpses Willow to ensure she got that right. "And I suppose it worked. Good work, dingus. How did you find the real one, anyway?"

"Well..." Prince Dylan shifts a bit awkwardly at the question, the high from his win petering out. "I found something familiar. Expressions I've seen from them before. Auntie Adelaide has always been gloomy. Naturally that makes uncle sad as well. He's a good man." He crosses his arms and diverts his gaze. "It's... you know. It's the curse's fault."

Despite the disdain she holds for the king, Cassia doesn't have a witty remark prepared for that one. Instead, she merely softens and nods once.

"I see." Juliet nods at Willow, silently commending her for her plan. She hesitates and then breaches the topic of the voices. (There's no point in hiding it now that she has brought it up.) "I heard more voices as well. At first they were distorted... but as we destroyed more of the false portraits, I heard it clearly. It said 'meet me in the garden when the clock strikes two'." She nods resolutely. "I believe that is where we should go next. What time is it now?"

 

[starboob]

They don’t have much time. They Don’t Have Much Time. Theydon’thavemuchtime.

Willow James will not leave Juliet August behind, let it be known, but the seconds pass like hours and this parallel dimension is rushing to collapse, evident by the shadows no longer able to hold a shape and their exit shrinking, apparently. ‘We’re mist. Where is she?’

She wrings their thread, twisting it around her hand until her fingers turn purple, but losing a few digits really isn’t a concern when one is moments away from disappearing. When one is basically about to die. (Willow is not being dramatic. She is not. Those who go missing in Elsewhere stay missing. In rare cases, their very existence is even erased, as if they were never born–– the only evidence of their existence are empty spaces in pictures. The mist can be merciless.) If this is how her story is to end, she needs to find Juliet and at least apologize for getting them into this mess; had it not been for her, the teens never would have found them, never would have joined them; if Willow James never stumbled through that portal, Juliet August would never feel obligated to protect her. She could have found the portrait on her own and escaped just fine, but instead she has been forced to deal with Willow and teenagers and now they’re going to––

“Erlgp––!”

Cassia’s arm wraps around the wannabe hero’s waist, dissolving the halo she had created while returning her staff to her wrist as she is yanked away. The mermaid pulls her backwards, further and further away from the center of the hall, away from Juliet. Shadows continue to grab at her ankles and Cassia’s tail, but their efforts are paltry compared to earlier. Willow easily kicks them away, simultaneously prying at Cassia’s arm, struggling so that she can find her companion. “Juliet!” She calls out again, twisting in the girl’s arms. She is not going to leave her. “N-no!” She protests, “Juliet is still in there somewhere––” But it’s too late. They’re already hurtling through the shrinking portrait and she can practically feel it closing around her torso. (She will not leave Juliet.) Desperately, she gathers more of the thread around her hand and yanks on it, throwing her entire weight over her shoulder as she does so. She tumbles out into the hallway with Cassia before she can see whether or not her efforts are successful. The teenager manages to lift them both up before she releases Willow and Willow immediately twists in the water, searching for that signature red hair and complementary soft blue tail. When she spots the archer crumpled against the wall, she rushes towards her without hesitation–– inadvertently ignoring Cassia. (She will feel bad about this in approximately five seconds.)

Her eyes rake over her partner, frozen still by the sight of the gashes along her collarbone, her tail, her hand. Blood billows from the wounds, making her appear like she's emerging from angry clouds. Though Willow’s concern doesn’t need to be spoken, her words get caught in her throat anyway when she tries. Then her lips pull to a frown when Juliet tries to insist that it’s nothing, because it is obviously something. However she drops the subject, remembering the teens are with them and that she totally dissed Cassia. ‘Gods, you are the worst!’

Horrified, she turns, hands rising to cover her mouth as she makes her way back to the teen hero, finally addressing what she said. “Cassia–– sorry, I… You were great. You had to make a difficult choice and I totally understand. You saved me. Us.” Even if Willow protested hotly against leaving Juliet behind, she understands where Cassia was coming from and doesn’t think she was wrong to make that choice. It’s admirable, really, and she only wishes she could have been clear headed enough herself to make such a choice–– it shouldn’t be on a teenager to make these decisions. (Willow needs to do better. She needs to be a better role model to both the rising teen heroes, even if both have more combined fearlessness in their little fingers than Willow does in her entire body. Sigh.)

Cassia glows under this recognition, her cheek scales deepening in their pink hue, while the other teen scoffs. (“I found the obfu-portrait! Where is my heroic congratulations?”) Willow ignores the prince’s commentary, for now. “And I’m fine. Unhurt.” ‘In better shape than Juliet,’ she might’ve added, but she isn’t feeling particularly snippy at the moment. Mainly, she’s just relieved that the archer is okay at all. ‘That was too close.’

No one was left behind and she tries to relish in that fact. Prince Dylan is still a dingus, but a dingus she finds herself sympathizing with when he shares the truth behind his success. (While she doesn't agree that the king is a good man… she remembers admiring ‘good men’ who didn’t deserve it. She remembers wanting to do anything to live up to his expectations.) Like Cassia, Willow doesn’t remark on the king’s character, but she does note the mention of the curse once more, recalling that Juliet mentioned right before they were sucked into that parallel hallway. The conversation, unfortunately, moves before Willow can ask.

Both teenagers look between themselves, then to Willow, when Juliet mentions voices. The other sider doesn’t react, both because she knew of this already and because it’s not so strange. All she does is prompt them with a roll of her wrist. “Do either of you know the time?”

Cassia shrugs, Prince Dylan nods slowly, as if skeptical, and that’s the end of it. “It’s half two–– we have a half hour.”

Though it must be on everyone’s minds what they will find once the clock does strike two, no one dares to speculate, perhaps wise enough to know not to tempt the fates with ideas. They remain quiet as they pass through the halls, though occasionally one of the teens will try to whisper-squabble over something meaningless and Willow will shoot them a look that quiets them. Once they're outside of the palace, Willow asks, “What is the curse? I’m not sure we have that anywhere in Evermore.” Well, they do have cursed fae, werewolves, vampires, etc. but she doesn’t see a reason to mention any of that. Those curses are more a matter of perspective than anything else and this feels different than a blood affliction.

“Oh…” Cassia looks over at the prince who remains uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes trained forward. (He looks like a statue himself.) “It, ah, afflicts royals and their ability to produce an heir–– the king and queen have never conceived. It is said that witches are responsible for the curse.” Cassia looks warily over at Willow, her eyes trailing down the sorceress’s arm to her bracelet, perhaps having seen her with her staff earlier; perhaps having guessed what that halo of light had been. Prince Dylan scowls at the mention of witches whereas the word causes Willow to flinch. She thankfully doesn’t notice the prince’s disdain or Cassia’s wary glance. “Official records on the matter state they are trying to interfere with the magic that has been bestowed upon royal bloodlines by cursing their ability to produce a powerful successor.”

“Ah, I see.” Willow does recall Juliet mentioning the curse earlier in relation to the king and queen’s lack of heirs, and maybe this is why Prince Dylan and Prince Guppy carry a royal title, but the information regarding magical interference–– even that royals have magic gifts–– is new. (Part of her burns at the mention of witches, how they have been blamed. It twists her stomach into knots knowing royals have magic and yet have persecuted those like Milfred; even gone so far as to run campaigns against them. Everything about it is suspect. Especially if they are power hungry and wield magic as flagrantly as King Cedrick does his golden sword. The blatant disrespect not only towards magic, but treating their children as potential stores for power, irks the sorceress. Power coupling isn't necessarily unheard of in the city-states that make up Evermore, despite the many laws banning it, but it's skin crawling to think someone might only want another for their power. At least Willow thinks so.)

Speculation continues to run through the sorceress’s mind when they enter the garden, but she doesn’t give voice to her thoughts; had it just been herself and Juliet, she might have, but with the teens, she is unsure. She doesn’t fully trust them to know about her studies even if she is a prophesied hero. (As a prophesied hero, she realizes that she could help elevate the status of casters in Folklore. There is a risk that she ends up as an exception to the rules, but if she is strategic… perhaps she could make a difference in more ways than just one. Perhaps she can start with these two teens.)

Twenty minutes from two, they post near the empty pedestal that once hosted a stone leviathan. The water is still around them, chillier around them. Without moonlight, only glowing phytoplankton illuminate the garden like stars or fireflies. Not even the sound of swishing cuts through the water. It really is only them out here. She inches closer to Juliet, her breath held as they wait for the minutes to tick away and the clock to strike. Even the teens remain quiet, Cassia wringing her hands together and Prince Dylan pacing. Watching them adds to her rippling worries, reminding her of who else they (Juliet) must mind regardless of what happens. She twists her bracelet over her wrist, smoothing her fingers over the stone. If she thought it wouldn’t start an argument, she might recommend the teens return to their rooms but she knows both are too eager (much like herself).

“Prince Dylan. Cassia.” She whispers their names, afraid anything louder might disturb one of the statues. They look over at her, ready for whatever Willow might say, perhaps even hopeful she’ll give them roles in the action. “Whatever happens, stick with me–– since none of us heard voices earlier, that means our interference will only get in the way of Juliet’s ability to listen to what’s happening. It could jeopardize the investigation.” She pauses to make sure they’re understanding what she is saying. “We’ll all have our moments to shine–– both of you have done great already with finding the obfuscated portrait and pulling Juliet and I out of that parallel hallway–– but we probably won’t shine much if our guts are splattered everywhere.”

“Obfusc... Portrait finding is nothing, Willow James, and I, for one, would not mind going down in a fearless blaze of glor––"

“Prince Dylan. You seem to care a great deal about your family,” if his admiration for the king is any indication. “If you want them to take you seriously, you need to use your head and remember that your actions have consequences. It's not very manly to disregard their concerns. And, like, dying recklessly doesn’t exactly make for a good hero story, by the way. Not unless you have other accomplishments to highlight your heroics.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Not yet–– Hey!” He snaps at Cassia, rubbing his shoulder after being unceremoniously shoved against the pedestal from behind. “What'd you do that for!?"

"Me!? Dingus, I'm right in front of you. Quit messing around."

Whoever the invisible assailant is, they leave a trail of bubbles that goes to the center of the garden, next to the stone hydra’s empty pedestal. (The faint sound of snapping echoes through the garden of glory. No, not snapping–– snipping, like scissors at furious work.) Another trail of bubbles comes from the opposite end of the garden and also stops at the center, but there is nothing to hint at who the figures are; not an outline or a shadow. Even those trail of bubbles disappear and make Willow wonder if they had even been real or imagined. Everything is still again, but the temperature is dropping enough to make Willow blue.

Back at the center of the garden, frost begins to collect around the head and shoulders of two invisible figures, but they're still undistinguishable. The sorceress bumps her arm against Juliet's. “Juliet… do you hear anything?”

Before the archer can respond, however, the prince is swimming forward as if entranced. (The snipping becomes a thunder.) His eyes appear frosted over and a current seems to pull him forward. “Auntie?”

The clock strikes, BONG. BONG. It's complemented by two snips followed by a sharp voice that even Willow and Cassia can hear. "So young. So fresh. Who's next?"

 

[ellarose]

While there are many, many reasons why Juliet August is not fond of traveling with a group, there is an undeniable benefit to having Prince Dylan and Cassia present to field Willow's questions about the curse. There are plenty of topics regarding the kingdoms of Folklore she does not mind speaking about. The curse is not one of them. Some subjects are harder to put into words. Harder to even think about. The matter of faking her own death, for instance, or Paris Brooks. Although Willow told her that she doesn’t owe her those answers, Juliet knows by now to seize control of her own narrative before it can be rewritten by those who know nothing about her. (Traveling alongside someone who comes from outside of the kingdoms presents her with the rare opportunity to be heard. Maybe even understood. The allure of companionship is undeniable, even when she knows she’ll need to continue to resist it.) The curse is different. She doesn’t need to divulge her opinions, of course, but talking about it— thinking about it— spears her with resentment. Resentment, guilt, and then resentment again. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t say anything. If she shows anything at all in her expression, in her posture, in her tone of voice… she is subject to assumptions and judgement.

Many people have witnessed small glimpses of Juliet’s life and readily imagine the rest of the story for themselves. Or they come searching for more, watching her every move as if her life is a mystery to be solved. A distraught reaction could easily be justified from the sorceress's perspective, she supposes, by the fact that Millicent is her friend and that witches have been wrongfully accused on inflicting the curses. And while that is indeed part of it…

'Stop. Clear your mind.' Juliet swims ahead of everyone, Willow and the teenagers discussion softening into background noise behind her as she finds a suitable place behind an empty pedestal to wait. She massages temples, takes a deep breath. (‘Breathe, Juliet.’ She remembers the steadying press of Lara’s hands on her shoulders, ‘Just breathe.’) Right. She cannot allow herself to be distracted now. If they’re depending on her— if the voices are leading her somewhere— she has to focus. Willow understands this, too, based on what little she overhears of their conversation. (Having heard her name, she can’t help it.) "…but we probably won’t shine much if our guts are splattered everywhere." This also confirms just how dangerous that hall of portraits had become, too. She has to remind herself that this isn't all transpiring in her own head. Not entirely. They're all at risk, investigating this.

Juliet doesn’t want to reflect on it but her thoughts drag her there anyway. Willow’s frantic shouting, ‘Juliet’s still in there’, the sight of those terrified green eyes scanning her up and down. Lingering on her wounds. Like she cares. (They still sting, especially with the salt water, but she’ll tend to them later.) Her ability to stay on task is truly being tested. She should have told the Prince Dylan and Cassia to return to their rooms before discussing the voices with Willow. They shouldn’t be here. If the young prince gets hurt…

Brr. Is the water getting colder or is this all in her head? Juliet catches herself swaying and holds to the pedestal at her side to keep herself anchored. (She's feeling overwhelmed but cannot show it. Will not show it.) The prince and scribe argue, the noise contributing to the pain she experiences from her wounds and headache. The pedestal shudders under her palm and she realizes it’s because the prince has been shoved up against it. The temperature drops until it burrows itself down in her bones. (Is this in her head? Is it because of all the noise, the scissors? And who shoved the prince?) ‘Focus, focus.’ She suppresses a shiver and tries to follow the movement of the shapeless figures as they push ahead of them and into the heart of the gardens.

No, Juliet thinks perplexedly while Willow asks her question. She doesn’t hear anything of relevance, anyway, seeing as the echoes of the bickering teens, the scissors, her own damned thoughts do not count. (Willow’s arm is warm against her own.) That thought manages to fit itself in there as well. She wants to lean in closer. None of it is relevant. None of it will help them and-- and now the prince is endangering himself, swimming towards the billows of frost. Before she can do anything about this, though, the clock tolls noisily upon striking two. It begins to toll several times afterwards, repeating over and over, as if it's been set to sing with every passing second as opposed to every passing hour. The obnoxious sound blends with the scissors in a senseless cacophony.

'So young. So fresh. Who's next?' The voice is grating. Juliet presses her hands over her ears and observes the area for some indication of what is happening. The tolling in particular guides her gaze up towards the clock. It's massive and faintly illuminated, encased in protective glass at the top of an archway at the other side of the garden. The hands are spinning round and round rapidly-- the minute hand spinning clockwise while the hour hand spins counterclockwise. (They tremble, as if they're on the brink of flying off altogether... much like Millie flew on the mechanical dragons, she imagines.) The frost billows in a storm of blue-white clouds and figures shape themselves from it, sparkling like stars all across the gardens. Two figures, sharing memories long past all around them. Holding hands, hiding together behind the plants, and one of the pairs even begins to swirl around an underwater dance as if they snuck away from a ball to enjoy each other's company.

Voices from perhaps hundreds conversations spill out towards Juliet all at once, overlapping each other and contributing to the rest of the noise. She flinches. It's sensory overload. There's only so much of this she can take. Each sound is the equivalent of a knife through her brain. Not only that, but Prince Dylan is still being lured forward by the first figment of Queen Adelaide. Cassia lunges forward to pull him backward... while she slows the process, this only causes the current to gradually drag them both forward. The prince's hands are sparkling with a lace of frost that's gradually spreading down his arms. They're going to freeze solid if this doesn't cease. 'Breathe, Juliet.' Lara's voice reminds her. 'Just breathe.'

"I have something..." One of the voices manages to cut through the others with clarity. "We won't have to suffer this way any longer."

Snap, snap. The blades snap furiously and two of the frozen figures sharing a sweet moment beneath the archway lose their heads. One by one, the other memories are shattered in the same way with the accompanying snap, snap, snap. It isn't hard to deduce what might become of Prince Dylan and Cassia if they freeze solid in the same way as the hollow ice mimicries all around them.

'Stop... I just need to...' Juliet grits her teeth. 'Freeze time.' Struck with an idea, she reaches for her bow and it transforms with a flourish as she nocks a time arrow. (Amidst this chaos she is at least able to focus on her aim, angling up towards the dead center of the clock, and releases the arrow without wasting a second more of their time.) The commotion in the gardens lurches to a halt at the same time the clock does.

"Scissors?" One voice persists. However, Juliet doesn't hear the rest of what is said at that moment as Prince Dylan gasps loudly and flails about as he breaks from his trance and reacts. (Over and over again he asks what happened as Cassia attempts to console him... in her own way. This way involves shaking the young prince by his shoulders and telling him to get ahold of himself.) The archer distances herself slightly from the group, listening closely for anything else. (She's granted them fifteen minutes, knowing better than to use one of the lesser arrows after the incident at the falls.) "Cedrick commissioned them."

Juliet sighs. She's heard enough.

"We must go now." Juliet says, swimming back to join the group. She looks steadily from Willow to Prince Dylan to Cassia to ensure that none of them are harmed. "The energy contained in this room is unpredictable. Staying here may put all of our lives at risk."

Fortunately, the teenagers are inclined to listen to her without any further arguments. It is late enough to justify going to sleep, after all, and that scare in particular seemed to throw the chilling possibility of an early death in their faces. "But you will keep us informed, won't you?" Cassia ends up asking before they part. Juliet reluctantly agrees under the condition that she would do so only if she felt it wouldn't put them in harm's way again. (Not to mention that the king's reputation rests at the heart of this issue... giving her too many of the pieces may put her at risk. Especially considering her outspoken nature-- admirable as it is.)

***​

Back in their room, Juliet paces before at last settling down on the foot of her bed. Grace settles down next to her as she fusses with bandages, looking down at herself as she attempts to see what method might dress the wound properly. It is nearly three in the morning now... and yet neither of them can sleep yet. The air between them carries remnants of the overwhelming energy from the gardens.

"I did not want to say it in front of Prince Dylan and Cassia." Juliet breaches the subject, slow and thoughtful. "I believe the king has taken fate into his own hands one too many times. The voices I heard earlier... I am under the impression that King Cedrick gave Queen Adelaide a pair of hexed scissors and asked her to cut ties with his brother once and for all." She looks at Willow. "I wonder if the castle is somehow responding to the magic he has used to get his way. Or perhaps a new spell has gone awry. I'm not well-versed in this subject, but... I have no other explanation for what just happened." (...Perhaps the king has even 'commissioned' someone to inflict his own brother with the sickness? Well. She may be wrong, but it was certainly not Juliet who did so in this case. If it were her, she might have targeted King Cedrick. Who is the other person causing this alongside her, she wonders. Will she be able to follow their trail if she can learn something from the king?)

"I'm not certain how forthcoming he will be with us when we consult him tomorrow... but he may know just as much as Queen Adelaide does in regards to where his brother has gone." Juliet glance at the door. There is no way that anyone is eavesdropping on their conversation-- within a dry room and also this late at night-- but she can't help but tread carefully. Her eyes flicker as they seek out Willow's and she lowers her voice conspiratorially. "You mentioned a spell before. A method that might expose him...?"