Chapter Text
Deep in Darkwood is a farm that appears incongruent from the scattered cabins and tents. It is a fully functioning farm on a slight incline, where the downward southern facing fields propagate pride. The pride of the expansive fields is the result of considerate dedication– the type of which did not care for personal appearance or personality traits. The farm is best suited for agriculture, and the nature of it presented challenges for the current family. Record keeping was never a priority, but the obvious details were that the farm was consistently owned by the current family– a generational responsibility, where the eldest was expected to continue the legacy as the primary caretaker. Choice is always an illusion, and however bleak it were, the general demeanor of accepting responsibility was met with a placid contentment. For all that was learned and known will forever remain, and accepting this was never a foreign concept. Knowledge and skill were disguised as hard work, and it shows through the imperfect whittled wood handles rounded with repeated use. Rust kissed metal similarly, though it often spelled death to the tool— all of which unintentionally became decor when it no longer served purpose.
Tending the farm itself was an art of its own. Seedlings were placed with the purpose of enriching the soil, rather than yielding a crop. Oftentimes, this way of sowing yielded the highest at peak season, though it is not always the case. For two generations, crops yielded less, and the concern was never for the soil. Initially, raiders would reap and subsist off their labor. There was never an opportunity to reason with thieves when it was at the expense of their own livelihoods. Dead and dusted tools repurposed as weapons when the time called for it.
The increased violence in the domain had left many displaced. What once were homes, were now ash that smoldered to the ground. Once a peaceful region with lush greenery left fragmented with barren plots of a memory. There was no cause to the madness, which left the remaining to conspire. Those fortunate found refuge at the farm, where their toils were exchanged for food and lodge.
Concern for safety remained, especially at nightfall though there was security through reinforced fencing and guard duty. Incidents rarely occur these days, but uncertainty breeds anxiety and few have voiced their concerns about the potential for something to happen. The owner would only meet their pleas with grunts and grumbles, which would then be immediately remedied by his eldest child. It was clear to those indefinitely staying that their presence was unwelcome, but were still appreciative that he would reconsider every offer even if it felt manipulated. Appreciation was reciprocated with hard work and assistance, though the owner would rather his home be returned to him.
The Owner’s name is Tyren, and he had a reputation and a particularly stern demeanor. He’s an older yellow cat, patchy fur whitened with age and browned by years of commitment to the craft. He’s hardened over the years of labor, and he wouldn’t have opened his barn doors to others if it meant he could protect his family and their hardship. If it weren’t for the love of his eldest child, who insisted and begged for compassion to every unfortunate party involved in the senseless pillage. This time, enough was enough. He needed to inform them of the severity of the situation.
Much was quiet, but expected for a foggy summer morning. The air chill tickled his whiskers, fully aware of how close to autumn they were. This season’s yield is enough to sustain the next few months, but there certainly wasn’t enough in stores to allow for extended care for the winter. His pensive stare to the silo was interrupted as another small yellow cat in a red bandana and a long denim apron set a terracotta mug adjacent to his callused hand. With a hum, they welcome the warmth of their own mug to their lips. Their whiskers pulled inward as they leaned against the deck that enclosed the two story farmhouse. They take a sip from their tea, and punctuate it with a sigh. Tyren turns the handle of his mug with a weak claw and slowly into his hands and mirrors their sigh, but is patient to take a sip.
For the moment, the intent is to keep his hands warm— a minor comfort in the heaps of displeasure. They don’t read into this, nor do they consider anything indifferent about this interaction as this is very typical behavior of their father. They speak into their mug as they take another sip, “Well—“ they jolt as they become fully aware of how loud their voice echoed back. “I better check for stragglers. After that, I’ll get the kids to help with the chores.” They bounce off the support beam they were leaning on and clear their throat as if chores needed a verbal address.
“I cannot bring any more in, Feryn.” His eyes are locked onto the mug in his hands. He knows that Feryn stopped to give him their full attention. They don’t quite understand what he means and they part their lips to ask, but before they say a word, he interrupts “—people. I can’t bring any more people. We have to consider the long term.” Tyren props himself off the fence and aims for his rocking chair adjacent to him. He used to listen to cicadas chirp and bask in the summer heat in that very same rocking chair, but that was long ago. Turbulent times put an end to his simple pleasures, and he had no one to blame but himself.
“What do you mean? We have the resources available now— and even more once we get the crew picking the beets and carrots. I could even reorganize the barn to house more people—“
“Enough.” He speaks firmly, but not in a place of frustration. Feryn places their mug on the fence, then hops up to seat themself next to it— caring not to knock it over with this action. Once situated, they bring their mug back to their hands centered on their lap. They understand this tone is typically used for lectures, and it may take a while.
He resumes maintaining the same firm tone, “I need you to understand that we do not have the resources to sustain the wounded and sick. We need to turn people away if we want to survive.” He’s motionless on his rocking chair, except for his tail which flicks rhythmically against the baseboards as if tapping his foot. Perhaps to release trapped energy.
Though difficult discussions may result in ballistics in the past, Feryn’s emotional maturity grew and set like algae to river rocks. They sharply inhale, “what will they do without our help?” Their thumbs trace the exterior shape of the mug.
“That’s for them to figure out.” He puts simply, “we don’t have medicine available for everyone here.”
“What if I go to the woods for camellias?”
He leans forward, full attention to Feryn who observes his body language as slightly imposing. “It’s too dangerous to wander from the road— you know this. And you better not go behind my back for it.” His tired eyes study them for any kind of telltale deception.
Feryn draws a cross over their heart with a quick motion. Doing so gives him a sense of relief, and seats himself back on the rocking chair. “I’m not heartless, I’m being realistic…” he sighs, defeated but still unwilling to reveal his anxieties.
Feryn slumps their shoulders and turns to observe the barn in the distance, beyond the field. It was quickly repurposed to house those directly affected. They’re well aware of how meager these living conditions are, and it feels disgusting to offer so little, but it was all that they had. The pressure to help is taking a toll, but finding a better, if not permanent solution will be harder to find than a white rabbit in a snowstorm. Winter is fast approaching, and it certainly was on everyone’s mind. Without medicine, or resolve, they may not survive. They draw the same conclusion as their father— this ain’t no way to live.
“Papa?” They interrupt themself from thinking.
He finishes his tea, and sets the mug on the floorboards near his foot. He grunts as he sits back up, “Yes, bug?”
Feryn starts back up slowly, processing how best to introduce this crazy thought. “What if we took the farm and pushed it somewhere else?”
He closes his eyes and lets out a very deep and patient sigh. A moment in solitude, ever so brief. He relishes this moment, but understands he needs to return to reality. Just before however, his ear flicks to the sound of boots making contact with the floorboards. And a cold wet nose making contact with his sends him back. He grimaces as he opens his eyes.
“I’m serious!” Feryn excitedly starts again, inches from his face. “I know of a place, I’ve heard traveling merchants talk about a town on the outskirts of Darkwood! We can relocate there and focus on farming. We can run a farm for the community!”
His eyes speak his thoughts and in doing so, Feryn stammers. This is the only opportunity they have to convince him, otherwise it’s back to sulking on conditions. “The roads must be safe enough for them to travel into town. And we have guards that can… uh—“ Tyren is unconvinced, they’re losing him, “it-it means you’ll have the property to yourself and the kids again.”
Tyren had enough; he motions for Feryn to move as he rises from his chair. They step off to the side, waiting for a response, but he’s slow about it and it builds tension under their skin. He leans back onto the fence and staring beyond the farm and into the wilderness. Usually Feryn is great about reading his expressions, but there’s nothing to take away from this. For the moment, his tail sways and he’s lost in thought again. Feryn steps forward and clasps his shoulder “I’ll be safe about it, I promise.”
It is a large task to move 13 people with their remaining belongings from the farm to this town, and to do so blindly could spell death. This will have to be broken in multiple trips, at different times to avoid predictability. Most importantly, someone needs to scout if the town even exists.
Tyren built a favorable partnership with the merchants that pass through this area of Darkwood. Often, hand crafted tools, trinkets, or produce was offered in exchange for shelf stable foods, goods, or equipment to ensure the farm’s production. The same merchants he’s conducted business with—and his father before him— were still making rounds, unbothered by the chaos plaguing the area. There very well could be safety in traveling with merchants, but at the expense of his own child’s life. Sure, he has two boys that can tend to the fields if the worst were to come. It goes without saying that he loves all his children, and views them beyond their work towards the farm.
He catches himself before he gets too lost in thought, and redirects his attention to Feryn once again, placing a palm onto their head gently rubbing in efforts to not bother their bandana. “You’re too compassionate for your own good.”
Feryn laughs through their nose, “Maybe. But it’s never done me wrong.”
Tyren clears his throat of any sentimentality and proceeds with instruction. To ensure security, a plan must be in place. “The merchants should be arriving with supplies within the next three days. We can arrange safe travel for you. Please get yourself prepared. We don’t know what to expect, so take what you think you need. And give your brothers goodbyes.”
Another calm chilly morning would be disrupted by the midday summer heat. Though that was to be expected, Feryn still waited patiently in the same red bandana, blue denim apron, and lilac cardigan. Eventually, the cardigan would be abandoned for the heat but for now, it was necessary. They typically dress similarly to their day to day. Fashion wasn’t really considered, but they liked to look nice even though it wasn’t for anyone in particular other than themself. It made them feel confident and prideful to wear clothes that were cute and practical. Practicality served a better purpose to attire, but that was an argument that they would have with their father when they wanted something new from the merchants. They stand alone on the side of the road, just beyond the makeshift barricade. The guards have already passed this zone of the farm and were expected to return some point before noon. The farmhouse seems small from a distance, and Feryn reflects on the last time they had been near the road. The same road their mother took to— The breeze tickles their whiskers, and it interrupts their thoughts. With the back of their hand, they groom their whiskers with a gentle swipe, pressed against their cheek. They readjust the shoulder strap to their brown denim crossbody bag. They mentally run through the contents of the bag: two changes of clothes, their journal, multiple pens, a thin blanket, fresh baked snacks… The thoughts fuse into themselves before they silence and Feryn is back at staring at the road again. They watch as the fog dances in the wind just above the ground in the distance. They don’t feel the wind on their fur except for the occasional breeze, and it’s still too warm in the season to see the heat from their breath permeate in the air. There is nothing to distract their attention from the fog.
They don’t know how much time has been taken by the fog. They never bothered to look at their phone, nor did they care how much time had elapsed. They become aware of what stirs back on their farm as the gradual sounds of morning rounds take place. The day officially begun, and Feryn no longer feels alone.
Feryn’s ears twitch to the familiar sounds of bells, followed by the crunch of wagon wheels against the earth. The merchant is here, but the identity has yet to be revealed. Regardless of this information, their chest flutters with the anticipation of travel.
There aren’t many merchants who travel through caravan, which narrows the possibilities significantly. Feryn knows something about these merchants as being mystical of a sort, or at least that’s what the rumor is. The merchants were once regular people before they were ordained to serve eternity for the patron god, Death. After all death is absolute and true, so why would Tyren lie about such things. Feryn never encountered gods, nor had proof of the matter, but it was simple to accept this concept as fear made them a devoted follower.
No creature powers the caravan and no motor can be heard, which adds fuel to the belief of the mystics. It slows to a gradual stop as it passes Feryn. Feryn hops towards the caravan, almost forgetting the reason to stand on the side of the road. They’re met with a very familiar plump black cat, whose conversations are bittersweet, but engaging nonetheless.
“Hello, my dear!” Her voice has the warmth of fresh bread. She sets down her knitting project and directs full attention to Feryn. ”How are you this morning?”
“I’m good, thanks Mrs. Forneus!” There’s a slight mournful twang in their voice, but Feryn lights up with excitement. ”I was hoping that you could take me into town! I don’t have much to offer for the ride, but I’m sure my papa would be willing to offer something!”
“Hush, my dear– there’s no need for trade. Company is enough payment.” Forneus slowly dismisses the offer with a wave before returning her hand within her red plaid shawl. She appeared to be wearing a black dress of some sort, but it was hard to tell in detail with how long the shawl was. Forneus seemed to be distracted from Feryn, drawing her attention towards the farm. Feryn followed the glance. Their father was approaching the caravan with two smaller white and yellow cats running past him.The boys are uncoordinated and they trip over the fence, but quickly recover to their feet before body slamming their sibling. Feryn falls to the ground with the sounds of overlapping clamor. Forneus could not contain her laughter in these turn of events.
“We’re gonna miss you–
“You’re gonna leave forever–
“Boys! You’ll be alright, I promise!” Feryn pries themself from their grips and is offered a hand off the ground by their father. They dust themself off before being swarmed by the children again.
“How long are you gonna stay?” The tiny yellow cat grips their blue apron and swings his arm back and forth, fanning their fur with an unwelcome cool breeze.
“Heon, I don’t really know-
“They’re gonna be gone forever, I just know it!” The white cat takes Feryn’s hand, opposite of Heon, and swings.
“Yatre, you know that’s not true. I’ll be back, I promise!”
“Well, that’s what mama said, too–
Feryn’s face twists from concern to a scowl. Their fists tighten without the intention to act.
“Yatre.” Tyren’s firm interruption left the children still and silent. They freed themselves from Feryn before stepping back towards the fence.They remain silent for the time being. Yatre picked at his claws, and Heon picked debris out of the tip of his tail. The boys had a habit of being rowdy, but they are simply children that have no idea what impact their words have. Tyren’s voice is enough to put them in their place. The children respected their father and Feryn for being present with their upbringing.
Tyren stepped forward and dropped his hand on their shoulder. He leaned towards their ear and whispered, “You got this, great job.” Feryn’s fists relax and their hands wrap around his torso. Their face finds place in his chest, they deeply inhale and shudder when they exhale. Tyren rests one hand on the upper part of their back and the other on top of their head. They melt slightly when he rubs their head, but his other hand brings them back to stand. “You’re capable, keep at it.
They stifle their crying and pull themselves away when they’re finally ready to leave. Feryn wipes their tears with the sleeve of their cardigan and inhales sharply as they nod. With a slow exhale, they begin to speak again, ”I’ll be there and back. I’ll be safe, I promise.”
“I’ll leave you in very capable hands. Right, Forneus?”
“You have my word, Tyren.” Forneus tilts her head to a bow, then beckons for Feryn to board the caravan. Feryn meets her hand with their own and they leap into the caravan with the support of the side step. Once settled, Forneus allows one last goodbye before releasing the handbrake. The caravan is slow to start, but gains a steady pace once going. Forneus returns to her knitting, while Feryn waves to their remaining family.
Tyren waits with his arms crossed until his child is consumed by the woods. He lets out a long contained sigh through his frown. He turns to look at the road behind him, and it stares right back motionless, and speechless. Tyren returned its greeting with a similar response. He stood there for an unusually long while before Heon and Yatre pulled from the fence, and tugged at his sleeve cuffs in an attempt to retrieve him. He pulled the boys by their shoulders inward and rubbed the tops of their heads. He clears his throat before quietly engaging, “Let’s get started with breakfast. We have hungry mouths to feed.”
The sun is blocked from the evergreen canopy, and only makes contact with the ground when a breeze allows. The light scatters in a surreal sense, never properly displaying the image of the source above. It’s dizzying when focused too hard on it, and Feryn uses this opportunity to remove their cardigan. It’s folded with mild consideration before placing it on top of their crossbody bag, which was removed fairly early on the trip. They settle back to take in the scenery they haven’t experienced in ages. So little, yet so much has changed— quite a lot has changed, such as the course of life.
Forneus turns up from her knitting. Her motherly senses alert her of the descend, “Would you like something to drink, my dear?”
Feryn is startled by the sudden change in atmosphere. The fresh baked bread is still present when she speaks, and it’s hard to resist the invitation, “Yeah, that would be nice…” they speak softly as if they would scare the road ahead. Forneus sets her knitting project aside and at this point it’s only starting to appear… shapely. There’s no distinct indication what it will become, but it’s too long to be a scarf or a sweater. With a gentle reposition, she twists to reach into the canvas window; with this motion, she wafts the scent of cinnamon and cardamom. The scent reminds Feryn of a better time and a pit forms in their stomach.
Though Forneus always had a motherly charm with Feryn, there was a slight hope that she would consider remarrying for their father. Forneus kept the title in lue of respecting her late husband, and swore never to marry again. Still, Feryn saw her as a maternal figure although she would appear on the farm once per waning moon. Every conversation with Forneus was always a delight, and Forneus was excited to hear Feryn’s stories or view their drawings in between the business. Often a short lived experience, but in Feryn’s mind, Forneus was their adoptive mother— she just didn’t know it yet. Of course, Feryn never wanted to impose such a thought, they simply had fun with the fantasy of it.
Forneus retrieves a canteen and a mug from the canvas portal and sets the mug gingerly into Feryn’s awaiting palms. She unscrews the lid and pours a yellow tanned liquid into the eager mug. Without prompting, Forneus interjects the upcoming question, “I drink Chamomile, I hope that’s okay, my child.”
Feryn hums before inviting the mug to their lips. A delicately honey-sweet floral flavor coats their tongue with the lingering scent of cinnamon and cardamom. They grow peckish, then the realization hits, “Thank you for the tea! Here, I have accompaniments!” Feryn uses their free hand to remove the cardigan from its location and in between their thighs. They dig through their bag and take hold of a familiar fabric-wrapped parchment parcel. They then switch back the locations of the cardigan, leaving the parcel on their lap. Noticing this is a two handed job, they set the mug on the bench beside them to carefully undo the twine binding the parcel together while it remains on their lap. They reveal two squares of clementine cake. It consisted primarily of ground almonds, which was evenly topped with thinly sliced clementines baked well into the cake, suggesting it was originally placed in the bottom of a pan. A thin honey syrup coats the clementines, giving them a delicate luster in the bits of sun.
“Oh, these look delightfully tasty! You made these yourself?”
“Thank you! I got the recipe from one of the ladies on the farm. Besides, cake is always better with company!” Feryn presents a slice to Forneus, but inspects it for the most presentable slice. They would insist that Forneus take the more aesthetically pleasing one. It was a very dense texture, but it was evenly moistened by the juices of the citrus and honey. The profiles were well rounded with the addition of grounded almonds, which added a cherry-like flavor of its own— it paired well with the chamomile tea, too— a very delicate surprise! Feryn loved to savor these moments, but understood they needed to end; it’s a very fleeting feeling. Feryn finished their portion by running their thumb across their inner lip to remove the remaining stickiness. They were not that graceful of an eater, but they always took it upon themself to not make much of a mess, especially in front of others. Once cleaned, Feryn returns to their mug with both hands. The tea was cooling down rather quickly and it would be rude to let it completely cool. They committed themself to drinking the remaining tea in this sitting. Forneus spoke once again with curiosity this time, “That was very delicious, thank you!” With a clear infliction, this was not the end of her statement.
Feryn quickly gulps the tea from their mug. There was a slight bubble that collected in the back of their throat of unprocessed tea. They turn away to cough and remedy that before addressing Forneus again, “the pleasure’s mine! Thank you for taking me into town!”
Forneus hums before returning to her knitting once again, but this time curiosity got the better of her, “Forgive my intrusion, dear, but I would like to understand the situation better. Your father doesn’t speak much of it, and often referred to them as guests, but you referred to the wondrous recipe writer as if a stranger. Are they not family?”
“I uhh…” Feryn struggled to find the correct order of things, but sympathy made a worse distraction. Their fingers habitually trace the mug. “They’re not. They are refugees we— I took in. Papa didn’t like the idea. He still doesn’t, but I wish he would see them like I do. They’re capable— just like us— and they do a wonderful job tending to the farm. I’ve spent so much time with them that it just felt natural to have them around. They mostly keep their distance and I don’t blame them. I mean…some were betrayed by people they trusted all their life, and destroyed everything they built—their life’s work… gone… These people deserve better than to live in a rafty storage barn.”
Forneus places her hand onto her lap before motioning the other to rest upon their wrist. Feryn’s eyes widen with this contact and they turn to Forneus who tactfully retrieves their attention. She smiles and the fresh bread returns with its warm radiance, “You are doing something truly commendable. Not many would open their homes for others, let alone complete strangers. I’m sure your father has his reasons, and though it may appear as opposition, you are more alike than you think. Never let your heart waver.”
“Thanks, mama” The tenderness in the moment promptly falters when Feryn realizes their mistake. They take their hand to their mouth as if to replace what they said, but it’s free in the air. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—
Forneus erupts with a hearty laughter “My dear, my dear! I know no ill intent!” She settles to a chuckle, “I see you more than I have my own wonderful boys! I wish they would visit more often, but if you’d like to think of me as such, I see no harm—all children are deserving of love.”
“But I’m 22, I’m an adult” Feryn is in disbelief, but makes an effort to appear cordial.
“Still, my child, to me you are a kitten.”
Feryn grumbles and sinks into the bench. At the very least, the thought of Forneus knowing their secret provided some relief. In retrospect, the fear of judgement was very silly. They now feel closure for that avenue. It is not an optimal situation; Feryn certainly understands the capacity for love they would experience from Forneus may not be as authentic in the biological sense. Still, it was better than nothing.
“I don’t wish to overstep, but is everything else okay at home?”
“Oh yeah, my brothers and papa are fine, they’ll do well keeping things in order while I’m away.”
“I see, I thought there might have been a reason to have left in the first place. He’s treating you well– your father?” Forneus delicately pries, knowing the rough extent of their familial strain.
“I think so… he’s trying his best. There’s a lot of improvement, and it could be better. I just wish…” Feryn allows this thought to dangle in the air before folding their arms into their chest to feel more secure.
“It’s okay, we don’t have to discuss this if you don’t want to. I’m concerned for your safety, that's all.”
To Feryn, it was unclear if the subject remained on their family, or the raids around Darkwood, but neither were subjects they wanted to sink deeper into.
“I never bothered to ask, do you have accommodations made at Divinity’s Dirge?”
“Oh uh… I have never actually been to this place. I’ve heard about it but I didn’t know I needed to arrange something. Is that going to be a problem, you think?”
Forneus is amused with the sudden concern, “No, my dear, I think you’ll be quite alright. I wasn’t implying it was necessary, I didn’t know if you had lodging with the park.”
“The park?”
“Yes, with Nerium Estates. She offers housing, primarily trailers, for residents as they’re capable of relocation should anyone tire living there.”
Feryn’s confusion mildly contorts their face. Forneus realizes instead of casually dropping information, it would be best to explain in detail what to expect when entering town. The both of them have a good portion of the day to waste before they manage to make their way into Destiny’s Dirge.
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! This is my first fic since grade school! To commemorate this moment, I want to share a recipe I made for this chapter. This cake has been on my mind for a week and I wanted to recreate it as accurately as I could.
Please enjoy the cake! After all, cake is always better with company!Clementine Almond Cake:
¼ cup water
¼ cup honey
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon cardamom
4 medium clementines (3 thinly sliced) (juice and zest from one)
1 cup sugar
7 oz almond paste
¼ cup almond flour
¾ cup all purpose flour (APF)
1 cup unsalted butter (room temp., cubed)
1 ½ teaspoon baking powder
¾ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon orange blossom water
6 large eggs (room temp.)Preheat the oven to 325F and prepare the sides of a pan with butter and flour, dust off excess and line the bottom of the pan with parchment paper. A springform is what I used, but round or square is fine as long as it’s deep enough for the rise.
Aim to cut 3 clementines into ⅛” slices and line the bottom of the pan in however arrangement works best for you. Keep in mind, overlapping may cause the skins to not bake entirely consistent.
In a small saucepan, combine water, honey, cinnamon and cardamom and let that simmer on the lowest heat while the next step is prepared.
In the bowl of a stand mixer, add sugar, almond paste, and almond flour. With the beater attachment, mix on the lowest setting until the mixture resembles sand.
In a small bowl, mix the APF, baking powder and salt. Set aside.
Return to the honey, give it a stir until everything melds together. Then increase the heat until there is a light boil. Immediately cut the heat and set it aside to cool.
Return to the stand mixer and incorporate the butter a few cubes at a time. This will turn into a paste, before turning grainy but fluffy. At this point, add the juice of one clementine and the orange blossom water.
Keep the mixer on low and add eggs one at a time until each is fully incorporated. It would look curdled for now.
Add the APF mix as two batches into the mixer and allow it to fully incorporate before adding the remaining. Scrape the sides of the bowl for any unincorporated material. Careful not to overmix, this will result in a gummy texture.
Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake until the center is set ~40- 60 minutes.
Allow it to cool for 10-15 minutes before running a knife around the perimeter of the cake. The cool time should allow the cake to retract enough for easy removal. Flip the cake onto a cooling rack and remove the parchment paper.
At this point, it’s your discretion to plate or cool!
Chapter 2: From the Farm to the Temple
Summary:
Tyren reestablishes his authority on the farm now that Feryn is unavailable to contend with. Feryn arrives at Divinity's Dirge in hopes to connect with Ember about the situation on the farm. In her place, Witnesses offer a valuable resource. Inviting as the town is, unexplainable occurrences and lurking characters add a veil of mystery to their new life.
Notes:
I will do my best to indicate prior to the chapter what types and when triggering events occur, including skips. Skips will be highlighted in bold, and mentioned in the notes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hoiii Journal!
I finally made it to Divinity’s Dirge :D There’s like established roads and buildings, not just dirt! I mean phones exist, so why wouldn’t buildings? I’m surprised there aren’t more cars, but why need them when everything is soooo accessible! There’s so many people even though Forneus prepared me for it! She said this place really took off in the last 200 years (I think she speaks from first hand experience). I DIDN'T WANT TO BE RUDE AND ASK >m< I haven’t met anyone in town yet but I was told to check out the temple for guidance. The temple sounds much more elegant than I expected and everything and everyone is so nice here! I think the boys will definitely adjust pretty well though! There’s an academy?? That’s like a bigger more important school right? They’ll learn lots, I’m sure! I hope papa likes it here, I know he loves the farm, but maybe moving will keep him busy.
I better do this quick, I know most of the day is over but there’s so much work to do! First, the temple. And then I get to eat. I wonder what kind of foods they specialize in! :3
Love,
Meeee! <3
With that very first journal entry, Feryn closes the hardcover book and replaces it in their crossbody bag. They stand to stretch, and with their arms and tail extended to the air, they let out a squeal. Their tail wiggles as it’s outstretched, but this entire motion was interrupted by Forneus, who’s behind the caravan already hard at work with setting up her stall. “Whenever you’re done, my dear, I’ll need a second set of paws to lift this canopy.”
They hop off the carriage of the caravan and stumble a bit on the stone pavement before gaining the momentum to run towards her location. Forneus struggled maintaining her balance while attempting to grip the wide legs of the canopy from the rear of the caravan. Feryn grabs the remaining bulk of the legs and pulls, successfully removing the canopy from the caravan. They both move together a few feet from the caravan to set it up against the featureless side of a building.
“Thank you dear, I got it from here” Forneus catches her breath before readjusting the shawl on her shoulders.
“You sure? I don’t mind sticking around to help!”
“It’s quite alright, I do this every week” Forneus laughs, but that was the truth, so why was it so funny? Feryn felt a slight pang of disappointment when they were dismissed, but they both knew what each had to do.
“Okay, I’ll try to stop by later and check in on you!” Feryn is still facing Forneus as they walk backwards to the caravan.
Forneus returns to the caravan to remove a large red rug. “No need, my dear– Ah– unless you need a place to sleep for the night, then I insist you come back!” She stops at her tracks and wags a finger at Feryn.
“I will! I’ll let you know what happens!” They turn and run to the front of the caravan. They swipe their bag from the seat, face Forneus once again, “I’ll be at the temple!”
“Stay safe!” Forneus calls to Feryn as they’re creating more distance between the two.
There was a slight rush of freedom. Is this what adults feel when they have agency over their own doings? Feryn spent their whole life sheltered, abiding by the laws of the farm, never to disappoint or overstep–sometimes even putting others above their own wellness. It is certainly a new experience from what they’ve learned from the farm. This excitement wasn’t well contained and they smiled and waved at people they’ve passed only to receive odd looks. Feryn always took it upon themself to appear friendly and excitable, which conditioned them to remain so even in inappropriate situations. They follow the grey stone path that makes such an appealing noise with each step, their boots impacting the stone made a very similar sound to that of hooves, and they imagined what it would be like if they had hooves. Would they be taller? Would there be a need for shoes–it was mildly funny to entertain the idea. Being taller would be a benefit, people would take them more seriously, but hoof care would be so annoying. Their boots clop on the pavement, still buzzing with the excitement in their mind.
As they continue to follow the pathway, they notice that people are thinning. Most of the activity took place in the market, anyway. The layout of the town felt very natural and difficult to get lost in. While walkable, and accommodating to the needs of others, there was also a desire to traverse quickly. Small trucks and scooters made most of the motorized traffic, but they were seldom seen. When on scene, it indicated work, often deliveries or shipments, and rarely for recreational use. They were certain they were headed towards the temple as the only distinguishing difference between people and faith were the engraved grey stone mosaics that Feryn found themself distracted by. The stones that were faceted hexagonally were equal in size, and spaced a very small distance apart not allowing any sediment to appear to its surface. The stone appeared clean and for a brief moment, Feryn thought about how that was possible given the amount of foot traffic they’ve experienced so far. Feryn’s pace slowed as they suddenly dug into their bag to bring out their phone. The phone had a light green case with a scattered daisy print, and a tiny charm dangled from the top corner with a cluster of cherry blossoms. Feryn didn’t have a favorite flower, but they loved all kinds. They believed that flowers served purpose, aside from looking cute– it’s not to suggest that Feryn didn’t like flowers because they were cute. Flowers have purpose, why else would they exist? Feryn decided now would be the best opportunity to inform their father of their safe arrival.
Hoiiii, papa! I made it just fine! I’m checking out the temple, but I’ll keep you updated when I’m done! :D
Feryn didn’t expect their father to be attached to his phone, and they didn’t expect an immediate response either. Tyren was terrible at keeping his phone charged, but Feryn blamed the farm work for that, and not his growing age. Feryn wondered what Tyren’s day was looking like, maybe their absence allowed a change of heart.
“But what of our children? Please, let them stay here– they’re all we have!” begged a young rabbit, their clothes disheveled indicating days if not weeks of displacement. Their hands were placed on the shoulders of both their children, who stared through their tired and sad eyebrows.
Tyren stands behind the reinforced gate, arms crossed, and firm on his stance. He shakes his head and flicks his tail as he grows even more irritated. “I already said no, I don’t have the resources. Now, leave.” He lifts his hand to dismiss the hopeless family. His eyes locked onto them as they were beneath him, quite literally as the property was inclined slightly above the fenceline. It made him look more intimidating than he intended. It became very clear to the four rabbits that if they pressed further, they would meet a fate they’ve avoided during this unfortunate length of time. The rabbit that spoke before pressed their lips to stifle a cry, a protest, before they took both of their children’s hands forcefully and continued down the road silently, sunken and lost like they were before.
This won't be the last time Tyren would differ people from entering his property. And he sighs knowingly as this may return to get the better of him, but for now, he’s not terribly concerned with the consequences of desperation. He is fully aware people may sneak onto the property as if he wouldn’t notice. He turns to an otter armed with a pitchfork, a lantern hat, and leather armor. The otter had witnessed this entire interaction and even he had opinions that he wished not to voice should he be met with the same fate. Tyren is aware of the shift in the atmosphere and he is unperturbed. “I don’t care how sad and unfortunate they are, I don’t want anyone in– simple.” He says flippantly, before leaving the otter to his assumed duty, then makes his way back to the barn.
Heon and Yatre are in the loft, collecting and replacing the sheets that were used to cover the bales of hay that the residents used as beds. There’s a cow resident below the loft who’s picking the hay out of the sheets before placing them into a basket prior to the laundry. Two baskets have already been filled, and she instructs the tiny brown puppy to take the laundry to the farm house for them to be washed. Luckily for Tyren, the laundry room was accessible from both the interior and exterior of the house. He typically locked the door on the inside and left the exterior door open throughout the day. At least he felt a piece of his space being private, though not much was private these days– not even his disgruntlement with the residents. He especially didn’t like to see his boys partake in the chores that Feryn was responsible for.
He stands by the doors for a moment while he observes the motions of their work. He waits until the puppy has left the barn before he pipes up, “Heon, Yatre.” Tyren calls from below. They stop for a moment before they turn their attention to their father. The cow remains on a stool, picking straw from the fabric; she knows the conversation isn’t about her, and she isn’t particularly bothered being in the same space while it takes place. The fact she hasn’t left pulls at Tyren’s irritation, but he attempts to contain this frustration as his tail thumps against the door frame. “I need you two back at the house”
Yatre speaks as Heon begins making the descent to adhere to new orders, “Sure thing, we’re almost done with–
“Now.” Tyren’s voice grits through his teeth.
Both children pause, this was a tone that inexplicably warranted urgency from the boys. They look at each other, silently questioning if the other did something wrong. Heon leaps off the ladder from the remaining rungs, while Yatre quickly tidies up and tosses the remaining dirty sheets to Heon below. Heon attempts to receive these sheets but gets completely engulfed, knocking him to the ground. “Oops”
Tyren’s patience wears thin. He raises his voice to a shout, “GET TO THE HOUSE, NOW!” This was a volume the boys would only hear at night, and they collected themselves before attempting to run to the house. They’re stopped by the cow, who places herself between them and their father.
“That’s no way to speak to children— even if they’ve done wrong, they deserve the gentle guidance and nurture of–
“Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my children!” Tyren steps forward with his face so close to hers. She can nearly feel his breath against her skin, yet she steels under this pressure, “And how dare you speak to me– I let you live under this roof, and allow you to eat my food for the little work that you do! Know your place, cow. I have no issues throwing you to the road where you and that mutt belong.” He spits venom in her direction knowing her assertiveness was a front. Her fists tighten at her apron. The desire to retort is there, right before her clenched teeth, yet nothing comes out. There is a moment where the silence deafens the barn, except for the chickens clucking in the distance.
The boys cower, uncertain what will happen next. She relaxes her fists in efforts to remain genial and set herself an example for the children. The cow steps out of the way and allows the children to proceed to the porch. The adults are alone, and they stare each other down, both thinking themselves as correct on how they handled themselves. Tyren no longer wanted to see her face, but insisted on giving her a parting words, he repeats, “know your place, trash.” before he leaves, following the children a fair distance behind. Tyren’s ears flick to the sound of sniffling from behind, and passes the pup that delivered the laundry. He lets out a dry laugh though his nose imagining how much damage he’s done. It’s been a long while since he felt he was in control, and yearns for his next drink.
The day progresses and Feryn finds themself sitting at a large fountain in front of the temple. People at the temple wear different types of robes, assuming the purpose of it was to distinguish rankings. The types they’ve seen were a solid maroon, deep purple, and a solid white with a black waist band. They were told by Forneus that there was an academy nearby and Feryn would like to visit it sometime, but for the meanwhile they decided they’d take a break at the fountain and view the campus map. They didn’t want to interfere with anyone’s agenda. However, they sigh in defeat as finding a person on a map is probably harder to pinpoint when their movements are unknown.
The white stone they sit on is smooth, but not as smooth as the floor beneath them. The sounds of chatter and footsteps fill the background behind the rushing water. The air lingers with the smell of lilies and incense, but there’s no clear direction of origin. The temple behind stands with gothic stoicism; the walls are a white brick with black fixtures, and the dark mahogany is an elegant contrast to the grayish ivy that descends the facets and windows. Black banners feature sigils that match those seen around on the floor— not exactly, but they’re written with the same hand. Feryn understands the weight of the impression the temple has to Divinity’s Dirge, and they would not be surprised to learn if the town was designed around the temple.
They fold their map and slip it into their bag before hopping off the fountain’s edge. They follow the crescent shaped ramp that wrapped around the fountain, to the mahogany doors that were left slightly ajar. Feryn enters through these doors, after a scholar passes through them with haste. It’s hard to determine who’s here for education and who’s here for worship, but it appears all the same, just with different robes.
The temple was clad with the same mahogany wood that adorned the front of the temple. It had three levels, but from below it was difficult to tell what occurred above. There were more acolytes roaming behind the pillars above, seemingly busy at work— shuffling papers and coordinating instructions, it became quickly apparent that the work presently done wasn’t just for faith. The floors were of a darker stone, but it differed from the pavers of the pathways. Some had dendritic inclusions that shimmered when the light was angled properly. In the center of the floor there was a large red pentagram, written by the same hand as the banners. Interestingly, this pentagram flowed similarly to magma or blood. Its essence can be felt as it rippled with a powerful energy— it was alive, but not sentient.
Feryn recalled the times Tyren would speak highly of Death and “otherworldly” powers. Mere mortals were only allowed to experience a glimpse of it, as it was rumored that they would lose all their mortal senses otherwise— a fate worse than death.
Feryn fixates their attention onto their path of direction. There’s an altar offering gifts to the temple and beyond that was a lavish podium that stood a length aways from the stained glass. The stained glass told a story of a Lamb and her ascension—The extant Ember. Imagery presented her as regal, formal and just, but from what Forneus described, Ember was just about as sweet and clumsy as Feryn, themself. Incredulous as this description was, Feryn took it upon themself to bury Forneus’ assessment until they’ve gathered more information.
Standing before the altar are a spider and a bush worm, both wearing black robes with gold trimmings and gold adornments in their horns, something of which Feryn had not yet seen. They appear regal in comparison to some of the others, and assume that they are of higher rank. They believe these two will hold the answers they seek, but they approach cautiously as not to infringe on their space, nor disturb the pentagram with their presence.
“Excuse me! Hi, umm…” Feryn draws their attention as they tip toe around the pentagram. The spider and worm find this display mildly humorous as their conversation abruptly ends. “I don’t mean to interrupt, maybe you can guide me. I’m looking to speak with someone by the name, Ember. Do you know where I can find her?”
The two turn to one another with slight concern. It was obvious something was wrong. Feryn believed it was because they were a complete stranger in the sacred temple of Death. The spider places a hand on the worm’s shoulder in an attempt to silence. “You don’t find her, she finds you . But be careful– Death follows in her shadow .” The spider’s eyes pierce into Feryn’s, almost analyzing their constitution. Feryn doesn’t feel a harsh judgement for this encounter, but their eyebrows still furrow with the thought of potentially encountering Death. The anxiety wells as they feel they’re not yet ready to experience it. Tyren used to tell Feryn that Death has a corporeal form, and it is never just one. It instills a new layer of fear in Feryn as Death could take anyone and be anything.
The worm lightly claps the spider’s shoulder with an open palm, “You have to stop scaring newcomers!” He leans down to Feryn’s level to make eye contact with his three red eyes. Feryn is slightly uncomfortable with this and grips their bag’s shoulder strap. “Death is nothing to be scared of. It simply is, such as a fact of life. Ease, and take gratitude for the life given is a gift. Praise the Lamb.”
Feryn is still uncomfortable, but reciprocates with a wry smile, “Praise the Lamb.”
“I believe introductions are in order…” The spider clears his throat followed by a light chuckle. He collects his colleague with a brief and gentle grip on the shoulder. “My name is Allocer” The spider places a hand on his chest and bows slightly to Feryn. Feryn reciprocates with a wave.
“And mine, Agares.” The worm stands tall besides Allocer, “We are Witnesses to our former gods, and faithfully devoted to our Lamb. Who do we have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“Oh! I’m Feryn, I live on a farm in Darkwood!” They shoot their hand out, fingers splayed to receive a warm handshake. Each take turns to grasp their hand with both of their own. A palm is placed on the back of Feryn’s, lightly pressing before releasing their hand.
Allocer’s movements are methodical and calculated. He tilts his head towards Agares as his arms find placement in the sleeves of his robe. Inquisitive as a spider is, he remarks, “Ah, Darkwood… I do recall you calling it ‘home’ once.”
“Yes, yes, it once was, long ago! I wish for the dirt beneath my claws, but I recall the flowers that grew in the wood. I hope it remains so, yes?” Agares wistfully rests the side of his claw at his lips, awaiting a response.
Feryn averts their eyes, grimaces, and fidgets with their hands, “...that’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to Ember about…”
“Mmm… I see…” Agares’s hand falls as he sinks into thought, “the chaos never really ends, does it?” He laughs drily, but there’s emotion behind that reflection.
“The temple always extends its availability to serve its devoted followers, should they accept,” Allocer tilts his head down to Feryn, and extends a hand as an invitation. “Perhaps a more private area will best ease your troubles.”
Feryn locks their hand with his while he guides them up the adjacent stairs to the secondary level. Agares follows closely behind, at a pace that matches the leading two. Feryn is now able to see what they couldn’t when they were down below. The second floor is an administrative office of some sort. From what Feryn could gather, the passing conversations were of resource allocation, zoning, and request processing. It confirmed Feryn’s suspicion that the temple came prior to the town. Still, Feryn had a myriad of questions, including the purpose of a Witness and why they would be compelled to convert if they were truly devoted prior to the Lamb. Now wasn’t the time to ask, but should there be a break in conversation, they’ll certainly keep it in mind.
The three approach a wooden door made of the same material as the front of the temple. Allocer releases Feryn’s grip and reaches into his robes to collect a key to unlock the door. He pushes the door in and steps aside, allowing Feryn and Agares to enter.
The large oval table sits at the focal point in the room on top of a rug that appeared as old as the temple itself. The white stone floors and walls allow the sun to reflect light into the room through the three arched windows to the right. The windows allowed sight onto the courtyard down below. Notably, another door peers beyond the curtains behind the table and appears inaccessible. Feryn believes this may be a bedroom, but doesn’t let their curiosity wander further than it needs to. They seat themself at the closest available seat, and wait for the other two to seat themselves before discussions open. Nothing is spoken until this point and Feryn is feeling anxious once again; they fidget with their shoulder strap before noticing the deep scratch marks embedded in the wood grain where they sit.
“We hope Divinity’s Dirge is treating you well.” Allocer is considerate not to sit in such a position where he would be blocking the only exit. Agares is mindful of this display, and wishes the same by repositioning himself on Allocer’s left side. Though this wasn’t an optimal seating situation for appearances, the door was available at any given time for Feryn to leave on their own accord.
“Of course! It’s much bigger than I imagined! I’ve never been to a town like this before. I only stopped in earlier today. I was really hoping Ember would be available for this discussion, though.”
“Yes, she and her… she’s absent for the moment. Though it’s been days since anyone has seen her last.” Allocer acknowledges that Feryn is just a visitor.
“Please proceed, we will ensure Ember obtains this information, with utmost urgency.” Agares intertwines his claws before setting them onto the table. They notice that his claws are too small to have caused the gouges on the table.
“My family and I share ownership over this farm…”
The day progresses and the sun favors westward. There are a few hours of daylight remaining, and Feryn knows that the more detail they have to offer, the more information the Witnesses will have to relay. The two listen intently, willing to interject with their own questions, but the three know there’s only so much time left before the temple closes for the night.
The two finally decide the best course of action would be to welcome Feryn to the flock. Usually this process is done by Ember. However, with her absence and the severity of the situation, the Witnesses would need to assume leadership. Though this “indoctrination” is weak without the approval from the remaining Witnesses— better yet, the Bishops—they still provide means necessary to allow Feryn in. The proper indoctrination process will come in due time.
“We will extend an offer for your stay. The temple has resources available for your assurance. We will return once we have confirmation of the housing status.” Allocer rises from his seat with Agares following soon after. They exit the same wooden door they entered through, leaving Feryn seated, alone in thought.
Their fingers find themselves tracing the gouges, almost forming the shape of the claws with their mind, allowing their gaze to stiffen. They appear as if this wasn’t the first occurrence. They shape their hands to match the shapes of the gouges to get a better understanding of these motions. Through replicating these motions, they notice this was likely done with a forceful stand. They wonder what could have caused this. Frustration? Anxiety? Maybe each occurrence had a different purpose, but they’ve remained consistent in pattern— a typical behavior for such an outburst. The shape of the table only clues Feryn that this room was meant for meetings. They’re curious but not enough to dare being disrespectful and snoop through the contents of the bureau nearby, especially for all the time they’ve poured into getting to the temple.
A sudden argument between two people is heard from the courtyard. It sounds emotionally charged, but it’s too incoherent for Feryn to understand. Feryn slides off their chair to the window where they can source the location of the argument. They place themself by the edge and sneak a glance over their shoulder down below. Before they can visually gather information, they hear vivid profanities before an earthly quake sends them to the ground. The argument ends as soon as this happens and the uncomfortable silence brings Feryn back to their feet. Feryn looks beyond the window only to be presented with no discerning information. The courtyard is empty, and no scholars remain, and it appears the night is setting in. Feryn returns to their seat and sets their hand back into the gouges, tracing them again while they watch the window with unease.
The Witnesses address their return with a knock at the door, which causes Feryn’s tail to bristle. They don’t wait for a response to enter, and return to their previous positions at the table. They’re pleased to see they have remained in the room. However, the news they intend to deliver isn’t one to justify the same contentment. This begins with each of them laying several sheets of paper at the table, assumingly each would be referenced as the conversation progresses.
“There are no accommodations available in Nerium Estates. In fact, we will need to reallocate funds to expand housing for the estates if we want to ensure security for all anticipating residents.” Allocer begins without a greeting. Feryn doesn’t take this personally— it’s been a long evening, and the context of the situation warranted no particular warmth.
“We do have a more permanent space available for business, should that interest you.” Agares chimes in with mild empathy, though it appears as hesitation. This aspect of the subject may have been discussed in the office. Feryn believes it has something to do with the unofficial indoctrination process, but they keep this detail in mind when they get to encounter Ember– in fact, they’ll likely stew on how best to bring this detail to Ember, at all.
The accommodation is described briefly as being close enough to the market, but not on the main road. Agares fans the sheets out onto the table to locate the map. He unseats himself and approaches Feryn’s side, squatting so as to not intimidate. His claw points out the plot he marked with ink, alongside a route of easiest navigation. There are other buildings nearby, but there’s minimal detail on what resides there; it could be other businesses or apartments for all Feryn knows. The opportunity excites them enough to forget all that occurred in the courtyard moments ago. They imagine themself running a shop selling seasonal produce alongside their family, and building a happier relationship with their father, all things considered, this was a perfect opportunity! “That’s exactly what I’m looking for!”
“Wonderful, I will return with the paperwork.” Agares stands, leaving the map with Feryn. He’s about to turn before Allocer places a hand on Agares’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, I’ll retrieve it.”
For once, Agares is alone with Feryn and he replaces himself in his seat.
“Can I ask you something?” Feryn is quiet to interrupt the silence, but Agares is unbothered by either noise or silence. He tilts his head to suggest an admission. Feryn removes their hands from the table allowing their focus to be consumed by the gouges once again. “Who…” The remainder of the question was at the ends of their lips, but nothing came of it. They allow the question to terminate before feeling the need to necessitate a following one, “What was…” They feel themself impatient with the fact their thoughts are not stringing together and they bring their hand to their face to pinch the bridge of their nose.
It’s late and Agares does not blame them. He reaches across the table to regain their attention. “It’s a lot for one day, isn’t it?” Agares smiles with two of his three eyes.
Feryn’s day isn’t quite over, but the weight of the day is really wearing in. And they have yet to eat– if only they hadn’t eaten just cake, they would feel more energetic. They decide at that moment, it would be best to visit Forneus and settle in the apartment, furnished or not. They know they will sleep well. “Yeah…” Feryn’s attitude shifts from concern to exhaustion. They feel mildly vulnerable in the company of those they just met, but they can’t seem to help themself.
Allocer returns again, without knocking on the door this time. A leasing agreement finds placement on Feryn’s side, along with a pen. They understand this is a contract, and they sit themself up to remain attentive. They read the agreement, make sense of it, and sign on the dotted line. They now rent the property, although they still have wavering thoughts of signing away at a location that they haven’t gotten to see in person. Feryn doesn’t know what to expect, but it’s something to worry about in the morning. Allocer provides two sets of keys, while Agares provides the map. They own an apartment now, and this newfound excitement provides just enough energy to thank the two for their generosity. They leave at a reasonable pace, but their heart flutters with excitement.
Feryn follows the stairs downward with haste and they notice the scent of lilies and incense were replaced with roses and sandalwood. They disregard it and continue through the doors that shut behind them. The temple is closed for the night, and Feryn couldn’t help feeling a little guilty for keeping the Witnesses and the staff.
Allocer stands with his arms held within his robes. He watches Feryn run through the courtyard. They trip over their own feet and tumble to the ground before picking themself up again, collecting their bag’s spilled contents, and resume their pace. He sighs in a way to alleviate a building stress.
“Brother… your mind weighs heavy. Is there something you wish to discuss?” Agares approaches closely behind.The moonlight begins to creep through the window, along with a breeze that gently sway the curtains, not cold enough to consider drawing them for the night.
Allocer’s vision is fixed onto the remains of the courtyard. Nothing notable is found, aside from the stillness of once a bustling area of scholars and worshippers alike. Empty benches, and silent breezeways add an unsettling contrast to the stillness. “Do you think perhaps he is responsible?” His voice is low, and grave. The tone cements the concern for Agares as he is taken aback before he momentarily processes this notion.
“No-no. He was liberated… I don’t believe he could–
“Don’t be so naive…” Allocer’s venom coats his words, though not to the resistance of Agares.
The latch to the door is unlocked by a secondary key, which forces the Witness’s attention from the courtyard. The breeze wafts the scent of roses throughout the room.
Feryn returns to the town center by retracing their footsteps, and it feels faster now that they know how to navigate back. The moon begins to take place, and Feryn is adamant to visit Forneus before the night wears on to share the exciting news. In the distance, they can see the market as lively as it was before they arrived at the temple. The nightlife is filled with food, drink, and music, but they’re uncertain if this was the norm or not. It takes Feryn a bit to recall where they have left Forneus, and they weave through the streets between stalls and people to get a visual of the caravan. Hunger pangs at the back of their throat and they begin to feel nauseous, but now is not the time to give in. They ignore the clear indications– a very familiar response to hunger when on the farm. Sometimes the yield necessitated skipping meals, but especially when raiders would take directly from their labor. Feryn hopes this will change when they finally get established with the business. They forget about Forneus and the caravan, while they aimlessly roam about between people and carts. The sounds of music, cooking, laughing and conversations blend as one before it blurs and fades. Their attention is flayed to their father, and how hesitant he is to change. They have no idea how he would react when they tell him the plan. Though it’s not much different from the original, straying from it– no matter how minimally– could cause him to retract from their proposition. Feryn understands that all of this is risky, but wishes Tyren would be more accommodating. He’s not as kind and understanding as he once was. The two have changed so much, yet he still blames them for–
“Feryn!” A very familiar voice pierces through their rumination– it’s Forneus! An exhausted Feryn searches through the crowd to locate the caravan and the large black cat. She sits on a large red rug, with goods she intended on selling, a very similar display to a flea market. It all ranges between furniture, clothes, and home goods; practically anything that would appeal to people with an affinity for antiquities. They don’t know the extent of her successful transactions, but it appears that it’s enough to sustain her hobbies and self. Forneus’s stall is old fashioned, as expected from an ordained immortal. The canopy is made of a patchwork fabric she maintains herself. There are many years— lifetimes— of use and though it’s weathered, Forneus manages to always add her charm to every stitch. Forneus helps herself off the rug, collecting the contents of the day’s potential sales, returning them to the rear of the caravan. “Hello again, my dear!” Forneus' warmth maintains its kindling, although she’s had a much longer day than Feryn. Feryn doesn’t know how she does it, but they sit cross-legged on the red rug while Forneus tidies the remaining contents of her product. “How does your day go?”
Feryn allows a sigh to escape their throat, while they dig into their bag. They retrieve the map and provide it to Forneus while remaining seated. They don’t have energy to entertain, but they want to be respectful, all things considered. They hope this visit is brief so they can quickly locate the apartment and get some rest. Forneus receives the map and assesses the notes. “Ahh, productive as usual, I see.” The changed behavior tips off Forneus that something about Feryn isn’t operating optimally, but she likes to refer to this as a mother’s intuition. She retrieves a picnic basket from the back of the caravan and sits it in front of Feryn. “Please, give yourself something to eat.”
“But–
“Shush, child. Eat, then we can talk.” Forneus returns the map by placing it to the closest side of the basket and occupies herself with reorganizing the contents of the caravan to make space for the night. She’s preparing bedding space for two while Feryn gingerly paws through the contents of the basket.
Feryn is too considerate to Forneus’s preferences and wishes not to disrespect by eating something she would like to eat later. They also know that if they don’t eat, Forneus would take more offense. They grab an apple and some crackers, not to tide themself over, but to alleviate the burning sensation they have in the back of their throat. The food in the market smelled enticing, but they knew this wasn’t smart to fill with something heavy in the off chance it would come back up. They nibble on the cracker, while they stare at the map on the rug. For the moment, food is not appetizing and they allow it to melt in their mouth before they swallow the contents. Forneus is pleased that there aren’t any more protests and decides to engage the conversation, while not expecting a verbal response.
“I wish you would take better care of yourself.” She comes from a place of concern. She doesn’t make eye contact while she rummages through the caravan. She finds placement for some items by hanging them on a cross beam she fashioned. “If you need help, I need to know. Do you have gold?” She turns to see the response.
They nod, still staring at the map on the floor as if it would detail new information. Nothing seems to break their fixation for the moment. Forneus tuts, “you haven’t seen the apartment yet, have you?” They shake their head, while they finish the first cracker and move onto the second. Their appetite is slowly working up, but they still feel nauseous. “So you don’t know if it’s furnished or not?” Another shake of their head is a sufficient response. They finally begin to chew on the contents; an honest effort is being made.
“Right… Well, let’s expect there to be none, so tonight you’ll be staying with me in the caravan. It’s warm, I promise!” Forneus sounded excitable on the prospect of a sleepover, but it was mostly because it meant helping a kit in need.
Feryn speaks for the first time, and to Forneus, it was the first time she’s heard their voice all day. “No, it’s okay. I have to see what I’m working with. I need to be comfortable with my decisions…”
Forneus expected this from them, and chuckled at their ambitious effort in their current condition. She ends her shuffling to turn and seat herself at the end of the caravan. It creaks and tilts to her weight, “you certainly are the hardworking-type, my dear. It’s quite alright, I won’t force you to do anything unless it’s to love and care for yourself. Moderate yourself, otherwise you won’t have a body to work in.”
Feryn finishes their second cracker and follows it with the third and forth, stacked together. It’s ambitious, considering the tightness they have in their abdomen, but that’s about as much food Feryn is willing to stomach without getting sick. The apple will be eaten later in the night. They stuff it in their bag before taking the map and helping themself back to their feet. “It’s hard, but I’ll try to remember. Thank you so much for the food!”
Forneus smiles with the cinnamon warmth, “of course, my dear!” Her expression shifts to a realization while she stands back up, continuing to rummage through the caravan. This time it was to retrieve a present— a nicely wrapped brown box with a red ribbon. “Consider this a housewarming gift!” She hands the box to Feryn who receives it without argument.
“Thank you! I’m excited to see what it is!” Feryn finds the box rather hefty. They wrap their arms around the box and hold it close to their stomach. They’re stricken with guilt, “is there anything I can help with before I go?”
“It's quite alright, my dear! I leave the rug and canopy as there wouldn’t be room in the back, otherwise. Tend to yourself, would you?” With a wave of a hand Forneus dismisses Feryn. If Feryn would have stayed longer, she was certain they would find something to delay their departure.
“Okay…” there was disappointment present in Feryn’s voice, and it’s difficult to hide how exhausted they are even with a quick bite. Not like they would make good use of themself, either. They know it is time to leave. “Thanks again for all your help.” They shift the gift to one arm and give Forneus a hug with the other.
Forneus returns the hug with both of her hands and holds them in place for a little longer than Feryn had expected. Forneus releases her grip and gives them a gentle nudge to send them off into the streets where they were now on a mission to locate the apartment.
Navigating the streets was fairly simple and they’re thankful for the Witnesses to have provided a map at all. It felt like several minutes of walking, but they’re now found by the bakery which was one of few locations marked on the map. The bakery has long since closed for the day, but Feryn can still smell the aroma of honeyed bread. They’ll keep that in mind for when they need a quick bite in the morning. There are no hours posted on the door, but they assume the shop will open some time after the sermon. They refer to the map to get a better sense of location. The street is silent except for the light buzzing from the street lamps. The nightlife from the main street is obscured by the buildings; it’s a faint dissonance they search for with their ears. The breeze tickles their whiskers, causing their tail to flick as a response to the sudden chill. There’s a plot across the street from where the bakery is located, and they wonder if this is the place.
The plot is a patch of grass, mud and weeds, but there’s a two story building beside it. It looks like a storefront, but they’re not entirely certain this is the place. They look both directions before crossing the road in a light jog, then place Forneus’s gift on the doorstep while they peek around the property. They press their face to the window. The interior is spacious, and filled with opportunity. Fabric covers three round tables, but they can’t see what’s behind the counter. It looks like another room, but they will have to get a closer look– if this is the correct property, of course. The Witnesses said that the apartment included a plot and a storefront. They step away from the window to look towards the balcony, there’s a sliding glass door with curtains. This doesn’t give much information to Feryn, but the only way to validate this assumption is to try the door.
They dig into their bag and sift around for the keys… the keys are not there. They begin to panic, “Shit... shit!” Through gritted teeth, they flip their bag inside out onto the sidewalk where all their belongings scatter. There’s no sign of the set of keys the Witnesses provided. They must have dropped it at the temple, which had to be about a mile and a half away. Tears start to well in their eyes when they check their pockets and feel nothing like keys.
Suddenly, they hear the locking mechanism click.
Startled, they quickly turn from the mess on the ground. The keys are in the keyhole and the door is slightly propped open. There’s no other sign of tampering and no one would have entered without their knowledge– they would have heard something… they think…They are tired, but their intuition suggests there is no threat here. Feryn second guesses themself, maybe they did have the keys in the mechanism before they looked into the window. It’s hard to think clearly. They collect their belongings and stuff it into their bag while their eyes remain on the door. They’re left alone to the buzz of the street lamps, but they can’t help but to feel watched...
Feryn picks up the gift and removes the keys from the door and closes it behind them, being mindful to lock the door with the keys in hand. There’s a set of stairs to the left of the shop, recessed behind the counter in the secondary room. It starts with three steps and turns to the left, leading up to a landing with another locked door. The air is stale and smells of old carpet, and this will be remedied with some time, but for now it is the least of their worries. The key slips into this locking mechanism with ease and with a turn, the door swings open, allowing entry into the apartment. They close the door behind them, also keeping track of the keys similarly as before. At the left side of this door, there is a closet with a sliding wood door that reveals a built-in storage unit consisting of a few cubes, a tension bar, and a shoe rack. They kick their boots off and store them in on the rack before proceeding a final step into what appears to be the living room. There is no furniture here, but they can already imagine the potential layout.
Directly facing the far end of the living room is the sliding glass door they managed to see from down below. And to their left is the kitchen, laundry room, bathroom, and bedroom in consecutive order. The silence is deafening, but this is surprisingly remedied by the creaking and a gentle hum of a radiator. There is heat! They leave their bag, keys, and gift on the kitchen counter and quickly check the bathroom for running water. They switch on the lights to reveal the room beautifully tiled. There’s an off white herringbone pattern against two walls where the bathtub sits. The bathtub is also elegantly done with teal hexagonal tiles. Feryn adores this feature and an excitable squeal escapes their body as they reach in to turn the knob. It takes some time for the water to get hot enough for a bath. They started to remove their apron, and socks, but realized quickly that they failed to consider bringing soap or a towel with them for this trip. They do recall the light blanket that they intended to use for the night. Surely, they can use that and lay it on top of the radiator to quickly dry. While the tub is filling, they return to the kitchen in their red off shoulder crop top and underwear to write in their journal and collect the blanket for the bath. Forneus’s gift also insists on being opened, so they prioritize this above everything else. They undo the ribbon and remove the brown paper binding the box with consideration not to tear it. They set the lid underneath the box and gently reach inside. It’s soft and thick– they remove it from containment to reveal a blanket. The very same Forneus was working on earlier in the day! And it still smells of her signature cinnamon and cardamom. Feryn pushes the box further down the counter and allows more space to neatly fold the blanket. They’re excited to be sleeping with it tonight, knowing it’s tight knits will contain their body heat! Now onto the journal entry! They rummage through their bag for a pen and their journal, turning to the next page:
Hoiiii Journal!!
I have some good news and bad. I went to the temple and Ember wasn’t there :( I’ll try again tomorrow! I was able to get an apartment out of this under the condition that I pay the temple back for the housing expansion. It’s a lot… but I can do this, I think! I have to! I want to fix the problems I caused for my family. I hope they’re doing okay. Ugh I don’t know where to begin, let’s be honest. I’ll get more information before I seriously get myself involved. I think this place can really be wonderful, and I hope papa sees what I see. He didn’t respond to my text. And I promised I’d update, but I’ll call in the morning when I have time. Forneus made me this really warm blanket! I didn’t know that was what she was making on the way here! I mean, I figured it was a blanket but I didn’t know it was for me! She’s really nice to me. I wish she were my mom…
I did meet some really cute guys though! I’m so glad I didn’t embarrass myself in front of them! =^w^=
I know, I know, I have to stay on track, but I can see a lot of opportunity here <3
-Sigh- You don’t know this yet, Journal, but I will continue to make it obvious! My ideal boyfriend is tall, dark and handsome! Added points if he’s a little freak! Eehehe! >///< One day~
Anyway!
love, meeee! <3
They don’t know for how long it’s gone unnoticed, but the moonlight casts a shadow against their back. They turn to stare at the drawn curtains. They can’t remember if they had left them open or if they were open when they got there. They do… They DO! The curtains were shut when they observed them at ground level!
Someone is inside!
They pin themself to the kitchen floor against the cabinet where they’re sure they can’t be seen. They break a cold sweat, and their breathing becomes shaky. They don’t have anything to defend themself. They know if it were the farm, they would have a knife, but this isn’t the farm. Either they wait this out or confront the intruder. It’s time to be brave– they hold their breath, release and turn the corner. The darkness obscures the tall intruder and the only revealing color emits from his three red eyes. He wears primarily black and his hair obscures his right eye. He stares down at Feryn, head tilted. A cold chill shoots down Feryn’s spine. Their tail bushes as they let out a tiny squeak. The intruder says nothing, but a light chuckle escapes through his nose while the sound of a book closes. Their journal!
Feryn’s eyes widen and they feel their cheeks flush red. They bring their hand to their face, covering their gasp. “You! You read my journal!”
The tall black cat turns and flicks his tail at them, “That’s the least of your concern.” His voice is deep and icy, and the energy he exerts is effortless yet powerful.
This is no normal follower, their intuition tells them. Their bashfulness turns to anger, and they decide to test this theory. “Who are you? Why are you here? Do you like invading spaces?”
“I don’t have time for this.” He snaps, making his way to the balcony. He slides the glass door open. He pauses at the doorway, and looks back over his shoulder. “It’s bad enough that I entertained you.”
“Wait, where are you going? I want answers!” Feryn follows him to the balcony, no longer bashful of their immodesty.
He climbs over the balcony, hanging over the edge, “You’ll get them. Later, Dreamer.” He releases his grip and lands gracefully, impressing Feryn who’s left at the edge of the balcony where he once was, their hands gripping the railing. He walks across the street, climbs onto the awning of the bakery, then onto the roof. He runs from rooftop to rooftop towards the direction of the temple. His mystique left such an impression on Feryn, they're speechless.
They are still perturbed by the intrusion and disrupting their downtime– Their bath! They run back to the bathroom where the water still fills the tub. Just in time, any longer and it would have flooded. They drain some of the excess water and account for the displacement. While it is draining, they return to the back door to lock it and shut the curtains. Then double check the front door before taking the apple with them. They return to the bathroom to find a basket on the counter. Was that always there? Enough water has drained. They close the stopper, and direct their attention to the basket. There’s a note hand written by Ember; this will be good reading material for when they soak. Inside the basket is a bottle of soap, a towel, and fabric detergent. They’re elated that they won’t need to use their old blanket as a towel. They take the note, towel, apple and soap to the tub. They leave these items within reach and pour a small amount of the soap into the bathwater. It’s rose scented, and it smells absolutely divine. They remove their remaining clothes and step into the tub. They rest their eyes to relish the moment. Just when they believe they will doze to sleep, they awake to dry their damp hand on the new towel and secure a grip on the apple and note they promised themself to read. They take sizable bites out of the apple while reading the note quietly.
“Dearest Feryn,
I hope your first night bodes well!
My Witnesses have spoken so much about you.
I wish to discuss business at your earliest convenience.
Be not afraid, for I will find you.
Your One and Holy,
Ember"
“That’s a little ominous… I suppose if that's how she wants to do things, I can't argue with it.” They take another chunk from the apple and munch on it before setting the note on the opposite edge of the tub. They finish the rest of the apple before setting the core on the edge, within reach. “I have another long day tomorrow…” Feryn sinks into the tub, blowing bubbles with their nose, and splay their toes just above the water while they hum quietly to themself– finally, a moment of peace.
They stir back up, giving their attention to the core again. They snap it in half and use their claws to dig out the seeds. The seeds are kept in a row within the grout of the tiles. When the water starts to cool, they sit themself up and dry themself off while they drain the tub. The scent of roses sticks to their fur and they feel more radiant than they ever had. It’s been a long time since they’ve felt serenity.
They wrap themself with the towel and knot it around their chest while they take their clothes to the washer in the laundry room, but there’s no rush to run a cycle now. The intention for tonight is to unwind and ease to sleep, but work never truly ends does it? They return to the bathroom to collect the seeds and bring them to the kitchen where Feryn scratches at the ends, exposing the whites. They tear a long piece of the paper that once wrapped the blanket and they wet it at the sink until it’s become entirely saturated. They place the seeds onto the wet paper, giving them some space in between and sectioning them off into tiny squares. The sheet remains intact otherwise. The saturated sheet is then placed underneath the radiator, where it could get the indirect heat it needs.
Feryn sighs, and now it’s time to go to bed. They find a fresh pair of underwear, hang their towel on the bathroom rack, and bring Forneus’s blanket to the bedroom. It should be unsurprising that there is also no furniture here, though it doesn’t bother them for the moment, they know it’s an issue they need to resolve at some point. They return with their bag and place it on the floor where they rest their head and wrap themself over the shoulder with the blanket. The cardamom and cinnamon is pressed into their nose as they bring their knees and tail inward.
Inhale. Exhale. Tears run down their cheeks, routinely marking an end to the day.
Notes:
Intruder Alert 🚨
Chapter 3: Ember: The One And Holy
Summary:
It’s Feryn’s first official day in Divinity’s Dirge, and they’re excited to see what the town has to offer! Of course, business comes first! Feryn discusses the fate of the farm and residents with Ember. With better plans on relocation efforts, Feryn can now establish their business. Surely, the past won’t interfere with this process.
Notes:
I will do my best to indicate prior to the chapter what types and when triggering events occur, including skips. Skips will be highlighted in bold, and mentioned in the notes.
CW/TW: Domestic Abuse.
Start Skip: "And he knew who."
End Skip: "No more noise, no more pain; otherwise, a peaceful night, which became no different from the last."CW/TW: Suicide Mention (not highlighted, but detailed near the end of chapter)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s warm and humid during this particular night. The chickens trilled quietly in their coop and people have made beds of their haystacks in the barn. It’s quiet aside from the chirps of the field crickets and ripe wheat rustling in the wind, which sing farewells to summer. Autumn is coming, and it only makes its presence known in the mornings. It’s a cloudless night, and if no alarm bells are heard, not much else is to be expected. For a good night is a quiet one, and for once, tranquility blankets the farm— a peace not felt for in years. In the farmhouse, Tyren sleeps lightly on his reclining chair as usual. Nights were especially rough as it meant being vigilant to raiders, but whatever the case he was always in the company of a bottle of liquor. It didn’t matter what type or flavor it was—it was simply whatever his favorite merchant, Plimbo, would bring in from the sea. Drinking usually started some time after dinner, when the children went to sleep and he was alone with his thoughts. Liquor made it all disappear, but he made it a special case never to drink around the boys as they were too young and impressionable, as preteens usually are.
Feryn, however, knew the extent of his drinking as they were often called upon when he would purge his contents. He would berate them, insult them, make them cry just to see if there was any remorse behind their tears. Feryn would try their hardest to hold back tears, but it was to no avail. It made Tyren angry seeing Feryn cry— an insult to his injury. His toleration frequently reached a threshold, and would remove his belt before punishing Feryn. Buckle or leather, he chose quickly depending on how insulted he felt. Screams polluted the air and echoed up the stairs, waking the boys. They learned quickly never to cry around him. Heon and Yatre remained in their beds and though it was dark, they knew where the other was. They would stare at each other begging for it to stop.
This night was different. Tyren woke from his chair and bent forward to grab the neck of the bottle. With clumsy fingers, it had knocked over onto the rug; luckily there was nothing left to spill. He grumbled something incoherent to himself before picking it up and placing it onto the side table. He pulls himself from his chair, tossing aside his blanket while the rest of him slumps to a stand. He can taste acidity in the back of his throat as he slowly makes his way to the cellar door, careful not to make too much noise for the children’s sake. The cellar acted as storage for preserves, but these were the days his favors took precedence. Tyren had paused before the door. Something lured him up the stairs towards the bedrooms and he abandoned his original plan for the night— drinking himself back to sleep.
His hand fell on the railing and leaned against the wall to prop himself up as he made the ascent, dragging his shoulder against the wall with each step. At the landing, there was another door that stopped him in his tracks. Heon and Yatre’s room. With a careful turn of the knob, he pushed the door open. They were sound asleep in their own beds. Good. If things were as expected, they would have been under the covers reading comics by flashlight. Something Tyren hated was interacting with the children while he was drunk as his intent was to never leave an impression, especially when he was at his most vulnerable. He was strong and unmovable like the earth beneath his feet; that is, until the tremors break it free. He entered the room as quietly as a drunken cat could, and placed himself between their two separate beds. Tyren leaned forward and kissed each of their foreheads before leaving with the same steadiness as he could. He closed the door behind himself, of course granting one more look at his children before he left them for the night.
There’s a door at the end of the hallway; one that was closed for years now, and even the children knew never to open that door. Through his drunken haze, he knew what was inside— and how it looked before it was locked. It captivated him with anguish— one he needed to extinguish, but doing so may cause him to forget what was once inside. He approached the door with tears welling in his eyes. That was a very rare sight from an anchor. He drug his feet along, as there was an evident battle between his mind and body. Tears stream down his face as the distance shortens between the force and the unmovable object. Tyren inhales sharply to compose himself. He needs to leave, but the door demands his presence. He’s here… available… He just needs to exist.
He reaches for the knob only for the door to slip from his fingers. It had been open the entire time, within reach– waiting, wanting for him whenever the opportunity arose. He was not prepared for himself. The room remained the same as it ever was. A bed is centered alone with a daffodil-print quilted duvet, enclosed by walls of white. Apart from this, nothing else lived here. Peonies tease his nose and with trepidation, he’s stricken with a wrath he hadn’t experienced since.
Someone tampered with the door.
Someone disobeyed.
And he knew who.
He kicks open the door directly to the right and stomps inward.
“Papa?” A shriek came from beneath the daisy print blanket. By the time Feryn was able to react, Tyren had already forced himself on top, pinning their wrists to the mattress. Feryn struggles to free themself of him, but his grip wrings harder around their wrists. “No, dad! Stop, please! What did I do? What did I do?” They kick from underneath, but he’s heavy and significantly stronger than they are– they can’t push him off– he’s overpowered them!
“YOU FORCE MY HANDS FOR THE LAST FUCKING TIME!” In Tyren’s blind rage, he frees his hands from their wrists in search of a new location. Feryn seized this opportunity to give themself leverage, pushing him off balance. They kick him to knock him down momentarily while they attempt to run. Their foot is tangled in the blanket, causing them to trip forward and impact the wood floor. Tyren recovers quickly while Feryn panics at the attempt to break away from the blanket. He pulls Feryn by their tail and straddles them, once again, his hands pin their collar bones.
This time they claw at his face, kicking, and screaming for help. Their brothers do not leave their room, and Feryn is left to deal with Tyren, themself. Their cries fall to fear. “Why are you doing this?”
Tyren lifts them by their nightgown and slams them onto the floor, “YOU DID THIS TO ME!” He replaces his hand onto the fur on their head before repeating this motion again, and again! Just when Feryn is about to lose consciousness, he punches them with such force that blood stains everything nearby—their nightgown, their bedsheets, his face, there was no indication of him stopping.
“Papa… I’m sorry!!” Feryn cries louder than they had before. The physical pain, the emotional trauma, the fact they do still love him even after all this— they’re desperate. This infuriates him further, and he wraps his hands around their neck. His elbows lock, and his grip tightens. They can’t breathe and their vision blurs, Feryn weakly reaches for his face to caress. His tears pelt Feryn’s cheeks as they force one last raspy thought, “I love you...”
Their vision fades to black. No more noise, no more pain; otherwise, a peaceful night, which became no different from the last.
Feryn gasps awake! They take a moment to collect themself, while breathing heavily. They sit up and notice the blanket. That’s right! Forneus made it for them… The room… they’re in their apartment. It was a dream… Just a dream that felt too real. Feryn brings their knees to their chest to reflect. Mostly on the kind of day they want to have. They reach for their phone that they had left in their bag. It’s midday and the sermon starts at dawn— they completely missed it. And their father never did text them back. They decide to send another:
Hoiiii, papa! I got an apartment :3 I’m gonna talk to Ember about moving people over from the farm! See! I’m useful! :D
And sent. Though they have second thoughts about sending the last part, maybe it could be interpreted as playful. At least that’s the tone they set for all their texts so far. It’s never easy to please others.
The musty carpet tickles their nose, and they itch at it with the back of their hand. This led to them grooming the sleep and sadness from their face. It’s time to start the day. They pull themself off the floor and fold their blanket to take and leave on the kitchen counter. There’s no furniture, and they recognize this is becoming an issue. One thing they can do is clean their space and make it feel a little livable. Even without furniture, it would be nice to remedy the smell of dust. Getting fresh air was a sufficient replacement for the time being. Feryn returns to their bedroom to switch into clothes for the day. Another red crop top, another apron, long socks, and their signature bandana. They make their way to the back door and stand against the railing on the balcony, observing the midday bustle. The bakery’s bread seduces their senses and at that moment Feryn believes it would be lovely to be somewhere else. It’d also be an excuse to enjoy a treat, maybe even meet some people. It’s hopeful, but not expected.
Once comfortable with their current course of action, they return to the kitchen to empty the rest of their bag’s contents onto the countertop. They decide on what best to bring with them to do their errands. Definitely their coin purse. Even if they don’t use it, bringing the campus map may prove useful. Their journal can be useful for taking notes throughout the day– maybe they can repurpose their bag as storage for their shopping trips. They stop rifling through their belongings as they’re reminded by the hum of the radiator to check on the apple seeds. They’re warm and still saturated, but there are some spots that need water. They bring the pulp sheet to the kitchen sink for a light sprinkling and set it back to the spot where they originally left it. They collect their things for their day, slip into their boots, and stand by the entrance. They stare back into the empty space and it stares back at them. They inhale deeply before exhaling with the same force. Then turn to leave their apartment before securing it.
Feryn is at the base of the steps taking a better look around the back room. There’s a door that leads to the rear of the property. They’ll investigate the layout later, but for now, there’s much work to be done! They notice the cloth-draped tables that occupy the sea of floor space. Their eyes are drawn to the alcove that is adorably placed at the very front of the shop. They toy with ideas for the layout and how to fill the space. They know the alcove is something they want to keep as a focal point. It is one of the few things they want to keep in this place. The tables will have to be used for the meantime, but they don’t know the condition of each to really make that assessment. Feryn closes and locks the door upon their exit before placing the keys in their pocket with a pat.
Feryn stands staring at their reflection in the door momentarily and for it to smile back. Once satisfied, they turned to notice details they hadn’t caught during their first night. Long segments of soil follow the edges of the sidewalk and provide ample space for trees to grow. The leaves have begun revealing colors at the edges, reminding Feryn that there isn’t much time left to admire. They make their way across the street where the scent of fresh bread and butter reel them through the door.
The bakery was larger on the inside than it appeared outdoors. The warm lighting, soft music, and cloth-lined dining tables offer a cozy cafe experience. Shelving accommodates the pastries that sit loose with parchment paper on trays. They’re brought out by employees who effortlessly shelve them while patrons pick. Behind the rustic counter, another group of employees work quickly in different stages of preparation to stock more pastries; kneading, baking, and glazing— there is a clear sense of pride in the process. It's busier than they anticipated, but there is table space available for Feryn to choose when their time comes. It’s almost overwhelming with the amount of conversations that take place at once. It’s muddied into a clamor where nothing stands apart from the noise except for a laugh— a recognizable one, but Feryn didn’t seem too phased by it as they were next in line to pick a pastry. They figure they can’t go wrong with a croissant, and move to the counter where they are greeted with a warm welcome. The menu above is written with lovely handwriting on a chalkboard with drawings of mushrooms and leaves. Seems that people were excited for autumn and they’re reminded again of their mission. Feryn isn’t certain what is good nor had they ever tried it until now, but they order a black coffee. This will take some time to prepare and they find an available table near a window.
While they wait, they dig into their bag and bring out their journal. They make a list of improvements they would like to see in their apartment: a bed, a coffee table, a couch, chairs, and a table for the balcony. This is sufficient enough for now, and they return to the beginning of the journal to add another entry. Before they begin writing, their coffee arrives in a cappuccino cup. They glance upwards to thank their server. It’s Forneus! “I heard your order and thought I’d bring it out specially for you, dear!” She wears a cream crocheted knit cardigan and a black dress with brown boots.
This isn’t something she typically wears and Feryn makes assumptions for the attire. “Oh! Thank you! And thank you for the blanket, it’s very cozy and it kept me warm last night!”
“Of course, my dear child, I’m glad to hear! Let me know if there is anything else you would need for this winter. I wouldn’t want you catching a cold!”
Feryn pushes their journal aside and brings the cup closer to them with both their hands. They tested the temperature of the liquid with their lips and found it a little too warm for their taste. “I didn’t know you also worked here.”
“Oh no, I don’t, my dear. I came to see my wife- we’re going on a picnic!”
“Wife?” Feryn sets the cup down before fluttering their eyelashes to this news.
“I never told you I remarried? I have to get you two acquainted at a more opportune time!”
A tall, portly yet buff red toad approached the table, her eye bags are very prominent and she carries herself with a weight on her shoulders; she looks exhausted and miserable. Her expression melts as she slips a hand at the small of Forneus’s back, unannounced. This delightfully surprises Forneus. She turns to nuzzle and plant a quick and gentle kiss on the toad’s nose. Both appear genuine with their endearing contentment with the other’s company. It’s surprising to Feryn because they thought Forneus would share this detail if they were truly close. They’re thankful to have shared their tender moment with them. Forneus takes her wife by the hand and presents her to Feryn, “This is my wife, Heket! She’s my gentle giant!” she turns to Heket, “and this is my dearie, Feryn, they’re like one of my own children!”
This gesture gives Feryn a sense of significance. Heket holds out her hand, and in a deep, ragged voice, “Nice… to meet.” It sounds strained and grated as if painful to speak. Feryn meets her hand with theirs. Heket’s hand is rough but soft, strong but gentle. This is a telltale feature of a dedicated worker passionate with her craft.
They shake her hand, “It’s a pleasure!”
Heket grunts with acknowledgement and it cues Forneus to continue, “We’ll be off now! You take care, my dear! I’ll be at the caravan tonight if you want to stop on by!”
They watch the happy couple leave the building before they take a sip of their coffee. They retrieve their journal and to the last page where their list is located, coffee is penned and underlined. Feryn returns to logging their entry:
Hoiiii Journal!!
Today’s already eventful and it hasn’t even really started! I went to the bakery and it also is a cafe! It turns out Forneus is MARRIED??? :OO I always thought she wasn’t! Makes sense that she kept the title… I feel she would have told me idk why she didn’t. They seem so happy together! =^w^= I hope that Heket and I get along really well! Of course that’s if she wants to involve me.
I’m planning on visiting Ember today, but I really want to get my house clean before then! It’s been bothering me, I’ll be honest…(T ^ T)
They break a piece of their croissant and dip it in their coffee. The croissant is golden brown and with a delicately crispy crust. The interior has a foliated honeycomb crumb with so many pockets for butter to have melted.
The marriage of bread, butter, and coffee is delightfully glutinous, sweet and savory— as a happy life should be. It is a perfect way to start the morning. Feryn resumes their entry:
…Croissant is fucking yummyヽ(；▽；)ノ
Feryn thinks about the last time they had made pastries and failed. It’s a craft with many years experience. All components of the art is a skill of its own, and Feryn never had the patience to learn from their experiences especially in baking. They knew how to make cakes well and that was good enough for them. Breads were as good as charcoal if they’d let it. Now thinking about Forneus’s route, she would always return from town with bread. They consider how the bread very well could be the same bread made at this bakery. It’s a very sweet thought, and Feryn doodles some flowers and hearts on the page thinking about the concept of infatuation and yearning to love another. They giggle into their cup at the thought of them kissing their dream boyfriend. Now they recognize they’re distracted!
Before they get too lost into thought they return to their housing problems. Feryn makes an addition to the list in the back of the journal of things they would like to get from the general store. They recall passing one in their search for the apartment, but of course they were too tired to step inside. Feryn finishes their croissant and their coffee, packs their things and busses their own cup before exiting the bakery. Now they make their way to the general store they remember passing. They’re on a very tight budget and all things considered, they’ll likely have just enough gold to tend to their immediate needs. Something has to be done about their financial situation. They can’t depend on others’ helping hands to get by; this ain’t the way of the farm, but the farm depends on them.
There were many things they learned and wished to maintain while they lived in Divinity’s Dirge. They were taught to keep their space clean and consider it a garden in which they themself can flourish. It’s something that’s followed them in every space they occupied, including their journal. Many times, they would reprimand their brothers for not feeling the same for their bedroom. Clothes and toys comprise most of the mess, and this bothered Feryn every time they would pass the boys’ bedroom. They would never volunteer to clean after the boys, but the mess never did bother the kits anyway. Tyren would hear his children bickering from downstairs, but he’d exhaust himself by getting involved with their affairs. He would often permit their squabbles and in rare instances, he would intervene only when he knew violence would be the end result.
The general store had promotional posters taped to the window. There was an old blue truck parked off to the side where it sounded like someone was in the back unloading its shipment for the store.
Feryn hasn't walked into a store in a long time, but they figure it’s nothing different than their usual dealings with merchants. They see in the interior, and that most of the product wasn’t foodstuffs. This appeared very promising for Feryn’s quest. They’re about to enter when a familiar voice is thrown into their direction, “Well, if it ain’t so… Never thought I’d find you folk here”. Feryn turns quizzically, as not many people know of their presence.
It’s Plimbo, the damned sea bug that keeps supplying their father with alcohol. Though he’s a “friend” to their father, they had no interest in speaking with him. Their face struggle to fake the pleasure of meeting someone familiar, “It’s just me. Papa’s still on the farm.” Suddenly saying this fills them with regret. Maybe that was information he didn’t need to know, that they were alone in this town, by themself. They have to be more conscious of what they say for their own safety.
Plimbo’s mustache curls upwards in their response. They can’t tell the intent, but he’s friendly at least. And though he interacts with their family very briefly, he understands that his livelihood bothers Feryn, “I passed the farm on the way in, but he didn’t buy any alcohol.” He pulls a dolly carrying three crates and passes Feryn while they hold the door open for him. He has nothing more to tell them.
Plimbo was never very personable, but there could have been any reason for it. The sea always called back to him as if there was a rush to get there. Plimbo’s love for his wife and the sea was one of the same, but he never carried a photo nor mentioned her by name.
Feryn is left to their business and Plimbo to his. Feryn picks a basket and begins searching for items they would need to make their space clean: towels, more liquid soap, a glass spray bottle… That’s it. They make their way to the counter to find some very cute floral keychains. They pick the one with blossoms, and check out with the cashier. There’s a hearty laugh in the direction of Plimbo and seemingly the store owner, but Feryn can’t see beyond the shelves. They make their payment, stash their new purchases in their bag and return to their apartment. There’s a slight rush to get there as they feel they’re keeping Ember. It’s still early in the day, but cleaning shouldn’t take more than the afternoon. They recognize that it’s foolish to prioritize their own cleanliness, but they stress the importance of having it to function properly.
They’re finally at the door to the storefront when the next door neighbor exits their apartment building. The bee is taking out the garbage when she catches a glance at Feryn.
“Oh! Hi, I’m Puna! You must be the new neighbor, what’s your name?” She approaches Feryn, but quickly turns into the alleyway. They turn to their new neighbor, wishing to be more excitable considering first impressions are long lasting.
“Feryn!” It sounded more forceful than it needed to be. Puna tosses her trash in the dumpster then returns to conversation with the same enthusiasm.
“It’s very nice to meet you! Just so you know, we share bins along here and they pick up every Friday!”
“Friday?”
“Yeah, the day after tomorrow!”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Thursday.”
“And today?”
Puna’s antennae flips to the side as she tilts her head and crosses two of her four arms. She flutters her wings to shake confusion, but she’s patient nonetheless. “Wednesday, what’s your story? Where are you from?”
Feryn is considerate on what they’re willing to share, as to not take too much time away from their cleaning and Ember. They go back and forth, and become very fast friends. It’s a shame Feryn didn’t have enough time to spare as this could go on for hours.
“You really did just come out of the woods, huh? Well, if there’s anything you need just let me know. You know where I live!”
“Actually, do you have a vacuum cleaner I can borrow?”
“You know what a vacuum cleaner is, but you don’t know the days of the week?”
“Some of us weren’t born yesterday, sorry!” Feryn attempted to add some sass to appeal to Puna’s.
“I was hatched, just so you know. Also, what was yesterday?” Puna sasses back to test Feryn.
“Uh… Tuesday?”
“Great! And sure thing, I’ll bring it down. Don’t worry about returning it, I’m having my floors redone.”
Feryn considered letting Puna inside, but it’s nearly inhospitable. It would be rude to invite someone and not even offer them tea– let alone, a place to sit. Feryn waits for her return, but can’t shake the feeling of being watched again. It must be him– that creep from the night before! Feryn looks above to the balcony and sees nothing, around the corner in the alleyway– nothing… They see people enter and leave the bakery, but there’s no attention warranting that feeling. The streets are busy as the day before, with people coming and going. Recreation and business find balance here. Another experience that feels ever so foreign to the farm cat. Feryn grumbles and shakes their tail, it’s clear anticipation is getting to them. A rustle in the trees snags Feryn’s eyes, and they notice the colors of autumn taking shape as the season progresses. They breathe in, and exhale to release their nervous energy. Their tail sways slower as they watch the leaves give to the wind. They notice three red leaves that contrast from the remaining leaves in the tree, they’re not even the same shape and they’re aware that sometimes that happens to trees with genetic deformities. The oak tree launches an acorn at Feryn’s forehead, it wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was a mild surprise. They bend to take a better look at it, before dismissing it as being a squirrel’s antics. Another acorn gets pelted onto their head. They ignore it while they continue to wait for Puna. Then another. This can’t be a coincidence, they approach the tree as more acorns fling at them.
“Stop it! That’s annoying!” Feryn hopes this is enough to scare off the squirrel. They stand directly beneath now seeing what was previously obscured. The originator of the projectiles is none other than the creep from before. He sits on a large branch with his feet propping himself to a balanced squat with his back against the trunk. He has the same unimpressed and irritated look about him. He reloads his arsenal by collecting more acorns. Their eyes widened, “You!”
“Are you always this stupid?” He flips his hair out of his face, before launching another acorn at Feryn. It bounces off their bandana.
“I’ll show you stupid!” Feryn didn’t really have a plan, but they attempted to climb the tree with hopes to land a few slaps, at best. One for breaking into their apartment and another for hurling seeds at them. They slip on the bark as they try to make the ascent. “Get down here so I can beat you!” Another acorn bounces off their forehead before they find themself sputtering and reattempting the climb.
Puna returned from her apartment with the upright vacuum cleaner Feryn had asked for, only to find them picking a fight with the tree.
“Show that tree who’s boss!” Puna chimes in, it’s revealing that this isn’t the most abnormal thing she has seen.
Feryn glares at their tormentor only to receive a glare back and an acorn. “I think it learned its lesson!” One final acorn bounced off the back of their head. This time, Feryn chose to ignore it and accept the vacuum cleaner.
Puna raised her arms and threw some quick jabs in the air, “whenever you’re ready for round two, tag me in, I got you!” She snorts at her own joke before walking back to the direction of her apartment “I’ll see you later, friend!”
“Friend..” Feryn processes this new word. It’s hard to think when the acorn assault resumes. “Okay okay, I’ll finish up!” They unlock the door to the storefront and lock it behind them, bringing the vacuum with them. Up the stairs and through another door, they’re back at the apartment where they kick their boots off and place the vacuum against the wall. They open the back door and step onto the balcony to take a look at the tree their assailant was in.
“I got bored throwing acorns at your soft head.” Contention is his natural state of being. He approaches from behind.
Feryn turns, surprised by how he managed to make it inside once again, “how do you—
“I go where I want.” He remains in the shadows, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. His eyes narrow, studying them for his response. “But not this time.”
Feryn tilts their head, eyebrows furrowed as they join him. They felt called upon by his gaze. He appears even more irritated than before.
“Did you forget?” He glares at their curiosity.
“Forget what?” Feryn’s memory isn’t the greatest and knows the best way for them to remember something is to write it down. His cool temperament wears thin and his tail sways in response.
He presses his palm against their forehead, his hands noticeably icy, and pushes Feryn out of his way while he makes his usual exit. “Ember waits for your presence. Stop wasting time.”
“I would like to get my space cleaned before then, I feel—
He whips around to grip their face, his claws make their presence known against their skin. He’s mere inches from them, they can only be captivated by his penetrating eyes and it keeps them frozen in place. Their breath is still. This is a fear they haven’t yet experienced— something dangerous, yet alluring.
“You test my patience, Dreamer. I don’t take kindly to it. If you weren’t necessary to Ember, I’d have you gutted and strung for the crows to peck. I have no hesitations otherwise. Do you understand?” He speaks slowly through his teeth, and serious demeanor adds a layer of certainty to carry out his promise. Feryn’s pulse quickens, and they let out a small squeak. Something about this causes him to release his grip on Feryn with a push. Whatever it is, there's a slight amusement present, “Pathetic…” he hops off the balcony’s edge similarly to the night before. His eyes are still locked onto his prey. “See to it if you value your life.” He releases his grasp, and lands to the ground with expertise. He leaves to the direction of the temple, before disappearing into the crowd not to be seen again.
Feryn is left alone in the living room, speechless, with a mixture of feelings they would like to explore in their journal later that night.
They empty their bag onto the kitchen counter and finally decide now is the time to visit the temple. That creep is right even if he is a reverse burglar; it’s rude to keep people waiting. It’s difficult to fathom they will soon be speaking with a goddess. They inhale sharply, secure their bag, practice a smile and return to the street to make their way to the temple. There’s so much pressure, but Ember has only been so cordial to Feryn. Why do they feel this way, why the sorrow? It feels hopeless as if they’re asking too much from Ember, but they haven’t met her to know what she’s like.
They follow the footpath that they believe to remember taking. The footpath was such a distraction that night, they don’t recall what they had done earlier in the day due to its sound and designs. If memory serves best all those grey tiles lead to the temple. It’s not a very familiar route and they’re certain this won’t be the last temple trip. They wonder how best to appeal to her, but if she’s been around for more than two hundred years, she must have heard everything! Maybe the best appeal is a genuine one— but what does it mean to be “Feryn”? Feryn as the outgoing, exciting, cringe-embracing sweetheart that they impress onto others? Or the Feryn they dare not share with the public for its imposing nature? It’s hard to not think when they’re alone. They often depend on distractions to curb these thoughts, but lately distractions spare no expense.
Feryn passes the park that Forneus and Heket are likely staying for their date. It’s a hilly spot allowing places to hide and smooch. Trees, flowers, ponds- it's all curated in a way that feels natural and inviting. They imagine that’s what the married couple are up to. It’s a sweet thought, but not enough to overpower their own. They think of Tyren and how he’s changed over the years. Feryn has always known him as the dedicated type who took his craft more seriously than child rearing, which Feryn has grown to accept. They were more of an independent type that enjoyed their freedom and solitude, so long as it was within the fence line. The only other time they had gone beyond the fence line was to search for—
The graveyard… no one living walks along in these parts as far as they can see. The transition between the park and graveyard was seamless and it caught Feryn’s attention when they were well into the segment. The smooth tombstones sit systematically with spider lilies and black roses acting as partitions between the footpath and the graveyard. It spanned on either side of the walkway, with ramps and steps leading up the hills. At the tops of these hills were mosoleums where more followers likely reside eternally. There’s a large black granite block that stands further ahead to the left. Surrounded are black marble statues of chess pieces where the red spider lilies are in abundance. Feryn gets close enough to stop and read the signage.
It’s an epitaph— a poem:
“Mournful tears wept for those that sleep imbue.
The lamb; slain but death gifted life anew.
One by one felled apocalyptic bane…
of each absolved and cleansed for death remains.
The masses sing the gods’ requiem,
Here rests divinity and Hear its dirge.”
Feryn stared at the engraved lettering, then back to the statues. These were…crowns— or at least the concept of them. There’s no rationality for the real crowns to be made out of marble; that would wear heavy.
They try to remember if Tyren had ever mentioned there were others. They feel that he would have at least known as much. Would he have shared that information at all if he knew?
It’s quiet at the memorial except for the gentle breeze that drums lightly on their ears. It’s peaceful, but they know this is a simple moment. They have a distant, unsettling feeling as if they’re not entirely alone. The air smells of warm roses, which is a very soothing scent for a restless mind, and hopeful for this such instance.
They stare at the crowns thinking of their father. How things have changed so much… They don’t argue anymore, but it’s apparent to them that they are a failure and undeserving of love. They feel so disconnected from him— that nothing they can do will improve their relationship. Nothing to salvage, nothing to gain; there is nothing to grow in those salted fields of hope, such as the fact of life. Death consumes all, Death is the solution, Death approaches…
In their silence, the intensity of roses envelopes and Feryn accepts their fate with tears. It’s all hopeless. A gentle voice breaks the barrier, “I sensed a darkness here…”
“It’s a graveyard…” Feryn responds to the voice, unaware of who the voice may belong to. It didn’t matter. They spent so much time rehearsing, they forgot to wear their mask. Their sorrow was out in the open for anyone to observe and mock. They wipe their tears with their wrist, still making no eye contact with their acquaintance.
She laughs gently, “You’re funny, I like you. You must be Feryn.”
Feryn turns to meet the tenderness. She stands with hands held with fingers interlaced, wool as effervescent as in the stained glass depictions. It’s Ember– the one and holy. Feryn quickly composes themself, “I’m sorry! If I’d known–
Ember giggles and takes Feryn by the hand with one and presses her other hand on top, similarly to how the Witnesses held their hand. “You’re perfect as you are!” She pulls them into an embrace and their senses are flooded with lanolin and roses. Her wool is soft and her touch is loving and tender. She releases them, holding their hands in hers. “I am always here to listen. My confession booth is always open, okay? Promise me you’ll visit?”
“I promise.” Feryn smiles, and this time it’s genuine. The negative thoughts disappear as if it were a lifted curse. Feryn struggles with it and Ember did it so effortlessly.
“How is your energy? I’d like to show you around the town– think of it as a tour!” She bounces with excitement while maintaining the hand holding. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, though.” She settles herself before getting terribly invested. She swings her hands out and inward, bringing theirs along with.
The feeling of being watched intensified, but in Ember’s company they feel safe. Feryn starts again, “I think I can do this” not the bubbly confidence they had hoped for, but it’s still something. Ember brightens, “Just let me know if it’s too much, I’ll also answer any questions you have along the way!”
She is about to pull Feryn in a direction before she notices that she got ahead of herself, “oh right! I didn’t make a proper introduction!” Ember pulls away from Feryn, allowing some distance to give them a full view of herself. She wears a black beanie with a red eye on one side. An oversized torn red t-shirt with a black camisole reveals her clavicle piercings. Black shorts with fishnets end just before her fingertips. She has her upper lip and her ears pierced, but something about her tells them that there are more. Black and white knee high shoes are the choice that perplexes Feryn as they were under the impression she had hooves. Aside from looking casual, yet dark, her personality had been very kind and considerate, which subverts expectations behind the stained glass, the warnings, the assessments–and now the epitaph. Ember spreads her arms and gives a little spin on her heels, “I am Ember! God of Death! I am the founder and leader of Divinity’s Dirge! And this is my counterpart—my night sky, Narinder!” She waves with both hands outstretched, abandoning her eye contact to look beyond Feryn.
They turn to follow her gaze only to meet the red eyes of their tormentor. He passes by, bumping them on purpose. He smells of sandalwood as he passes.
“YOU?” Feryn is appalled, but in retrospect it would make complete sense that he would be upset for their time management.
His fur appears as a dark grey and brown in some spots, but Feryn doesn’t know the full extent as he obscures his face with his long hair. It’s difficult to distinguish the two shades of black, but his skinny jeans have holes at the knees. Although he appears topless, his black t-shirt clings snugly on his skin. He bends to wrap an arm around Ember’s waist, revealing a studded belt that hid underneath the length of his shirt. He stares back at Feryn with animosity.
“Oh, so you have been acquainted!” Ember’s eyes widen, but her tone is intentionally steady while her jaw tenses with a smile that remains static. Narinder uses his free hand to coax her focus. He glides his fingers across her chin; she gives to his touch, presenting her cheek to his lips. Her eyes close, and her jaw softens while he places a light silent kiss on her cheek that quickly turns to a nuzzle. He discreetly whispers something into her ear, his tail whips, while her softened smile curls around the corners. This all occurs in such an instant, Feryn feels uncertain with what to do with themself during this affectionate display. They fidget with their shoulder strap to give their hands a sense of comfort. They recall the Witnesses suggesting that Death follows in her shadow. Is he Death? Ember hums a nonspecific tune before uttering only to his ears, “tonight, my pet…” She opens her eyes and returns to the conversation with Feryn. “Apologies! I’m simply too excited to have met you! I get a little silly and disorganized! I do things out of order sometimes! Oopsies…” She places a single finger on her cheeks while she swings her hips side to side. This motion occurred in Narinder’s arms who lessened his embrace to accommodate her movements before he releases entirely. Ember returns to Feryn’s personal space and takes both of their hands in hers. “Allow us to discuss business before we have fun! That makes the fun part more fun, right?” Feryn nods before Ember guides them by hand to the direction of the temple. Narinder remains for some time before he walks in the direction of the park.
The temple was about as busy as the day before with acolytes and scholars weaving between each other getting the day’s work processed. Ember has taken Feryn back to the room the Witnesses have acquainted them with, and they returned to the seat they had originally sat the night before. Yet again, they play with the gouges on the table.
Ember provided a key to open the bureau adjacent to the table, pulled some documents, and sat directly across from Feryn. So far, Ember has been polite and kind, perhaps a little too friendly, but they figure it’s just her exuberant personality.
The business portion of their meeting begins with a cleared throat. “Okay, so you’ve met my Witnesses Allocer and Agares, have they treated you well?”
“Most certainly!” Feryn maintains eye contact while their fingers trace the markings. “They’ve been very polite and hospitable!” They’re uncertain why she would open with this, have they been problems before?
Ember smiles and shifts some documents around to gather her bearings, “I want to ensure everyone is treated with the integrity they deserve.” She locates her notes and pats for a pen before getting slightly irritated. She groans as she summons her beanie from between her horns for it to transform into a pen. This appears to be a very casual experience for The Lamb, but Feryn hasn’t seen magic like this before, and was impressed with the stunt. Ember continues, “Your family has owned this farm in Darkwood for a pretty long time, huh?”
Feryn shakes the awe before they continue, “Y-yes! I’m expected to inherit it when my papa gets too old.”
“Mmm… it sounds like a lot of work!” She begins taking notes, but pauses writing to say, “I suppose that wouldn’t be too terrible if you knew what you were doing. You enjoy doing that?” Ember gestures with a vague hand motion before writing again.
“I suppose so, I’d have to be okay with it. Not like I have much of a choice.” Feryn’s response had a twinge of sadness that Ember caught.
She abruptly stops and sets her pen to the table and clasps her hands together, interlaced. “Allow me to rephrase: what is your goal here?”
The question is a little vague, and Feryn presses their lips really unsure how to answer. They continue while their thoughts are on the farm, “I want to get rid of the problems I’ve created. I’ve hurt a lot of people and I want to make it right to them.”
Ember closes her eyes and inhales. When she opens them she exhales and smiles, “that’s very noble of you, and I appreciate your honesty, but I was talking about for the long term while you’re in Divinity’s Dirge. What are your goals? I want to get to know you personally.” She giggles, “I also want to lighten the load from you. You appear… distracted...”
“Oh…” Feryn’s fingers stop tracing the gouges and return to their mouth, as if concealing embarrassment.
“It’s no offense taken! I’m available to and for you!” She offers her hand across the table for comfort and Feryn is hesitant, but accepts. “I want to be a helpful friend; I know we just met, but I really would like to try for you. I would like for you to share whatever you feel comfortable sharing!”
“It sounds silly… I want to open a produce shop with my papa. But he hasn’t communicated his interest in it yet…” Feryn looks away, ashamed to admit this detail. Rather that this detail may influence how Ember will respond. They don’t want to see her reaction if it was anything less than favorable. “I’m willing to put the effort in! I want to prove to myself, and to others that I’m capable of making an impact! I can fix the mess I made!” They return their gaze to Ember, who is attentive, rubbing her thumbs against the back of their hands.
She lets out another giggle, “I find your efforts very admirable. You remind me a lot of myself many years ago. I want to invest in your progress, but I only require your honesty and cooperation. Excuse me!” Ember removes herself from Feryn and makes her way to the door that’s partially hidden by the red curtain directly behind her. She brings out her hand to summon the pen, and in a blur, it transforms into a key. The key unlocks the door, and she enters through it, closing it behind her. Feryn sighs, uncertain of the conditions they’re about to be subjected to, but they understand this is the cost of asking for help.
Ember returns, closing the door behind her and she hums to herself while locking it and returning to her seat. “I understand you may have several concerns and I’m willing to address them in due time. For now, I’d like to discuss the potential issues I currently have…” Ember sorts through her paperwork and retrieves a large packet of paper clipped together. “Zoning new homes for Nerium Estates.” She rifles through her notes until she lands on the page she’s searching for. “Ah. You have thirteen people needing relocation and on this map…” she points to the large packet of paper, spreading her fingers and tapping the packet with just the tips where they remain until called upon for emphasis, again. “I have circled potential areas that are optimal residential conditions. Grey water disposal and garbage are accessible, but are limited in supply without…invasive intervention. How many parties are there in total?” Ember’s hand returns from the packet and to her notebook.
Feryn fidgets with their hands while they mentally account for the people living on the farm. The cow and puppy are the first to come to mind. The guards— an otter and a hawk—would likely do their own thing separately. Two crows— sibling twins, a single rabbit, a single bat, an old couple— a turtle and beetle, and a small family consisting of an alpaca, horse, and their adopted deer. “Eight parties. The largest household consists of three people”
Ember pens these details into her notes, “and how many double occupants? Singles?”
“Three doubles, and four singles.” Feryn is not confident, and repeats the list in their head to double check their math. They nod with affirmation.
Ember continues to write while silent, flipping a few pages and writing another detail before closing her red notebook. “Thank you very much! This is much easier than I originally anticipated, but it’s still going to be a lot of work.” She pushes away the documents and steeples her hands. “I will have my disciples decide who will live where when that time comes. I will also have them work on integrating the new followers. It also helps knowing which party will be occupying the new homes so we can build to accommodate those households. I'm now willing to discuss your role in the matter. Payment. Relocation and indoctrination has its expenses. I know your apartment is left in a state with much to be desired. Narinder expressed this to me, and it pains me to hear you live in such conditions. I would like to extend an offer to you, should you accept…” Ember slips a hand into her bra to pull a small rectangular sheet of paper. She faces it print side down and pushes it in Feryn’s direction. “All I ask is that repayment goes back to the community.”
Feryn begrudgingly takes the paper and flips it over. It’s a check. Their eyes widen when they see the four zeros with her signature. “This is half of the full sum. I want you to use it to furnish your home. I have let the contractors know to prioritize you should you place an order. If you need anything very specific, ask and you shall receive.”
“How would I even return this to the community?” Feryn’s inquiry begs for a confident volume, but Ember’s resolute intuition accommodates and eases their qualms.
“It’s called “economy” for a reason, silly!” Ember laughs louder than she might have intended. “Once your shop is established, I’ll have my most loyal enforcers collect your profits to the bank, where a small tax deduction is made into a separate account specifically for the temple. All the businesses here function using this model, including the traveling merchants. In your case, the gold will then be used to fund the expansion. I have already set you up at the bank, you just walk in and make the deposit. Tell me when; I will oversee the construction.”
Feryn nods, it’s their decision but everything feels influenced. Their gut doesn’t interject, however, and they feel they can trust Ember with this. It is a lot of gold…“I accept,” tumbles from their mouth. They need the gold more than they’re willing to admit.
Ember smiles while sifting through the paperwork. She locates and isolates a loose sheet appearing like a contract, “Thank you for allowing me to set you for success. I would like for you to sign this. It details the extent of our discussion and that you understood the conditions.” She pushes it in Feryn’s direction for them to read. They take their time locating a pen in their own bag while they read the terms. Ember has remained truthful even in the contract. All make it easier to sign on the dotted line. The contract returns to Ember for her to sign as well. Once complete, she exposes her palm for the pen to return to its original beanie form on top of her head. She collects all the paperwork before excusing herself again to leave through the wooden door behind Feryn.
Feryn returns their pen to their bag, but their fingers brush against the apple blossom charm they had purchased earlier in the day. They decided this was the perfect opportunity to adhere the charm to the keys. Their fingers make light work of the task, and they return it to their pocket as Ember ends a conversation at the door with a laugh. “Okey-dokey! I got the paperwork processed for you. You’re free to establish your business!” Ember remains at the door waving her hands in excitement. “Now we can have fun! Please do catch up!” She turns her fluffy tail and makes her way to the entrance of the temple.
Feryn removes themself from their seat, pushing the chair back in while captivated with the gouges on the table. They allow one last look before they leave the room with haste, closing the door behind them. Even after all these conflicting feelings, Feryn is genuinely excited to share this news with their father. That’s if he responds at all… They know this is something they will eventually have to confront.
They exit the building only to find Ember to have already engaged in conversation with Narinder in the courtyard behind the breezeway. He has his arms crossed, but his tail is relaxed on the ground while her thumbs sit underneath his belt. Honestly, it could be anything, but whatever she’s saying, her body language is bubbly. She releases her hold on him before clapping with her hands to her face. She turns to wave at Feryn, and it cues Narinder to pull her by the waist and plant a kiss on her cheek similarly to before. Ember runs to their location while he follows closely behind before stepping into the shadow that the temple casts on the ground. He leans against the wall, waiting and watching Feryn with penetrating eyes. They feel the pit in their stomach grow for every look of malice; how was it even warranted? Ember breaks their contact by stepping into view. “Welcome to Divinity’s Dirge! I don’t believe I gave a formal one, so there you go! I think the best place to start is the temple, but you have already been there!” She giggles to herself, “Do you happen to have a campus map?”
“Oh, yes!” Feryn digs into their bag to find the map and unfolded it to reveal its entirety.
“Great! Okay, so here is the academy and right across is going to be the library. We designed the campus with accessibility in mind. Parts of the pathway are sloped. We also have textures available for the blind to see. I believe people live more fulfilled, happier lives when their needs are met. Just like how Nerium Estates offers security.” Ember holds Feryn’s hand as she begins to guide them. She turns to wave Narinder goodbye when she notices a duck with a heart charm bracelet has bypassed her to interact with him. He is disinterested in this follower, but it appears his body language doesn’t dissuade them from speaking at him. His ears are lowered, and his tail wags. He stares at a distance, longing for an escape, but he remains as if he hadn’t gotten permission to leave. Feryn notices that Ember’s stopped in place and her hold is limp. The sudden shift in attitude has Feryn feeling unsettled. They begin to prod, “Hey uh…”
Ember turns so suddenly to Feryn that this quick movement spooked them, “It appears I’m needed. How about you check out the library! The librarians are very forthcoming and will assist with the questions you may have. They can talk to you about the history of this town!” She releases her hand, before waving goodbye and sending Feryn a closed smile that curls on the corners. “I’ll find you! Have fun!”
Feryn watches Ember approach Narinder and the duck with the same energy she had displayed to Feryn just now. Narinder remains still while Ember involves herself in their “discussion”. Feryn assumes these distractions happen frequently for a leader, let alone a god. They follow her instructions and depart to the library. Several steps away, they hear, “I was talking to him, not you.” They turn to view the events unfold, but they observe the area clear of the three. They return to their walk towards the library thinking of how sweet Ember was to address the needs of others. As a mortal, they don’t know the extent of the stress or how she typically has energy for people and their problems. If building the town and creating an environment for others to flourish was proof enough, they observed how hard she’s worked. There are things they’ve detailed in the short time they’ve known Ember and her personality, but they feel respected.
This is something that wasn’t typically experienced when on the farm. Tyren always had issues with Feryn juggling the needs of the residents while maintaining the housework. He always thought those people weren’t dignified enough for their time, but Feryn felt otherwise. Feryn was never terribly close to the residents to hear their stories, but they always made themself available to lend a helping hand. Tyren and Feryn never compromised on this way of thinking. To Tyren, it was the way of the land that determined if one was fit to live or die– as is the natural order of things. To Feryn, survival was accomplished with the support of others. They believe others honed skills that were invaluable, regardless of background, but Tyren believed this way of thinking made hands soft. Soft hands were easier to hold, and if anyone knew about as much, it would be Ember.
They take the opportunity to search their bag for their phone, and text their father the updates they were hoping for him to read. This will be the third text they sent without a response and they’re aware this one may also go unread. They still make it out for Tyren, however, they’re determined to get in contact with him. They’ll attempt to give him a call later in the night, but there’s no guarantee that he will even respond.
Hoiiii Papa! ^__^ I just met god and lived! :DD Ember is really nice and kind! She gave me special conditions to work on moving people over! I’m calling you later, you better answer! I have more to say! :3
The academy stands just beyond the temple footpath and scholars make most of the foot traffic in this part of the campus. From the footpath, the main building of the academy stands tall with multiple levels. They can see it’s surrounded by a few single-level buildings linked by smaller paths covered under stone canopies. The support for these canopies are of a similar white stone the temple is made of, but rounded for a softer appearance. Blue-grey ivy and wisteria spirals down these supports, adding elegance to the otherwise featureless material. Feryn missed the bloom of the wisteria, but its distinct twining wood makes it obvious for what it is. The same dark wood that secures the temple doors is the same material used for the cross beams that support the roofing. At the centers of these cross beams are black lanterns that keep the pathways lit at night. Lilac trees are planted in plots that allow proper root growth. They notice the lichen that grows on the bark of the lilacs. The town gets proper rain, it appears. The academy is sophisticated and prestigious by appearance alone, and Feryn has yet to see what it has to offer for Heon and Yatre.
For now their focus returns to the library and it stands with a similar architecture as the academy. From the exterior, red banners bearing insignias drape the sides of the doorway between the windows, and they stretch as far as the very top of the building. It’s difficult for Feryn to see what’s on top as the break in the clouds reveal beams of sunlight. Feryn takes the slight incline to the door and into the foyer, weaving between people that are leaving in their separate directions. In unwavering awe, Feryn stands on the marble floors taking in the grand atrium. A tall fig tree sits in the middle surrounded by the twining wisteria that make the base of the tree appear less barren. Moss drapes down the branches giving a web-like appearance to parts of the tree. It notably does not contain fruit, but Feryn knows this tree will likely die without bearing any fruit at all. It’s a sad thought, but they continue onwards. There’s a skylight that offers an ample food source for the plants. The sound of running water is sourced along the edges of the floor where small aqueducts direct water to the surrounding plots of plants. A glass screen is placed on top to prevent splashing. This is a subtle addition to elevate the library’s atmosphere. There are four levels to the library that are accessible by stone ramps that plateau halfway up the elevation. Feryn passes through the atrium to study the directory on the wall.
There’s a faint odor of lavender that intensified over a short period of time. Feryn’s nose follows the scent to locate its source. A tall spider wearing black robes with gold trimmings had quietly approached Feryn, attempting to study their new specimen. “Welcome to my library. My name is Shamura. You must be Feryn. I’ve been expecting you.” The spider’s voice matches the calculated energy of their motions as they articulate their thoughts. They speak with their hands, unintentionally drawing attention to their gold rings and bracelets when their sleeves are taut. The gold beads and wire seem to organize their long dreadlocks that lay beneath their black veil. It’s a similar display to Witness Allocer, even down to the robes, it’s almost uncanny.
Feryn’s contemplation was made obvious to Shamura. Although such is the case, they haven’t forgotten their manners and they hold their hand out to give Shamura a welcoming handshake. “Yes, I am! It’s a pleasure!”
Shamura delicately receives their hand and holds it the same way everyone else around the temple had. Their four eyes pierce Feryn’s, but not with malice- the intent appears as if they were assessing their resolve. Shamura’s delicate touch leaves Feryn’s hands with a lingering ticklish feeling underneath their skin.
“You have met Ember, I hear.” Shamura begins, their hands find placement behind their back, enforcing them to stand tall. “However, I believe she’s failed to inform you of our… positions. Otherwise, you’d have more dignification in your rapport.” Feryn isn’t exactly sure what they’ve done wrong and they look to the floor replaying these recent events. “No matter. I will excuse this behavior. Understand, I do not take lightly to impudence. I will correct it...”
In the distance, another familiar spider makes an appearance. His eyes drift to Shamura’s direction and sees Feryn. Wherever his destination, he had quickly abandoned as his new order was to address the situation between the two in the distance. He closes in, “My bishop!” He bows, and Feryn knows this spider as being Witness Allocer. “Forgive my intrusion. I am here to remedy the ignorant.”
“Witness Allocer… see that you educate. I will return to my office.”
“Yes, my bishop.” Witness Allocer returns to a stand when Shamura turns away. Shamura’s long robes drag against the floor. Their legs never push against the fabric as they walk, but appear as if they were floating. It is eerie, but Feryn would think it would be ghastly if they’d witness this at the graveyard. When Shamura disappears beyond the bookshelves, Allocer turns to Feryn with disappointment. Though, this wasn’t entirely directed towards them. “Apologies. Allow us to walk.” He holds his hand out for Feryn who unquestioningly takes his hand in theirs. The prior interaction has them more confused than they were before and answers are much appreciated. Allocer begins by taking them through the first floor where similar stone pillars begin to narrow through the marble hallway. The hallway has cross beams and lanterns that they have seen at the academy. Arched windows line the sides of the walls, allowing natural light to creep in throughout the day. On the exterior, there is a courtyard containing a lovely garden with a fountain in the center. White benches permitted scholars to rest and read, while others engaged in cliquish conversations. Allocer begins to speak again, “I understand you weren’t well informed. For that, I apologize. I’m certain my bishop took no particular issue with you, however.”
“I really don’t understand any of it. Words are thrown around and I have no reference to work with. It can be really frustrating; I just want to understand.” Feryn feels this was one of few opportunities to express their thoughts if it wasn’t in relation to their tasks.
“Right… I will be addressing your concerns in due time. Please, remain patient.” He insists on silence, though it appears not by his own volition. They reach the end of the hallway towards another, bisecting the one that they’re in. There’s a singular wooden door in the center of this new hallway to the right. They cross the red carpet and make their way to the door where Allocer bears a key to unlock. He allows them inside the private library where a similar stained glass is mounted to the wall directly across the doorway. The stained glass depicts a separate story from the one they’ve familiarized themself with at the temple. It features The Lamb kneeling to a tall cat-like figure whose face is obscured with a veil. The cat’s robes are white and stained with blood. The crown the cat bestows bears resemblance to Ember’s beanie. If the Lamb is the very same Ember Feryn had gotten familiarized with, that would insinuate her lover wasn’t just anyone…
There’s a dampened thud of a book that makes contact with a lectern centered near a large bookshelf. Feryn turns to his direction to find he had produced this noise with a thick book he had retrieved from the same bookshelf. Many books on the shelf are significantly older than the books they’ve only observed on the ground level of the main library. Allocer lines his hands with silk gloves he kept within his robes before his fingers find placement on the pages. “The transfer of the crown sparked the tinders of prophecy…”
Feryn approaches Allocer who’s gently pushing to the next pages. His eyes float across the words, not necessarily reading, but searching for something in particular. “...The Old Faith in jeopardy for five bishops became one. The bishops slain are the very same you know of today. The Ember in the stained glass is the one you’ve come to know. And the very same bishop she’s grown infatuated with was once her god. The two are identical, and they function as one..” He stops at a page and steps aside, removing his gloves to give to Feryn. Feryn slips their hands into the gloves before their fingers remotely touch the pages. “As Witnesses, our responsibility is to our bishops, and the bishops to the Lamb. To the Lamb, we are faithful. We are disciples; we act as servants to our god and to our bishops. Our purpose is to educate, and facilitate. We intervene in times where our bishops are unable to act.”
This was a sufficient enough answer to Feryn. They believe the text will provide substance to what he says. Their fingers trace the words as they begin to read. Reading was never much of an interest back on the farm, and it shows at this very moment. They turn to Allocer on occasion asking for the definitions of particular words they would incidentally mispronounce. Eventually Allocer would catch on and offer a suggestion. “Perhaps this is beyond your reading comprehension… allow me.” He carefully slides his fingers underneath the hard covers and presses the book closed before stashing it away onto an opening on the bookshelf. “I hope with access to the library, you’ll gain interest in reading. I apologize for not considering your abilities.”
“Oh no! You’re fine! I’m really sorry, I’m not good at reading…” Feryn returns the gloves to Allocer before scratching the back of their head in embarrassment.
“That can be resolved. You have access to all the books here, except for the ones in this room. These stood the test of time and some are first editions.” Allocer clasps his hands together, ending this visit on a bittersweet note. He interrupts himself, “but if you would like to come back, I’ll be able to assist. Would you happen to have any questions?”
Feryn averts their gaze, contemplating. This has been an eventful day and it’s far from over. The opportunity to speak is present, but they struggle finding the best question to ask.
Allocer notes this and uses this opportunity for clarification. “My bishop differs from the rest. You may not see it, but they are the voice of reason to the other bishops. Only once did their judgement prove unwise. Grave mistakes could be forgiven, but at the cost of one’s ability to accept what was once done.”
Feryn was not exactly certain if Allocer knew more than he was willing to reveal, but their throat tenses as they bury emotions yet again. They finally push a thought through the tightness, “How do they share power if the crown rests on Ember’s head? Wouldn’t it be transferred entirely?”
“I have yet to find out, myself. Though, I do not wish to be present for that. Put faith in what I’ve said.” Allocer makes his way to the door to escort Feryn out. Seems this is the only question Feryn was permitted to ask. They follow his guide before the door. “Apologies for abruptly concluding this visit, and thank you for entertaining me. I hope to see you again. And please take a book upon your exit.”
Feryn nods before giving Allocer the handshake they’ve gotten used to. They still wave goodbye when they create distance between the two. Feryn turns to the corner of the hallway before disappearing from Allocer’s view. He waits a moment before he beckons someone from the opposite end of the hallway to enter the private library.
It feels like another wasted venture that only created more layers… Feryn grows tired of the day. The more information that’s given, the more convoluted the history gets. It strays so much from Tyren’s tellings that they’re uncertain what is true anymore. There’s a sense of defeat, but at least the library is available as a resource should they need reference. Feryn takes Allocer’s words into consideration. His responses make no sense. Why must people speak in such riddles? Feryn steps aside the hallway against a pillar before they retrieve their phone. No new messages… as expected… Why doesn’t he respond? Does he even care? No, not now. Not Now! You’re fine. Feryn shudders, containing the feeling as they look at the time. They return to a brisk pace down the hallway back to the library. It’s early afternoon, and they still don’t have a bed to lay on when they return to the apartment. There are other tasks that take priority to the bed for now, but if they budget their time well enough, they can certainly make this happen before nightfall. Allocer’s request to take a book surfaces in their mind and they decide to find something that would pique their interest– anything that sounded remotely interesting. They weave between shelves, their fingers glide across the spines of the books as they weave. They stopped at a spine that felt intriguing. A dark green book with raised bumps were accentuated by gilded bands and the embossed text added some form of professionalism to the content within. They pull it from the shelf; it’s an herbarium of Darkwood, written by someone with the name Valefar. Feryn isn’t familiar with the author, but the illustrations draw them in. Alongside the images are notes on plants and their identifying features, all of which are incredibly detailed. Feryn decides this is the book to take home and places the book into their bag then exits the building feeling a new kind of confidence. There are so many people in this town that are willing to support a complete stranger- not that Allocer is anymore, but it’s nice to know that people around are willing to render aid when needed. Fern’s impression of the community grows stronger with each interaction. They begin to make their way back to the temple to intersect the main street. The bank has to be somewhere along that stretch, at least that made the most sense to Feryn.
They’re close enough to the temple to watch a scene unfold. Several ducks exit the temple consoling one another while they make their somber way to the graveyard. Two undertakers follow behind the family bringing a cloth-draped body on a stretcher. Feryn stopped to observe the body being carried away. An arm had slipped from underneath the covers, revealing a heart charm bracelet. Feryn’s fur stands on end while a shiver runs cold down their spine. They hold their breath as they watch someone that was once full of life be carried to the mortuary. Their eyes well with tears as they remember their own experience with death.
“It’s such a sad sight, it never gets easier to witness.”
They swiftly turn to find Ember. She stands closer than they anticipated, expressionless as her eyes are locked onto the procession. Her eyes dart to Feryn, causing them to gasp.
“I’m so sorry! I never meant to scare!” Ember pulls Feryn into a hug before she playfully pushes away. Her hands found a place in theirs. “You’re here earlier than I expected. Everything went okay at the library?”
“Yeah! I think I learned a few things… I may need to study more though, Witness Allocer asked me to start reading in my free time. ” They take the herbarium from their bag to show to Ember. Ember took the book to flip through before she hummed and returned it to Feryn.
“This sounds interesting! You should tell me what you learn!”
“Will do! I hope that it can help me care for plants… better…” As they return their book to their bag, they sense an absence of malice that has become glaringly suspicious, “Where’s Narinder?”
“I haven’t seen him since the conversation we had before you left for the library. It is really concerning… I remember taking our friend to the confession booth like they had asked and he was nowhere to be seen.”
Feryn struggles to articulate their thoughts as fear grows within. Was he involved somehow? Was he responsible? Is he even capable? Feryn only knows the extent of his words, but not his actions. Their heart sinks to their stomach- their mind races. All that follower did was speak to him. Was it deserving of death? Could he kill if he was angry enough? Was the act of speaking enough to cause death? He is Ember’s Shadow. He is Death. They spoke to him. THEY spoke to him!
“...It appeared they took their own life…” Ember’s subdued tone returns as she stares into the distance watching the procession fade into the spider lily valley.
These words sear and reopen their wounded heart. Suicide. It's been years since this subject was ever mentioned. Not now! The memories overstimulate their capacities and they collapse to the ground. They lose their ability to conceal; they begin to hyperventilate. Did he influence them?
“Feryn!” Ember drops to the ground grasping at Feryn’s shoulders. “I’m taking you to the doctor!” Ember conjures a summoning circle on the ground that quickly teleports them to the hospital entrance.
Feryn writhes on the ground, inconsolable. Ember thrusts the door open and yells, “KALLAMAR! GET OVER HERE!” She returns to Feryn who is curled on the ground while maintaining their rapid breathing. She rubs their back in hopes to soothe, “I’m here, you’ll be okay!”
A squid in white robes bearing resemblance to a lab coat runs to the front door, keeping the door open while assessing the dire situation. His attitude shifts from panic to expressionless, he sighs and gestures to Ember, “Bring them back, I’ll render care.”
Ember tries to get a proper grasp of Feryn to prepare for a carry, but their movements are erratic. She groans and summons her beanie, manifesting the form of a hand that picks Feryn with ease, then carries them indoors.
Kallamar guides them to an available room with an examining table and two stools. The rest of the room remains professional with informational posters, medicinal cabinets, and a countertop. Ember passes by him and gently sets Feryn onto the examination table before the hand returns as her beanie.
“I’ll be right back.” Kallamar briefly stated in a level tone before leaving the two. Nothing has improved since, but it hasn’t gotten worse and Ember is thankful for that. She still attempts to soothe Feryn with touch and positive affirmations. Kallamar returns after some time with a cup and a kettle. He pours the water into the cup and allows it to sit seeping on the counter. While he waits, he leans against the counter with his arms crossed while facing the two. He interrupts Ember’s cooing, “I don’t need to know the details to identify the symptoms of a panic attack.”
“… a panic attack?” Ember’s in disbelief by this revelation, but she trusts Kallamar with the welfare of the flock and she knows his eons of medical knowledge proves invaluable. She seats herself on one of the stools near Feryn, and places a hand on their thigh.
“You’ve done well to remove our friend from the stimulus.”
Feryn’s breathing begins to mellow, but they’re still shaken and can barely form a thought without shuddering. Kallamar takes his time before he starts again, “would you sit up for me, friend? What is your name?”
Feryn slowly unfurls, but Ember understands they will need some more time to compose themself. She decides to answer for them, “Their name’s Feryn. They’re from Darkwood.”
“Oh… I see...” Kallamar had picked the cup and approached Feryn. “It’s nice to meet you, Feryn. Though this is probably not optimal conditions for a meeting.” He’s delicate when he offers the cup to Feryn. They reposition themself to receive the cup, which sits on their hands weakly. Their thumbs trace the rim, reminding them of the last time they had tea with their father. Tears form as they wince. “I’m sorry…” They sniffle and inhale sharply while they dry their eyes on their wrist.
“Don’t apologize, you’re in a safe space.” Kallamar speaks softly. “We are all here to help. And if you’d like reassurance, Ember is a wonderful listener.”
Ember appreciates Kallamar for making the suggestion, and taking the time to treat Feryn even if it were anxiety related. She lightly pets their thigh before she pipes up quietly, “My confession booth is closed for the rest of today, but it should be good for tomorrow!” Feryn’s frown deepened through their uneven breathing and she is reminded of the events that recently transpired. “Mmm… I’ve reconsidered that option. Sorry… Maybe I can stop by your apartment.” To this Feryn shakes their head. The furniture situation is abysmal, and they absolutely refuse to have visitors till it’s habitable.
Kallamar turns to Ember, “You could use this room, I don’t mind. Not to detract from your plights, but I do have other patients to tend to. It really is no bother.”
“You’d be okay with that?” Ember pats Feryn’s thigh, to which they nod.
“Thank you for allowing me to assist. I hope to meet you again. Not in the hospital, optimally.” Kallamar collects the clipboard on the countertop and waves at Feryn. Although they don’t make eye contact, the attempt at being friendly is there. He makes his exit by opening the door, only to face the familiar three red eyes. Kallamar’s eyes widened with surprise before he relaxed to a dull, mild annoyance. “Oh… hello, brother...”
“Move. I need to speak with Ember.” Narinder’s voice is elevated with anger. Upon hearing it, Feryn’s breathing becomes panicked and it catches Ember’s attention who’s gotten up to take their tea to the adjacent countertop.
“Narinder, behave yourself…” Ember’s voice has a melodic tune to pacify the public scene he insists on having. She appears used to his anger, or at least taking these measures to minimize the potential.
“Please, not in my hospital…” Kallamar appears exhausted. It seems this isn’t the first outburst he has had in this location.
“Fuck you! I go wherever the fuck I want! Get out of my way!” Narinder pushes Kallamar out of the doorway. Kallamar rolls his eyes and turns off his hearing aid, knowing what’s to be expected, but he remains on standby should something go awry. Narinder stomps inward causing Feryn to yelp in between breaths. He’s here and pissed! There’s nowhere to go! They back into the corner, bringing their knees to their chest in an attempt to make themself smaller in hopes he doesn’t see them. However, his sights honed on Ember. His tail whips and his ears are pinned.
“You better explain yourself, Ember!” He grabs her by the shirt and pulls her in. His nose is pressed against hers, yet she retains her composure.
Her honeyed smile does not match her expressionless eyes. “Whatever do you speak of, darling?” She maintains her sweetness as she coils his soft hair onto her fingers loosely.
“You know exactly…” His temper remains kindled behind his teeth.
The hand toying with his hair cradles the back of his head. She stands at the tips of her toes, back arched, while she laces her fingers around his black choker, then pulls him in. Her lips find placement on his neck as she whispers, “Is there a way I could… ease your troubles?” Her words tickle his neck in all the right places.
He bears his teeth, unleashing a low growl, “You know exactly how to resolve this…” He releases her from his clutches.
She giggles, affectionately- a tone only reserved for him, “I’ll see you tonight, babygirl!”
He storms off with his head lowered. He stops by Kallamar to make eye contact before he slaps his clipboard from his hands onto the ground. Narinder exits the building, as Kallamar bends to pick up his clipboard. He turns his hearing aid back on, “Real mature… glad nothing came of it. You two have a better day.” He exits the room, closing the door behind him.
Ember’s focus is back on Feryn who’s still in shock, but settles as the tension left with Narinder. She sighs through her nose while she returns the tea to Feryn, placing the cup within reach, then finally sits back onto the stool. “I’m so sorry you experienced this. I hoped our encounters would be more… favorable. I didn’t plan for any of this…” She crosses her legs and clasps her knee with interlaced fingers. She sits sullen with quiet reflection. The dull indistinct sound of a conversation occurs beyond the walls that could be Kallamar with another patient. Though it's quiet, there’s a sense of unease in her that manifests into a shift in her position. She uncrosses her legs and leans forward with her elbows on her thighs. Her wrists are limp while her gaze remains on the ground. Ember does not expect this conversation to go anywhere, she simply sits to exist in the moment.
Feryn brings themself to speak through their knees after some time to settle. “You’ve… been too kind…” they’re still terribly shaken.
“I have expectations to uphold. I am the leader, I have to always be considerate regardless of how I feel. I’m always putting others' needs before myself.” Ember raises her palms to her chin, she sighs aloud this time. She’s mostly disappointed in herself for allowing these recent events to occur. None of which was her making.
“Do you feel… that way about me?” Feryn brings themself close to tears again, but it could very well be anxiety speaking for them.
“Of course not. I genuinely meant it when I said I find your ambitions admirable.” Ember attempts at making eye contact with Feryn, but they remain hidden behind their knees. Something has to give. “ I… don’t know what you’ve learned from the library, but the bishops and I were all once mortals. We all had mortal fears, and mine was death. I’ve died so many times in my crusades only for him to bring me back. It was easier to accept when I had support. I owe him my life and love. I may be a god, but I’ll never stop worshipping him. I will never forget the trauma I have experienced. I’ve had over two hundred years to figure it out, but I understand some aren’t as lucky to have a resolution, at all.”
“Can I be honest with you?” Feryn tilts their head to Ember’s direction, but continues to speak through their knees.
“I’d love for you to be honest with me.” Ember turned her whole body to Feryn with legitimate concern. They see her reaction from beyond their kneecaps and their jaw tightens. Feryn decides to finally share.
“My relationship with my papa is not good. He blames me… He’s been better about it, but I live with constant guilt. I’m always reaching out to him, but he never seeks me. I haven’t heard from him since I came here. I fear he’s abandoned me.”
“Grief is never an easy process…”
“How do you-
“Funny that you wonder how Death knows its haunts. You have the stench of rot upon you.” She giggles, tilting her head to the side to denote lightheartedness. She realizes this might be misconstrued so she elaborates. “You don’t stink, I promise! It’s just something that came with the ascension. I don’t usually stay for funeral food, I’ll say that much. Roses do a wonderful job masking it… sorta! Your scent is very distinct and I can smell it long after you have left my temple.”
“Oh… it's that obvious…” Shame overtakes them and they bury their face into their knees again.
“No! Don’t hide! I know your pain! I see it. I smell it. I feel it.” She sighs defeatedly as emphasizing her conviction to Feryn has proven to be a challenging task. “Forgive me... Would you like a hug?” Ember holds out her arms while remaining seated on the stool. It appears as if she’s bracing for their jump.
Feryn knows this is the first time Ember has asked permission for physical contact. They were never intolerant to touch before, but they wished Ember would have volunteered anyway. They feebly push themself off the examination table, and sink into her arms. Their arms weakly wrap underneath hers as they lean downward. Feryn realizes at this moment, it was a ploy to remove them from their defensive position– to expose their vulnerability– and it worked. They continue to sink until they plummet to the ground, then rest their head on Ember’s thigh. Her plan worked; she holds their hand and pets them just underneath their bandana with the other hand.
They begin to wail as the tea grows cold.
Notes:
Why did I CHOOSE to write a poem???
Anyway, can you believe this Narinder guy like what’s his problem?
Chapter 4: Sticks and Stones Never Hurt Nobody
Summary:
An accident occurs on the farm, leaving a child injured. Tyren’s obstructive nature only causes desperate residents to take matters into their own hands. Feryn receives emotional support through their apartment remodel. With a new bed, they’re certain to get proper rest! That is, if the past doesn’t come back to embarrass them. That same night, Ember calls a meeting with the Witnesses to discuss the whereabouts of the missing bishop. Chaos ensues in Darkwood as it does within the temple walls.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s late afternoon on the farm. Beets and carrots are first to ripen beyond the fields of gold, but wheat will soon be the next crop to harvest. The roots and soil are uplifted by inexperienced hands. The residents have spent most of the morning picking this season’s harvest, and it’s nowhere near complete. They pull the roots from the ground, without use of gloves, and it wears their hands as it wears their fortitude. Tyren was particular on who had access to his tools. He’d rather have the boys’ clumsy hands handle a scythe before he would allow a resident. It was with permission or strict supervision that they were able to use these tools. Without Feryn to offer moral support, some struggle to stay on track for the successful harvest. A crow brings a wheelbarrow up the hill to collect the spoils a rabbit and bat are harvesting.
“This would be so much easier with gloves, right?” The rabbit stops pulling at the stalk of the beets to rest for a brief moment. If this was an attempt at small talk, the bat didn’t take lightly to it.
“You shut that shit up right now.” The retort offered enough impact to express the frustration in the bat’s voice, but her eyes still remain on the work underneath her hands.
The rabbit is perplexed by the attitude he received. Perhaps reinitiating the conversation differently would offer clearance. “My hands are so sore, I thought maybe-
“And mine aren’t?” She shoots a glare at him before showing the cuts and calluses that form in the webs of her fingers. “I’ve been on this farm longer than you two have, and I’m forced to work in the daylight! This isn’t fun for me–this isn’t the life I had!”
“This isn’t the life anyone had, but this is the best we got right now…” The crow sets the wheelbarrow down before he bends to collect the beets that were previously unearthed. This prompted the rabbit to participate with the new task. The crow continues to gather beets while gently redirecting the conversation. His voice offers a softness that contrasts to his rugged appearance. While bent his beak appears immobile, exacting his words can only be achieved by listening. “We have to earn our place if we want a bed to rest in, and food to eat.”
She ceases her digging, and bats her eyes to the crow. “You act like you don’t hear them talk, Anjul. We’re just waiting for the inevitable. They don’t have plans for us. We don’t belong here. They may wait for the winter to take us if the raiders haven’t found us already.”
“There’s no need for negative thinking, Vesper. We all have purpose here.” The rabbit bends to pick more beets to the wheelbarrow with Anjul. She takes offense that the rabbit doesn’t prioritize her in the conversation he initiated.
“Well, while you two make yourselves purposeful, I’m going to get some water.” Vesper pushes herself off the ground using her knuckles, and flaps her wings to dust off the remaining dirt in her webbings. She turns her nose up before leaving.
“Don’t you have a way with words, Breyen?”
The rabbit groans while he continues to drop beets into the wheelbarrow. It's clear his intention was to relate on a personal level. It’s still very difficult to readjust to the circumstances, let alone the environment. Without a friendly face around, it’s hard to remain adept.
Vesper takes the hike up the hill to the well, passing rows of wheat and corn. The second floor of the farmhouse can be seen from this elevation. The well is accessible to anyone around the farm, and there were no restrictions on its use. There was only one rule, which was to leave the ladle hanging from the center support. The ladle was shared between residents on the farm, and Vesper knows it’s unhygienic. Out of her remaining belongings was a steel camping cup that was attached to her belt loop with a carabiner, and she would use this cup every opportunity she had. Getting sick without medicine would spell death, and she knows about as much. Living in these conditions has made some hyper aware of this potential. It’s no secret that food and medicine are issues that haven’t been properly addressed. Day by day, anxiety grows between people, straining relationships, but it’s never reflective of their person. If Vesper can isolate herself from aggravating situations, she can at least save herself of those biases. Seems that’s what others have decided to do, as well. Since children are involved, there isn’t much room for genuine expression, except on Tyren’s end. She learned to keep her mouth shut around him. It’s better to let someone else make a fool of themselves than to get absorbed by it.
From the well, children could be seen and heard playing just before the fruit trees. There’s a large oak tree with a tire swing that hasn’t seen play since Heon and Yatre were younger. Vesper wasn’t on the farm long enough to know the extent of its use, but from what the boys discuss between themselves, it’s been a while. This detail is, of course, refuted by the fawn and puppy that play amongst each other and their imagination. They used sticks as props, but only they knew how they were playing. Vesper marginally envied the children for their enthusiasm at times like these, and wished to be as resilient as they were. She was a survivalist at heart, but her mind pooled with an anxiety that she regulated and it was only a matter of time before it welled over. She pulls at a rope attached to a bucket at the other end of the pulley system. It’s as clean as water can get while exposed to the elements and shared among others. She unclips her mug and scoops it into the supply before inspecting it for particulates.
“Do you mind if I have a drink with you?” The cow approaches from the top of the incline, lifting her skirt just enough so she doesn’t step on it with her hooves. Vesper knows this cow in passing, but never got her name. She also knows she arrived at the farm with the puppy a short time after herself. She gestures to the ladle with a nod and a point of her ears as she takes a sip from her mug.
“Thank you…” she sets her skirt down, and reaches for the ladle. “I don’t believe I have met your acquaintance… My name is Meringue.” With the ladle now in hand, she dips it into the bucket.
Vesper takes another quick sip, while leaning against the brick of the well. She swallows hard before answering, “Vesper. You came in with that puppy right?” Although she knew this information, it would be appropriate to apply a name to the face. She presses for more dialogue, “What’s your backstory?”
“Nason…” Meringue answers the first question before she takes a sip from the ladle. She swallows and pauses before allowing herself to respond. “I lost my children in a fire that raiders set ablaze.” She clears her throat, but there’s nothing more to provide.
Vesper stammers, “I’m so sorry, I—
“You did nothing wrong, sweetie. I’m simply speaking the truth. Oftentimes, the truth can be painful, but it’s getting easier to accept the more I say it. I miss them dearly and nothing could ever replace them. I thought of my children when I found Nason coated in their parents’ blood. My heart tore for them. We both lost everything that mattered and it was fate that brought us together. We needed each other— at least, that’s the silver lining we share.” Meringue is wistful in her mourning as she looks amusingly beyond the hill to where the children are taking impatient turns on the tire swing. Her tone changes with a bitterness in her reflection. “We appreciate the life we are gifted, but I see how that foul soul speaks to his children and it’s not befitting of a loving parent.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels this way about him…”
“Take comfort knowing we are not the only ones. It’s difficult to express gratitude when it compromises your values.” Meringue places the ladle back to the center support. She had enough water for now.
“What do you mean by that?” Vesper watches as Meringue lifts her skirt a short ways up, recognizing she is ready for departure.
“Everyone has a breaking point. Even Tyren… ” She walks uphill towards the canning station that is set on the gravel footpath just before the fruit trees. The footpath led to and from the barn which made it easy to transport farm equipment. The equipment, however, no longer resides within the barn, but in a shed just downhill where it remained inaccessible to Tyren’s older knees.
The canning station is within sight of the farmhouse and the large oak, which make supervising the children easier for her while she works. The station consisted of two long tables and several stove burners with pots already boiling with salted water. She is prepared for the beets Breyen and Anjul cart from the field. Meringue greets them by helping the two unload the beets into a basin full of water. This will remove the remaining sediment from the roots before they plunge into the pot. The beets’ skin will soften after the boil, which will make them easier to peel. Meringue learned these tips when she lived off the land similarly to Tyren. Though her means were meager, she and her late husband worked hard to ensure their two children had food to eat and skills to learn so they, too, could live off the land. Only two years ago did plans change and no longer did it matter to teach… Nason is too excitable to remain focused on lessons, and Meringue believes they will eventually grow out of it. It’s hopeful thinking.
Nason runs from the tire swing while a fawn chases after. They have a stick in their hand while they make their playful escape. Nason trips over their own feet and falls into the gravel footpath. The fawn runs to their aid, “Nason, are you okay?” The fawn then flips them to their back before they notice a pool of blood staining their denim shorts. The fawn’s color drains from their face, “Uh-oh!”
“What? I fall all the time…” Nason groans, the pain doesn’t process until they sit up and inspect their own body. Pupils shrink at the sight of blood streaming down their leg. The stick lodged into the side of their thigh just above the knee. Skin had folded into the puncture site and buckled where the stick pinned it taut; the sharp end of the stick could be felt just above the skin, behind the thigh. It sent a sharp, sudden pain throughout their body. Their sweat runs cold, and they feel overwhelmed with panic and nausea. They slump forward in a slight faint, before throwing themself back, biting their lip, uttering quick pained moans that rapidly develop into a gut wrenching scream.
The commotion draws attention to the nearby adults.
Meringue quickly dusts off her hands and picks her skirt to run towards the children’s location. “Nason!” She falls to the ground near them and pulls their upper body onto her lap. Vesper dumps the bucket back into the well before she runs up the slope to assist. Meringue wipes Nason’s face of debris stuck by their tears. “Kiran, what happened?” She raises her voice enough to be heard over the sustained screaming. She holds Nason’s head to her chest dampening their screams into her blouse that quickly becomes soaked with their tears.
The scene overwhelms Kiran and they yell back, “we were playing and they fell! It was an accident, I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!”
Vesper made it up top of the slope and heard just enough from Kiran to gather the context. She grabs the fawn by the wrist and brings them into an embrace. They, too, begin crying into her shirt. She pulls away before kneeling down to their level, the fawn wipes their eyes with their wrists before repeatedly apologizing to Vesper what was meant to Nason. She holds them by the shoulders, “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“No…” They wail while Vesper rubs their upper arms.
“It’s not your fault, Kiran. Accidents happen. Look at me.”
She shakes them only slightly to draw their attention. Kiran looks up from their hands, their tears drip from their chin. Palms face upward and their fingers stand weak, trembling. “You did nothing wrong. Do not blame yourself, but take responsibility—be there for your friend, okay? Nason needs you.”
Kiran nods, before leaping back into Vesper for another tight embrace. She accepts this and rubs their back, she stares at the wound to make assessments on how to proceed.
Upon further inspection Meringue finds the wound to appear considerably deep and in need of immediate attention. Nason cries while reaching for the embedded stick before Meringue takes hold of their paws. Removing it could cause more problems than it’s worth. Panic finds its way into her voice and her throat tightens, “Breyen, Anjul! I need help!” They snap out of their freeze before taking action. Anjul remains to dump the beets from the wheelbarrow and brings it with him. By the time he arrives, Breyen holds onto Nason’s legs to keep them in place to prevent further damage.
Vesper brings Kiran closer to her, placing her hand behind their head and allows Kiran’s tears to soak through her shoulder. She hears Kiran's muffled apologies, which she attempts to pacify by rubbing their back. She struggles to remain calm and rational for the young ones, especially under these circumstances. Vesper runs several action plans in her head and it all comes crashing to a singular point. She turns to Meringue and makes a difficult suggestion. “We need to get Tyren involved.”
Meringue switches positions with Anjul before she rips a long length of cloth from her apron. This is then used to bind and compress the wound around the stick. Nason screams and yelps for every tightened wrap she makes. It’s the best she could do without a proper tourniquet, but she knows she needs additional help. She grimaces at the thought of interacting with Tyren, especially with how he humiliated her in front of the children, but she doesn’t have much of a choice.
“Meringue…” Vesper prompts her for a response.
Tyren is responsible for the welfare of the people, as much as Meringue hates to admit. She glances between the crying children, and the injury. Hesitation breeds inaction as the noise drowns out her thoughts.
“Meringue!” Vesper urgently prods, this time the panic escapes her throat. There’s no time for indecision. Her attempt at wrangling is successful.
“Okay, fine!” Her decision is made. Frustration is made apparent. She’s aware that getting angry could impact how the children recollect the situation if the gore wasn’t enough. She cups Nason’s face into her hands, “Baby, look at me. You are strong and brave. We will take you to the doctor, okay? Focus on breathing— just like we practiced!” She calmed Nason enough to guide them through several deep breaths.
Nason shudders with each exhale. They force a thought in between the pain, “P-please don’t-t leeave me… I’m s-scared…”
“We’re here for you, baby, but I need to get you help. Be brave for me, you’re among friends.” She kisses them on the forehead before she pushes herself off the gravel.
“N-no… No! NO!” Their squeaky protests are accompanied by thrashing, causing Breyen and Anjul to pin most of their weight back onto Nason.
Meringue passes by Vesper, speaking through her eyes; she needs Vesper to come with her. Vesper pulls Kiran away, and dries the fur around their eyes with the back of her finger. “I’m going with Meringue, but if you need your parents you may leave. Nason has the support they need; it is entirely your choice.”
Kiran shakes their head, “I wanna help… I’ll stay here with Nason.”
With that, Kiran dried their eyes and kneeled to Nason’s side, careful not to be within thrashing distance. Nason squealed for Meringue, “MAMA, MAMA COME BACK!”
A yelp slips from between her teeth. She quickly contains the remains of it in her throat with a cupped hand; her pace quickens. There is a tightness in her chest that pangs with heartbreak as she is reminded of the instance where she was unable to save a single one of her children. She marches towards the farmhouse while her composed facade wears, but this faltering mask is what reinforces her spirits. This is the one time Meringue feels compelled to be assertive. Fueled with a new passion and anger, she’s willing to do whatever it takes to care for the only thing that now matters. Nason’s cries dulls the more distant she physically becomes, but she hasn’t forgotten their influence of her objective. Tyren won’t speak ill of her any longer— he will need to accommodate. She approaches the porch of the farmhouse, but waits for Vesper to catch up before she knocks on the screen door with a purposeful steadiness. Though she’s overwhelmed with emotion, it’s a tool she will utilize later. For now, she knows that being patient is the best way to make a proper appeal. She steadies her breathing while they wait for a response.
The wood door takes its time to creak open, and she’s greeted by Tyren who emerges from the dark. He reeks of stale wine and appears to have woken. “I thought we had an agreement…” He slurs before belching and blowing it with a hiss in Meringue’s face.
You’re disgusting, “I wouldn’t come to you if I had a choice.” Her patience is challenged, but she won’t give into his provocation.
“Well, that sucks. I have important things to do.” Tyren slips back into the depths of his home before Vesper forces her boot in to prevent the door from fully closing.
“Like wallow in your filth?” Vesper glares at Tyren, not phased by the stink that comes from within him.
He flings the door open, shoving Vesper off balance. He grips her by the shirt and slams her against the horizontal paneling of the house. He drags her upward to meet her eyes. “I don’t do favors.”
“We’re not asking. We’re demanding .” Vesper forced through gritted teeth. Though she’s not in an optimal position for defending herself in this confrontation, she remains steeled. There’s no chance that he could do anything more than bark in the daylight. Both Meringue and Vesper know about as much.
“Watch what you say, rat.” His rancid breath lingers in the space between him and Vesper.
“Or what? You’ll threaten to throw me out like all the rest?” She spits back, “You don’t even have the gall…deep down, you need us just as much... ” Whether or not it was true, Vesper knows his age to be a contributing factor to how he performs on the farm. Even the slower ones like Breyen caught onto it. Something in him snapped and he shoves her back into the wall to receive feedback of the pain he’s delivered. Vesper yelps before he allows her to fall to the floorboards. He kneels down to her while she groans, picking herself up slowly and painfully, “You’re replaceable, vermin.” Tyren spits in her face, which she then angrily wipes with her wrist. She’s prepared for this moment and she opens her mouth. Meringue interrupts before anything else could be said. “My child is hurt and is in need of a doctor, Tyren.” She paces herself loudly while her fingers grip tightly on the remains of her apron. Finding the right words out of anger is about as insufferable as Tyren, himself.
“Why should I help that nasty snot bubble of a mutt?” He pulls himself off the ground and crosses his arms at Meringue. His tail whips as he watches Vesper pick herself up and return to stand with Meringue, dusting herself off.
“I’m not asking you to care. We just need a doctor sent here.”
“Again, why should I interfere with the natural course of things? If they die, they die—It ain’t my problem.”
“Children get hurt, Tyren! You can’t blame them for accidents! Wouldn’t you do something if it were Heon or Yatre?”
“Leave my children out of this, rodent! They are not stupid enough to get in trouble.” Tyren pushes his way between them to escape back into his home. “We’re done talking. If you step foot at my door again, I won’t hesitate to send you to Death, myself.”
“They will be my judges— not you— and if you remain, I hope that Death graces you a merciful one. Though, it appears you need mercy more than myself.” Meringue utilizes her frustration strategically. She is well aware Tyren hides a torment of which she doesn’t fully understand, and it’s evident with his drinking.
“I don’t need your pity, pious bitch. Fuck off!” Tyren slams the door shut, officially ending the encounter.
Meringue’s throat tightens. As she clenches her jaws a scream forms in her belly, but it dares not to emerge. She knows hearing her frustration would grant him satisfaction. Her knuckles turn white as her grip quakes at her apron. Vesper recognizes she would remain this way if she doesn’t intervene. Given how volatile the situation is, she begins to reach, perhaps reframing the situation to focus on Nason. Meringue turns to her with the disgust she intended for Tyren, and she momentarily forgets Vesper’s presence.
Vesper pats her arm, forgiving the unintended rudeness, and starts gently, “We’ll get them fixed up. Let’s take them somewhere comfortable for the meantime.”
Meringue is reminded of what’s important yet again: Nason. She deserts her frustration with Tyren at his porch before she quickly returns to the four others she had left while on her pursuit. Vesper follows behind with her cup clanking against her carabiner with each step. It stands against the sound of crunching gravel. There isn’t anything constructive brewing in the recesses of Meringue’s mind, but to bide time. All she knows is that she needs to be particularly strong for Nason while she spends this time to develop a plan.
They’re met with the scene comparative to how it was left, originally. Nason’s cries are quieted to grumbles while Anjul and Breyen talk amongst each other quietly, ready to assist should Nason thrash again. Kiran is sorting rocks by size and color, distracting them from their injury. The makeshift tourniquet has already bled through while droplets of blood pool around their leg. The ground is saturated, but they don’t notice this as Kiran does an excellent job distracting. The afternoon sun warmed the ground surface; it’s difficult for Nason to determine if it was blood or sweat creating the wetness of their skin. They’d like to think it’s the latter.
While Meringue is defeated in yet another battle with Tyren, she finds herself in an entirely new fog. Nason needs more than just bandages and water. They need medicine and it’s out in the woods, waiting to be picked. Meringue will have all the time to consider her options while she tends to Nason’s wounds.
“Mama!” Nason instinctually sits up, putting pressure on the leg before falling back down.
Meringue urgently leaps to their side. “Nason, you stay right there baby. I’m here for you.”
“We need to take them to the barn for rest.” Vesper instructs Anjul and Breyen, but turns to Anjul for the remainder of it. “We’ll sort the details later…”
They take Nason by the legs and underneath the arms, and work in tandem to hoist the child into the wheelbarrow. They’re considerate with how to transport the child, but it’s difficult to get proper leverage due to the location of the injury. Nason grunts and groans from the movement, and settles in an uncomfortable position that doesn’t put strain on their knee. Meringue and Kiran follow beside Breyen to the barn, but Vesper falls behind. Anjul notices this behavior and falls back, leaving the remaining group to gingerly walk the rest of the way with Nason. Anjul and Vesper reconvene underneath a tree that had already given fruit among the row of other peach trees. The shade is welcoming this late in the summer.
“What’s up? I figured you wanted to talk.” Anjul ruffles his feathers to dispel the sweat from his skin.
“It’s not looking good.” She puts it simply. She leans against the trunk and crosses her arms, careful not to scratch her webbing with this motion. “Tyren denied access to aid. We need to find a solution– quick.” She breathes quietly so as to not draw attention to her words. She’s careful to move her mouth for the lip reading spies that may lurk.
Anjul grows closer to Vesper. The tip of his beak dips towards the ground, whispering as to not allow opportunity to hear their conspiring. “Our solution is in the woods. Unless we find a way off the farm, we may not get the help we need– let alone reentry. Maybe we can bypass Tyren, but I don’t know about the guards. What do you suggest?”
“Just that. Out and in. Seems simple enough… I hiked this area frequently enough to know where camellias grow. I can echolocate to navigate the woods. That drunk won’t know if it’s at night. We’ll sneak out when the otter is on duty.”
“You’re confident this will work?” He catches sight of her eyes, and sees only uncertainty.
“Not at all. But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Are we going to tell Meringue?”
Vesper turns her head slightly; her eyes dart to the barn in the distance. The group make their way inside, before catching a glimpse of Meringue’s stress although the distance leaves little detail to observe. “No, she has too much to worry about.” She exhales as she pushes herself off the trunk, before folding her arms once again. Her boots scratch against the gravel, as she turns back to Anjul. “We can’t raise suspicion. Let’s take care of those beets.”
Meringue’s sleeping arrangement is located on the first level of the barn, against the side wall away from the exact left corner the tractor— of which has not seen use since their arrival. The support beams and pallets sectioned off the area to create privacy, although its proximity to the door failed to make it feel entirely secure; she understands that Feryn did the best they could to accommodate. She shares this space with Nason who typically slept on the innermost side of the bale. The typical raider would never consider looking into the barn—seldom as they were— it still was another measure she took to ensure the safety of the child. The “bed” was never comfortable and the straw would prick their skin. The alternative would be sleeping on the floor, which is only marginally better in comparison. Being on the first floor was her decision. Her fear of heights made it difficult to climb something as simple as a ladder, but it makes it easy for her to enter and leave whenever she wishes. Meringue believes herself discreet in her outings, but some who closely work with her understand the reason she struggles to sleep at night.
Meringue smooths out the sheets and fluffs the pillowcase filled with the chaff of einkorn. Once to her acceptability, she approaches Nason, pressing her lips on their forehead. She smooths the wet fur around their eyes, “We’re gonna move you once more, but we don’t plan on doing it again, okay?” Nason’s frown stretches, yet nods with anticipation. She nods to Breyen while taking hold of their feet, especially careful not to disturb the site. Breyen slips his hands underneath their armpits and prepares for the hoist. The two work together to carry Nason onto their bale of hay. Nason winces, but braves through the pain; Meringue apologizes for every whimper Nason made during this move. Once settled on the bale, Meringue settles by their side, caressing their drained face with a single hand. Their eyes have remained closed while she tilts their face to hers. This entire incident was an exhausting experience and she knows this is only the beginning. There still isn’t a plan and she’s only going by intuition. While she considers her options, she pulls back, and places her hands onto her lap. Her eyes return to the wound. The blood stopped flowing, but the bandage needs changing— more importantly the stick would need to be removed. She fears removing the stick will cause more bleeding, but there’s another concern of it causing an infection if left untreated. The list of potential consequences are accumulating and only making her anxiety worse. She inhales loudly. Nason is aware of her stress.
“Is… the doctor on the way?” They begin, nearly inaudible. Weakness has made it to through their voice.
A mix of anguish, distraught, and wrath beats within her hands as she grips her dress, but none of which is ever directed towards Nason. She struggles to maintain composure, but nothing escapes her mouth without absolute certainty. Her eyes are fixed to the wood floor. Hay is scattered along the surface, but they always find their way to the joints. “Breyen, would you grab new linens and water?”
Breyen nods before running off to fulfill this task. Kiran fidgets with their hands, stepping forward in Breyen’s place, “What would you like me to do, ma’am?”
Meringue smiles wryly as she turns her attention to the child. “You’ve done enough. Go to your parents—they may need your help with the chickens.”
Kiran frowns and turns to walk away before Meringue takes hold of their hand. They’re taken aback, and they turn to her. Her smile is genuine, but weak, “Thank you. You’re a good friend to Nason.”
Kiran returns the smile with the same energy, retrieving their hand when her grip loosens. Their expression falters after they nod back, then turns to run off to the coops. Nason isn’t the only one hurt; Meringue knows Kiran has a looming guilt that she can’t shake them from. She feels guilt for allowing the child to remain and witness the scene, and she knows their parents will find issues with this. It’s not like she can take Nason and escape with guaranteed safety, nor is she prepared to handle irate parents whose style is to shelter. She sighs as dried blood flakes from her joints when she rubs her temples. It’s been a long day…
Tensions and tears have settled at the hospital in Divinity’s Dirge. While neither Ember nor Feryn expected an emotional public display, Ember still takes it upon herself to make use of the remaining daylight. The sun is still high in the sky when Ember waits seated on the ramp leading to the entrance to the bank. Feryn was left inside to deposit the check Ember made for them earlier in the day, but she decided to give them privacy while they navigate that situation on their own. While she waits, her chin rests against the railing while she stares off into the bike shelter just below. Her feet hang off the side of the ramp, beyond the railing, kicking so as to not allow them to fall numb. She sighs and mutters to herself, “I should have had Nari deal with this…” It appears it’s taken longer than anticipated, but there’s still time available in the day. She continues her self-talk, “Why did you have to be so silly? Stupid stupid!” she grows even more irritated and takes hold of her ears to pull on. “Another one! You just don’t know when to stop… Ugh!” She pulls downward on them before releasing them. They bounce back to their original droopy position, “Well… nothing will come of this, I’ll make sure of it… He better be there tonight…” her anxiety softens as her thoughts trail back to him and his soft hair that smells of sandalwood. “He’ll come back… He must…”
The door opens slowly and it snaps Ember from her daze. Feryn returns, replacing their wallet into their bag. They sigh, but are relieved to be done.
Ember smiles and pulls herself up from her seat, standing a few feet from Feryn, moving her hips side to side in her anticipation. “It went okay?”
Feryn pushes their bottom lip out before fashioning a weak and crooked smile, “I think so? I got a booklet of checks and some cash. I never owned an account before, my papa always managed the gold.”
Ember smiles back, “Kinda makes you feel like you’re officially an adult, huh?”
“Yeah…” Feryn nods, meekly shifting their footing while their eyes remain at their feet.
Their embarrassment made itself apparent to Ember and she laughed it off through her nose. “Technically it’s your money, so spend it how you’d like. What will be your first purchase?”
Feryn furrows their eyebrows and smiles with relief as this moment finally arrives, “I could really use furniture…”
Ember nods, “Figured you would! I know this cute antique store I think would help with that. It’s not too far from here! Let’s go!” She snatches Feryn’s hand before running off to the direction of the antique store.
The antique store was only a few blocks down from the bank, through another neighborhood. Ember’s excitable jog only ended because Feryn started dragging behind. With an apology, she settled to walk at their pace. Ember contemplates while their tree-shaded walk persists. Feryn may have retained concerns; especially with the events that transpired earlier at the hospital. Intuition suggests now is not the time, but she keeps it forefront in memory should the opportunity arise. Feryn breaks the silence first, “I didn’t learn a whole lot from the library… I did meet Witness Allocer, which I thought was weird because I thought he served you. He said he also serves his bishop. I met them too, but they were bothered by me, I think.”
“You met Shamura?” Ember freezes for a moment before Feryn catches themself leaving her behind.
They turned to her, “Yeah, they said something about being a bishop. Can you explain that to me? I don’t quite understand that situation and Witness Allocer speaks in riddles.”
So, that’s why the visit ended prematurely… Ember waves this thought away before groaning, “It’s long and complicated, but I’ll try to be brief…”
It was rumored that divinity took a life form from the elements: fire, water, earth, wind, and decay. A spider rose from the magma that engulfed the surface, and brought rain to snuff the flames. The rain persisted, waking oceans and in its depths, a squid floated to the surface and called upon submerged life to claim the land. A toad born from the ashen mud of the earth croaked and bellowed, created the wind that would spread the seeds of abundance. The booming wind manifested a worm that burrowed the earth and sowed the seeds, which brought vegetation to sustain the landmass. It stands as testament that decay existed since life was brought to the oceans. Death was the natural order— all encompassing, and omnipresent—only bringing willpower and purpose to life. It was the Divine Quintet that created all life as it is known. The family reigned the land for thousands of years, and was divided into equal segments. Each divine entity mastered their denomination, thus becoming bishops of the forces that beckon the scourge of the apocalypse. Appointed to each bishop is a Witness— their most devoted follower, though it appeared that a Witness is a bishop’s very first follower. Each bishop had strict terms for who became a disciple and which would ultimately become a Witness. A Witness’s purpose was to be a commanding secondhand— a secretary— should the bishop be occupied elsewhere. A Witness would carry out their bishop’s responsibilities, and take ownership of their disciples to command as their bishop intends. Prior to Ember, Witnesses undertook the responsibilities by maintaining their cults while the bishops fought to sever the decay that festered the edges of their domains. No longer are the days of war and territorial conquest, and while the Witnesses still remain dutiful to their bishops, they are most loyal to Ember.
“So, that makes Shamura as old as the earth itself…” Feryn has remained on this thought since they listened, and out of all the questions they could ask, this was their foremost reflection.
Ember scoffs, “Shhhh- don’t say that, it’s rude to make suggestions about a spider’s age.” She waves her hand as to fan the absurdity from the air. “I’m surprised they didn’t spin you in their web and make a meal of you.”
“Wait, is cannibalism a thing here?” Feryn furrows their eyebrows and places their thumb to their lip.
“What would I be if I withheld the needs of a carnivore?” Ember steeples her fingers while she delivers this candidly.
Feryn tilts their head in consideration and then opens their mouth slightly before quietly asking, “Where does the meat come from?”
“We have no issues with dissenters or heretics here at Divinity’s Dirge.” Her smile is lukewarm as she passes Feryn, resuming the walk, but Feryn slowly follows with slight unease. “It’s safe to consume, they’re all tested for pathogens. We also have alternatives for protein should that make you… uncomfortable.”
“I think I'll stick to chicken and fish…” Feryn laughs dryly.
“You say this now, but you have canines for a reason.” Ember raises an eyebrow and looks over her shoulder to observe Feryn for her light prodding. She stops in her tracks to turn back to Feryn and grazes her fingers so gently under their chin; tilting upward slightly so she meets their eyes. From a distance they look black, but this is the first time they notice the color. Feryn’s throat tightens as they stare directly into her deep red irises. Their heart beats at her fingertips, and her smile curls at the corners. “Don’t you wish to live indulgently?” Ember’s sultry voice makes Feryn’s heart skip a beat, but the disgusted groan that escapes their throat humors her; she’s satisfied with this response. She snickers and pats their cheek with the same hand before turning and maintaining her pacing.
The concept of consuming flesh forces the subject to change, and Feryn returns to the previous topic. “Umm… Who are the bishops?”
“Well, you met Shamura and their Witness, Allocer… there’s Kallamar, though there’s always an opportunity to reacquaint at better terms should you want. He needs all the help he can get. Have you met Heket?”
“Forneus’ wife? I couldn’t tell she was a bishop! She seems very sweet though she looks like hell…” Oops.
Ember laughs at this slip up and continues at a steady pace, “She had quite the mouth in the past, so I hear. She wears her story on her skin and has no need to attest for it. She makes great company and even better food!” She stops in her tracks again, pulling herself away from the street to the building side and throws her palms to the sky, “And then there’s me! Long story short, Narinder and I are… bonded for lack of terms. Not a Witness, not a disciple, or follower– just mine and mine only! He does what I tell him to and I reward him handsomely!” She spins around her heel, hugging herself, and with the rotation complete she giggles and sways her hips side to side, “We’re here! Let’s head inside!” She pushes against the bronze doorknob connected to the dark wooden door.
The ring of a small bell accompanies the musty smell of time. The antique store sat beside an appliance repair store, both of which appeared older and dingy than some of the others nearest the main street. The windows to the storefront are arched and the glass is warped, with slight impurities and trapped bubbles. The dust leaves little to distinguish from the outside, and dampness grows moss around the edges of the frames.
Ember had only listed four of the five bishops, and she didn’t mention anything about Witness Agares. Feryn had taken note of it, before entering the store and sounding the bell upon their entrance.
The interior was a lackluster arrangement with very poor lighting. It doesn’t appear this place gets too much business from the locals, which adds a sense of mystique to its existence or why Ember would be interested in visiting. Old books, clothes, paintings, tapestry, tableware, and things Feryn doesn’t even recognize but knows are things that all well served its purpose. They look for Ember by weaving in between displays of shelves and tables, until they come across a rack of clothes. The dresses they sift through are a farm style, but they don’t appear to recognize any of it. They are smaller in size and Feryn knows they won’t fit, but it’s fun to look. They push through the hangers and find a long off-white dress with sheer sleeves and floral appliques. A wedding dress? Who would give that up? It’s the only article of clothing on the rack that appears their size. No way . They imagine how they would look in the dress, and giggle at the thought of getting married. The idea of looking their best for their tall-dark-and-handsome makes them squeal before reminding themself that they’re still in public. They bury the dress back into the rack and continue searching for Ember. It’s quiet aside from the sound of their own breathing. They turn a corner, only to be face to face with Ember, “Boo!” Feryn’s tail bristled as they bound back. No scream was made, but their reaction was enough to make Ember chortle. “I’m sorry! It’s not fair to you that I’m the only one having fun!” She wipes the laughter off her face before she grabs Feryn by the hand, “I think I found something you would like!” She guides them to the other end of the shop, and soon enough, they arrive at their destination: a rectangular shape covered by a white sheet.
Ember removes the sheet to reveal a medium-toned oak clawfoot bed frame. It was tucked in a corner of the room until this moment. “Ta-da! What do you think?”
Feryn’s eyes glisten with relief and excitement for tonight they’ll finally have a bed to sleep in. They didn’t care about appearances— and though it’s been only one time, their body aches from last night’s rest. “It’s perfect!”
“You’re not just saying that out of necessity, are you?” Ember folds the sheet into a neat square, then sets a hand on her hip. “I wouldn’t like for you to buy something you don’t love entirely.”
Feryn moves in and couches to inspect the bed frame. They’re not sure what they are looking out for— it’s just a bed frame. It supports a mattress. The cross supports are thick and straight while being proportionally spaced. The wood is well maintained with a coat of sealant to preserve the integrity. There are some imperfections that indicate its previous usage, but it’s the least of their worries. They notice its soft texture and they excite themself; this means they no longer have to sleep on the floor! They look upward to Ember and give her an excited hum as confirmation. She smiles back and takes the tag on the headboard. “We’ll take this up for checkout. What else are we looking for?”
Feryn pushes themself off the ground and pulls their journal out to flip to the page where their list is located. Ember stands beside Feryn while they run through the list with her. The dim lighting makes it difficult to read, but Feryn manages just as well; they wrote the list, after all. They locate each of the articles off the list and take the tags of those Feryn has grown to adore: the aforementioned bed, a coffee table, chairs, and a table for the balcony— a mattress, bookcase, silverware, dishes and a rug all make it part of their collection! The only thing they didn’t locate was a couch, but the quantity was already fulfilling enough. None of the furniture matched, and if it truly bothered Feryn, they would paint it later. For now, they were buzzing with adult agency! Every piece of furniture had a unique charm of its own. A thought did cross Feryn’s mind as the two breeze past the displays and racks, making their way to the checkout stand. “Wait, how are we supposed to take all this over?” The smell of melted wax replaces the stale air of dormancy.
“Don’t you worry your perfect little face!” Ember pinches Feryn’s cheek before she punctuates with several pats. “I will have movers deliver your stuff.”
Feryn struggles to hide excitement, and their nod is more enthusiastic than they intended. Ember takes notice and giggles, while ringing the bell on the counter. It takes a moment for the clerk to arrive and take the tags. A short moth wearing their wings like a cardigan calculates the amount to charge. Ember strikes a casual conversation. “How is Chemach, by the way? I haven’t seen her around recently.” She seems to know everyone here, which makes sense, considering she built this town.
“Oh!” The moth adjusts their glasses, peering just above their ledger to meet Ember’s energy. “She’s well, however, Kallamar has yet to find a cure for her hysteria.” They return to catalog the outgoing merchandise.
“It’s a shame Kallamar believes it’s a problem needing resolution. To cure her would be to dismantle her entire being!”
“Agreed verily! Here’s hoping he doesn’t find a cure.”
“Give her my greetings when you see her, will you?”
“Certainly, my leader! Will you need a truck to deliver these items or do you have one available?”
“We will be in need of one, thank you!”
The moth takes a broom and knocks at the ceiling with the stick, then readjusts their glasses again. “He will be down to help you out!” They tear the receipt from their ledger and hand it to Ember, who then hands it to Feryn. “Will that be coin or card?”
Feryn assesses the total and determines they have sufficient funds for this purchase. “Coin!” They remove their wallet from their bag and count the necessary amount. At some point Feryn realizes that it may be best to have written a check instead, but now they are committed. Ember is amused by this display and watches silently until they are complete.
“Look at you! You bought your first pieces of furniture! You’re finally an adult!” Ember pulls Feryn by their shoulders into an embrace. “Aren’t you proud of yourself?”
“Yeah, I never thought I’d be capable of that. Papa would hate it if he found I was making my own decisions…”
“Be happy he’s not here to tell you otherwise.” Ember pulls away, holding their hands “At least here, you can make your own decisions and be your own person. You belong.” She rubs the back of their hands with her thumbs, but this softness of hers feels more intimate than Feryn had experienced from her. She hums and squeezes their hands before releasing them. A tired hedgehog makes his way downstairs, wearing his buttoned vest. He cleaned his glasses with a small cloth before placing them back onto his face. He’s about as tall as the moth, whose cheeks he kisses. They quietly speak to one another, but Feryn doesn’t invade their privacy. Ember regains their focus after listening briefly, “I’ll stay here and help load the truck. We’ll try to be quick about it! I know how excited you are to sleep in a bed tonight. I’ll meet you at the apartment soon after!”
They nod and follow the loosely carved path towards the door where the sun shone bright between the leaves. The air smells of progress– a welcomed change from the damp stagnation.
Feryn follows the route back to the bank. Luckily the bank was just off the main street so finding it won’t pose much of a problem. Once there, it should be easier to navigate back to the apartment. They pass the bank and turn the corner. The bar stands at the center of this stretch of businesses and Feryn remains on the building side of the sidewalk to allow a pair to pass without much issue. The trees offer ample shade, regardless of which part of the sidewalk is walked on. It’s nice— this adult-like self reliance is starting to feel right . The door to the bar swings open and almost catches Feryn on the nose. A quick apology is made to them before he realizes who he almost hurt. “My eyes were already sore from seeing you, yet here we are again.” Plimbo allows for the door to close before repositioning himself and his empty dolly away from walkers and the exit. A pair of hands are fixed to his belt cinching his waist, one hand tilts his hat and the other remains on the dolly.
That damned sea bug! How many more times do they need to see him today? “What do you want?” Feryn pouts and crosses their arms.
“I hear you own that storefront near the bakery— You plan on running the shop?”
How does he know this? “It’s gonna be a produce shop. I haven’t fixed it up yet.”
“Wow, look at you making big life decisions. But I must ask: what’s a shop without the product? I’m sure you could use a business partner to get you started, hmm? A helpful hand? A heaping supply of seeds?”
All while true and enticing, Feryn has no particular interest in teaming with Plimbo if it means he continues to enable their father’s alcohol addiction. In optimal circumstances, they would organize a supply with someone who won’t profit off someone’s dependency. However, they recognize this may be the only opportunity for them to quickly open their doors and provide means for the people left on the farm. Ultimately, they’ll compromise their own values, but they need as much help as they can get. Feryn’s expression stiffens as they stare at Plimbo’s boots, and he chuckles as he twists his moustache in response. “I’ll let you think about it.” He slips a hand into his coat and pulls a card with his phone number on it, then hands it to Feryn. “Shoot me a text— I’ll make it worthwhile.”
Feryn, at least, accepts the card before he gives a short wave and returns to his truck parked on the side of the building. It appears he has more deliveries to make, but they’re glad he didn’t pressure them into making a decision. They place the card into their bag and continue on their way, seething. The street they’re on feeds into the end of the market farthest from where Forneus’s stall is set. There’s no knowing if Forneus will even be there. They also don’t want to concern her with their plights regarding Plimbo. They’re fortunate that the town has considerable forethought, but if they were truly lost, they may resort to finding the temple’s stone path. They weave through foot traffic and stalls while they slip back into their thoughts.
Feryn still thinks about the dress they saw earlier in the day and they feel sorrow for the cloth. What purpose does it serve now that it hangs from a rack among the dreary? It was shoulderless, too! It feels like it was made specifically for them! They wonder if it will still be there if— rather, when—that fateful day would come. As a child, superstitious tales would rear them, fearfully, as their behavior then would have negative consequences when they grow older. One such instance where buying a wedding dress without a partner-to-be would doom them a lifetime of loneliness. To some degree, is there truth to it? It may be best to not test theories. If it truly is the dress for them, it will still be there when the time presents itself. In the back of their head, they know this is wishful thinking, but can’t a cat dream about their wedding without fear of superstition— or worse, criticism from their father.
Regardless, their father would never approve of a marriage until after the farm was inherited. He would take it upon himself to prohibit them from interacting with anyone outside the farm, which prevented Feryn from ever having a romantic experience. It never did stop the dreamer from fantasizing in their journal that they continue to this day. As they grew into their teens, they had enough of their father’s rules and wishes. During that short time, their father would house migrants in the barn for the night as it was safer than being on the road— another choice that wasn’t entirely his own. On a warm autumn night, a black cat had wandered in from his travels and needed a place to rest. Feryn had only witnessed his interaction with their father while remaining hidden in the stairway. Enamored by his flippy hair, pristine white robes, and bright smile, they knew he’d fit well as their first— they just needed to find a way out. As the door closed, Feryn scampered off to their room and pretended to sleep underneath their daisy sheets. Tyren would regularly check on his children before he would retire for the night. Feryn would steady their breath while he checked on the boys first, and perfect the rhythm by the time he would enter their bedroom. He’d remove their bandana and place it on the side table before planting a kiss on the back of their head and leaving. They recall the exhilaration of what they intended to do, which was incomparable to how they felt about adulthood, presently. They snuck out of bed, and latched the door shut before they went to pry their window, just enough to squeeze out. They slipped through, attempting to not get their nightgown caught or dirtied. Then made their descent from the rooftop to the orchard where they wouldn’t be seen. They recall thinking how silly it all was and blamed their adolescence on their impending decisions. Feryn snuck through the barn door to be met with the pointed end of a staff. They stare wide eyed before it retracts to its bearer, the black cat from before. He sighs in an annoyed relief as he places his staff against the wall, nearest the hay bale he intended on sleeping on. “You really shouldn’t be sneaking around like that, you can really get hurt.” He crosses his arms, looking down at them with soft concern.
“I wasn’t sneaking…” Feryn took this as an invitation to enter, and closed the door behind them. They weren’t sure how to navigate this conversation to end how they desired.
“Then why are you here?” He asked knowingly as he seated himself on the bale.
Feryn was flustered and didn’t quite know how to respond. They fidgeted with their hands, while they attempted to come with an answer. The cat laughed through his nose before he patted the bale. Feryn accepted the invitation while he retrieved his journal on his side of the bale. “You can keep me company while I write, though I’m sure your father wouldn’t take it well if he found you here.”
“What are you writing?” Feryn disregarded the last statement to prolong their stay.
“Happenings, poetry… it provides a space of reflection. It’s meditative and it allows me some sleep while I travel.”
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere, any place, and nowhere in particular. I’m looking for purpose, but there is nothing for the dead.” He was candid in his response, and it left Feryn mystified. They’re completely lost in this conversation and too young to understand the mechanics of life to offer anything reflective. They were also too distracted in their own thoughts. Their heart fluttered with excitement and debated if they should act on their thoughts or not, but the timing wasn’t right. “Then what’s the point of travelling if there is no destination?”
“That’s among the questions I wish to have answered. Though, I believe the destination will always present itself. Transient, yet fickle, and never consistent. I envy that of your youth and wish I’d known earlier.” He begins to flip through his pages to one that was partially written in, and pulls a pen from within his robes to write. Feryn couldn’t help themself from peeking at the page, at an attempt to appear discreet, but realized they couldn’t read the language he wrote. Feryn knew this language to be of the Old Faith. Their guest took no ill intent to it as he continued on, never looking up from the page. “Do you read or write?”
“No…” Feryn felt the inability to relate dampened their opportunity. “My father thinks reading may give me ideas when I’m supposed to work on the farm.”
“There’s more to life than servitude– I would know.” He chuckled to himself, but dared not to expand on that. “If you find yourself alone with your thoughts, try to write. You’ll get better at it.”
Feryn nods, and calculated their next approach. “Do you have a home?”
“Yes, it’s where my mother lives, and that could be anywhere right now. She’s very sweet, and I miss her cooking.”
Feryn tucked their arms around their knees, and placed their cheeks against their thighs. This position pushed their whiskers back and it wasn’t a comfortable position, but it was a secure one. “I miss my mother…”
Their guest closes his journal and sets that and the pen back to his side of the bale, on the floor. He’s expressive in his sympathy by leaning in with a gently placed hand on their shoulder. His hair fell just beyond his eyes. His plump lips part for condolences. Their heart skips a beat– now was the time. In one quick motion, Feryn turned to support themself on one knee and pressed their lips against his. This was nothing like practicing on fruit, but it was warmer than how they imagined. They felt his breath upon their fur and the sensation formed a moan in the back of their throat. They pushed themself forward and repositioned themself to straddle him with their arms around his neck. Though he was on the receiving end, he abstained from engaging; he simply allowed for this to happen and thereafter, in the hands of fate.
Feryn felt their exhilaration plummet to the pits of their stomach as the skin pulled taut at the nape of their neck, breaking their bond. Their father was at the other end of this force with a combination of emotions that all amounted to disappointment. Feryn turned bright with embarrassment, expecting to get yelled at by either party. They knew their father as being a type that did not care who watched him correct his child’s behavior. They braced themself in anticipation for the strike, but was surprised that he didn’t act on punishment— at least, not immediately. His claws stayed gripped at the nape of their neck, and pinched their skin enough to cause them to wince. He was, however, the first to break the silence. “Get back to your room, now.” He growled through gritted teeth, in disgust that Feryn would act so deviously when his guard slipped. He threw them in the direction of the door. They remained there with their arms crossed, biting their tongue to relieve the pinch that lingered on their neck.
Their guest was the next to interject, “Sir, I permitted them entry and stay. Please, allow me to rectify the situation. I take accountability for this instance and accept any form of punishment you see fit.”
“I will speak to your mother about this. You’ve done quite enough; I need you to leave the property.” Tyren’s eyes stayed on Feryn although the statement was meant for his guest. He’d established that his guest was the least of his worries, though thinking of a proper punishment was harder than to isolate the potential further.
Feryn’s eyes welled with tears as they started to protest, “Papa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset anyone! It’s not fair–
“Is it fair to him for you to act on your selfish desires? How am I supposed to trust you after all this?”
Tears clouded their vision as Feryn responded strenuously, “I’m really sorry! I don’t–
“You don’t know because you’re ignorant. You’re nothing but a whore!”
The tears flow freely. They cupped their face in their hands and quickly exited the barn. They ran back to the farmhouse where they threw themself on their bed to cry the rest of the night. Memory for exact details on that night is a blur, but they recount there being several beatings for their actions. They never saw that guest again, and although years have passed, they still remember his smile and compassion. He was the reason why they owned journals to write and draw in. It’s a very bitter memory, but without him they wouldn’t have had their very first kiss. They do their best to focus on the kiss itself, but wish the terms were more mutual. Perhaps the age difference made him unwilling to participate, or that their advances were so sudden. They would never know.
Feryn snaps back to the market after their eyes catch a familiar shapely red figure headed in the direction of Forneus’s caravan. Their pace quickens to catch up to their target, and taps her forearm with an outstretched hand, “My bishop!”
The toad stops abruptly and shoots Feryn a look of confusion with her four tired eyes. “Don’t call me that. Just Heket.”
“S-sorry…” They retract their hand. Heket grunts and continues onward, prompting Feryn to follow along. “What are you up to?”
Heket passes Feryn a canvas bag that they accept into their hands. “Ingredient shopping. Got a snack for my boy, too.”
“Oh neat!” The bag weighed heavier than a crate of potatoes, but contained lemons, oranges, and spices. There also was a small paper parcel wrapped with jute twine, which Feryn deduced as being the aforementioned snack. They hand it back to Heket only for her to hold her palm out at them. “You hold it, now.” Her chuckle sounded more of a low grumble. Feryn didn’t particularly enjoy being teased, but that was what they deserve for being curious. They groan and pout, but this was a fleeting feeling for their mild inconvenience.
The caravan is within view and they’re introduced to Forneus smothering an unknown figure in familiar white robes underneath the canopy. She breaks from the barrage of kisses, “I missed you so much! You need to visit more often!”
“Mother, please! Save it for Aym!”
“I’m glad you’re safe! Do you have a place to stay? Have you eaten?” Forneus smooths the fur on his face before pinching his cheeks.
“Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine, I promise!” He laughs tenderly while he slips from her grasp and dusts himself off. Forneus places her fingers over her lips to conceal a giggle. He backs up to give some space between the two only to fall into the hands of Heket who tousled his flippy hair while squeezing him in her embrace. “Hello, mother…” he strains. She knows he doesn’t enjoy physical touch, and keeps it brief with him. She releases him and he then fixes his hair. Heket points at the bag in Feryn’s hand. They pull forward, spreading it open to reveal the contents. She pulls the parcel out and hands it to him before relieving Feryn of their bag-holding duties. Feryn’s eyes widen, realizing who this mysterious figure is. He accepts the parcel with both hands. “Thank you, I’m excited to have this!” His eyes shift to Feryn’s direction. “I remember you…”
Feryn’s ears tilt backward and they blush, looking toward the ground, wishing to disappear. What are the chances of him being here? Forneus laughs heartily, “Ohh, if I had expected my son to arrive, I would have warned you, my dear!” She approaches Feryn and brushes the back of her finger against their cheek. Son? She leans forward and whispers, “Just know I personally never took issues with that. I think you two would make a wonderful couple. Father told her! How could he? They shut their eyes and groan. This is so embarrassing! Could this get any worse? Feryn felt a warm paw slip into their hand, and they shoot their eyes open to the location of the sensation and then to the owner. He smiles the way they remembered, warm and gentle. “I would like to speak with you privately.”
They stammer, staring at his hand in theirs. It fits proportionately, “I… have a space…” He’s holding my HAND!
He turns to Heket who is grooming Forneus’s hair with her free hand. “I will return!”
“Don’t stay too long...” Heket smirks. Forneus realizes the insinuation and playfully pushes her in the shoulder. Forneus interrupts their intimate moment, “Oh, dearie! It almost slipped my mind— would you come visit the bakery before dawn?”
Feryn nods before leading him to the only secluded place they could think of, which would be the shop. On the way, they believe it may be best to engage in the conversation they should have had all those years ago. While they walk, they stare at his hand in theirs and try to figure what to ask first.
“I never introduced myself. My name is Baal, what is yours?”
“I’m Feryn! Umm… you came back to visit mama— your mamas?” Damn, this is awkward.
“I’m here for a meeting with my… employer… My brother is supposed to join us, but he hasn’t arrived yet. In the meantime, I thought I’d visit my family.”
“Your family travel a lot?”
“We used to live primarily in Silk Cradle, but relocated soon after my father died. We couldn’t remain as the wars tore through the landscape.”
“Wars?” Why was that the focus? “I’m very saddened to hear about your papa’s passing…” Why did this sound like an afterthought!
“Don’t apologize, that was simply the nature of things. It occurred several lifetimes ago; I’m no longer perturbed by those events.” Lifetimes? How… old is he? He doesn’t look any more than 25… Is he a mystic? Maybe being a mystic is a genetic thing?
They find themselves at the entrance of the storefront. Feryn releases their hand from his and provides the key to unlock the door. “Welcome to my plant shop… Please excuse the mess, I haven’t had the opportunity to clean. I’m just now having furniture delivered. It’s so embarrassing, I’m sorry!”
“I assure you, it’s the least of my concerns.”
Feryn purses their lips and pushes open the door for Baal to enter. They close the door behind them. They sigh as their eyes drift back to him, and nod. Feryn makes their way to the counter and sits themself on top. They pat the counter, encouraging him to sit next, to which he follows. He brings the parcel onto his lap while his hands remain to himself. The noise outdoors is dampened, leaving the hum of the radiator to be forefront. Baal begins gently, “Thank you for allowing me inside; I can envision the potential for this place.” Feryn fidgets with their hands before realizing their anxiety is heightening.
They set their hands onto their lap and smile at him; their heart beats in their throat. “Thank you, I’m glad you see it, too.”
“I understand this may be uncomfortable for you, but I want to be honest. Perhaps these will help ease the tension. I hope you like them as much as I do.” Baal undoes the jute cord attached to the parcel. “Cherries. They’re difficult to find anywhere else besides Divinity’s Dirge. I’m not sure how mother Heket finds them in the wild. They’re pitted, here.” He picks one from the lot and presents it to Feryn’s lips. They never tasted cherries before, but they’ve decided the flavor to be on par with plums based on appearance alone. Baal is close enough for them to feel his breath brush against their fur. He coaxes them to open their mouth, “Ahh…” The sensation causes Feryn’s fur to stand on end. They remember feeling this anticipation from their youth. They part their lips to accept his offering. He pushes the cherry in with his thumb brushing against their lower lip, tickling Feryn enough for them to slip a soft moan. They contain the noise with their hand and quickly swallow the cherry whole with little to appreciate. They apologize for appearing unseemly. He chuckles lightly and proceeds to accept one for himself, then slips another for Feryn. “I only speak the truth. You’ve done nothing wrong, now or then. I’ve thought about you after all these years—I longed to see you again. I owe you an apology for not reciprocating or what happened next after my departure.” He’s pensive although he’s had all this time to think. He sets aside the parcel and turns back to Feryn. He places his finger underneath their chin, tilting them slightly for his gaze to meet their lips. His thumb grazes their lower lip, making them shudder. He pulls himself closer, speaking breathlessly through their parted lips. Feryn’s eyes close as they wait in anticipation for his touch. “My servitude does not permit the affection you desire. You’re sweet and I do not wish to deprive you of that satisfaction.” They whimper as his lips brush against theirs. “You deserve substance, and require someone that respects your worth. I don’t know… if I will ever see you again.” He seals the gap and Feryn is flooded with the emotions and sensations they remember experiencing. His tongue tickles theirs, enticing them for more. They straddle him yet again, this time guiding his hand to their thigh. His claws trace upwards when Feryn breaks the bond gasping for the air they’ve held for far too long. He uses this to his advantage and he sinks his teeth onto their neck. They weave their fingers into his hair as they melt into his embrace. Feryn finally experienced cherries as intended; a delicate balance between sweet and tart, paired as purely indulgent—incomparable to a plum. Baal wrapped one arm around their back and the other underneath their rear. They gleefully shrieked as he picked Feryn up with ease. He hops off the counter then places them back where they originally seated. He completely separates himself from them except the hand he placed on their knee, gently rubbing his thumb across. “Please take my parting gift and remember me as I will remember you.” He turns and makes his way to the door.
Feryn is confused by this sudden change in the atmosphere. “Wait, where are you going? Did I do something wrong?”
He pauses to observe the heartbreak form in Feryn. “We both have obligations we need to adhere to.” He smiles so sweetly, he makes his future actions nothing personal. Before sending himself off to the indefinite, he parts with one last word. “I hear you’re getting better. Keep writing, Dreamer.” With that, he exits the building, leaving Feryn with their thoughts and the remaining cherries. Why did he call me that? They burn him in their memory as he passes the bakery and disappears into the market. They bring the parcel onto their lap and slip another cherry into their mouth, understanding their fleeting lover better than memory previously served. They accidentally bite into a pit, though not too hard, they separate it from the fruit with their tongue and spit the pit into their palm. A reminder, at least, to be wary of who to share cherries with. Feryn stashes the seed into their apron pocket to plant later. They sigh, alone in the shop, feeling they could finally put an end to their ruminating. They felt worn and toyed with, but if Baal indeed only spoke the truth, then there was no need to fabricate admissions. They reflected on everything he said and felt a sense of gratitude for this encounter; this was a sufficient replacement for their first kiss. They pulled out their journal, feeling it was best to write their immediate thoughts. Following their last journal entry they write:
Met Baal again and he tasted like cherries, which also tasted like a broken heart. I like cherries.
Feryn closes their journal and returns it to their bag. They told themself that after today, they would never pursue Baal. They will acknowledge that at any given time or place, there will always be someone who’s thinking of them. They promise they will do the same, and it’s a comforting thought that makes cherries taste sweeter—such a bitter truth, it is. Feryn slips another cherry between their lips savoring the flavor with closed eyes, pretending Baal was on the other side. They gently trace their fingers on their lower lip, wishing this feeling to last forever.
“I didn’t think our cherries were that tasty.” Feryn’s eyes shoot open to find Ember had stolen a cherry for herself and giggled knowingly. Did she see any of that? Wasn’t like they were in complete privacy… I can’t catch a break! “Your door was open, but your neighbor has been waiting patiently for you…” Ember sneers and points to the window. Feryn craned over Ember’s shoulder to see Puna outside, waving a pair of hands enthusiastically while her other two formed a heart. She winks back at Feryn. Oh no! Their ears pinned to the back of their head and they hastily set the remaining cherries to the side. They hop off the counter and pace about, holding their bright red cheeks. “This can’t be happening!” They repeat to themself as Ember waves to Puna.
Puna lets herself in and closes the door behind her, then hops to Feryn. She flutters her wings as her antenna bounces side to side. “So, who’s that cutie you dragged in? You looked like you were a little too hot to handle!” She almost sings as she claps their shoulder.
Feryn’s groan turns to a loud blabber and throws themself into her arms, “I AM too much for him!” They embrace her while she pats their back, hiccing offbeat to the pats.
“It’s okay, it happens! You gotta bee positive! My hubbee and I struggled with our relationship for some time, but if it was meant to be then he’ll come back around.”
“Surely, you wouldn’t be crying over just anyone. What’s the charmer’s name?” Ember leans against the counter and helps herself to another cherry.
“Baal!” They wail. Ember nearly chokes on it before they pipe up again, “He’s my new mama’s son!” Ember thins her lips and holds a palm to her forehead, then darts eyes back to Puna.
Puna whispers, “Is that weird? It sounds weird. It also sounds like they’re technically not related?”
Ember’s eyes are wide and she maintains this expression in her response. “You’re not helping !” She inhales, exhales, as she navigates the unknown. She steps in front of Feryn, holding their shoulder while they’re still held by Puna. “Hey, buddy…um… there, there…” she pats before she dries their tears from their face with her fingertips. She quickly briefs them for comfort, “there are plenty more opportunities out there. You’ll eventually find the right person, you just need to be you.” Despite sounding considerably insensitive, there was genuine sentiment to it. Feryn wipes their face with their palm and nods as their tears settle. “Let’s try to keep your mind off things. We got the furniture here! You can be as much help or uninvolved with moving anything at all.”
“I was born to help, too!” Puna pulls away to flex her lack of muscles, but she meant to emphasize her extra pair of hands. “And after, you could come to my place for dinner! We can take care of you!”
Feryn nods and their voice is worn from constant stimulation, “I’m so exhausted…”
Puna somehow still manages to be unbothered when others would be. She grins and hugs Feryn once more, “it’s okay, we can make it to-go for you and you can eat it whenever you wake from your nap!”
Ember places a hand on Puna’s shoulder, “speaking of, let’s get started moving the bed in.”
“I’m on it, boss!” Puna runs out the door to initiate the task with the delivery driver.
Now that Ember has Feryn isolated, she can momentarily speak her thoughts. “Baal, huh? You certainly have a type. His line of employment is quite… Lucrative.”
“We both had such different goals; he didn’t want to cause pain, but I can’t help feeling hurt.”
“So it goes… you’re a brave one, I’ll give you that. Not many would open their homes— their hearts, even, out of fear. I hope you could do the same for us.”
“I… can do that…”
“Have trust in your friends. We’ll always be here for you.” She is tender with her voice and touch as she runs the back of her fingers against their jawline in a petting motion.
Feryn nods with weak affirmation; all they want is to rest and the day isn’t even over. Without a word, they walk beyond the counter and up the stairs while Ember follows loosely behind. Feryn presents the key to their apartment lock and hesitates for a moment. They’re about to reveal something they would very much like to keep private. Would I be judged for it? There wasn’t really anything to judge except for the lack of personality, and the mess they collected on the kitchen counter— the anxiety bubbles, but they remind themself that Ember and Puna are there voluntarily to assist. Ember makes it to the last step of the landing, which snaps Feryn out of their own head. They slip the key in and unlatch the door with a click, then push the door open to allow Ember entry. The musty air they familiarized themself with intrudes on the impression they wished not to tarnish, though it doesn’t phase Ember as she enters. “I would offer a seat, but there’s none inside quite yet…” Feryn chuckled lightly as Ember sat herself on the end of the kitchen counter where some empty space remained. They don’t quite know how to be hospitable during Ember’s visit. Feryn leaves the door open for the time being to allow the delivery driver and Puna to enter as well.
“Darling… I’m not here for pleasure.” Ember’s tone suggests otherwise, but it was due to a yawn that was building in the back of her throat. Feryn couldn’t help themself to conceal a yawn of their own, which makes Ember giggle. “What would you like me to do?”
“Oh uh.. I haven’t cleaned the carpet quite yet. Puna gave me this vacuum cleaner, but Narinder…” Feryn trails off, they weren’t just about to complain to Ember that she was ultimately responsible for distracting them from their cleanliness. They bite their lip, considering their next words as Ember crosses her legs. She laces her fingers over her knee and straightens her back, then tilts her head inquisitively. “Carried out what I asked of him?” Feryn wasn’t about to insinuate that household chores precedes a meeting with a god, especially since they depend on her aid. They purse their lips and Ember snorts and swipes her hand to dismiss the building anxiety. She hops off the counter and reaches for the vacuum cleaner. “You’re fine! I just sent him away because he annoyed me. I didn’t know you were busy, sorry about that.” She locates the plug and an outlet nearby the radiator to begin cleaning. “What’s this?” Feryn approaches the radiator and picks the pulp sheet they had laying underneath. “Sorry! I’m starting seeds. I thought about planting them in that plot on the side.” Feryn had relocated the sheet near the sink. Though it looked distinguishable from the rest of the garbage, they wanted to ensure it doesn’t happen to go out with the remaining trash. Ember plugs the vacuum into the wall outlet and stands back up.
“Look at you making plans!” Ember sways side to side, clapping her hands. Her grin creases her eyes.
“Yeah… There’s not much to work with right now.” Feryn didn’t make eye contact, nor did they sound particularly confident in their efforts. They start gathering their trash into the box that once contained Forneus’ blanket. Counter space is finally being made available.
“But you are doing it despite it all.” Ember sounds unusually stern, but it is a point that needs emphasis. Feryn turns to meet Ember’s gaze; she swallows a frown and smiles warmly at them. Tears well in Feryn’s eyes; they cannot believe someone having faith in them for the work they, themself, find pathetically attempted. “Thank you…” Their throat tightens again, but they clear it for another thought to come through. “I’m going to take these out. I’ll be back.” Ember nods and returns her attention to the vacuum cleaner while Feryn quickly exits the apartment, the hedgehog from the antique store makes his way into the shop, carrying the rug over his shoulder. His quills are flattened, making him look smaller than he was. Feryn makes it to the last step, allowing him to pass when he gets close enough.
“Where would you like this, friend?” He pushes his glasses up to see them better.
“Ah… Anywhere, really. I’ll let Ember decide.” They watch him climb the first few steps before they continue. Their eyes are drawn to the cherries they had previously left on the counter. There aren’t many that remain, but Feryn picks up the parcel and sets it carefully into the box. Why would he leave like that? We just got started… Does he hate me?
“Heya Feryn, would you keep the door open for me?” Puna struggled angling the mattress through the doorway; Feryn was quick to abandon the box of thoughts onto the counter, and assist Puna by holding the door open and guiding the mattress where it slacked. “Thanks again, buddy!”
The hedgehog had returned to lift the opposite end of the mattress to guide it up to the apartment. There was muffled coordination behind the walls that led up the stairs, and Feryn notes how they would like to dampen the noise by adorning the walls. If they return to the farm, they’ll definitely pack the tapestry they have on their bedroom wall. It’s something to consider, being that their stay will extend far longer than they anticipated; in fact, there’s no knowing if they would ever return home for good… This is their new home. Feryn had accepted this thought before when they originally proposed this idea to their father, but now it’s truly making sense. The house they grew up in would eventually cease to exist as being their home. The weight of abandoning one’s life work for the townie life is considerable and significant. They return to the counter for the box and walk out the door. They stand beside the door on the sidewalk with their back against the wall. They stare into the box at the folds of the crumpled paper where secrets remain shrouded. Is this why papa won’t speak to me? Did I insult him? Does he… hate me? Feryn’s vision narrows as they sink further into the crevices. The thoughts return, but it’s not their inner dialogue. They recognize this voice. It has returned, and it is loud. It speaks in their bones, and drums behind their ears. This voice is an ever constant whisper that only grew louder since– Why now? Not now!
YOU CANNOT HIDE FROM ME…
Feryn sharply inhales as tears well in their eyes and stream down their face. They turn around the corner, sheltered by a small fence that separates the sidewalk from the alley. They slam their back against the fence and sink to the ground. The box settles into their lap, tilted towards their field of view. The whirring of the vacuum and hammering next door fade as the world around them crumbles, leaving them alone with the box. “Please, leave me alone…” They beg feebly. The voice calls onto them yet again as tears drip into the contents.
WE ARE ONE… A FAILURE, A FRAUD… “Please… I can’t.” IT IS YOUR FAULT… “Stop thinking…” ATONE FOR THIS. DO IT… “There are people that care…” DO IT!
“Are… you okay?” A familiar voice pierces through and wafts the voice to its recesses. Feryn’s heart skips a beat. They gasp and turn to the owner, wiping the cold wetness from their cheeks. It’s Puna, and it’s very unsettling seeing her upset; even she knows something is out of the ordinary.
“Y-yeah– just feel sad throwing this out, but it needs to go.” They return to the box and find that fruit flies have already located the cherries. Feryn’s eyebrows furrow as they sigh with disappointment. Puna squats to Feryn with a single hand on their shoulder.
“When you’re ready to throw it out, let me know. I’m great at throwing things!”
Feryn smiles wryly through pressed lips. “Thank you…”
The slam of a car door rings their attention. Feryn turns to the noise to find the hedgehog is leaving, “what’s happening?”
“Oh, we’re done! Everything is inside, and Ember is buttoning up some final details for you.”
“... How long did that take?”
“About two hours? I wasn’t really keeping track.”
They cover their mouth in astonishment and then turn to Puna for an apology. “Oh! I feel so terrible! I made you all work while I was being lazy!” Feryn is nearing a cry once again.
“Hey! No harm done, but there’s no need to cry about us! We’re here to raise a barn!” She smiles wide for Feryn while rubbing their shoulder. “My hubbee is helping me make dinner tonight. Do you have any dietary restrictions?” She picks the box from Feryn’s lap and helps them stand up from the ground, then places the box back into their hands. Feryn shakes their head, and it prompts Puna to continue. “Why don’t you check in with Ember? She’s really excited to speak with you!” Feryn nods yet again, and tosses the box into the dumpster with mild consideration. “Then maybe you can get the rest you need.”
“I’m looking forward to that…”
“Of course, umm… Would you feel comfortable with me stopping by your apartment to drop food off?”
At this point, Feryn would really love to take a nap and has no particular interest in being woken up. They scratch the back of their head and stare in Puna’s general direction, almost through her. “Mmm… I’ll leave the shop unlocked, but it can be dropped by my door.”
Puna throws a gentle punch at their upper arm, “you bet! Promise me you’ll take it easy, okay?” Feryn nods once more before Puna carries herself back to her apartment. Ember is the only one left to dismiss and Feryn returns to the shop to pay her a visit. The door to the apartment is left ajar. They push inward to hear the occasional clank of dishes. They take their boots off and venture further in; Ember is drying the dishes and hasn’t noticed Feryn’s return. Feryn approached from behind, wrapped their arms around her waist, and settled their cheek against her back. She giggled, “I knew you’d come back; you can’t resist my touch! I’m almost done here, but…” she traces her fingers across Feryn’s hands. The sensation is unlike a touch they had experienced— sensual and soft, yet tense. Feryn knows that this sentiment was not intended for them. “I could squeeze you in before the meeting.” Ember’s tone gradually becomes seductive as she wags her tail and places one last dried dish onto the pile. Feryn releases their grip, uncomfortable with engaging this any further than it already had, and wishes to have made their presence known earlier. Ember giggles once again, “excited, or are you just teasing?” She turns to meet her hugger and pauses. She presses her lips thinly to the realization that they were not the object of her desire. “Mmm… forget I said anything. I do have a meeting to go to. It is later in the night, however, and you’re not interfering with it.” Ember’s disappointed, and does an excellent job at not directing it to Feryn. Ember places the stack of dishes into a nearby cabinet and closes the door before redirecting her focus to Feryn.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch. I meant to thank. Words aren’t working…” Feryn fidgets with their hands, embarrassed with how they behaved.
“I promise you’re fine, I take no offense.” She chortled, but she was embarrassed about being more intimate than intended. She takes their hand and guides them around their newly furnished apartment. “I took some liberties when you left the store; I found other furniture like this couch!” The couch has a neutral beige fabric with two square cushions. It appears the cushions are removable which make it easier for spot treatments. Hopefully that wouldn’t need to happen. Underneath the couch is a green rug with intricate plant patterns—perfect for a plant enthusiast. The coffee table is contemporary in design with slightly angled legs, and has two tiers for their storage needs. On the far side of the couch is a brown wooden bookcase with a set of cabinets underneath. They imagine how cute it would look with a potted plant and reading material– maybe photos of a “particular” variety. Ember draws the curtain to the balcony and reveals a white table and matching chairs. They appear the most worn out of all the furniture, but the purpose is to remain outdoors where it would be weathered. It’ll be a lovely place to enjoy coffee in the mornings. They make their way to the bedroom for the grand reveal. Now that proper lighting is applied, the bed is actually quite cute! The grey bed sheets are unfamiliar to Feryn and appear freshly laundered. The medium oak looks lighter than it was in the shop, and the design is basic enough to match with other styles. The clawfoot was largely the selling point. “I also got you new pillows and bedsheets. I don’t really know what your preference is, so I went with neutral colors. I hope that’s okay.”
Feryn leaps into Ember’s arms as tears form in their eyes. “Thank you so much…” They hic as they inhale into her shirt. She smells of roses and comfort.
Ember lightens her surprise as she hums and accepts the embrace, rubbing their back. “I’m not sure when to address this, but I also folded your clothes and placed them on top of the dryer.”
Feryn snivels through joyful tears, they blurt, “You saw my underwear?” Ember slips away, bashfully.
“I mean…That wasn’t something I–” Ember shakes her hands, “It’s not like that I–” She sighs and places her finger tips on her temples. “Don’t get this twisted. I’m not interested in you or anything.” She crosses her arms and turns away from them, then tilts her nose upward. She turns over her shoulder, and pushes her bottom lip to a pout. “I do these things for everyone because I care about my people’s welfare.”
“I’m people?” Feryn fidgets with their fingers and looks past their sad eyebrows.
Ember rolls her eyes and scoffs, “duh. Anyway… I’ll be finding my shadow; we have much to discuss. I’ll leave you to the rest.” She turns to slip her hand into theirs. She peers into their eyes, observing if they will utilize the extent of her conviction. “Let me know if you need anything. I will help.”
Feryn squeezes with affirmation and releases. Ember is satisfied and motions her leave by aiming for the entrance. Feryn follows behind, “Thanks again for all your help.”
“Thank you for allowing me entry.” Ember exits the apartment with Feryn close enough to reach for the door. “I will find you… should anything arise. Rest easy!” Her grin curls at the corners. She doesn’t wait for farewells, instead, she takes the stairs and exits the building.
Feryn closes the door and latches it shut, finally… some peace. They sigh and press their forehead against the door. “More people are becoming aware… I’m terrible at hiding things…”
A black paw slams against the door well above their head, they cower with a shriek. They swiftly turn to meet the shadow and his piercing eyes. No! Not yet! Before they could protest, he covered their mouth with a cold paw. “I’m not here to torment.”
They slip his paw from their face and he turns towards the glass door. Before he takes his steps, Feryn yelps terrified, “You’re not going to kill me?”
“What? No.” Narinder scrunches his nose at Feryn’s audacity. He sees Feryn sigh with relief. His eyes narrow to study them. His attention returns to the glass door, cautiously drawing the curtains to peek down below. “Not yet, at least.” Eyes dart back at Feryn, and they tremble at the doorway. They scratch at their hands, as they tuck their tail closely between their legs. “Then, why are you here—How do you keep entering my house?”
“I don’t have time for this. Stay away if you know what’s best.” Narinder slides open the glass door to make his usual exit. “You didn’t see me.” He growls and hops over the railing like he’s done before. He partially hangs over the edge while Feryn chases after.
“Wait, from what? Who? Come back!” By the time they reach the railing, he descends to the ground level. Narinder looks back up to Feryn and flips them off before blending into the evening crowd. Feryn sputters while slamming their fists onto the railing. “Asshole!” They stomp back inside and shut the door, being certain to lock it and draw the curtains. Now they’re truly alone in their apartment, they remove their bag and set it onto the coffee table then return to the kitchen to give attention to the seeds. They remove the cherry pit that remained in their pocket for the time being and place it in between the carefully peeled pulp. A gentle watering is given to all the seeds before it is returned underneath the radiator. They remove their bandana to dry their hands before it is set onto the coffee table. Their hands wander into their bag and drag out their phone, journal, and herbarium. They take their phone and slump onto the couch after receiving no new messages. They stare at the previous messages they sent to their father. Is it even worth the effort? If I call, will he even answer? They dial anyway. It rings once and goes to voicemail. Their throat tightens before they return to their bag and bring out a phone charger. They make the necessary connections for charging and leave their phone on the arm of the couch. They decide it’s the most opportune time to add another entry into their journal. They don’t even know where to begin, so they start writing directly underneath their recent encounter with Baal:
Today was too much… I really don’t want to write about it, but I’ll try.
Everyone keeps treating me like I have a problem. If it’s anything, my only problem is that creep keeps BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE! SO RUDE!! I KNOW I’m capable, they just haven’t seen it yet. I also can’t tell if Narinder wants me dead or not. I feel I have to ask just so I know what to expect. I don’t wanna think about the negatives. I got furniture thanks to Ember (after my emotional breakdown…) and I got to kiss that Baal guy from all those years back. I can’t believe I actually met him again! I wish something could have come out of it…He left me for his job. I learned quite a lot today actually! Above all, about myself. Everyone I’ve met has qualities about them that I find attractive but none of these people check all the boxes for me. I learned I like being threatened and spoken down to (those are new ones :o ). I want to be scared and handled roughly, but treated sweetly. I want claws against my skin and teeth on my neck, similarly to Baal! But much bigger! It’s like something woke inside me! I WANT THE THREAT TO BE AN OPTION! To be absolutely torn to shreds! Ehehe! >//w//< Is that too much for a cat to ask? AAAAAHHHH!!! Ohh! I saw this really cute dress at the antique store, but I couldn’t buy it because I was scared of the curse. You know how it goes! Anyway, it looked like this!
Following the entry is a lightly detailed drawing of the dress from memory. They lose themself in the linework, thinking of a wedding of their own. They didn’t care how big or small the reception would be. The imagery isn't as vivid as it was when they were a child, but they still imagine the moment where their then-partner would lean in for the kiss that bonds them for life. They trace their fingertips against their lips to simulate the sensation, but nothing feels the kiss they remember. Could the kiss that binds feel better than the cherries? They yearn more for what they temporarily experienced. They wonder if love is as magical as they imagine— to be loved in terms of commitment; to be loved for the person they are— unapologetically, Feryn. It’s something to hope for– something to think about that isn’t self-loathing. Their fingers withdraw to close their journal; it’s best to leave thoughts where they belong… Feryn decides it is time to take a shower and they begin by removing articles of clothing and tossing them into the washer. Once in the bathroom, they run the water and wait for it to warm. During this time, they flip through the herbarium. There were many detailed photos of plants that were endemic to Darkwood. Some of which Feryn recognized but now has a name applied to it. They recall seeing small yellow flowers grow just beyond the fence. They grew close to the ground similarly to clover. The natural world used to fascinate them as a child, and hopes that it hasn’t burned away as they’ve gotten older. They continue to flip through and stop at a page about berries. They see steam dance in their peripheral vision, and set the book down on that page as they return to the bathroom and open the window to vent out the steam. The water was slightly too hot for their comfort, but it was distracting enough to keep them from thinking. They lather with the rose soap and a washcloth, being certain to clean their ears.
Feryn hears a thud at the door, and rinses off to respond to it; this just so happens to be perfectly timed. They shake off in the shower and wrap themself with a towel after they dry their tail and feet. They feel warm and they smell of roses, which is such a welcome replacement from the misery they carry. They unlock and pry open the door to find nothing, but a faint earthy wood-like scent. Strange… “Puna?” The silence calls back to them. The ambient air blows cold against their skin, and they decide to brave the stillness. They slip on their boots and exit their apartment, cinching the towel tighter around their chest. “Puna?” Again, no response is made when they make it to the bottom step. They stand still to listen to any sounds beyond the wall separating them from the shop. The sounds from the street aren’t apparent, but the ringing in their ears intensifies. A similar thud and crashing metal tear through the silence, which send Feryn onto the ground after tripping backwards on the final step. They help themself up with the railing and quickly open the back door to locate the noise. The space outside loops to the alleyway where a metallic compost bin lays flat on the concrete. They take in their surroundings before approaching the bin, and fixing it back to its original location against the wall. They sigh, excusing this incident on a small animal before returning inside and locking the back door. They return to their apartment, locking that door shut, as well. They kick off their boots and remove their towel to place in the washer. They told themself they would start it in the morning before they would visit the bakery. They finally get dressed in their boyshorts before retreating to the bedroom with the blanket that smells of cardamom and cinnamon. They spread the blanket and throw it onto the bed, slipping themself underneath, and resting their head on one pillow. They bring the other pillow close to curl into while they steady their breathing. They feel the lump return to their throat, and this time no one can hear them sob.
Ember leans against the balcony on the third floor of the temple, relishing the night as it deepens further. She finds serenity in the darkness where no one can hear her scream, except for the ever watchful moon. It was a familiar, comforting feeling that she wishes more of– to be observed for her efforts, to be praised for the work she’s done. It is a fallacy to separate endearments from resentment; to her, they are all the same– an expression originating from the same source. To commend is to condemn, and to devote is to disdain– all the same as it ever was, and forever will be. Ember grits her teeth, swallowing her screams, as the night will have to wait. She throws herself past the red curtains and back into the bedroom to pace. Nothing is going according to plan. She’s cunning, she just needs to keep her wits about her– rework the plan– adapt just like before, yes. Time is wasting and she can’t continue to dwell on it; with or without him. She crosses the deep red rug, that appears black in the shadows, to the other end of the room. She passes a large gothic bed made of dark wood and sheer black curtains that drape from the canopy. Against the wall, behind the bed, is a large arched mirror with the same dark wood with intricately detailed engravings. Across the bed is a vanity made of the same wood and style. Between the two on the ceiling is a two-tiered candle chandelier, adorned with red candles that appear previously lit. She situated herself on the deep red cushion that accompanies the vanity. The vanity contained another mirror that reflected the view of the bed. She opens a drawer to locate her eyeliner and lip gloss, which she promptly slams onto the table top. She snaps her beanie to become a hairbrush to which she uses to fluff her wool. Once perfect, it reconfigures to take its true form as a crown. She leans close to the vanity mirror and carefully applies her eyeliner, making sure the shape and angle match. She places the eyeliner back into the drawer, watching where she had placed it for future reference. She turns back to the mirror to see three red eyes staring back at her. His posture is rigid and he has his arms crossed while he stares down at her, angrily. Her expression softens, “I thought I would have to do this myself… Thank you for returning to me.” She turns back to her lip gloss application. She evens the layer and places the lip gloss back into the drawer. He’s silent, and still except for his tail which whips side to side. It doesn’t stop her from proceeding. Ember rotates to face Narinder and slides a hand underneath his shirt just above his waistband. She pulls him toward her while her fingernails trace his skin. “I’ve missed you… so much…” her fingers travel towards the buckle to his studded belt and make light work of unfastening it. His tail steadies as she unzips his pants. Her hands slid within the fabric with expertise, and seamlessly released him from his prison. “In your absence, I’ve realized how seldom I express my appreciation.” She rests the side of her head against his pelvis, paying special attention to his cock, which responds eagerly to her pets. “Might I entice your… forgiveness…” her moans are warm against his skin. She guides him with her thumb while her tongue waits excitedly for his invitation.
He grips tightly at her hand, and at her horn with the other. He jerks her back to look down at her with the expression he’s maintained throughout. It pained her, but she expected his affection to hurt. “Behave yourself… People are expecting us.” He tosses her off to the side. She regains her balance on the stool, spinning back to the mirror to quickly evaluate her appearance, then turns back to him with contempt. “You’re such a tease… but you’re forgiven.” She sings and pushes herself off to a stand using the vanity for support, then goes to the wardrobe to retrieve her red cloak. It’s a cloth she received upon her execution— a gift from below. Before, it was worn daily, only for it to be removed in terms of cleanliness. These days, she exclusively wears it for matters that warranted the appearance of a deity. It functioned as an overt reminder to others of her significance— not that she necessitated it. Her dedication painted her in benevolence; it was a force of habit. She removes her choker to set on the vanity while she fastens the cloak around her shoulders. Narinder approaches close behind her, and contains himself within his zipper and belt. He stares at her in the mirror, leaning forward baring his teeth against her neck, he growls, “You’re not forgiven until I spill your blood…” His breath is warm, and his threats tickle her. She finishes with her cloak before she turns to him with her choker in one hand and the other finding placement on his chest.
“I thought you said we were expected… ” Ember purrs, lifting her finger away from his chest to tap his nose while placing the choker into his hand. She hums and turns her back to him, wagging her tail. He feels a headache begin to form. He wraps it around her neck wishing it were a rope, but knows she would come back to haunt him. It didn’t matter what method he’d use, satisfaction could never be quenched. The backs of his fingers glide against the scar that wrapped around her neck like its very own choker; another thing that was given to her upon the execution. His lips find placement on her scar and wishes he had been there to prevent it from ever happening. He never knew she would be the one: the benevolent bane— that would free him of his imprisonment to be confined to hers.
He fastened the choker and discreetly sniffed her wool during this process. She smells of lanolin and roses— rather intoxicating to him. She turned to cup his face in her hands and stood at the tips of her toes to plant a sweet kiss on his lips. “Better?” Narinder’s silence is enough of a response to her. She giggles as he pulls away from her, being the first to exit the room. She spritzed herself with the rose perfume she kept on the vanity and followed soon after, satisfied with how cooperative she made him. She hums as the crown takes the shape of a key and locks the door behind her. The staircase is lined with a deep red rug with a very similar style as the other rugs around the temple grounds. It had been maintained multiple times before, but it’s worn with memories of only her steps. Narinder hated taking the stairs; the route was indirect for his preferences and saw no reason to have this level of security. At the base of the stairway is another landing that terminated with another door. Murmurs could be heard beyond the wood. She composed herself and fluffed her wool one last time before she made her appearance.
Ember pushes the wood out to be greeted by the congregation of Witnesses seated at the oblong mahogany table she often used to conduct business. The details to these conversations overlap and are indistinguishable from one another. Narinder reclines at the sill of the arched window that overlooks the courtyard. It’s difficult for her to see his expression, but she knows anger is a neutral state of being. She pushes past the silent guards’ staves and clears her throat to politely draw attention to the group, but to no avail. “If I may have everyone’s attention…” another failed attempt. Narinder slides off the sill to approach the table, and slams his palms against the top, ringing the company’s silence. “Proceed.” He presents Ember before he returns to his position in the window.
“Thank you all for attending at such short notice! As you all know, I value everyone’s time. I wouldn’t call a meeting if we didn’t consider it important.” A deep brown frog chooses this opportunity to croak a quiet laugh. “The opportunity to speak will come in due time, Witness Bathin. My request is that you would do the same for me.” Ember is more patient than some others; Narinder already sets his sights on Bathin, waiting for Ember’s command.
Bathin had always been particularly ornery, as expected from a Witness of Heket. While Heket mellowed over time with her indoctrination, Bathin never forgave past transgressions and used meetings as their battleground; their threats often fell on deaf ears, however. Narinder dreams for the day Ember would allow him to deliver punishments for their insolence, but it doesn’t appear tonight will be the night; his headache persists.
Witness Bathin presents the table with their palm facing up before it finds placement within their robes. It tests Narinder’s patience, but it personally doesn’t affect Ember. She continues, “This will encompass details about Darkwood.”
The mention of Darkwood causes Witness Agares to sink in his seat. The blue jellyfish sits beside Witness Agares. She wears similar robes to the other three Witnesses, though it appears to have the likeness of a nurse’s outfit. Her tentacles are picked neatly into a low bun. She raises her hand to speak, “With all due respect, I was called from surgery for this. Why must we all be involved if these are matters exclusively involving Darkwood?”
Ember pried her lips for a response but Witness Allocer, who sits on the opposite side of Witness Agares, spoke on her behalf, “It will gravely impact Divinity’s Dirge and our Bishops. Apologies, your ladyship.”
“Thank you, Witness Allocer.” She smiles at everyone before taking her seat. She faces Witness Agares, who’s still slumped in his chair. She steeples her hands, “Liberating the bishops severed the connection that binds the turmoil to their respective realm. Albeit, there is a period of resistance that occurs. Though Darkwood had eons to recover, the disruption of homeostasis is indicative of one thing: it is the mechanisms of a deflective bishop.”
Witness Agares crosses his arms into his robes. He stares at the gouges that lay before him. Ember notes his reaction, “However, it is simply my theory, and I wish not to make assumptions—
“Where is your bishop now, Agares?” Witness Bathin interrupts again; Ember permits the interrogation.
“I haven’t—
“You haven’t even located him! He is your bishop, and it is his domain. Are you sheltering that worm ?”
Witness Agares rouses his leaves, “I’m not defending anyone!”
“My fear is that this corruption will spread to Divinity’s Dirge, but we must maintain that the influence may not even be associated with the bishop.” Ember attempts to reason with the group.
“Perhaps Witness Bathin is correct. There is a high likelihood that his influence has led to corruption, but what would be his motive?” The jellyfish inquires Ember, certain not to rudely interject.
“I wish to answer your concerns, Witness Astaroth. My purpose for this meeting was to make each one of you aware of the chaos that occurs in Darkwood. Moreover, to locate and secure him. I need to question him. We need not involve the bishops quite yet.”
“You plan on keeping him alive? After all he has done!” Witness Bathin interrupts; as always, they are quick to be combative.
“Yes, this is fair and just. I need him alive. We don’t know for certain if he—
“It’s obvious what’s happening and you’re willing to let it persist for your experiment. You're willing to turn a blind eye to the safety of your people. How did you even become a god if you’re such a dumb bitch!”
Narinder’s ears pin back as he pushes off the window, yet again. He’s had enough. He stomps over to where Witness Bathin is seated, and grips their skull with a clawed hand. He pulls back exposing their throat, where his other claws are set.
Astaroth gasps and hides her face behind her hands. The other two are all too familiar with his violent nature. It’s a surprise to them that Atraroth is squeamish to the scene as she gores people for a living. Narinder leans into Bathin’s ear, “You’re here because Ember was polite enough to invite you. You are insignificant— an afterthought; nothing more than the pond sludge of Anura. You will show respect to your gods, or I will flay you. I will make it slow and insufferable, just as you have been all your miserable life.” His grip tightens, drawing beads of blood that stream steadily down their face and into the folds of their skin.
They laugh despite the threats, “Do what your worst, guard cat. At least I’m free from my chains.”
His eyes dart to Ember. She stares back, sitting with her hands clasped together and her fingers interlaced; her smile is curled at the corners. He returns to Bathin, “I’m done with you, goodnight.” With a quick swipe of his claws, he sliced their throat. Blood sprays far onto the table, and partially lands on Ember who doesn’t flinch at being doused. Bathin gasps for air, but chokes on their own blood. Each successful intake coats their lungs with iron. Narinder throws Witness Bathin from his grasp, sending their body onto the table with a thud while they feebly claw at their throat to stop the bleeding. More blood stains Ember as they struggle containing their life source. They spit up what was swallowed— they’re drowning on their own fluids. Ember maintains the same composed smile she’s had before. Witness Astaroth faints and slips underneath the table. Witness Allocer is undisturbed by this turn of events, rather he was used to conditions like these during his servitude. Ember stands from her chair with fingertips remaining on the table top. Her voice booms above Witness Bathin’s attempts to grip at their remaining life. “Let this be an example. Meeting is adjourned.”
Witness Agares pushes his seat back to take hold of Astaroth’s limp wrists and drags her from underneath the table. Once positioned properly, he picks her into his arms and over his shoulder. Witness Allocer walks beyond the two and pulls at the door handle, propping it open for Agares to pass. “Have a wonderful night, my holinesses.” Witness Allocer chimes loudly to be heard over the gurgling.
“To you as well! Thank you for coming!” Ember grins brightly and waves back with both hands, excess blood drips from her chin and forearms.
Allocer closes the door behind him and leaves the temple for the night. Witness Bathin’s gurgling ceased and no longer had signs of life. Blood patters against the stone and is the only remaining sound in the chamber—exciting yet chilling. Ember closes her eyes and crosses her arms, tutting, “Obstinate to the very end… certainly took onto Heket…” She giggles, but terminates it with a sigh. She turns to her guards, who stand stoic despite the scene. “Baal. Please contact the undertaker to dispose of this… mess.” She vaguely gestures at the lifeless body of Witness Bathin, then retracts her hand. “Aym?”
Baal’s twin is nearly a mirror image if it weren’t for the scars on his ears, and lack of function on one eye. He bows with his hand placed on his black robes, over his heart. “Yes, master?”
“Get one of the staff to clean this place. I need it functional for the morning’s meeting.” She pivots to the door between them, looking over her shoulder to glance at Narinder. “I will be retreating for the night should… someone… need me.” Ember wags her tail while she slips through the door, leaving it cracked for his accessibility.
Aym and Baal begin to leave the office before Narinder holds his bloodied hand toward them, “You two will be assigned a new mission once those tasks are complete.” His hand falls to his side and his voice is steady, as if relieved from his burdens, although it is far from it. He doesn’t make eye contact with them.
“What will you have us do, master?” Baal bows to Narinder with his hand placed on his own chest in a similar fashion to Aym.
“I seemingly cannot trust others to remain methodical. I need you two to locate him. Bring Leshy back to me.” Narinder lowers his head, staring at the twins through his eyebrows. He utters through a deep growl, “Do not disappoint me.”
“You have our word.” Baal hums and lowers his head to a bow before he proceeds to exit through the door with Aym.
Narinder is finally alone in the office. He approaches the body that now lays limp on a pool of blood. He bends at his waist and tilts his head, intrigued by his own work. He chuckles to the corpse. “I needed that, thank you for playing.” He sighs, satisfied, standing straight and he stretches his neck side to side. Then retreats upstairs where Ember waits for him, eagerly.
Narinder pushes the door open at the top of the landing. Ember’s contemplation at the balcony is pleasantly interrupted as she hears him enter the room, but she doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. She waits for him to approach— she needs to feel desired. He slips a hand around her waist and inhales her scent sharply. The drying blood still smells strongly of iron. He exhales into her wool to inhale the lanolin, rose, and blood— an exhilarating aroma; his hand reaches to remove Ember’s choker. His warm breath teases her exposed neck. Ember giggles through her soft moans, “Better?” Her voice is soft as she turns to face him. His bloodied hand caresses her chin as he purrs into her neck. “Better… You treat me well.”
“Sometimes. I know I can do more…” The backs of her fingernails trace the length of his arm before they reach their destination against his chest. He tilts her chin upward and lowers himself to bring his lips to hers. Though she’s navigated it before, she loses herself in his mouth. Her hand weighs heavy as she slides down his chest toward his waistband, but pulls away slightly to speak through his lips, “Will you forgive me?” She teases with the backs of her nails. She can feel his heat and pulse radiate through his jeans.
“You’re forgiven…” He bends at the knees and places an arm behind her legs, and sweeps her off her feet. She yelps during this execution and finds security by wrapping her arms around his neck. “...Right after I sink my teeth into you.” Narinder nuzzles Ember before he guides her back into the bedroom. “No! Don’t eat me, I’m just a poor defenseless lamb! I’ll do anything, I promise!” She leaves her screams to the night sky, and giggles into the bedroom.
Notes:
I reworked the farm stuff 3 separate times because I wasn’t the least bit happy with it, but I’m so tired of being on the farm. I HATE IT HERE (I yearn for the city)!!
Thank you for your patience and thank you for reading! 🫶🏽🍒
Chapter 5: Out Like A Light
Summary:
The farm plunges into chaos as mysterious figures with equally mysterious motives attack residents. Six disappear amidst the raid. Feryn struggles to appear collected and composed about their visions and voices while they aim to negotiate business opportunities. People are starting to notice their mental state. Ember and Narinder try to narrow the search for Leshy, but their sights are clouded by a missing key. Their attempt to be discreet about Witness Bathin's death proves unsuccessful. Neither will confirm nor deny their involvement, but this information will be made apparent to Heket. With the death of her sous chef, Heket is unable to resume work in the bakery. This pressures Forneus to take responsibility, unable to process her own grief.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s well into the night as Meringue wrings a washcloth into a bucket. Aside from the field crickets and occasional groans Nason makes in their sleep, it’s been otherwise a quiet night. They have new dressings applied to their leg. Although the wound has stopped bleeding, the site is inflamed and hot to the touch. Infection will soon spread if nothing is done. Tyren has put her in a position where she cannot respond accordingly and it only reminds her of the last time her inaction cost her everything. Meringue understands the severity of the situation, but the pressure of making the right decision is mounting— to keep or remove the stick? The more time that passes, the more it appears she’s indifferent. Others have given them the space they needed, but she knows Kiran’s parents will have issues with allowing their involvement with Nason. She anticipates the discussion to occur, but they’ve opted to assist with cleaning after dinner. She folds the washcloth and wipes the sweat from Nason’s face and neck. An elderly couple, a turtle and beetle, enter the barn with each carrying a bowl of beet soup. They don’t share their history involving the chaos, but everyone knows their romance extends far into their childhoods.
“We know you two haven’t eaten. We brought you some soup.” The dark green drone beetle wears a long beige hemp tunic and red ochre pants likely in the same material. His style is plain, but he appears comfortable. Comfort is a luxury not many can afford these days. He shuffles towards Meringue in his sandals.
Meringue sets the washcloth on the edge of the bucket, and sits herself near Nason’s shoulders. She rouses them awake with a gentle pat of their face. “I’m sorry baby. I need you to eat something. Then you can go back to sleep.” Meringue assists Nason by only guiding them onto her lap. They’re weak, but cooperative. The two know Nason’s vivacious personality, and the lack of energy causes concern for the elderly couple. She receives the bowl with cupped hands being particularly slow moving so as to not disturb Nason. “Thank you, Morus…” Meringue stirs the contents of the bowl with the accompanying wooden spoon. She pushes it against the diced beets, pooling only the broth into the bowl of the spoon. Then presents it to Nason who barely parts their lips for anything more than liquid. She pours the contents and gives them a moment to swallow before she refills.
The turtle had a very calming aura about him regardless of the events that take place in the depths of Darkwood, or the turbulence along the farm. Others described him as placid, and some even dared to encroach on his limits to no avail. The appearance of enlightenment was adorned with a light orange paisley-print button-up shirt tucked into relaxed brown jeans. Though some would argue that enlightenment should have more grandiosity than that, a fashion sense was never something he sought out. Meringue always saw him as a fountain of support while she struggled coping.
“I will be doing some light reading before I retire. Don’t stay up too late.” He passes the bowl to Morus, and bends to place a soft kiss on his forehead, then turns to Meringue, “I am truly sorry, I wish for an easy recovery.”
“Thank you, Elodea.”
“If you would like a break, I am willing to help.” Morus volunteers.
“No!” Meringue is quick to deny assistance for the potential of it speaking ill of her capacity. She can handle things on her own, and needs to prove it to herself and others. She also is aware of how rumors spread and wishes it to not reflect on her capabilities. She wishes the opinions of others to not take priority in her head. She hopes that even if people speak poorly of her, Nason would prove otherwise. “No… this is my burden to carry, I’m sorry.”
“Will you promise to eat if I leave this here?” Morus sets the bowl on the edge of the pallet. From a different perspective it could be used as a shelf. He returns to her side and pats her shoulder. “You can’t help if you’re unable to accept help for yourself. We have to look out for one another. Have a better night. Goodnight Nason, rest easy. And pace yourself, Meringue.”
The elders are typically the first to bed and more residents will shuffle in as time progresses. Chores were assigned based on capabilities upon entry to the farm. Based on interpersonal relations, some would trade tasks with others. Feryn was very lax on these conditions so long as people got work done. According to Feryn, everyone had a purpose and that was to support one another through sustained living. Of course, Feryn was more forgiving than Tyren and would involve themself if someone needed additional help. Meringue never really required help, considering her background subsisted off the land with her family. That was a different time however…
Meringue hears the recognizable clop of the dreaded shoes upon impact with the wooden floor, and she cycles through her prepared responses. A white freckled horse and an off-white alpaca entered the barn for the night with Kiran. Though Meringue had seen this fawn earlier in the day, they were not responsible for her stress.
The horse wears a white and black tartan button up with the sleeves rolled to the middle of his bulky forearms, and blue denim jeans to accompany. He wore a black cattleman hat that was only removed when he slept, when he expelled sweat from his brown mane, or expressed gratitude. Meringue would come to know him as Ashton, but she never seemed to have any notable interaction with him. He is the first to accept responsibilities, and while his personality is respectable, yet reserved, his wife’s would often challenge it.
The alpaca wore a pink babydoll shirt with a yellow braided belt, and blue bootcut jeans. Her personality was a stark contrast to how she dressed, and Meringue had grown all too familiar with her. The alpaca pushes the fawn forward with a dismissiveness. “Kiran, say goodnight to your friend.”
Kiran and Nason exchange hugs and then return to the loft when they’re done. There’s a pause before she continues, “I thought about being nice to you, but that ain’t very honest, is it?”
“Did you stop by to spite us?” Meringue’s eyes remain fixed on Nason during this exchange.
“I came over to share my concerns regarding your burden. I wish it would stay well away from mine. Death will certainly be its fate, and I don’t want it spreading. Don’t know how contagious the stupid thing is.”
“Why are you wasting your time with us, Brooke?” She presented another spoonful for Nason.
“I like seeing you in a worse position than myself. I don’t expect the unfortunate to understand; that would require brain power. I don’t want to spoil myself too much, now— it’s almost bedtime. I’ll be seeing you!” Brooke doesn’t wait for Meringue to retort. She takes the ladder to the loft to settle for the remainder of the night. Ashton shrugged and tipped his hat to Meringue before leaving for the ladder.
Brooke and Meringue were always in conflict with one another, but it was never exclusive. Brooke's snobby attitude always had a lasting impression towards everyone she interacted with. Even her husband would be the target of her behavior. Ashton never entertained her tirades, but he never opposed her. He would spend most of his time tired, yet complicit to his wife’s demands. If there were tasks that required lifting, he was more than willing to assist. Work gave him an opportunity to separate and seek solitude. There was no knowing if love or obligation took precedence in the relationship, but it became glaringly obvious to outsiders that he was unhappy. Ashton’s indifference was a testament to that suspicion– not that he would protest the speculations. He didn’t say much aside from occasional grunts, which made it easier for Brooke to take advantage of him.
Meringue’s lips thinned and her nostrils flared. She always struggled hiding her emotions in general, but this encounter itched under her skin the very same way Tyren does. All of that was unnecessary and inconsiderate– especially when their urgency isn’t treated like a priority. She continued to feed Nason until they no longer welcomed the spoon; this interrupted Meringue’s rumination. “Is that enough; do you need anything else?”
“… Am I a burden?” Nason tilted their head back to look at Meringue. If she was going to deliver honesty, they’d rather see it.
“What? No, you’re absolutely not! Don’t you ever think you are. That Brooke couldn’t tell a chicken from an egg if it could save her life.”
“You said it though…”
“I… had… chosen the wrong word to use, I’m sorry. It is my decision to be here with and for you. You’re my responsibility for as long as I live.” She pets their drained face with her thumb before kissing their forehead. “Save your energy for tomorrow, baby.”
“Is the doctor coming?” Nason looked expectedly, hoping to get some confirmation for the question they have now repeated. She debated for a moment while she reached over to the opposite side of the bale to pull and drape a lightweight pink blanket over Nason’s body. She’s careful not to disturb the site by leaving it exposed from the sheet. Nason quivers from the sudden change in temperature. The fabric grazes the bandages that bind the wound and the sensation feels similar to a searing burn. It was brief, but they still wince as it throbs in response. It pains her that there isn’t much she can do, but tend to the wound. She spares no weakness for this moment however—she needs to remain strong for Nason.
“Rest your eyes, baby. I’m here for you—always.” Meringue pressed herself against the support beam while remaining still enough for Nason to ease into her lap. Any position was better than her back against the bale, and if she could mitigate any discomfort for Nason, she would gladly do so. She was willing to sacrifice her own comfort for them. Meringue rubbed Nason’s ears, and it was something she learned that helped lull them to sleep. It didn’t matter how exhausted she was, she has always been a light sleeper, and expects to be stirred by the residents that will shuffle in as the curfew approaches. There is no knowing what the next day will provide, but they can use all the help they can get. Meringue hopes for them to return to their playful self, but prays mercy for Nason. Death is inevitable— something Meringue refutes. Never again…
The buzz of the old tv and Tyren’s snoring is a very familiar sound that rings in the night. Heon and Yatre finished washing the dishes and stocking the cellar with the freshly canned beets. There wasn’t much stored in the cellar aside from crates of liquor and the provisions the land had to offer, but it was really only enough to sustain the five of them, formerly. The brothers never concerned themselves with the politics between their father and the residents, or the depth at which Feryn concerned themself. They were children and were excited to meet others their own age. Persuasion allowed the boys to play with others for socially developmental purposes. Tyren would lie about how delighted he was to see them smile since the incident. He reluctantly approved of their fast friendships, but until recently believed others would leave impressions on them as they enter their formative years. He needed them to adhere to the farm, and not involve themselves with the residents. In the coming months, the boys will officially become teenagers, and this will impose new changes for them. Chores now include maintenance, which wasn’t an unfamiliar task for them. As children, they were often forced to repair their own toys as Tyren refused to fix something if it gave them the opportunity to learn from it. In the morning they are to be tasked with repairing the grain mill. It was something that Tyren meant to tend to in the last few years, but has now taken precedence as the wheat ripens marking the end of the season.
Heon and Yatre lay in their own respective beds, waiting for the night to pass. It’s a sleepless one at that, and they know it will make it difficult to stay focused on the morning’s tasks. A window separates the beds, and allows some moonlight to walk on the rug. Yatre’s white fur looks brighter in the light, and it’s blinding Heon. “Can you cover yourself— you’re so fuckin’ bright.” He rubs his eyes with the ball of his palms. Even with his eyes closed behind his hands, he could see the white blotches behind his eyelids.
“You don’t have to look at me, retard— flip over.” Yatre taunts through the security of his blanket.
Heon sits up to launch his pillow at Yatre from across the room, pelting him with a thud and landing on his end of the bed. Yatre rips off his blanket and grabs the pillow with intent on beating his brother with it, just before his eyes catch hold of the barn in the distance. The door is ajar and there is a light illuminating from it— certainly a beacon for trouble. Concern composes Yatre while he holds the pillow with both hands.
“What’s up?” Unsettled with the sudden shift, Heon’s heart sinks to his stomach. He pushes himself through his bedsheets at an attempt to quickly meet the object of his captivation only for Yatre to hurl the pillow into his face, silencing an audible oof. Heon tossed the pillow back onto his bed before removing his sheets and meeting Yatre at the window.
“It’s lights-out. There’s still a lamp lit at the barn…”
“I can see that, stupid.”
“We gotta do something about that. It’s going to attract attention.”
“Ugh fine, not like I’m getting any sleep anyway…”
The two pick their denim shorts from the floor and slide them up their legs, fashioning their buttons. The two nod to each other when they are ready to leave. Yatre pries open the door to peek below the stairway in search of Tyren. Faint snoring and the tv static could be heard when he stills his breathing. Heon shoved Yatre out of the way and looked over the edge of the stairwell, craning over to see if their father was still asleep. The noise caused between the two didn’t seem to stir him. They proceed down the steps, hugging the ground as they make their way past the living room that reflects the stairwell. Tyren only shifted slightly, knocking over an empty wine bottle with his leg. The boys keep still at the center of the stairs before resuming their descent when he begins snoring again. They make their way to the front door and grab their jackets and boots. Heon pulls at the knob to the wood door and pushes out the screen door. Yatre slips past, being careful not to step on the squeaky floorboards, then keeps the screen door open with his foot. Heon followed along, keeping the knob twisted while he closed the door behind him, then took the screen door from Yatre to close it similarly. Yatre slips his arms through his brown canvas sherpa lined jacket before he had met Heon on the first step of the porch to tie their dark brown work boots. Together, they make their way to the barn, passing the orchard without much conversation. There’s no knowing what lurks in the shadows, and they tread lightly on the gravel so as to not draw attention to their location.
This is the life the boys have grown to know. To wake and tend to the farm, as the farm provided for the family. They were oblivious to what laid beyond the fence; their reality is whatever Tyren sculpted for them. The boys never seemed to grasp the gravity of his demands, but he also rarely ever revealed additional information for his reasoning. His excuse was that they were too young to understand. They knew their mother was gone so suddenly one day and never returned. There was nothing too notably different in their last encounter with their mother. She just kissed the two between the eyes like she had every other night and wished them a goodbye. When asked about her whereabouts the following morning, Tyren backhanded the two and sent them to their bedroom without a meal until dinner; tensions remained high. They wouldn’t understand the justification for it, but would quickly learn that speaking of it would provoke him. Feryn is old enough to know the details, even with all the prodding, they still wouldn’t speak of the events that transpired. Feryn would seethe and remove themself from the situation, never to speak to the boys even if they followed along. In their solitude, Heon and Yatre would make their own assessments on their mother’s whereabouts; perhaps she grew tired of the family, or started life anew in the city. Their assertions were never consistent with the behaviors their mother displayed prior to her disappearance, but shared their imagination with one another until the next time they conspired. If either of them remember correctly, that was around the time Tyren issued several new rules: never open the bedroom door. And stay within the fenceline. Nobody gets hurt when they remain within the fenceline.
Heon and Yatre make it to the barn without incident, and push the door in enough to allow entry, individually. To their surprise, others are awake at this hour. Heon turns back to the door and pushes it in while Yatre approaches Meringue who’s readjusting Nason on the bale with a washcloth in one hand. She turns and bends to place it back into the nearby bucket of water when she’s startled by Yatre’s presence. She places a hand against her chest. “Goodness, I could have sworn you were a ghost…”
Heon smirked as he approached the two, lightly punching Yatre in the arm, “I told you.”
Yatre withholds his retort while he turns his attention to Meringue. “We came over because we saw the light was on and the door was open.”
Meringue clasps her mouth with her fingertips, “Oh goodness! I must have forgotten to close the door when I went for water. That’s reckless of me. I could never forgive myself if something happened… I just… I have a lot on my mind, and it slipped. I’m so sorry...”
Heon’s eyes drift to Nason and immediately notices the stick in their leg. He lifts a finger to ask. “What happened to Nason?” With all the commotion, Meringue is surprised that the boys never heard what occurred earlier in the day.
Regardless, she pulls the boys aside in efforts not to stir Nason from their sleep. “There was an accident and Nason got hurt. I asked your father to call in a doctor, but he refused…” Even repeating what she recollects from the porch boils a rage within her, but she remains composed knowing that it’s neither children's fault their father behaves the way he does. She sighs as tears form in her eyes, and purses her lips. Her words are softer, “... I’m trying to do the best with what I have… but they really need a doctor.”
Yatre turns to Heon, quietly raising his voice. “Why would he deny that? Nason’s our friend!” Heon shakes his head. The two knew that their father was upset about them taking Feryn’s responsibilities, and understood that they needed to distance themselves from the residents– a request they quickly disobeyed. The situation opposed Tyren’s belief to only aid those they care for– do friends not count?
Meringue clasps her hands together. “If there is a way you two can convince him to negotiate something with me, you have my utmost gratitude.” She knows this is a far stretch to request aid from the children who appear to also have very minimal influence on Tyren’s determination. Still, she hopes that if anyone were to sway his decisions, it would be his own children.
A crow emerges from the other end of the barn. They wear ripped blue jeans and an oversized shirt with sneakers. Meringue knows this crow as being the artistic shut-in, Sydney. It was easy to tell the twins apart being that they had completely different personalities. They would never initiate a conversation, but is approachable with their lending ear and an acute ability to offer new perspectives. Often, when conflict arises between residents, Sydney is the one to take the ramblings. They’re quiet to interrupt the three. “Apologies… Um… H-have you two seen my brother? I just checked here and didn’t see him. It’s taking him longer than usual and it’s getting late. I worry he’s still in the field.” Their anxiety is made apparent and it grows by the hour.
“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Breyen or Vesper since late this afternoon… They must be together if they haven’t returned.” Meringue suggests in hopes of easing Sydney’s troubles, but it only deepens their frown.
“What if they got caught by raiders?”
Meringue brought them close for a hug around their shoulders. Sydney lifts their beak to rest on her shoulder while their feathers rouse then settles just as fast. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves; maybe they’re stargazing— we don’t know for certain. I have to stay, but I’m sure the boys would be willing to guide you to the guard.”
Sydney nods, then looks pleadingly to the two kittens. “Would that be alright with you?”
Heon turns to Yatre holding his hand out for a high-five. “Secret mission?”
“Secret mission!” Yatre reciprocates the high-five before the two race to the barn door. Sydney lowers their beak in appreciation to Meringue before they make their way to the barn door to meet the boys. Once the party makes their exit, Meringue returns to Nason to find them sitting up with their back pressed against the support beam. Her heart sinks as they stare back exhausted and feverish. Their hand is placed on the affected knee, just above the bandages as tears drip onto their jean shorts. “There is no doctor, is there?”
Field crickets sing through the night; the hooting in the wood, and the breeze only felt by the vegetation provides a calm serenade to anyone willing to listen. It’s quiet on the farm, and too quiet for Vesper who waits in between the stalks of corn. She stares into the night sky as if longing for a distant old friend, but anxiety is the only emotion that creeps into her shoulders. Where is Anjul? Did he get pin feathers and dip? We agreed to this! She limits the noise she makes while she releases nervous energy by picking the dirt from her nails. A rustling incongruent to the ambience breaks her focus from the sky as it approaches close and quick— her heart skips a beat. A mouse… the small rodent doesn’t acknowledge her upon its entrance. She observes it while it forages. Similar rustling returns, which she dismisses for another rodent. She admires the mouse for its simplistic life, and squats to watch it closer. It digs at the soil tracing the scent of food. It’s quite cute, actually… She doesn’t draw attention to it or herself; merely observing its moment in life, wondering if she would ever return to the very life she once had. One where she didn’t owe anything to anyone besides herself— where she could pack and go whenever and wherever she pleased. She was a vagabond of a sort, and never truly had a place to settle in. The current way of living was a concept that was entirely foreign to her and she envied the mouse for it. If raiders didn’t set her camp ablaze then perhaps she would continue on in the wilderness foraging for food, similarly. With the seasonal change in consideration, it would be very difficult to survive on her own without the support of a companion with whom to share resources. Adapting to the environment is one thing, but adapting to people’s conflicting personalities is an unknown territory she treads these days. She might not truly understand the full capacity, but she knows what it means to lose everything that matters. For that she empathizes with Meringue. As much as it displeases her, she understands the leverage Tyren has on her and the other residents. Even if Vesper and Anjul go through with the plan only to be turned away by Tyren, she would still take comfort in knowing Nason got the camellias they desperately need. Anju, however, would be separated from his sibling—the one thing that matters most to him. She knows how close the two are and wouldn't be terribly surprised to see Sydney go with him.
A comparably sized figure to Vesper trips through the wall of corn, scaring the mouse and her. She trips back and falls onto the soil while the figure falls with her, then silences her with feathered hands. She responds quickly by collecting a fist full of dirt before realizing who was on top. Anjul! She allows the dirt to scatter from her loose palm and swipes his hand from covering her mouth with her other. She’s acutely aware of the evolving situation— the rustling and footsteps grow closer around them. Vesper could hear four, maybe five people meandering in the stalks and she struggles to maintain her cool as they remove themselves from each other, crouching to the ground. She keeps her voice down, but her glare speaks volumes. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do shit!” Anjul insists a little louder than he intended, but is aware that he will draw unwanted guests closer with his voice. He starts again with a whisper, “I think it’s the guard.”
“Did you tell Sydney that you were with me?” She crawls through the stalks, careful not to rustle the leaves to locate the source of the footsteps.
“No?” Anjul remains close enough for his voice to travel only to her.
“Don’t you think you should have?” Vesper’s glare travels over her shoulder while frustration slips through gritted teeth.
Anjul shrugs while throwing his splayed fingers in the immediate airspace to express his confusion. The leaves stop rustling for a moment, and the two hold their breath, anticipating the appearance of the unknown. A quiet conversation could be heard and Vesper holds her hand out to Anjul while she hones in on the context.
“There’s no reason for them to be in this area, maybe we should check the orchard…” a familiar voice is picked up by Vesper. It’s faint, but she deciphers it as being the guard. Shit!
“I know my brother— he enjoys the silence. He’ll be here for sure!” Sydney! They should be at the barn! It’s not safe! Anjul lurches to the direction of their voice, but is stopped when Vesper grasps his wrist. She glares at him, placing a finger over her lips. “This is our one chance, don’t blow it.” Anjul nods, but the urge to reunite himself to his worried sibling is growing stronger.
“Why would they be stargazing here? There’s hardly any space to view the sky.” One of the farmer boys is with them too?
“He finds respite when he’s one with the ground and nature’s music. He’s always closed off—much like myself, but we enjoy our isolation differently.”
“Nature doesn’t make songs!” Both boys. Why are they here?
“You just need to know how to listen for it.”
Anjul sneezes, and Vesper turns to him with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. He holds his hands up and shakes his head denying responsibility for it.
“I heard something! Over here!” Heon and Yatre separate themselves from the group by running towards the direction of the noise.
“Umm, kids! We shouldn’t split like this!” Sydney attempts to wrangle the boys back to the group, but they’re too soft for rowdy children. They have no other experience with children, and it’s made abundantly clear at that moment. They sigh in defeat, while the otter tries to offer some encouragement. “At least this way we could comb faster.” He turns to resume the route. Sydney is at a mental impasse, and they mutter to themself as they quickly decide to follow the otter. Their reasoning for the moment is that the boys knew the farm better than they ever could. They weren’t going to argue with two preteens about being safe, either.
Vesper hears two sets of footsteps approach. Fuck. The stalks part to reveal the clearing. It’s empty except for a single red flower head on the ground. Heon and Yatre gather around it. Yatre volunteers to pick it up. “What is this? Do you remember papa planting something like this?”
The flower head is heavy in his hands, and the petals droop off the sides and between his fingers. The center is black, similarly to a sunflower. He turns to Heon for answers, but he shrugs. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That’s weird, why would it be here?”
“—‘because I said so’ doesn’t really ring of authority, but sometimes it works among children that respect you.” The otter walks through the established path with Sydney following closely behind.
“I figured about as much. You have any children or your own, Sebastian?”
“Oh no, I have family in Anchordeep. When I was working as a sharecropper, I would visit my niblings during the off season. I don’t get to see them these days, but that sorta comes with the job.”
“He pays you?”
“Not really, no… I was hoping my service here was temporary. I meant to continue to Divinity’s Dirge— get away from sharecropping… and Darkwood.”
A rustle in the stalks catches their attention, and Sydney rushes towards it. They push the stalks back to reveal what’s hidden within. “I found you—
An axe plunges deep into the dirt, narrowly missing Heon as he doubles back onto the ground. The wielder wears brown robes that conceal their identity.
“HEON!” Yatre’s voice rings through the stalks, scattering crows in the distance. Sebastian turns towards the shout and aims to chase its location, but another robed figure has emerged from the stalks overtaking Sydney’s smaller frame.
“Let me go! Help!” Sydney thrashes as they are lifted underneath their arms and dragged into the stalks. A cob is thrown against the figure, diverting their attention.
“Don’t you dare hurt my sibling!” Anjul’s threat is met with a hearty laugh. Sydney’s captor shoves them forward; they stumble to the ground. The figure buries their hand into their own robe to collect a hatchet. Anjul’s eyes widen as the figure bounds towards him. He hops back dodging the slash.
“Shit!” Sebastian fumbles with his belt until his hands find the flare. He pulls at the rope attached to the base to deploy, hoping Hawk is awake to see the signal. The flare fizzles far into the darkness before illuminating the night sky red with a boom. An infinite moment passes when the bell at the barn finally tolls initiating the lockdown protocol.
Residents woke in a stir; some forgetting the reason for the alarm, while others that have experienced the last raid understand the protocol. Ashton is the first to respond, sending a drowsy Kiran down the ladder. Their hands find security on the rung before he removes his grasp entirely. He follows shortly after while Brooke follows behind him. Elodea and Morus shuffle their way to the opposite end of the barn to the bunker. The bunker served as a failsafe when the barn doors were breached. Though a breach has never occurred, it’s best to not disregard safety. Kiran reaches the base of the ladder, stepping aside to allow their parents to pass. They rub their eyes, unaware of what’s happening in the immediate environment. Ashton leaves their side and tends to Meringue and Nason. Brooke scoffs and takes Kiran’s wrist and drags them to the bunker, lifting the latch and sending Kiran down the ladder first, then Edolea, then Morus. Frustratingly, Brooke sends herself down the ladder to leave her husband to deal with the detriments.
“Can they walk?” Ashton asks, lifting a very weak and drowsy Nason from Meringue’s lap, just enough to get her to sneak through.
“They can’t! Please don’t make them!”
“The stick will get caught on the frame. It needs to come out.”
“O-oh… I’m sorry, Nason! Please forgive me!” She stammers, wiping the fur from Nason’s face to gain their attention. Their exhaustion and mild fever keeps them from staying focused on anything in view. She places a gentle hand on the stick and yanks it in the direction it once went in. The stick was much shorter than she anticipated, and briefly concerned herself with the potential that the remainder likely remains lodged deeper within. She is unsettled by how little Nason reacted to the removal— not a single tear, wince, nor flinch. Now was not the time to examine wounds; she drops the stick as she hastily makes her way to the bunker. Picking the bottom of her dress, she makes the descent one rung at a time before Ashton hands Nason into her arms. She carries Nason against her body, supporting their back while their chin rests on her shoulder. She sits on a bale— one of many that remain in storage, and rocks Nason back and forth. “It’s going to be okay…” She shushes as she rocks, but there’s no one to soothe other than herself. The latch shuts, leaving the remaining residents to stay in place and keep quiet while Ashton and Hawk secure the rest of the barn. They will remain here until Hawk confirms it is safe to leave. It is silent except for Ashton’s shuffling, Meringue’s quiet prayer, Brooke’s grumbling, and the elderly couple’s check-ins. Kiran falls back to sleep on a bale adjacent to their mother. Against better judgement, Brooke decides to speak her mind. “You know, I just find it funny how my husband treats you better than my own family.” A moment of silence passes before she dares to continue. “I’m talking to you, bitch.” No one can determine who is the object of Brooke’s frustration in the dark. “You really are a dumb cow, aren’t you?”
“Brooke, enough.” Elodea’s stern voice pierces the darkness. He often finds himself being the mediator when the target of Brooke’s frustration is anyone other than Ashton.
“Enough? Me? I haven’t even gotten started! We wouldn’t be in this mess if she just followed the fucking rules!”
“Now is not the time for this.”
Meringue clenches her jaw, withholding the urge to engage in the nonsense. Now is not the time; now is not the time. Her prayer becomes shaky as tears stream down her cheeks. She holds Nason close to her heart, but the guilt mounts. None of this would have happened if the lamps weren’t lit— if she kept a watchful eye on Nason, they never would have gotten hurt. “It was not on purpose...” she squeaks quietly.
“I couldn’t hear you over your blubbering. Accident or not, the kid is as good as dead. You’re wasting your prayers. How can you fail as a parent twice over?” She has no discretion to the children around her.
Confronted with hostility in a confined space leaves Meringue feeling trapped. The atmosphere suffocates as her jaw tenses and her heart beats in her throat. Meringue’s hands sweat as she lifts Nason and herself off the bale. She feels the base of it with her hooves and gently sets them down. Whether the sweat came from nerves or Nason’s feverish body, she doesn’t know. She still plants a kiss on their clammy forehead, and brushes the wet fur from their face. She speaks only to Nason, so softly, for them to respond back with the same weakness. The silence is deafening, but the old couple can sense something is to come if they allow Brooke to persist. Morus breaches it, apprehensively. “Brooke, you need to stop. Meringue is doing the best with what she has. No one is responsible except for the raiders, themselves. If you don’t keep your voice down—“
“—Shut up, maggot. I didn’t ask you!”
Elodea motions to stand, but Morus holds him back with a touch to the upper arm. He settles back onto the bale without protest. Meringue stands straight up, rolling the sleeves of her blouse. Through agony and remorse she finally speaks from her heart. “Brooke… shut the fuck up.”
“How dare you swear in front of the kids!” Brooke’s shrills twist the eardrums of nearby listeners, “When I get my husband down here I’ll—“
A loud crunch disrupts her petulance, leaving her a whimpering mess. “What the fuck—“ Another crunch, and no one in the vicinity is willing to aid her.
The featureless hooded figure rips their axe from the ground and hoists it above their head to swing down on the two boys. Vesper tackles the figure from the side, knocking them off their footing. The axe loosens from their grasp as the two tumble to the ground. She overpowers the figure by straddling them and pressing her weight against the handle of the axe. “Run! Find camellias!” The figure releases the handle to land a punch at Vesper, stunning her before shoving her away. She hurls a clod of dirt at their face to explode on impact and rolls just before the blade makes contact with the ground beside her.
Yatre gathers the flower into his coat and Heon to his feet before stumbling through the remaining stalks, over the fence, and into the thicket. Thorns and branches poke and cut their legs, but adrenaline creates distance from the raid. Yatre hears the sound of rushing water over their heavy respirations. His speed slows, his heart pounds in his ears. He can’t continue further, and he falls to his hands and knees using his entire lung capacity to recover. He kicks up sediment into his immediate space and coughs. Heon slows to stop and turns to his brother when he trips over a shrub and falls downhill.
“Heon!” Yatre’s voice is dry and doesn’t travel far. He pushes himself up to a stand and carefully follows his brother’s path by skidding down the slope and towards the location he could only assume he fell. A thin bank of rounded rocks line both ends of the creek with varying sizes. The rocks shift beneath his boots much like his panic when Heon is nowhere in sight. “Heon!” Yatre calls again, but his voice is hoarse and travels far less than it had before. His eyes dart around the scene, looking for anything resembling the brown coat he wears. He swallows forcefully as the cool autumnal air dries his sweat; he steadies his breathing to hear anything at all. He begins trudging along the bank; his eyes remain focused on the memory of the coat as he follows the current of the creek. Rocks click against one another under his feet, his pace quickens as doom sets in; his eyes catch a length of drenched yellow fur in the distance wedged between larger rocks across the creek. “Heon… H-HEON!” No response is made and Yatre rushes into the water with disregard to his own safety. The creek is deeper than initially anticipated and runs turbulent under his waist. The current uplifts him, and carries him past the rocks he caught the yellow. Yatre struggles to keep his head above the water, gasping for air while the current directs him to the next bank. He feels a force impact his spine—he goes unconscious.
Ember raises a foot to the edge of the bathtub; rose scented water spills off the sides onto the mosaic tiled floor for Narinder to toss a towel towards. “You’re making a mess, stop it.” He’s facing her while seated on a mahogany chair at the opposite end of the bathtub. He leaned forward with his elbows planted on his thighs; his black silk robe pulled taut at his pelvis, revealing his knees. From this angle, he has a complete view of his handiwork; the water tainted a hue of her blackened blood as she brushes her wool with the crown taking the form of a hairbrush. Deep cuts and puncture wounds along her thighs and neck will later bruise and heal as if nothing ever happened. The wounds she endured validate his affection for her and they sting so sweetly when she shifts positions. “I think you’re the mess maker here! Don’t you pretend like you didn’t act on your own...” She teases at an attempt to placate. He glares in response, but he chooses not to protest as her words held some merit. He enjoyed inflicting pain, but his bloodlust could never fully be satiated. Ember sparingly allows him to take direct action if it meant it would meet the end to an unsavory problem. To Narinder, blood was a life source and to see it drain in his hands gave him the sense of control. It is as close to handling the essence of a being— a soul, for lack of better terms. The sensation of taking one’s soul could never be replicated, but the thrill of seeing fear consume as death approaches was sufficient enough. His keen sense could pick Ember's blood from the roses. Hers is unique compared to all the blood he’s personally encountered. It’s changed since he poured his own to sustain her—resurrect her. He recalls how his own blood smelled: stagnant yet fresh, with the pungency of decay and subtle iron— the very same iron that bound him to the depths. It was a smell he could never forget, and he smells the very same on her; so perfect, so beautiful… So disgustingly foul. His finest creation: a vessel that would free him of his prison only to be confined to hers. Her elegance precedes her and he’s reminded of how weak he is to her wiles. Ember knows his anger with her is justified, but the events that led to their covalence was rarely a subject of discussion. For better or worse, they were bonded for eternity.
Ember’s hums pull him from his rumination, and it frustrates him that she knows exactly when to distract him— as if she could read minds. He glares at her, issuing a command without having to verbally address it. She catches his gaze and giggles to herself. She’s lived with him long enough to know when his mind wanders towards anger. The source of his anger never seems to stray, and she knows exactly what sends him there.
“You’re quite the problem solver! I’m relieved that we won’t need to concern ourselves with Witness Bathin anymore.” She uses a specific sultry tone that she only shares with him; it trails to a drone of a hum and fades to an upward infliction of a giggle. He knows this is her subtle way of suggesting her hunger.
“It won’t go unnoticed...” Narinder’s gaze travels from her thighs to his hands. He picks up the scent of their blood on her wool. He grimaces before it fades to Ember’s soft, powdery rose.
“That will be a different problem for a different day! Let’s hope it’s not tomorrow— today— because my schedule is booked after my sermon.”
“Whatever...” He doesn’t attempt to entertain her, nor does he care for the details. He knows exactly what to expect and that is to follow her around while she parades about in her charismatic masquerade. He was indifferent to the assumed position of a bodyguard, though he undoubtedly has the temperament for one. Followers have grown to form their own opinions of him. Those that fear him have considered him a reaper, and those that revere him address him as the “Death that Follows”. To Ember he is a pet, an accessory, or a subordinate given the time and day. It’s apparent that the followers don’t address him with the same level of authority as they do for her. For that he was envious, and he would take matters into his own hands to establish his dominance. Ember may notice if one of her flock was missing without a trace, but she was too careless to consider her own safety. Her recklessness will get the better of her someday, but he remains in her servitude until then.
Ember points to the shampoo bottle on the vanity with her hoof for Narinder to follow. It is within his reach, and he sees no other reason to continue sitting if it means he could involve himself to pass the time faster. He holds the black, transparent glass bottle in his hand as he has half the thought of launching it at her face, but fails to act as his thumb traces the scalloped ridges. He approaches her from behind, rolling his sleeves before setting the bottle at the edge of the tub. He lowers himself to his knees. To her right, there was a shelf with a hammered brass pitcher that she picked and submerged into the bath water before she handed it to him. He receives it and places his hand perpendicular to her brow as he pours water over her wool, completely saturating it before setting the pitcher on the floor to his right. He unscrews the cap and pours a fair amount of shampoo into his hand before massaging it into her scalp, underneath her ears. She closes her eyes and hums while she sinks further into the water, her shoulders now meet the edge. Her cold leg returns to the warmth as she purrs to his touch. Nothing is exchanged during this interaction, and as predicted, she is the one to break the silence.
“So I went to help Feryn with the apartment.”
“You want accolades or something?” Narinder is quick to respond, but his tone is soft as he weaves his fingers into her wool. Ember is almost too comfortable in his hands to process the hint of sarcasm.
“Actually, yes. From time to time, I’d like for you to acknowledge me for my efforts— like you used to!” Her eyes shoot open for confrontation, only for him to rotate her head as he continues where he left off, “I can’t help but feel they’re hiding something from me. They’re still too reserved even after I have done everything I could to gain their trust. Why are they so difficult to please?” She gives to his touch as he adjusts her head back delicately.
“I’m surprised they won’t open up to a complete stranger.”
“I am their god—“ her exclamations are louder than she anticipated. “—after all. I just want to be helpful…” Her gaze and voice softens as his eyes catch hers. His hair drapes over her shoulders while he teases the wool free of blood around her face. He’s particularly nurturing and his warm breath on her cooled skin tickles Ember’s tongue. She relieves it by kissing his jawline, which he then reciprocates with a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve assured them that I’m capable, but they still won’t budge. I don’t know how to get through. I’ve never had this problem with other followers.” Once the blood is teased and lifted, he returns to the top of her scalp being particular about how he works the rich lather around her horns. She sighs, taking comfort in that he is in complete control over her body. Silence naturally occurs and she melts into his hands again. She closes her eyes, while his fingers massage her scalp. He’s finished removing the blood from her wool, but he chooses to be tender.
“Hmm… I miss when I could fit in your palm…”
Narinder stills his motions as his eyes lowered to his hands. Bones consumed by rot extend to his elbows. Small tufts of fur between the joints serve as a reminder for when he walked among mortals. Ribbons of flesh, blackened by decay, are still connected to the bone and drape over the remains of his forearms like a toxic sludge. His wrists are bound by a curse that took the form of shackles, condemning him an eternity in purgatory for his transgressions— a proper punishment for his callousness. His cupped hands contain his escape from banishment— his final experiment, soft and sweet… sculpted and perfected to undermine preconceived notions. She lays perpendicularly to his metacarpals while she pets his finger; he cannot feel her touch, but knows how it feels in more sensitive areas of his body. He concentrates on the last time she’s touched him, and directs the memory of the sensation to her hands. It’s not the same, but he remains composed as she breaks the silence.
“I feel safe in your hands…” Ember’s soft voice echoes into the white abyss. “It’s so easy for you to crush me! Would you ever give in to your intrusive thoughts?” She giggled, sitting up while she tucked her hooves into her cloak. He’s chillingly quiet behind his veil obstructing her capacity to see, yet he observes. She knows he has heard her and chooses not to entertain her. She wags her tail at him while she pushes herself up to a stand. “…That wouldn’t be very smart, would it?” Narinder warned himself not to get attached. The purpose was to gain her trust– not to develop feelings. The red glow narrows behind his veil. He disguises his emotions well, but he’s shown weakness once before; temptation won’t sway him again. “You’ve done well, my Vessel… I expect nothing more than greatness.”
Ember hops in place before swinging her arms and hips back and forth. “I put my very best in everything I do for you, my love!” She sings; his compliments were intoxicating and it was all the motivation she needed to continue his work.
“You cared so deeply for me then… What has changed? You do understand that I still love you, right?”
He blinked and his flesh returned. Nothing in his heart has ever changed… he won’t make this admission, however; he remains silent. He picks the pitcher from the floor and dips it back into the bath water. He covers her eyes before pouring it onto her wool. While he runs his fingers into her wool to detect remaining shampoo he can’t help, but feel distant. He feels nothing yet everything and wonders if she feels the same— almost as if he cares about her thoughts at all.
She poured her sentimentality before him and he has nothing to say for it. Her throat tightens. “Please say something… anything. Tell me that you love me. That you want me— need me. I need to know that you still care.” She turns to him for validation and he stares back with the contemptuous scowl she’s grown too familiar with. Though she can tell his thoughts are just before his teeth, she looks expectantly—pleadingly. “Do I not satisfy you? Do I not meet your expectations?” Ember raises a hand out of the water to place a finger on his chin. He’s malleable while she guides him closer to her. “Nari…” Ember presses her lips against his lower lip. Her touch was just as tender as he remembers. She pulled away before he could reveal his response. She knows exactly what she is doing, and he expects another argument. “I’ve sacrificed so much for love... If I had known you’d be so cruel, I wouldn’t have put in the effort.” He scowls while his hands continue to work through her wool; the heat within him is simmering. She sinks back into the water with her shoulders just meeting the edge of the porcelain, “I wish I was enough for you. I wish you would touch me without my invitation….”
A force compels his hands to grip her horns and, in one powerful motion, pushes her into the water. She flails, splashing water all around while she fights his strength by clawing at his hands. He grits his teeth while locking his elbows to keep her beneath the surface. His heart pounds in his throat as he savors this moment. He is finally in control. She digs her nails into his wrists, breaking skin and letting blood into the water; the smell eases him and he releases his grip in an instant. Ember breaks the surface and gasps for much needed air. He pushes to a stand, picking the soaked towel on the floor to wipe his hands of blood. She shudders, “… That wasn’t… an invitation…”
“I know.” Narinder speaks candidly, flipping his hair out of his face and patting his hands dry of blood. The sleeves to his robe are dense and dripping to the tile below. Patters of water punctuate his thoughts. He tosses the towel at her for her to catch with both hands. He’s mildly surprised that she could see beyond her thick white veil, and only mildly disappointed that it didn’t smack her in the face. “I want to smell myself on you… wear my blood as you wear your roses.” He returns, kneeling to her side while he brushes her wool out of her face. The blood from his wrist stains her forehead during this motion. He kisses the spot before licking it clean. He presents his wrist before her mouth and she apologetically glides her tongue along the wounds she’s created. With the same hand, Narinder grips her chin, bringing her lips to his. Her tongue tastes of his essence. The rough texture of his tongue causes Ember to purr in his throat. He retracts, looking down at her at his current position. “I own you.” His other hand reaches for the wool he pushed aside to drape it over her face. He shoves her back, before he returns to a stand. His hand travels to his waist and undoes the knot keeping his robe together. The fabric falls off his stark body with ease, and onto the tile. He steps back from it and turns his tail to her.
“I love you, too, Nari.” She coos while placing the towel at the edge of the tub. She wrings her wool of excess water before attempting to dry it.
“Get ready, we have somewhere to be…” He coldly dismisses her affection. Ember admires his figure as he exits the bathroom with nothing more to say. She reflects on how he managed to gain weight since her ascension. When he first appeared to Divinity’s Dirge, she was able to feel his spine through his stomach. While he’s gained weight since, he still struggles to maintain it to this day. Unlike herself, he was never food motivated. She relished in her lavish lifestyle of showered gifts and catered treats, but the days of bounty and feasts have long since passed, and her weight remains as celebration of her triumphs. She pushes herself to a stand, bringing the soaked towel to her hands and wrings it while she shakes the excess water from her tail. She does the best with what is available to her, and wrings out the towel in between sections. She manages to get marginally dry enough to step out of the bath and onto the robe Narinder left while she wraps the towel around her body. Staring into the long mirror adjacent to the bathtub, she admires the details of her figure she had grown to love. Body fat is opulence, especially when it’s riddled with his affection. She feels his skin and fur embedded underneath her nails and intends not to remove it. Any piece of him on or in her body is a gift— a keepsake. His blood pulses through her veins in the same way it had when he brought her back to the surface. She wishes he could understand how significant he is to her.
Her throat is still tight with a sadness she can’t seem to shake and much like the water that drenches the floor, it’s ever present. One day he would tell her those three words, and until then she won’t know if he truly feels the same. One would think that a few hundred years would soften the scorn in his undead heart. She convinces herself that his love language differs from hers, and though she’s known him all her life— lifetimes compared to mortals— she would believe his facade would slip. Since their last breakup, these subjects remain difficult to speak of, but moments like these help remind her that he cares to some extent. Nothing will ever be the same as when she used to lay in his palm and she laments ever freeing him from his prison.
“Ember… I’ve already told you once before…” Narinder returns to the bathroom dressed in black skinny jeans untouched by distress and a black waistcoat with red stitching. He fastens the gold buttons. “I’m taking you to dinner.” He collects his hair and pulls it free from underneath his waistcoat while he steps in front of the mirror, wafting sandalwood and obstructing her view of herself. He adjusts his tie, flipping his hair to the side and shifting his eyes to study her in the mirror.
Ember is annoyed by his interference, but she passes by him to the chair where he previously sat. Beside it, embedded in the wall is shelving where more laundered towels sat folded neatly. She grabs a fresh towel and wraps her hair with it. “Where, my love?” She grabs another, disposing of the soaked one to the floor for the fresh.
Narinder clears his throat, and then turns his head to Ember. His eyes are expressionless, and his delivery is flat. “The mortuary.”
The wind chills gradually as the night progresses. The town is silent, except for the sound of stilettos making an impact on the stone path. It’s late, even for the people running the night market. Aside from her strapless form-fitting black dress, Ember wears a thin black silk scarf draped around her shoulders like a shawl. Her black gloves reach beyond her elbows while gold accents her ears, wrists, and ankles. She links her arm with Narinder’s, and they walk at a casual pace towards the graveyard. He’s not as affectionate as he once was in the bedroom, but he’s polite enough for appearances— not that anyone was around to observe his behavior. He walks with his other hand placed on top of hers. She turns to him, but he speaks with disdain over her, “It is crucial that you follow my lead.”
“Whatever do you mean, darling?” Ember’s tone is soft in comparison. She excuses his interruption as having precedence— not like anything she says has importance to him. His red eyes glow in the dark, behind his hair similarly to the veil she remembers and her heart pangs with bittersweet memories.
“Something more is happening… As much as we disliked one another, Witness Bathin encouraged their own death– that is very uncharacteristic of them to seek me. I fear my actions led to entrapment of some kind. If they are somehow connected to the chaos in Darkwood, it is likely that the body will be tampered with. This visit will put an end to those suspicions.”
“You think they were withholding information on their person?”
“My judgment lapsed. I only thought of the moment. I failed to consider their potential involvement with—
“What of the other Witnesses, do you think?”
Narinder stops in his tracks. He crushes her hand with his and yanks her inward. He grips her horn with the other hand and pulls back, ensuring she makes eye contact with him. She’s smitten with how he handles her, but she’s marginally aware of the gravity he imposes. He seethes breathlessly through his grimace. “Do not interrupt me.” He pulls himself closer; his hair drapes over her shoulder, and he growls into her ear. “I will dismember you.”
His reverberating voice, his warm breath, and his hair tickle her neck. Sending electricity through her thighs, she tenses her pelvic muscles. “Punish me for my insolence, my lord…” she moans softly while tilting her head to the side, exposing her scar to his mouth. “Fix me… build me better…”
He parts his lips slowly tracing his tongue along her scar. His grip on her wrist softens as her other hand wanders below his waist. She has his attention, but his grip tightens yet again. “Indignant ewe— have I not given enough to fill your appetites?” Narinder shoves her from his grasp; he resumes his walking, while she regains her footing. Ember groans, cinching her scarf over her shoulders before lightly jogging to keep up with him. “You’re all I think about and you still have the audacity to tease me! How long do you expect me to wait?” She whines, finally catching up to him. He responds with a scowl, which she soon realizes the insensitivity in her question. She smirks with a little tongue as she links arms with him. “I’m giving you every reason to tear me apart…” she giggles at his groans. They walk and turn the corner of the black rose and spider lily partition, taking the ramp towards the mortuary.
“We cannot afford distractions.” He speaks sternly as they pass the graves of previous followers— too many for proper numbers as an unknown quantity remains unaccounted for.
A large domed gazebo stands below the mortuary beside the footpath. It overlooks the town and graves. A stone bench wraps around the circumference of the gazebo as a resting point for those making the stretch. There is an epitaph reading the history of the graveyard’s most recent development. Though the explanation is brief, the graveyard was deemed one of the best sites in town as significant work was put into it. This claim was supported by followers, which would eventually become permanent installations to the site. As it stands, the mortuary has seen more visitors than the town has residents, and will continue to expand so long as there are people left to live.
The stone path to the mortuary levels at the apex of the hill. There is a courtyard with a fountain on either side of the building and boxwood hedges line the side walls. The mortuary’s design was utilitarian, and was made with the same white stone as all the other buildings on the temple grounds. Square pillars support the rooftop and provide some shelter to the elements for those coming and going. The lunette window was sealed with a paper sheet to prevent debris from falling in. To Ember’s dismay, the building is discolored by the passage of time. Although the mortuary was not included as part of the living-tourist destination, she still felt the condition to be a blemish on Death itself— nearly sacrilegious. This detail would be an issue she would rectify later in an incredibly busy schedule. Perhaps she would find an opportunity when the large stained glass she commissioned would be installed in the cavity later in the day. It wasn’t uncommon for a project to be postponed because of someone’s negligence. Though temple funds line the pockets for much of these projects regardless, it’s still the people’s money. Instances as such would offer a disservice not only to the people that fund the project, but for the temple—and admittedly Ember. Appearances absolutely matter.
The doors were the same dark mahogany that barred the temple and, similarly, was locked with a key Narinder possessed. Only figures of importance, such as Bishops and Witnesses, carry keys to the buildings around temple grounds. Oftentimes, entry is only permissible with the attendance of such a figure. Narinder’s hand slips into his long black coat and produces a single iron key. He unlatches the door and pushes it in, peeking over his shoulder to Ember. She nods and enters into the faintly scented formaldehyde foyer. The flooring is a black marble with dendritic inclusions, similar to the flooring in the temple. Ember’s stilettos echoed through the entrance, and if the living was present, they would have already known of hers. She waits for Narinder to lock the door behind him before he removes his coat and folds it over his arm. The lights remain off, but the moonlight enters from the lounge window, illuminating the room and accenting the white scallop shell wallpaper with a blue hue. The black floor tiles contrast nicely to the walls and furniture. This room is specifically a meeting area for families and friends to congregate prior to the funeral. There was enough space in this room for a small family to mourn their loss with food and drink, but larger rooms further within are made accessible for that accommodation.
Narinder and Ember cross the foyer to the hallway, which was wide enough to accommodate two stretchers sideways. On either side of the marble flooring are the aforementioned party rooms. The end of the hallway is terminated by two doors; locked shut as they should be. This doesn’t trigger warning signs for Ember, but she can tell Narinder is coupled with anger and unease. Unease, being a very unusual state for him to experience, and it was likely roused by his need for resolution. The same key is used to open this door as well, and for a moment, it is quiet— that is until the unmistakable sound of meat falls into a metal dish. This was the autopsy room, and though it was the proper room to resolve mysteries surrounding death, it predominantly functioned as a place to prepare and embalm bodies. The moonlight added a blue hue to the white floor tiles. The joints are seamless and the furnishings are stainless steel, which make cleaning less taxing for the assistant. Witness Astaroth turns the corner wearing a blue protective smock, gloves, and face mask. She pushes a squeegee against the tile, collecting a vague and cloudy mixture of cleaning solution. Narinder bares his teeth; his nails dig into his palms before he inhales sharply. Astaroth turns to the noise and yelps. He hands his coat to Ember, then pushes through Astaroth while rolling his sleeves up. Ember soothes the frightened jellyfish with a touch on her shoulder before proceeding further into the room and sitting on top of a deep freezer. She crosses her legs while folding his coat before setting it beside herself. Kallamar is elbow deep into the nude, amorphous corpse of Witness Bathin. He wears elbow-length black gloves over his lab coat and black apron. A spotlight above shines against his subject, while he rummages around the cavity. He takes hold of the heart and dissects the connective tissue with a scalpel. He briefly peers above his work to be face to face with Narinder, who greets by slamming his palms onto the autopsy table. Kallamar is well experienced with Narinder’s tantrums over the many years and sighs, expectantly. “I wasn’t expecting visitors tonight; no less, my own brother.” His eyes remain at his hands, carefully making incisions and rotating the organ to inspect his progress.
“I did not give you permission to harvest…” Narinder leers, having restraint not to become physically violent with him.
“It’d be a waste to bury them with their organs. I’m only acting as freely as it necessitates. Don’t you do the same, brother? Don't you act beyond influence?”
Narinder bares his teeth and growls slowly, “I do what I want.” His need to react is a fire building behind a closed door, waiting to be opened.
“You’re only as free as your duties will allow.” Kallamar pauses to inspect his incisions at the arteries. Steady hands and the sharp instrument easily remove the muscle from their body. He rotates it in his hand, reflectively. “Their heart has minimal visceral fat. Liver however… hm… I shouldn’t be surprised.” He’s momentarily distracted, locating an empty metal tray behind him. At this moment, Narinder slaps his hand knocking the heart to the air a short distance behind the two. It bounces once and rolls against the tile, leaving a segmented trail of blood that seeped from the ventricles. Its destination was several tiles from Ember. She giggles quietly while the room remains silent. Witness Astaroth whimpers in a panic and drops the squeegee, rushing to the heart with her gloved hands. She hesitates on touching it with the condition of her gloves. She stands and hurries behind Kallamar to pick a tray and forceps then back to the heart on the floor. She tries to grip at the heart by the lining of the artery and lifts it to the tray, but it slips from the forceps and falls back down to the floor with a splat. “Whoops.”
Ember snickers, covering her mouth. She doesn’t dare to say anything about this display. Kallamar’s nonplussed eyes shift from his empty hand back to Narinder. His expression doesn’t shift from anger, but Kallamar can tell that he’s satisfied with the damage he’s done. He inhales slowly and exhales the same as he chooses his next words. “I have several recipients in need of these organs.” Witness Astaroth returns with the heart on the tray and places it on the counter behind Kallamar, away from the other organs. “Thank you, my Witness. If you may excuse us, I have personal matters to discuss.”
“As you wish, doctor.” Witness Astaroth quickly removes her gloves and smock into the garbage can. At the adjacent sink, she washes up before leaving the room, drying her hands on her lab coat.
Kallamar waits a moment before starting up again. “I do what I can with the resources that are made available to me. My apologies for acting in free will.” He turns to the counter and collects the cooler with several wide and deep glass containers. “My job would be made significantly easy if we could perform rituals…” He seals a pair of kidneys into one container, then stores it into the cooler. He prepares another container.
Ember’s amusement quickly comes to an end, and she hops off the deep freezer, smoothing her dress and fixing her silk scarf over her shoulders. She pins it underneath her arms as she approaches the autopsy table with methodical purpose. She stands next to Narinder, delicately finding the base of his swaying tail, and makes one long stroke along the length of what she could reach before he slides the rest of the way. He removes himself from the stare-down and steps aside, leaning against the nearby wall with his arms crossed. Ember bypasses the autopsy table and places a hand on Kallamar’s forearm. He’s forced to stop and turn to her. “Your concerns are valid and will be in consideration, but we have our reasons not to perform that ritual… We haven’t done so in centuries–you know this well. I hope you can find it in your heart to understand.” Ember’s smile curls at the corners.
Kallamar laughs dryly through his sigh. Narinder interrupts, “Where are Bathin's belongings?”
“My Witness prepared the body. Perhaps it’s in one of the cabinets— should be in a paper bag.” He retrieves a spleen and stores it before placing it into the cooler. Narinder pulls himself away from the wall, now on the search for the bag. He starts at the closest cabinet, pushing supplies around with disregard to the organization. He finds nothing of interest and moves onto the next cabinet, resulting in the same treatment. Glass clinks around where his hands find nothing resembling paper.
“Narinder, would you please be careful? I don’t want my equipment to—”
Narinder takes a beaker from the cabinet and makes direct eye contact with Kallamar before throwing it to the ground. It shatters, and Kallamar stares at the remains of his equipment. “--break…” He sighs defeatedly, placing another filled container into the cooler. With the cooler complete, he seals it shut and takes it across the room to the deep freezer Ember once sat on, being cautious not to disturb Narinder’s coat. Meanwhile, Ember decides to act as damage control while Narinder searches above and she searches below. Her peripheral vision finds a brown mass. The paper bag is collected from the lower shelf of the autopsy table and brought to the countertop. “Oh good, you found it. If you’ll excuse me, I have to send the body back to the morgue.” Kallamar kicks to disengage the locks on the casters before hauling the body to the room beyond the lab. The morgue was separated by traffic doors that he forced open by pushing the table through.
Once Narinder and Ember were officially alone they quietly rummage through the late Witness’s belongings. They didn’t possess much on their person: the robes they wore upon death, a coin purse, a shopping list, a handwritten address and the temple grounds keys. Ember has taken the address. “I’ll have to research this when we get back home. I’m not familiar with this location… I don’t believe it’s even here.” She stuffs it in her bra while Narinder sifts through the keys, determining where each went based on the tooth pattern.
“It’s not here…”
“What isn’t?”
“The private library key.”
“It’s not like they actually needed it or anything.” Ember scoffs. Witness Bathin was never particular about reading if it was anything, but a recipe. "It could be at their house; we don’t know for certain.”
“All the other keys are here, Ember.” Narinder’s patience wears, slipping the keys into his pocket. “It had to be purposefully removed. Too many hands have made contact with the body. At any given time someone must have taken it.”
“Who and why would someone want access to the library?”
Ember is startled by the sound of impacted traffic doors. Kallamar returns to the room with the empty autopsy table and places it back to its original location. He notices a shift in attitude from Ember. “Did I scare you? I had no intention, my apologies.” Narinder steps in front of Ember before she can respond. His tail whips against the outside of her thigh, as she returns the effects back to the bag. “Is… something the matter? Usually, you throw something at me.”
“We are leaving, now.” Narinder says plainly before taking Ember’s wrist and escorting her towards the door. Still in his grasp, she snags the coat as they pass the deep freezer.
“You owe me a heart!” Kallamar yells before the double doors close behind them.
Narinder and Ember progress to the end of the hallway, and return to the parlor room to see Witness Astaroth waiting on the beige couch, checking her emails on her laptop. She’s alerted by Ember’s footsteps, and closes the laptop and sets it aside before coming to a stand. “Y-your holiness, greetings once again!” She is anxious, but that’s not incredibly different from her typical temperament.
“Hello again, Witness Astaroth!” Ember frees her trapped hand from Narinder who humors her diversion. He stands with his feet hip length apart, he crosses his arms and waits like he had before. “Have a seat, I’d like to chat.” Ember invites herself to the couch. She crosses her legs and places Narinder’s folded coat over her knee. Her hands clasp together with interlaced fingers.
“O-okay…” Witness Astaroth returns to her seat, her balled hands take placement on her knees as she leans slightly forward. Ember notes her body language and tests her anxiety.
“Now then… I’m curious to know if you had mentioned anything to Kallamar about what had transpired earlier.”
“No! Of course not!” She is quick to respond and an inflection at the end of her sentence indicates this was a question.
How curious…“Anyone at all?”
She shakes her head in response, but there’s nothing for Ember to pick here. Annoyed, she tests again.
“Well then, I suppose I have nothing to worry about. If what you say is true, then I have no other reason but to believe you. You are a disciple, after all.” Ember scoots herself closer to Witness Astaroth, perhaps this action will pressure her into confession. “You put a lot of trust in me as I do for you. You must understand honesty is a virtue; I don't need to explain that. Would you kindly reveal to me what has happened after you have left my office?” She notices how she averts her gaze as if she’s looking at something in the distance, but there’s nothing there.
She squirms to the pressure and hesitates to start. “Umm… I don’t remember leaving… but I remember waking at the hospital in my Bishop’s office. Witness Allocer stayed with me until I woke up, but I don’t remember his departure. I think my Bishop was finishing reports for the night, but I was so dazed, I don’t remember the details well enough. I eventually gathered my bearings, and the doctor responded to a call about the body. I was instructed to come here to prepare for the autopsy. By the time I showed up, no one was here except for the body, but I wasn’t looking for anyone either. Did I need to?” She rubs her forearm through her lab coat.
“Tell me about the process you took to prepare the body.” Ember feigns interest in the profession with only the intent to pick useful details.
“I started by filling out the report and death certificate. I stored their belongings in a bag before I could do a thorough external examination. I took photos for the report. I skipped through some stuff like toxicology because I was there— Ah! Please, don’t tell him! I’m usually very thorough with my work!” She breaks her daze with the realization that Kallamar may reprimand her by revoking her medical privileges.
“Let this be our little secret, my child. Please continue.” Ember places a hand on her thigh, drawing her back.
“Right, umm.. I called the doctor in the middle of all of it to properly time his arrival. I’m very steady with my hands when it comes to surgery, but he wants to be responsible when it comes to collecting organs. He knows a good organ just by looking at it; I just stitch them up and send them out.”
“Do you ever take anything for yourself when you examine bodies?”
“No— never! That is extremely unprofessional!” Witness Astaroth makes direct eye contact with Ember, which was another detail she had noted.
“Do you know which undertaker dropped off Witness Bathin?” This is Ember’s final question; she pays special attention to her body language and response.
“No, but I’m sure my Bishop knows. He is the one that responded to the call.” She appears defeated. Exhausted? Ember doesn’t have personal experience with fainting spells, but considers that it may contribute to her recent behavior— skittish and mildly remorseful. Ember will certainly take the time to assess these responses when she returns to her study. For now, this is enough and Ember uncrosses her legs and prepares to make her departure.
“Where was Agares in all of this?” Narinder interrupts. It keeps Ember seated and from Witness Astaroth’s angle, he’s an imposing creature among the shadows of night.
“I-I don’t know… home? Maybe? I’m so sorry! I wish I could be more helpful!” Witness Astaroth quickly responds, seemingly eager to end this conversation. Narinder raises his chin, and says nothing. This lasts longer than anticipated and it causes her to squirm, yet again.
“My dear, you have been extremely helpful. Thank you for entertaining us this short while, if you have any concerns please stop by my confession booth. I’ll be there after the morning’s sermon.” Ember places a hand on Witness Astaroth’s shoulder for comfort. “Have a better rest of your night, and don’t forget to lock up.” She waves back at her, then walks to the direction of the main entrance with Narinder. He opens the door for her before he exits, himself.
Witness Astaroth sinks into the couch with a groan. “What had I gotten myself into?” She sighs, rubbing her temples. Then picks up her laptop, and makes her way back to the autopsy room. She greets Kallamar upon reentry. He stands in front of the long window that stretches the length of the room. He’s beside the deep freezer, pensive, and he dries his bare hands with a clean towel. He removes himself from the window and turns directly to her. “You can be honest with me. What did he do?”
Ember follows Narinder closely downhill and clings to his arm when they reach the temple path. She can tell he has something on his mind and he may not be willing to share. She prods him for his insight. “That seemed to only cloud your suspicions.”
He does not respond, instead, he shoots Ember with a glare she receives lovingly. Getting on his nerves is the best approach to get him to speak at all. “We will collect ourselves in the trailer.”
“What about taking me to dinner?” She smirks, believing that he’s forgotten his promise in the bath.
“There’s no dinner. I just wanted you to show some respect to the dead.”
Ember gasps. “How dare you!..”
“You can survive without a meal…” He stops to glance at her from crown to toe. “Or two.” He resumes his pace again.
The audacity! She scoffs. “You never seem to have issues with my size in the bedroom…”
“Don’t make me. I was once chaste.” Narinder’s threat is soft, and Ember quickly gathers that something ebbs at his fortitude.
She nuzzles at his upper arm. “You can take your frustrations out on me, my lord. I’d hate to see you pent up with no way to… release…” she purrs as her fingers trace the scar on his wrist. The nerves don’t register her touch as well as it does along other areas of his body. He’s sent back to purgatory with visions of Ember spread so nicely in his palm. Her hands caress and slide along her curves as he commands. He watches intently as her hand travels down her stomach. “Proceed…” His voice booms through his low growl. She obeys by tracing her fingers against the interior of her thigh. A soft moan slips; a jolt of electricity rushes through her body as her hips rock into her hand. “Faster…” Only her hand obeys this command.
His glow narrows behind his veil; he is displeased. It causes Ember to slow and pull away. She covers herself with her cloak. “Is it not to your liking, my lord?”
Narinder brings his palm behind the veil; he smells of sandalwood and his breath is warm against the skin she exposes. “Lay back.” Her cloak falls off her shoulders as she sets herself back against his bones in a similar position to where she once was. The cloak serves as a blanket, but to Narinder, it is gift wrap. “Say my name.” His thick wet tongue forces through her thighs. The rough texture is lubricated by his ropy saliva; her back arches in response.
Her moans are genuine– exactly what he wanted. In mere seconds Ember is overstimulated by the sensations. She has no control over her hips nor her volume– her body responds only by impulse. She experiences a shock surge within her, unlike anything she’s experienced. “NARINDER!” A name she never uttered before granted the permission. At the moment, it felt wrong to refer to her god by anything other than his title. It felt so wrong, but so right. A vessel, a plaything, a possession, and nothing more– to do with her with what he pleases. She is flooded with emotions she never knew she had. Is this… love? Obsessive, devoted, compulsive ecstasy– she wanted more– all that he had to offer: his blood, his body, his love– only to herself. No one will interfere, and she will make it so. He ceases his lapping and pulls away; her thighs seal shut as she covers her face with her hands, embarrassed over her display in the presence of him and his retainers. She props herself up to sit against her hip, and arches her back while she traces circles around her developing nipple– a memory that does not serve his recollection. “Your memory treats me dearly. Why is that, my love?” The fur on his neck stands on end. He blinks, returning to Ember still clinging to him while she rests her head against his upper arm. She’s quiet, except for her stilettos. He shakes the event from the forefront of his mind, which stirs her from her resting position. “What’s wrong, my love— are you cold?” She unlinks herself from him and stops to hold out his coat for him to slip his arms into. He stops and stares at Ember, then at the coat, while he questions his own sanity. Enough time has passed for Ember to decide his disinterest in wearing it, and folds it neatly over her arm. She approaches him, reaching for his arm again to which he rejects by pulling himself away. The message is received and not taken personally; Ember keeps her hands at waist level underneath the coat. She continues at her speed while Narinder follows closely behind.
He continues to stagger before Ember catches on; concerned for him, she tilts her head to his direction only to find that he has disappeared. She searches in the immediate area with just her eyes with no trace of his presence catching her glimpse. Usually he says something cryptic, or leaves a mess before his departure. This behavior is very uncharacteristic of him. She inhales deeply for her nervous sigh to escape her nostrils, she presses onward to the trailer park.
The trailer park was located at the opposite end of the market, near the community center and antique store. The park, along with other properties around Divinity’s Dirge, is owned and maintained by Nerium Estates, which are owned and subsidized by the temple. Followers are responsible for their loans as those funds are used to maintain public spaces. The trailer park is well maintained with grassy plots and gravel footpaths. It wasn’t much to look at, but it’s a quaint spot and the trailers appeared more like homes. At the time, trailers were built to house followers that previously lived out of tents. The intention was not only to fulfill the basic needs of followers, but to give them the option to leave and spread Ember’s words. She would never force people to leave, but she encouraged it. Not everyone was likable to Ember, but she was willing to compromise her judgement if it meant they would remain faithful. Some required more patience than others, and she made it very clear. She wouldn’t typically visit the trailer park alone, and often be accompanied by Narinder or the landscaper. Ember passes rows of occupied trailers, accessorized and painted in preference to the owner. It warms her to know that these homes are loved and appreciated. The only lights seen are illuminating the footpath, indicating that people are likely asleep, so she treads quietly along. At the end of this path, she turns left, passing rows of trailers until she reaches the very end of the plot. A large lone trailer sits in front of the tree line. An awning stretches the width of the trailer and an aluminum ramp leads to the door. This was Ember’s home once before she converted it to an admissions building, and long before she lived at the temple. With occupancy reaching its limit at the park, and accelerated development with apartments, there was no reason for Ember to continue working out of the trailer. She still possesses the key to the door and allows herself entry. She canvases the area before closing the door behind her. She feels against the wall to a switch and flips on the lights. The musty smell of old electronics lingers in the air, just as she remembers. If she had guests, she would offer food and drink, but it’s been a while since the last time she entered this place. There’s no knowing what remains in the fridge nor does she want to look for herself without a respirator. She hangs Narinder’s coat and her scarf on the rack adjacent to the door, kicking off her heels before walking further in. An old wooden desk sits at the end of the trailer with a crt computer monitor. It hasn’t been turned on in ages. Ember approaches it and plugs it back into the wall outlet, before flipping everything on with muscle memory. It whirs, sending dust into the air to her surprise, and fans it away with her hand. While she waits for it to boot, she carts out a cork bulletin board from behind the desk. Bringing it in front of the kitchenette, she conceals the window behind. She returns to the file cabinet and digs around in search for tacks, cardstock, and a pen. She lays the materials onto the kitchenette table and sits to think before committing thought to paper.
It may have not been the preferable outcome for Ember, but by being alone, she’s able to connect her thoughts without much distraction. She recalls the details of her interview with Witness Astaroth, including the body language as best as she envisioned. The most bothersome, unsettling detail: the eye contact… She taps the pen at the end of this thought. She can’t recall the question she had asked to present this response and hopes Narinder will remember when he returns. She circles this and pins it to the board. Once she felt she had exhausted her thoughts, and was satisfied with her arrangement, she returned to the computer. It finally booted, disproving her suspicions of it being dead. She looks up the handwritten address, but something within her grows uneasy— like she’s being watched. A panic is building, and she knows she’s unsafe. She needs to leave; she shuts it down, unplugs it and slips her heels back on while quickly grabbing the scarf and coat. She exits the trailer, turning off the light, and locking the door. The fresh outdoor air cools her lungs as she inhales deeply, wrapping her scarf around her neck. Her anxiety lessens as she makes the descent to ground level, watching her footing as she makes her impact light on the aluminum. A pair of brown dress shoes cross her path and she’s startled by the sudden appearance.
“Oh, it’s you…” Ember’s fear dissipates to annoyance as she repositions the ends of her scarf underneath her arms. She shifts her body weight onto her other foot and sighs with overt disdain. She doesn’t share it with any other follower except for the raccoon she regrets knowing as Cyrus. He’s dressed in slacks and a button up shirt with sleeves rolled just above his elbows. It’s unbuttoned from the top, exposing his chest and gold chain. He always smelled of cheap cologne, which best reflected his personality: sleazy, obnoxious, and lingering.
“You haven’t responded to my emails…” Cyrus begins without a proper greeting. He’s always been a straight talker, though his motives suggest otherwise.
“Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe it goes to my spam folder. Who knows how I’m feeling?” The hostility grows in her voice, but it humors him. Cyrus always enjoyed her challenges.
“The polite thing to do is to respond.” He smiles, but she grimaces. How dare he even look at her!
“I don’t need to be polite to you. If you’ll excuse me, I’m quite busy.” This is the most cordial Ember was willing to be. She presses onward just a few steps before Cyrus pins her against the trailer, slamming his palms against the aluminum.
He closes in on her, venom in his voice. “Where’s your guard cat? Did he leave you heartbroken? Astray? Like this?” His finger grazes her cheek. She seethes, feeling a headache begin to form. “You’d look prettier if you smiled more.” He tuts, “Beautiful Ember…dressed to tease… I wouldn’t treat you the way he does…” the backs of his fingers run down her neck towards her clavicle. “I’d treat you better…” he presses his luck further by grazing her breast.
She tightly wraps her hand around his wrist, while her nails dig into his skin. “Your hands wander too freely, mortal. I am no object.”
“Then what are you to him?” Cyrus is almost offended that she wouldn’t allow him to proceed.
“You forget your place. If you touch me— approach me again with your advances, I will expunge you of this coil. I will keep you alive long enough for you to experience every bone break in your pathetic body.” Blood beads at her grip while her voice sustains a rationality to her threat— a promise divorced from anger.
“That wouldn’t be smart, now would it…” Cyrus understands the leverage he has on her by securing his faith as a disciple, however only in education and not in title. She believes the authenticity of his faith falters on the concept of her appeal. For that, she condemns him from officiating his position and performing the typical duties of a disciple. She prohibits him from having any contact with her, and the distance she creates between the two was meant to serve as an adequate leash up until now.
“Do not test me, maggot.” Ember frees her hand and shoves him with the same force Narinder uses on her. She wishes he were around to tend to this issue. This would be the perfect opportunity to absolve herself of a hindrance, but she just cleaned herself of one. She pushes past Cyrus with nothing more to say. He smiles observing her departure. “Love to see you leave…” he chuckles to himself as he makes his way to the tree line.
Feryn woke to the smell of autumn’s first rain pelting their face; the watercolor clouds of grey paint them with a melancholic visage. Their body aches, matching the throb in their skull; a foggy lens obscures their vision and prevents them from exacting details. This effect magnifies their discomfort as they attempt to gather their bearings. Their body won’t respond, and wait a moment before making another attempt to move. A lump in their throat causes them to heave, and they flip to their side as a measure to prevent choking. The sharpness of breakage in their leg deepens the nausea. It’s unclear if the fracture happened as a result of their motion or prior to them waking by the rain. The concern only remains for the moment. Feryn groans, drooling into the grass as the lump grows larger and the fracture throbs. They distract themself with the coarse grass by pinching a singular blade and swiping with a moderately applied force as to not actually break the blade. Their throat sweats, knowing the purge is present and the sting of fracture compounds as the lump exceeds the size of a cobble—it's physical, and it obstructs their airway. They force their fingers into their mouth to secure the object, but they find nothing. Panic sets in as the object grows against their uvula, which forces their contents up. They only produce a foamy bile, but most of it returns to their stomach burning their esophagus. They force themself to swallow the taint. They cough successively, and dislodge the solid object that thuds to the ground and rolls into view. A fruit— an apple. They pick it up with weak fingertips and inspect it; it’s roughly the size of a honeycrisp, but the skin is a deep red with white stars. Something within compels them to press their teeth against the flesh and take a bite. Their teeth bend towards the interior of the cavity and snap from their gums. They remove the apple from their mouth and watch as their teeth fall and melt into the grass. Their fingers graze the blades in search of white, but nothing remains. Nothing will ever remain, and that will be the only thing that remains. A gentle pressure urges Feryn to return to their back and stare at the sky. The rain’s velocity slows to a stop; droplets once frozen in place now fuse to take form. Feryn’s eyes struggle to focus on the figure, but they recognize the shape of the three red eyes. They can’t observe his motion, but they feel his hand press against their skin and ripple further inward. They watch motionless as he disembowels them with tenderness. Their intestines bulge, slipping freely from containment, and onto the grass where they are rendered into a black sludge. Reduced to nothing, just like their organs and teeth. Their composition will soon follow with the rot and Feryn accepts this with dignity. He speaks with a voice that is not his own; a voice that sounds of peonies– one that smells unconditionally warm like the sun in the snowmelt. “You will live to see the end of time.” Skeletal hands pick the apple and return it to their carcass with the same tenderness. It is the only thing that remains of them– the same as it ever was. Their eyes well, enveloped with happiness, as their body reconstitutes to the earth beneath– the rot consumes, indiscriminately. The same as it ever was, and forever will be.
The cool early morning air fills with the warmth of cinnamon, delightfully welcoming the season’s passage. Feryn rouses to the scent of the delicately clattered dishes. A groan, a yawn, and a big stretch is sequenced; the wiggle of their tail signals the limit of their threshold. They remove their bedsheets, and prepare for a stand only to find their leg broken and bruised. Old and new injuries, their fingers trace over the green, blue and red. Some parts are more sensitive than others and wince when their fingers brush across their bare skin. They sit up, careful not to disturb their injury and use their good leg to pivot their body to the window. The rain persists, but they can’t see beyond the grey skies and dense fog. Premonitions of the past and memories of the future linger. Enough is enough, they intend to investigate the source of the noise. Beside the bed is a set of wooden crutches their hands gravitate towards. With a sense of familiarity, they push themself up and limp to the door frame, pulling at the door knob. The door violently swings open, sucking Feryn and all the room’s colors and textures into a black vortex of everything and nothing.
The turbulence suddenly ceases and Feryn floats in the place of darkness. There is a sense of warmth and belonging, yet they hold their breath. A pendant lamp illuminates the space; it’s the kitchen at the farmhouse– home. The colors and textures bleed into this space, giving the depth vividness. The faint clatter of dishes remains, but there’s nothing in the space to excuse the noise. They reach for the singular floating crutch and swim towards the solid wood flooring. The closer they approach, the rounder the noise becomes. There’s a humming– the same voice of peonies. Their oar takes hold of the solid flooring while dragging themself away from the float. With the assistance of gentle gravity, they regain their footing to the kitchen. The hum and clatter continue while they limp to the dining table. Feryn takes hold of the chair’s anatomy, and pulls with ease giving themself enough room to accommodate their leg. This was something that was previously routine for them. Until then, there was no reason to have breakfast at the table; traditions fade as time progresses. They wince as they ease into their designated seat– the noise stops, and for a moment, Feryn can hear their heartbeat– two hearts– they break a cold sweat. A plate of cinnamon soufflé pancakes is presented to them with a skeletal hand. Perfectly round, fluffy and fresh off the pan; a fork phases upward through the table near their hand. Feryn’s gaze drifts to the disembodied arm and the color and texture from the darkness bleeds into the room, manifesting bone, muscle, skin, and fur; the humming persists. Their throat tightens as tears stream down their cheeks. They intrinsically stand, forgetting their leg for a moment, and the sharp pain knocks them to the floor along with the crutch. The noise draws attention to the figure whose humming stops. A billow of wind comes from beneath a long skirt the scent of peonies wafts to their direction. Gentle, warm hands caress Feryn’s face. They gasp, and still their attempts to prop themself up. Their tears flow freely as their eyes meet for the first time in a long while. Her features mirror Feryn’s on a calico pallet, and she stares lovingly. No harm will come to Feryn as long as she’s around. She speaks in her own voice, warm and dewy. “You know you can’t walk on your own yet, bug.” Her fingers dry their eyes before a gentle kiss is placed on their forehead. Her long brown hair smells of peonies as it grazes their face. Feryn whimpers while grasping at her crocheted shawl; writhing and sobbing as they push their face into her chest, overriding the pain as they contort themself in the fetal position. She feels and sounds exactly as memories serve. Even her giggles are similar to Feryn’s. “Oh, I know this is frustrating, but it’s only temporary… I promise. Let’s get you up. I made pancakes the way you like!” Delicate hands lift them off the ground as if they had no mass, and they use the table as support once they are back on their foot. They then slip back into their seat in front of the pancakes they have not been able to taste since then, and reach for the fork. She pulls at the chair across from them, resting her chin into her palms after she seats herself. “You’ve grown since we last spoke. I think about you every day. The voices speak against you, but nothing compares to being you. I miss that.” Feryn dissects the pancake, eager to experience her cooking once again. They lift a piece to their mouth only for a force from the darkness to sew their mouth shut with a black ribbon. Their throat tightens, welling the urge to cry; normalcy is still so far from their reach. Her soft laugh melts their heartbreak while she wipes the joy from her eyes. “You’re still so sweet and extraordinary; promise me you’ll change. Don’t let him be the reason you remain.” She stands from the table and moves to their side, then pets their cheek. The ribbon fades but its presence lingers, denying them the option to speak. She glances into the dark beyond, and it smiles back… Her focus returns to Feryn. “It is time for you to leave… but I’ll be here for you. Always. I love you. Be safe out there.” She pets Feryn’s cheek with her decaying hand. Sorrow fills her eyes, knowingly. One last embrace and kiss on the forehead is made. She is rapidly deteriorating much like the kitchen around her. Colors and textures begin to melt, and drip to the crumbling flooring, returning to the void.
“N-no! Don’t let me go! I need you, please!” They bypass the force that seals their mouth and reach to her, gripping her fur that breaks off into clumps and renders into black sludge in their hand. She pushes them by the shoulders into the abyss with love and nothing less.
“Know your worth; do not let them in.” The humming resumes as Feryn falls into the darkness, and fades in the distant and desolate. There is a sense of warmth and belonging among the somber. They curl into a fetal position, alone— a familiar feeling in a familiar place— the same as it ever was. No one will dry their tears. They’re placed lightly onto freshly laundered sheets that smell of roses. Isolated in this vessel that doesn’t feel their own. This is home now…
Feryn stirs awake in tears, much like most nights since the incident. They don’t bother getting out of bed at this point, and it would be another hour before they bring themself to sit up. For now, they lay and sob thinking about their life choices. None of this would have happened if they listened to Tyren… Despite it all, it was still nice to see her again— however brief it was. It’s difficult to forget a face that they wear. In a way, they resented it for the simple fact that it isn’t their own. Aside from their fur color, nothing sets the two apart in the dark. They inhale sharply as they bury their hands underneath the pillow and hug it tightly. They yearn for the time they would see her again. They believe this to be their punishment: the anguish, and constant torment. It’s not fair… She was too eager to leave. It’s not fair… They want to never feel this pain again.
A series of crashing metal disrupts their lament; they race out of bed to the balcony. They don’t have a clear view of the alleyway, but suspect the noise originated from there. Breaking a cold sweat, they anticipate the catalyst to appear.
Their breath fogs the air around; nothing moves in the night except for bakers. They can see the light emanate from the shop down below. Oh, right. Feryn nearly forgot about the promise they made to Forneus earlier in the night. There are several hours of moonlight left before the sun rises and they abandon the investigation for the bakery. They return to the living room to collect themself before they begin another long day. They reach for the journal on the coffee table and sit at the edge of the couch. They attempt to gather their thoughts before adding another entry. Vaguely prepared, they take the pen to the page.
“Hello, Journal.
I had another one of those dreams. You know, the ones where I die. Well, you don’t really know about those dreams because you’re just a journal, but I know, you know? That creep was there, too. He torments me in my sleep now, so that’s cool…
I saw her this time. I don’t wanna say her name because I’ll just start crying again. I hurt inside. Every day. I have to live with this, and I’m jealous you don’t have to. I miss her so much… Everything was better when she was around. It’s hard to stay motivated, and optimistic when I’m constantly reminded of my mistakes. I’m a failure. My ideas are stupid. All I do is cause problems. Papa’s right, I ruin everything…
Honestly, what's the point in carrying on? Who would cry for me when I’m gone? I don’t expect you to know, and you don’t have to answer. Haha…”
Feryn notices their heart rate increase and their fingers clasp tight around the pen. Realizing how close they are to spiraling, they inhale deeply. They pause to look out the window. Since the move, they have had an abundance of support from those around– especially Ember. But it still hurts. As they exhale slowly, they return to their journal.
“...People are starting to see me bleed. They’ll start asking questions. I don’t need that. I don’t need them to know. Everything is okay if I say it’s okay, okay? Just keep on smiling and don’t let them in.
Don’t let them in.
Just keep smiling.
You’re okay.
Shove it back.
You’re okay…
I have to go. People kinda depend on me right now…”
They close the journal and return it to the coffee table, then slump back onto the couch. They know what to expect when they reach for their cellphone: no new messages… almost a whisper escapes their lips as they toss the phone aside. “I need to talk to Ember… Maybe after her sermon.” They push themself off the couch and find a clean apron and crop top to wear from the small pile on top of the dryer. They grin as they’re reminded of the extent of Ember’s kindness, but regardless of her role they learned to not be so trusting. Feryn felt their encounter with Baal was a breach of such; falling in “love” too quickly rendered the same results as in their youth. Except the only one beating them is themself. They shake their head to remove the embarrassing thoughts. Though it’s still there, they continue dressing themself. They slip socks on, and tie their bandana, then check on the seedlings. A few sprouted, and the roots look promising: tender and white. Most of their plaguing thoughts disappear as they turn to the kitchen to gently water the pulp; now would be a good opportunity to get the supplies necessary for planting. Rather, negotiate with a supplier about regular shipments– preferably with someone that isn’t Plimbo. They turn back to the radiator to replace the pulp sheet. It’s not much, but the beginnings of something in the making. All in all, Feryn feels… sadly optimistic for a lack of better terms.
Feryn enters the bathroom to brush their teeth and wash their face. Much of their misery is washed like dirt under their claws– not completely cleansed, but enough to get by. When they dry their face with a nearby towel and return to the mirror, they practice a smile. One that they aim to share with the people around them. Steadily studying the muscles they use around their eyes, softening the tension they built to appear collected. Relax. Another attempt at smiling. It’s easier this time. Okay, keep this up and you’re golden… With a nod and a strained sigh, they push themself away from the mirror and prepare for their exit. It won’t be a long trip, hopefully, so they collect their bag and phone and walk to the entrance. They slip their feet into their boots and turn back to the living room. Not much exists here, but it’s better than it once was. It will take time before they can officially call this place home… Home… They shake their head before turning the knob on the front door and leaving, being certain to lock up. Their boot kicks a solid object upon their shifting feet. They notice an empty glass container, and bend at the knees to pick it up. It’s covered in mud and upon further inspection, it appeared to have been mostly brushed off prior to being dropped off. Feryn’s fur stands on end; it doesn’t appear to be Puna’s doing, and whoever was here knew the shop door was open. Narinder would simply allow himself in and leave them with verbal cryptic messages; he wouldn’t bother with something as small as this. And Ember would easily let her presence known. Though they haven’t known these people long enough to really grasp each personality, it still doesn’t make sense; however, it would be rude to return a container without cleaning it first. Feryn unlocks the door and quickly washes it in the kitchen sink, being sure to remove all the sediment. There’s a shuffling among the steam that causes them to shut off the water, and dry their hands on their apron. They creep slowly out of the kitchen while their tail bristles. Nothing immediate is out of place, but they continue towards the bathroom. They hold their breath while their hand braves the shower curtain. Nothing out of place. They believe they smell sandalwood, but it smells predominantly of roses when they inhale again. They turn their back to the shower and exit the bathroom. They peek into the bedroom with the same result, nothing. Maybe it’s just their mind… Back to the kitchen where they resume their cleaning. Once complete they place the container over a towel to dry. They make their exit, locking the door behind them.
The shuffling returns when Feryn finally disappears. A thud in the bedroom makes an impact on the carpeted floor. Red eyes search for clues; any kind of information that he could use, he will find it. Starting from the bedroom, he’s careful not to disturb the environment. There isn’t much to observe and it would be blatantly obvious that someone had entered if he rummaged like he usually does. Nothing new to note in the bathroom, either. The container in the kitchen is new, but the grime is washed away, hindering his chances of getting the information he needed. Nothing, but clean dishes in the cabinets…He stands in the center of the living room, nothing. He whips his tail, he’s searched every room—all except… He picks the journal from the coffee table and notes the original position of it as he flips through the few entries. “Baal…” He shifts his body weight, his fingers find placement in his antecubital as he studies the page. This information isn’t the type he is looking for, but it’s something to note. An idea stirs in his head, perhaps this sort of relationship of theirs could be used to his advantage. Surely, a bleeding heart. The next page’s tone is different and it piques his interest. His ears turn to attention, all while searching for disrupting noises. There is a mention of him. He grumbles slowly, “that’s why I smell it…” Of course, the dreamer has a bleeding heart. His findings are sufficient, and he dismisses them as a suspect, for now. He closes the journal and places it back to the coffee table in its exact position prior to him picking it up. Nothing more is left for him to pick, and will keep his newfound insight of Feryn’s state of being to himself. He stares out the window seeing Feryn approach the bakery as his ears pick the shuffle of metal and wet mud splattering in the alleyway and quickly exits the apartment through the attic in the bedroom.
Feryn approaches the bakery, and tries the door only to find it locked. There is no one in the dining room, but they assume someone may be in the kitchen. The faint sound of multiple mixers in operation are the only other indication of activity aside from the light. They wait by the glass door, rehearsing their enthusiasm in their head. Then practice a smile. In the corner of their reflection they can see a figure fall from the rooftop of the adjacent apartment complex. They shiver cold from the ghostly sight, and turn to find nothing out of the ordinary. They swallow hard, and hold their breath. No sounds come from the night except for the buzz of the street lamps. And they’re left unsettled staring in the direction of the figure, hoping to make sense of the events of the hour. A sudden ring of the shop’s bell spooks Feryn and their shock allows Forneus a warm laugh. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
Feryn responds sheepishly, “I uhh… Suppose you could say that…” They rub their hands, not really sure where to go from there.
Forneus has a charm that allows her to navigate uncomfortable situations, but she refers to it as a “mother’s intuition”. She steps aside, coaxing Feryn to follow through. “Come in, my dear! There’s no knowing what the night brings.” Feryn enters, waiting for Forneus to lock the door behind them. The cord carrying the key finds placement around her neck. This motion pulls down on the fabric of her shawl, exposing her neck is another necklace of a gold skull. Feryn is intrigued by the sight, never having noticed it before.
Forneus passes by Feryn with slight haste. “Apologies, my dear. Normally this would be a discussion for the table, but it will have to be for the kitchen. We’re behind schedule, and I still have custard crème to make. Our sous chef hasn’t arrived today.” She leads them behind the counter and into the kitchen where mixers are whipping the cream and kneading the dough. Forneus appears mildly frantic as she checks the state of doneness for both, and adjusts the speed of mixing. She washes her hands in the large stainless steel sink prior to setting a kettle of water on the stove top.
“Oh no, I hope they’re okay!” Feryn follows closely behind, stepping just before where the tile changes texture.
“I’m sure they’re fine! However… they are rarely ever absent from work...” She pulls a stool just from underneath the island and pats the seat, inviting Feryn to enter. “Here, have a seat. Is there anything I can brew for you?” She returns to the sink to wash her hands, then returns to the mixer to turn it off. She reaches to an adjacent counter for a cloth piping bag, holding it open to scoop the whipped cream with a silicone spatula.
Feryn wants to help, but doesn’t want to overstep their boundaries. “Tea would be lovely, but I can make it myself! I don’t mean to distract you from your work.” They fidget from the stool seeing her fly about in the kitchen.
She ties off one bag and sets it onto a steel tray, then reaches for another. The remainder of the bowl is scraped into the bag. “You’re not, I assure you. This is a wonderful opportunity to discuss business plans! Our hope is that it builds your business. Any sugar with your tea?” She removes the whisk and taps it against the side of the bowl, then scrapes the spatula against the bowl removing as much of the cream left over from the tools. The leftover cream is placed into the bag before being clipped and set on the counter beside the other filled bag. She places the spatula into the bowl and lifts the bowl off a set of pins, then places it into a deep sink.
“Oh no, I’m good without any. Thank you. Where’s Heket if you don’t mind me asking?” Feryn watches her collect two mixing bowls from a shelf underneath the counter nearest the stand mixers and places it onto the island near a stack of eggs. Feryn is at their limit; they decide to wash their hands in the sink. They want to be helpful although Forneus insisted otherwise, even if it’s something as simple as cracking some eggs for the custard cream.
Forneus doesn’t oppose their gesture. Without a sous chef, it’s difficult to run the bakery with only a few hours to spare. A helping hand is all she can hope for, right now. She takes the tray holding the cream into the fridge and stops the cycle for the dough. To the shelf she goes to retrieve a rectangular tray, and places it on the counter where the whipped cream once was. She generously oils it before transferring the dough to the tray to rest under a floured towel. Forneus pulls a stool underneath the island across from Feryn, then to the sink to wash her hands again. “She’s been stressed with the state of our business, so I let her sleep a while longer. I promised to help, but it’s so hard to be inventive with our limited options.” She sits across from Feryn, situating the bowls between them along with the eggs. Each takes a pair of eggs and cracks them against one another, separating the whites from the yolk in either bowl. The motions become automatic before Forneus continues. “There is a demand for berries, but we no longer have contact with our supplier. They were last located in Darkwood when we lost communication. We hope to remedy this severance with your assistance. Perhaps you could become our primary supplier when the time calls for it. Of course, we will pay you market value per pound.”
Berries are difficult to cultivate outside of Darkwood and require loamy soil, favoring on silt. Anura’s soil is comparable to Darkwood, but lacks the nutrients necessary for berries to thrive. There are those that brave the wood for berries, knowing the risk it comes with. Without much elaboration, Feryn knows exactly what has come to the supplier. Some yolks’ membranes break and homogenize the mixture. Feryn’s eyes are drawn to the spots that are highlighted by the ceiling lights. From this angle, they look like tiny suns, or candied mandarins— whichever is the most hopeful. It’s already risky to start a business of their own, not knowing the kind of support their family is willing to offer. There is an extreme risk of getting hurt when they’re deep in Darkwood on their own— a place where they never actually set foot. Despite it all, it doesn't take long for them to consider their options. They answer quietly in between the cracks of eggs. “I can be your supplier.” Forneus abruptly sets an intact egg back onto the carton; not many more are left— such a worthy sacrifice for custard cream. She pushes to a stand, and aims towards another low shelf collecting a bottom-heavy pan. The pan makes it to the stovetop where the kettle begins to steam. As soon as it whistles, she removes the kettle to a cooler burner and replaces it with the pan. Into the industrial fridge does she go to collect several bottles of milk, then to the shelf above the stove to collect vanilla beans. She pours the milk into the pan and splits the pods open with a knife. She scrapes the pod with the blunt end before using the pod to remove the collection into the milk. This will simmer for a while and in the meantime, Forneus returns to the kettle to steep Feryn’s tea.
Feryn continues where they left off, though they feel like they said something wrong. At that moment, Forneus continues. “I’m glad you’re eager to take the offer. I worry about the wilds, however. Are you sure this is something you feel you can do? I’d take comfort knowing you’re with someone who knows the wood.” Apprehensive is her tone; she knows this will be an arduous task. Feryn cracks the last egg and separates the white from the yolk. They get up to wash their hands of the stickiness. When they return to their seat, Forneus presents their tea by placing the mug on their side of the island. “I don’t want to send you to a death trap for some berries. Watch the milk, and make sure it doesn’t boil.” Feryn takes their stool to the stove where they watch for bubbles to form. It’s still terribly early so they return to pick their tea and sip on it while they wait. Forneus uncovers the dough and kneads it for a few minutes until it dimples and leaves it covered underneath the towel yet again. To the sink, she washes her hands, then collects another bowl. She makes her way to the pantry where she drags a large bag of sugar, scooping the contents into the new bowl.
Feryn peeks over to the simmering pot; it doesn’t appear ready for the next step. They watch on as Forneus takes the sugar to the counter and attaches a clean mixing bowl for the mixer; then to the island to retrieve the yolks. “I think I will be okay if I keep my wits about me.” They stir the mixture to keep the milk from forming a film on the bottom of the pot.
Forneus turns with a glare of suspicion to which they share a toothy grin while swinging their feet. Forneus shakes her head before pouring the yolks into the stand mixer, and attaches a new whisk. “I prefer you to be accompanied. Otherwise, the deal is off.” She flips the switch and adjusts the speed to a medium high while she sprinkles the sugar in batches, blanching the eggs. As air is incorporated into the mixture, they begin to turn a pale yellow.
Feryn scoffs, looking away from the pot. “You can’t just call it off like that! I want to help!” The desire to assist is a selfless act, but they understand this opportunity is also an investment. Still, it upsets them that she has the audacity to change the conditions after the terms were agreed upon.
“My dear, settle! You will be escorted for your own safety—”
“But I can handle this myself! I can do this on my own! I’m not a child anymore—“ They insist, seeing the pointlessness of appointing themself with another on something as simple as a fetch quest. They know the sounds that come from the woods, they’re confident in their expectations, and can identify danger before it’s revealed.
“Feryn, have you forgotten Darkwood? This is not an argument, nor a game!” Forneus lowers the speed of the mixer and sets sight at the stove. She turns the burner off and snatches the spatula from Feryn’s hand. She points to Feryn with it to make herself clear. “If I learn you have gone on your own, I will void our verbal contract. Do you understand?” She quickly stirs the pot before taking it to the mixer to steadily pour the contents.
For a moment, they have forgotten what it is like to reside beyond their own head for some time. Feryn has never seen Forneus display anger before; she’s serious, and they reconsider their stance in an instant. What am I doing? “…Yes ma’am… I meant no disrespect…” Forneus’ display was enough to humble them, and they fidget with their hands. They feel shame for disregarding Forneus' concerns, and she knows this guilt is genuine.
“I understand you want to help, but you have to learn patience. Rash decisions will always have negative consequences. I encourage you to practice it. I know you are an adult and you’re smart and more than capable, but I always have your safety in mind. I need you to be safe about this. There are people that care.” Forneus is right, it would be reckless to go into the depths of Darkwood on their own. This excursion would have to wait while Feryn locates someone able and willing to accompany them. Feryn grows eager by the day to get the shop in operation, but forgets that sometimes there is a process to the madness. Forneus turns off the mixer and removes the whisk, tapping the sides of the bowl to remove the remaining custard cream. She places the whisk into the pot and sets it on the counter while she incorporates the sides of the bowl with the spatula. The sound of glass tapping resonates to the kitchen in between the taps of the spatula. “Ah, would you grab the door? Heket arrived sooner than I expected.” Forneus removes the key from around her neck and approaches Feryn.
Feryn hops off the stool with the key in hand and returns to the dining room to find a friendly face waiting beyond the glass door. Witness Agares smiles warmly and waves at them who waves back with both hands. They slip the key into the lock and pry the door open. He lowers himself to them as he speaks. Feryn can feel the warmth radiate from his fur, and they blush in an instant. What even is personal space to cute city boys? “I wondered when I would see you again. As always, it is a pleasure.” His soft voice carries a somber tone as he holds out his hand, inviting Feryn’s. They place their hand in his and he presses lightly atop of theirs with his other. They watch his sharp claws graze their skin, leaving no indication he was ever there. Without truly knowing, they guess that his claws have dealt damage in the past. He is a Witness, after all. He holds their hand delicately with the threat being an option at any given time; their destiny lies between his claws– he could maim, but chooses not to. The fragile balance on a knife’s edge excites them. They feel themself turn hot and melt at the knees, but is careful not to lose themself on the way to the ground. “Though… the purpose of this visit is met with a heavy heart. Is Heket available?” He removes his hands and straightens himself just before they turn into a puddle at his feet.
“N-no, but she’s expected to arrive shortly. Um…Would you like to come inside?” Feryn steps aside, allowing his entry. There is a reverberation to his hum as he enters the bakery. It only sustains their excitement as they struggle locking the door. Witness Agares stands patiently with his claws tucked within the sleeves of his robes as Feryn attempts to clear their mind for the more present matter. “Would you like coffee? Tea?”
“I appreciate it, but no. I’d like to keep this visit brief.” The end of his statement trails to a quiet grumble.
Feryn nods, almost unable to maintain their composure. What’s wrong with me? Why am I acting this way? “I will fetch Forneus for you!” They excuse themself as he helps himself to a seat. Beyond the counter to the kitchen they return to find Forneus placing the wrapped custard cream into the fridge, along with what they assume are egg whites in a large carafe. More dishes are added to the sink.
Forneus sighs, turning her attention to the cooling rack of croissants beside the industrial oven, which she carts to the island. She notices Feryn entering the kitchen. “Just in time! Three trays of croissants need to be cut in half and filled with cream. Will you wash up and tend to that while I check in with Heket?”
Feryn stammers briefly before collecting their thoughts after a momentary pause. “Witness Agares is here.”
“Oh strange… Had you let him in?”
“He’s in the dining room.”
“Thank you, I’ll speak with him. Oh! Use the serrated knife in the drawer; it has a guard.” Forneus dusts her hands on a clean towel before quickly approaching Feryn to retrieve the key. She smiles with gratitude before exiting the kitchen. Feryn searches around the drawers for the aforementioned knife until they come across what they assume is the knife drawer; a drawer with knives is organized by size and purpose that lay in a slotted bamboo insert. To the side of this insert is the knife Forneus described and they take it to place on the counter near the sink while they wash their hands. After drying on a clean towel, they fetch the knife and unsheathe it from the guard. It’s long and narrow, with a rounded end and fine equally spaced teeth. The chatter in the dining room gradually fades and the room is quiet except for the oven’s extractor fan. They stare down at their own reflection. It’s them! They smile, but the reflection does not smile back. It falters as the voice that is not their own creeps and overlaps, echoing from deep within them. It was only a matter of time…
WHAT IS WRONG WITH US?
Stop! Please! Leave me alone! I didn’t ask for this!
THIS FORM–THIS PAIN. ONE MOTION. WRIST TO ELBOW.
Please…
DO IT. RELEASE US. WE CAN HOLD HER– FINALLY BE WITH HER. NO ONE–
Their eyes drag to their forearm. They hesitate for a moment. “--no one would hurt us…”
The knife is held shakily above their forearm; their heart beats in their throat. “Just one motion… and we’re free…”
The extractor fan becomes glaringly present as cinnamon warmth invades their air space. Do not let them in… Their pupils shrink as they break a cold sweat. They hold the knife with a weak grip and turn quickly to find Forneus standing at the far edge of the island. How long has she been there? “Hey! Uhh… I found the knife!” Feryn swallows very dryly; moisture is absent from their mouth, making this task obviously apparent. They feel their eyebrows furrow and attempt to straighten them out as their smile forces a return, crooked and cracked. SHAME. Shame prevents Feryn from peering into Forneus’ eyes, fearing the disappointment would cause them to crumble. She begins softly, “I forgot to mention, the cream is in the fridge.” She lingers for a long moment, then turns around to leave for the dining room. Feryn’s heart continues to pound and twist then sink into their whirlpool of despair. Surely she didn’t see that. Stop thinking. Now is not the time… They take the knife to the island with a tray of croissants and start slicing them in half like they remember seeing in displays. At least this activity eases the voices. There’s a short laugh coming from the dining room and it sounds like the conversation carries lightly. To Feryn, it appears that Witness Agares and Forneus have a decent relationship, but the extent of which is unknown. The Bishops must interact with the other Witnesses to run the town, they infer. Heket doesn’t appear to care much for the formalities between Bishop and Witness and her reluctance to adhere to such terms leaves Feryn to speculate. One tray is complete. Good. No incident. Keep the voices down. They reach for another tray and do the same. The knife glides across the croissant with ease, and the anxiety lessens for each successful slice. The apple continues to grow. She didn’t see that, right? They feel their mind wander— stop it— a deep breath in and out. Another tray is complete, now to the last. Their movements are automatic, and they feel slight remorse for the quality of the first tray. Practice and patience is reflected on each croissant. Bearing this in mind, Feryn feels… marginally accomplished— not enough for pride, but an accomplishment that rises from a good cry. All cut without incident. Good… Feryn takes the knife to the sink. They look at their reflection on the blade, and attempt to smile just like they practiced. For a moment, they think their reflection smiles back—perhaps a little crummy. The apple shrinks, and the knife is placed in the sink. They turn their attention to the fridge when they hear the shop bell ring activity in the dining room. The light discussion continues with a gnarly grumble that Feryn distinguishes as Heket. There’s a brief pause that disrupts the atmosphere, and Feryn could almost mistake it for the chill from the fridge. With the tray of cream in hand, they return to the prepped croissants, but something is wrong. Curiosity captures the better of them and they leave their station, dusting their hands on a towel left by Forneus.
They near the end of the blind corner separating the two rooms when the squeal of a chair being dragged along the tile, shattering the silence. “Heket!” Forneus shouts over the sound of glass strewn across the floor. Feryn enters the room with haste to find the scene unfolding. Witness Agares is thrown out the broken window by Heket who follows closely behind. Forneus attempts to take hold of her by any means necessary— her tank top, her bicep— nothing slowed her down. Heket’s boots crunch on the glass as she climbs through the frame. Forneus lifts the base of her dress before chasing along. “Wait! Stop! Heket!” Heket has one objective and that is to beat the life out of Witness Agares, undisputed. She pushes Forneus away from the action, for her to subsequently trip over the broken chair. She bolsters her fall with her hands as she lands on the glass. Feryn breaks from their daze and bolts back into the kitchen for a towel then to Forneus. They kneel to her, ready to tend to her wounds. “How bad is it?” Glass is embedded in her hands, and she takes the towel to slow the bleeding, but insists on breaking up the fight. “Stop her! Please!” Feryn stands to assess the situation.
Witness Agares groans, crawling away from the assault and into the street, but Heket snags his tail and drags him closer. Both hands secure the fabric of his robe and lift him off the ground to wind a headbutt. When he drops, she kicks him in the gut— one, two— Feryn rushes in and trips over Heket’s foot upon her extension. Witness Agares cushions their fall— oof! A quick apology is made; Feryn holds their hands out, shutting their eyes as they brace for impact. No harm comes to them, and they pry their eyes to find Heket still towering over the two, seething, breathing with her full chest as her fists are balled tightly. She turns, leaving in the direction of the market place. No good will come of this, Forneus is aware, and she pushes herself off the glass and chases after Heket, calling for her return. Feryn observes the aftermath… It's quiet on the streets, and a surprise that no one woke to the cacophony. A slight groan comes from underneath Feryn and they quickly snap from their daze with a gasp. They remove themself from Witness Agares, and sit on their knees unsure what to say or do at this point. “I’m so sorry! Do you need help?”
Witness Agares rolls onto his back; his lip is busted, and lacerations on his skin appeared superficial. His hand slips into his robes and secures a pack of cigarettes. He turns slightly to Feryn after a short cough. “You have a light?”
“N-no. I’m sorry.”
The worm grumbles finding his own lighter somewhere on his person while he fixes the cigarette loosely to his lips. “You want one?” It bounces after each word as he passes the pack to them.
They understand smoking is often used to bond socially. “No, sorry, I don’t smoke.” Feryn responds softly, this may tarnish their relationship somehow.
“Good. Don’t, you’re mortal.” He places the cigarettes back into his robes and strikes the flint until it ignites the one in his mouth, then places the lighter back into his cloth. “I don’t get many opportunities to smoke— Ember hates the smell.”
“I wonder why that is.” Feryn hums to themself. They reposition themself to sit on their rump, with their arms holding their knees tucked into their chest.
“Bad memories.” He doesn’t intend on elaborating.
To Feryn, the smell has always been associated with Plimbo, also an unpleasant experience. Even he doesn’t compare to their father. The memory of bile and alcohol nauseates them and they shake their head to get rid of the memory. “I feel the same with alcohol…” They tilt their head to him, but don't make eye contact with him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah…”
“Damn.” He takes a long drag and holds it in for a moment. On his exhale he begins again. “Lay with me for a bit?” He pats the concrete beside him.
“On the road?” Feryn smirks; he can’t be serious.
“Yeah it’s cool, no one’s driving at this hour.” He ashes before taking another drag.
“Ahh… O-okay.” They spread themself similarly to him and interlock their fingers over their stomach. It’s uncomfortable, but Feryn makes the best of it. They feel remorse for him. They’re certain he wasn’t deserving of the assault, but in reality they don’t truly understand what he could have done to warrant this. It’s easier talking to him at this elevation, though.
He exhales and allows the smoke to dissipate before expanding on his thoughts. “I miss Darkwood. The soil under my claws, the smell of the wood in the air, and sometimes at night you can see the stars in all its glory. You don’t get that here; the street lamps drown them out. What am I thinking—you would know what it’s like to live there…”
“I lived within the fence line, I don’t know much else about the wood. I do miss the songs, though. I heard it best at night.” Feryn reminisces the quiet nights that filtered through their bedroom window. After the beatings… after the—
“I miss berries mostly.” Witness Agares interrupts their memories without much consideration. He ashes again.
“Berries…” they tune their focus back to the moment. “Hey! You know the woods best! I need somebody who knows the area to take me there!” They quickly sit up, turning on their hip to look over at him.
Just as he’s about to take another hit, he pulls the cigarette away. “I haven’t been there in centuries, I’m sure things have changed.”
“Even if it has, I’m sure you can navigate just fine! Muscle memory, right? I promise to make it worth your while!”
His three eyes narrow. “…There’s a lot of connotation in that statement there.” Then ashes his cigarette, taking another drag.
Realizing this they wave their hands at him, then hold their face in their palms. They feel the terrible warmth of embarrassment. “O-oh! N-no! I don’t mean like that! Not in that way! I mean— I just—ahh! I meant–”
“You’re fine! I think you're pretty cool, too.” He pats just above their knee, and they feel themself melt with his touch causing them to release a short squeal.
He pushes himself to a seated position with his elbows, resting into his knees. “I’ll go with you. Allow me some time to work in my absence with Ember, and I’ll meet you at the shop by the morning.” He extinguishes his cigarette on his tongue as Feryn stares on. They’re taken aback having never seen such an act, but nothing prepares them as they witness him devouring the remainder of it. They purse their lips, but smile at the corners as they consider the conflict in their standards. He’s still a gentleman, though he eats cigarette filters– disgusting, but sweet. He helps himself up to a stand, and slowly stretches. It’s clear this motion is painful, and Feryn pushes off the ground dusting themself off of the road. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
He turns and smiles with slight agony. “I’ll be right…” Feryn’s eyebrow’s furrow, though they didn’t intend to. He sighs with a slight chuckle and rephrases, “I plan on stopping by the hospital on my way back, but try not to worry much about me. I am simply the messenger. Heket has every reason to be upset, and I don’t blame her for expressing her frustrations…” Guilt is present in his tone, but disguises it as remorse. Feryn looks to the ground, fidgeting with their hands. They’re not sure what to say or do on behalf of Heket, let alone Forneus. If it were an apology, what would they even apologize for? Witness Agares reaches with a slight smile, placing a hand on their shoulder. Their heart skips a beat as they’re drawn to his eyes. “I look forward to our next meeting. I wish you a better day, and uhh… thanks for laying with me. Good luck. My apologies for leaving such a mess.” He takes Feryn’s hand into his for the holy-handshake and leaves in the direction of the marketplace. They can’t help, but watch his tail sway for each step he takes. They lose sight of him around the corner of the block and they’re forced to take in the scene yet again. “What did you even say? What am I supposed to do?” They speak quietly to themself; the sky appears lighter as the sun encroaches on the day. The shop will need to appear operational by daybreak, but Feryn doesn’t have the slightest idea where to even begin. Anxiety builds as they list tasks that could be done, but it’s obviously a lot for just one person in a short time frame.
“Excuse me.” A droned voice interrupts their stream of thought.
Feryn turns to meet the owner. A salamander with a backpack stands before them with an earbud in hand. They appear to have a purpose for being in the area. “I’m assuming Heket lost her cool again?”
“What do you mean by “again”?”
The salamander shrugs, “I don’t care well enough to explain. I’ll clock in and clean up, I guess.” They slip past them and step over the window frame to enter the bakery.
Feryn is left to consider the frequency of which these violent outbursts occur, but not for terribly long. There’s not a lot of time left and they decide the best course of action is to acquire more helping hands. They set their short course to the apartment complex that shares the alleyway with their shop, and notice their garbage bin tipped over— a problem they may remedy at a later time. Entering the foyer, they find a mailbox unit to their left. The first names attached are abbreviated, but Feryn cycles through them. There’s a single case of the letter “P” being used, and that leads Feryn to make an educated guess; second floor, third apartment. They climb two flights of stairs and stand in front of the door they believe to be the one, and knock gently. Upon doing so they realize it may be too soft. The intent is to wake and they raise their fist to the wood. The door pries open slightly, not granting a second attempt. A black bear’s snout pokes from beyond. “It’s quite rude to wake people at this hour, stranger.”
“I’m sorry! I thought I got the right door…” Feryn fidgets with their hands. Maybe they have misinterpreted the mail boxes.
He grumbles as if stirring a yawn but nothing comes of it. “Maybe not. Anyway, have a good day.” He presses the door closed for a light argument to occur behind it. Sounds as if he is defeated, and the door swings open again.
“Feryn! I thought I recognized your voice!” Puna wears a floral print nightgown gown with a matching robe that she cinches as she steps onto the doormat. Her other arms wrap around Feryn with a tight squeeze. It may be a little excessive for Feryn as they recently saw Puna the night before. “I hope you liked the pasta! My honey bear is such a good cook!”
“Ahh! I-it was! Very good! I’ll have to return your container! Thank you! Haha!” They laugh nervously; this is a secret they will keep to the grave. With the door now open, Feryn can see that her tall counterpart is only in boxers. They avert their gaze to Puna’s bright eyes as she pulls away. “This is my new friend, Feryn! You remember me telling you that they’re fixing up the shop next door!”
He responds with a grumble and a chin scratch. “My name’s Bruce. I would say it’s a pleasure, but you did just wake me up.”
“Oh hush, you got your eight hours!” She slips her hands behind his back and rubs his belly with another. He rolls his eyes, but settles as she suggests. “He’s a little grizzly when he wakes, don’t mind him.” Her giggles are as sweet as honey; there’s admiration behind her laugh. Bruce places a hand on her shoulder, gently reminding her to get to the point. “What brings you over so early?”
Believing they’ll have a hard time convincing Puna for her aid, they avert their gaze to the bumble bee doormat. Their hands are placed in front of their chest while they fidget. “I need your help and your tools…”
The smell of fresh bread and clatter of broken glass fill the early morning air. More workers arrive acknowledging the scene as a normal occurrence before going about their usual work day. Bruce hammers the final nail into the top row of the salvaged boards that now cover the window. He descends from the ladder while Feryn and Puna sweep the sidewalk of glass. Feryn pauses to assess the completeness of their combined efforts, then turns to Puna. “I know it ain’t my mess, but thanks again for all your help. I don’t think I would have been able to do this myself.”
“It helps to have extra pairs of hands!” She smiles wide while she raises the brooms in both sets of hands— as if Feryn needed to be reminded of her extra set of arms; the hammering persists.
“Is there any way I could pay you two back for this?”
“What? No! Don’t worry about it! Besides that’s what friends are for!”
”I would like a bit of compensation.” Bruce pauses to interrupt the two.
“Hush, honey bear, you be good to our new friend!” Puna continues to sweep, without making eye contact. She pretends to not notice his deadpan stare to the back of her head. He grumbles before hammering another nail.
Feryn uses a dust pan to collect the debris and tosses it into the garbage can they received permission to use by the kitchen staff. “Please? I want to give thanks for all the trouble I’ve put you through.” Feryn feels guilty to have woken the couple up from their sleep, still.
“I insist, it’s no problem at all—”
“Puna…” Bruce interrupts the cycle of her niceties. Feryn quickly realizes that her best, forthcoming feature may also be her worst.
“Ah… okay… Can I say what’s happening tonight?” She turns to him for confirmation to which he nods, sinking another nail into the board. “So, Bruce and I haven’t had a date night in some time. Between his work and the baby, we found it difficult to have any kind of romance.”
“Oh! I never knew you had a baby! Congratulations! Is that an appropriate thing to say?”
“You’re perfectly fine! Our honey is the world to us, but we’re struggling to find a sitter for the meantime. I know you’ve had experience raising your brothers and thought you would be a good candidate. It also keeps me from having to send last minute texts to people. You know how that goes!”
“Haha… yeah… totally…” Feryn rubs their forearm while Puna continues without skipping a beat.
“We’ll only be out for a few hours! We’ll have to leave about… a quarter after six—give or take, so please stop by the apartment before then and I’ll have instructions laid out for you!”
I didn’t even agree to this! “Sure!” What am I doing?
“Ooh, you’re the best! I owe you one!” Puna brings them into a tight embrace, squeezing a groan from them.
The shifting metal on concrete draws their attention, separating the pair. They collect the remaining glass from the ground and dump it into the garbage. The brooms are left by the edge of the door frame and the garbage can is pushed off the sidewalk and to the side of the building. Bruce packs his tools and places his fingers in his belt loops to raise his jeans “All done!” He takes in the aroma of a hard day’s work and it smells like bread. “It’s gonna take a bit, but I’ll expedite this order. My boys will have it up within the day it’s received.” He pulls Puna in, wrapping a single arm over her shoulder. “As payment for today's work, I’m helping myself to several pastries.”
Puna pats his belly to the beat of her words. “On-ly three!” She rubs his gut before she rests her hand there while she continues her nagging. “The doctor said you need to control the glucose.” An instinctual groan escapes his muzzle. “Oh! Get me a bear claw on your way back, will you?” She smiles up at him and he rolls his eyes.
“Sure I’ll get you one. And three more when I’m back home.”
“You behave yourself!” Puna blushes, then playfully pushes him while she hollers a laugh. Bruce holds his hand out to Feryn. They almost forget that not everyone uses the “Bishop’s-handshake” and they hold their hand in his. His handshake is rough, sturdy, but dignified. “It was nice meeting you, Feryn. Sorry about my attitude this morning. You’re pretty stand-up for lending help to those in need.”
“Thanks, that’s Darkwood soil for you.” Feryn laughs quietly to themself.
“I won’t forget the bear claw.” He pats Puna on the head and excuses himself to the front door. When he tries the knob, it’s locked and he motions to one of the workers who quickly comes to his aid.
Puna waits for Bruce to be beyond earshot range, then shares her thoughts to Feryn. “Told you he’d warm up. He’s really sweet once he comes around. Maybe we can plan dinner sometime! Think of it as a second chance at a first impression!” There’s a pleading tone to her offer, as she holds her palms facing upward.
Though they haven’t socialized for terribly long, Feryn knows this would mean a lot to Puna. What would they do if they refused? Cry themself to sleep like they usually do? Maybe this is a sign for change, “I’d love to!”
“Great! It’s so good to see you!” Puna’s smile is infectious. She rounds Feryn in with both sets of arms for a tight, but quick hug. Surprised for a moment, Feryn gives into her embrace and wraps their arms weakly around her. The lack of enthusiasm doesn’t bother Puna, but she realizes then that touch may not be something they’re terribly warmed to. “Gotta check on the little larva, but I’ll see you at 6-ish!” Puna bends to collect the toolbox and the ladder before making her exit to the apartment, which leaves Feryn to make use of the remaining day that has yet to begin.
Divinity’s Dirge is covered with a morning dew that will soon evaporate when the day progresses. The sun casted warmth to rooftops and windows that stirs people awake. Like clockwork, they prepare themselves for the trip to the temple where they would attend the morning’s service.
Ember readies herself at her vanity, preening her wool and cloak to look especially presentable to lead the masses. The blood on the cloak remains, but can only be seen at close proximity. It suffices for now, but she intends on having it laundered by her trusted cleaners after the sermon. Once ready, she makes her way to the door to lead the day. She presses her lips while she inhales, finding them to be smooth and dry. She almost forgets her lip gloss and leaves the door ajar to quickly apply it at her vanity. Smoothing an even coat with her pinky, she notices a curl is out of place and fusses with it for far too long. She screams into the mirror knocking the vanity’s contents onto the floor and paces around the room. “How DARE he speak to me like that! And I just let him— a mere mortal! I am his GOD! I should have killed him where he stands! What stopped me?” She seethes through her teeth and breathes with her shoulders, often making gestures in the air and speaking with her hands. The very mention of herself in this context is made with emphasis and superiority.
“Instilling fear will only offer deflection.” A harsh, deepened voice filled with resentment comes from the shadows. Red eyes stalk her like prey.
“Where would they go, Nari? The people don’t have anyone to believe in but me—“
“—Us.” He speaks from a place of authority as he emerges from the dark, his arms are crossed tight around his chest.
She brushes past knowing that her prodding angers him and plans on making a quick and dramatic exit to frustrate him further. If he cares enough, he would follow her. She stops feet before the door, with her back turned against it. “WHERE EVEN WERE YOU? You left my side— I had to deal with him alone! That foul creature fucking touched me!” She pouts, folding her arms within herself while staring at the floor for emotional support.
Narinder blinks once and approaches her. He reaches out to her with an upturned palm. “He’s nothing compared to all the trials you’ve en—"
“You didn’t even answer my question!” A whine escapes the brat and it becomes glaringly evident that she demands his attention.
The same upturned hand takes her by the horn and yanks her back and up, grabbing her wrist with his other hand. She struggles to remove herself from his grip as he tightens around her, weakening her knees.
“ENOUGH. Do NOT interrupt me.” Their eyes meet as he contorts her to experience minimal comfort. Pressure builds in her neck and shoulders. “I do not need to give reason for my absence—let alone, entertain these tantrums.” He bares his teeth at her only for her to impulsively mock him, mirroring his expression back to him.
“What will you do about it? You already take pleasure in my pain. What difference does it make?” His grip lessens as Ember caresses his chin. She lures him with a thick honey-sweetness that captivated him before. Her silk drapes him with a sense of security. His grip lessens and she can easily move in his hands. Her breath is warm on his lips, close enough for a kiss. Her touch grows stronger, digging her nails into his skin. “Take more… Take it all. Leave nothing to sate your hunger… Or do you truly find this entertaining? Put me in my place, big boy… Show me that you need me…”
Ember lingers on his lips, and stills her breath, waiting for him to give her any kind of emotion— some indication that he cares. Relaxed hands slowly reposition to her upper arms as he inhales slowly, and deliberately. His expression shifts to a weak smile. “You’re right… I do need to express my thoughts.”
Finally some long awaited patience and progress. She treads lightly for this moment. She replaces her hands to his waist with longing in her eyes. She starts quietly in a whisper, “... I love you…” She waited centuries for his profession.
He shoves her through the door, sending her tumbling down the stairs. Her face breaks her landing, smacking against the following door. She groans; it’ll be a moment before she can help herself up, but it doesn’t appear she had broken anything despite the tumble. She will certainly bruise. Boots steadily descends to her location and the support from the door gives away and falls the rest of the way face first onto the floor. A boot kicks her hard in the rear, pushing her from the doorway, clearing the path. Narinder squats to her level. “I’m sure you understand by now…” He stands back up and goes to the door leading to the temple, opening it wide enough for the both of them to exit. He returns to Ember, concealing his anger without expression.
Humiliated by the one she loves, Ember cries. Her black eyeliner smudged on her face, her hair a mess, and her heart bruised— “WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN TO ME?” She screeches as she sits back up, tears streaming down her face leaving two distinct black streaks on either side of her cheeks. Bony hands grip her by the horn and drag her to the door. She flails, kicking and screaming as he has no trouble dragging her around. “LET ME GO! STOP!”
“Tend to your flock. Go...” Narinder throws her beyond the threshold; she stumbles to the railing and quickly turns to him spitting a venomous, “FUCK YOU!”
He slams the door closed and she throws herself against it, pounding with both her fists, “I LOVE YOU! PLEASE COME BACK!” She falls to her knees and sobs loudly.
The people below murmur while they wait for the service to begin– rather consider if there would even be a service, given the emotional state their leader is in. Ember’s cries soften as she wipes the tears from her cheeks with her palms. She fixes her wool to the best of her abilities and picks herself from the ground. Her demeanor changes in an instant. It’s time to address the people. She turns the crowd beyond the railing; her smile curls at the corners. A smile she had perfected over the centuries— one that conceals emotions. “Good morning to you all!” She takes the stairs, and parts the murmuring crowd with each step. Through the disheveled smudge, the image of a charismatic ruler shines through. At the pulpit, Narinder takes no preoccupancy on her mind. Rehearsed is her confidence, her movements are choreographed, her messages hold a cadence that are song-like. She nurtured their love, extended their trust, comforted the hurt, and strengthened their will. Through the cracks, she was ethereal. Service was dismissed on a high note, leaving the masses inspired. This was routine, and seldom was Ember ever absent for her own sermons. Her disciples have worked with her for long enough to know exactly how they were conducted, should she be absent for any reason. It would never exert the same energy that the people congregate for. After all, she’s a goddess that walks among them— a celebrity of a sort.
Most people go about their day and some opt into services provided by the temple. The confessionals were always available during temple hours, and some utilized the resource outreach program, provided the needy would opt to support others at another time. Ember adores the attention she receives from people who wait excitedly for her blessings.
An acolyte hoping to graduate by the end of the month.
A couple welcoming their first child.
The way she holds their hands, showing each individual the attention they deserve. She knew their goals, and their struggles individually— each follower, she’s known so personally, even the ones that have long since passed. Such precious mortal moments she could never truly experience herself… The bittersweet reality fuels her envy and it grows worse as the centuries pass. She only got better about concealing such animosity.
Realistically, she disliked many of her followers— some worse than others. Ember grew blind to the sight of kindness and temperance, never having experienced it until she met her fate. She had difficulty seeing the good the world had to offer. It would have been easy to cleanse the world of hate all those years ago, but she had an image to uphold and a promise to deliver… She would be different, and that meant accepting the world for the hate, the vile, and the corrupt… All against her own interest, she believed forgiveness and acceptance would pave a better future— after all, that’s what would be expected of benevolence.
The crowd dispersed on individual terms, and Ember remained to oversee immediate temple functions. She continues handing out blessings and expressing gratitude to those that attended. She hears a commotion coming from beyond the open doors. It grows louder, approaching her. She recognizes Forneus’s voice through her pleas. Her heart pounds in her throat. She locates the visual, her eyes widen. Forneus clings to Heket’s leg, blood streaked on her arms as Heket barrels through the congregation. The storm has arrived… Ember quickly and cordially dismisses a follower before anxiety builds. Her hands shake as she collects her books from the pulpit. Loose pages fall from her grasp. Shit! Shit! She scrambles to pick the pages from the ground. A palm slams against the pulpit, forcing a yelp and a cower from Ember.
“YOU—“ Heket’s bellow squandered the inspiration Ember crafted.
She stands straight from her cower with the same grin she uses to conceal. She speaks quickly. “—GOODMORNING, IT'S SO NICE OF YOU TO ATTEND SERVICE.” Heket throws the pulpit. Ember scrambles, tripping over a fallen book.
“I KNOW IT WAS YOU!” Heket roars, splitting old wounds in her throat. Blood stains her black neckerchief darker.
“HEKET, PLEASE! STOP!” Forneus’s cries go unnoticed.
“LET’S CHAT AFTER TEA, YEAH? TALK ABOUT THIS IN PRIVATE?” Ember crawls away from her, but large palms secure her cloak and drag her off the ground. Ember admires her strength at this moment. “Have you been working out?”
Heket slammed Ember against the stone wall, silencing her ramblings.
“EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”
Claws dig into Heket’s arm, beading blood around her wrists, diverting their attention from one another.
“Nari…” Ember mutters in disbelief— he actually showed up despite his assault.
“Leave her be. I will not hesitate…” Narinder growls; his grip is tight around her. His threat depends on her response.
“My love, please… You’re hurting…” Forneus pulls herself from Heket’s ankle and begs for the last time. Her arms wrapped around hers; her voice is worn and hoarse from shouting.
She turns back to the target of her loathing. “You have the audacity to wear their blood with pride… I will do the same to you…” Heket growls. She wheezes through her throat, blackened blood crackles through her wounds with each deliberate breath, more labored than the last. She releases Ember, and she plummets to the ground.
Narinder releases Heket while he steps in between the two. “Do it and I will take your life as I took your throat.” Narinder met Heket’s threat with cold certainty. There was a promise to his tone.
They glare at each other, both tense and prepared to act at any given moment. She continues to wheeze through her throat. Thick bubbling blood soaks her tie, now dripping to her tank top. Forneus is on the verge of tears, she tires of being a patient intermediator. Ember remains on the floor, stricken with the emotional uproar. He defends her, yet he hurts her– how difficult it is to say those three words, but he’s willing to put his life before her. Conflicted, her love remains, but why does his love bruise her heart? Why was he incapable of voluntary expression? She’s angered that her followers are watching her peeling imagery– how easy it was for Heket to lay her hands. Everything she had built to this very moment, squandered. Her reputation, her authority– challenged. She clenches her jaw with all the complexities of admiration and resentment.
Heket pulls back from him. “I bet you sat there to watch them bleed… tschhk… Some things never change, do they? tschhk… You will set out to destroy everything you care for …tschhk… It’s in your nature; you’re incapable of anything other than such… tschhk… You will always be the Death that Follows…tschhk… ” Her eyes darted back to Ember, satisfied in her current position; almost as if that’s where Ember belonged. “And you, brat… Your greed will rot your core... tschhk… Your wafty values disguised as virtues will mark your end… tschhk… I hope to see your demise. You think yourself a martyr… tschhk…but you’re nothing more than the piss and shit that once laid you to rest. tschhk…”
Heket turns away from the two, steadily wading through frozen onlookers. Her stony gaze offers no sympathy for the people she hurt or the situation she’s created. She’s tired… and leaves the temple with Forneus following closely behind, who mutters apologies to those around.
Narinder turns looking down at Ember, and she stares back with a whimper, tears forming in her eyes. He bends at the knees, his hands find placement on Ember’s shoulders. She lunges into his arms, shaken and shuddering. She buried her face into his chest, gripping tightly onto his shirt. He holds her in place with a hand pressed against the back of her head. She mourns the faces she can’t remember. Felt the sharp pain in her neck when she was struck twice. Roses couldn’t mask the miasma of rancid waste that lived within her nostrils. There was no amount of smiling that could disguise the trauma. All the internalized anguish presents itself to the temple for everyone to witness. She releases a long-winded wail into his shirt. He rubs her back with quiet reassurance. “I’m here or you…” He kisses the crown on her head, before burying a kiss into her wool. He lifts her from underneath her arms, helping her off the floor. His hold remains along the back of her head as he turns to address the crowd. “TEMPLE IS CLOSED. LEAVE.”
The crowd breaks apart; acolytes and disciples guide followers outside. Murmurs and questions begin to make rounds and only continue when they leave. This does not bode well… Narinder picks Ember off the ground and carries her up the stairs. Her face remains pressed against his chest. Her arms wrung around his neck as tears drench his shirt. The hand underneath her legs reaches for the door knob he so willingly shut before her earlier in the morning. Narinder could only surmise the extent of Heket’s knowledge, but he knows her answers are stored in the cadaver locker. Only Aym, Baal, and the Witnesses know the events that transpired during the meeting the night before. With the brothers on a mission and their association to Narinder years prior to this, he doesn’t need to question their loyalty. It narrows his suspects to three: Kallamar, Witness Astaroth, and…
Witness Agares sifts through his collection of keys to find the one to his dormitory. He shares the space with a pothos which hangs near the only window in the dorm. It’s large enough for him to enjoy the view of the academy’s courtyard. Not much else lives here besides himself. He sets the medication he was forced to bring home onto the coffee table near his sofa. His claws grip a cup of cold coffee along the rim and brings it to his palm while he draws back the curtain, allowing the morning sun to make contact with the plant. The courtyard is quiet… the stillness adds an atmosphere of contentment. He takes a sip of his coffee before setting it on the sill, then adjusts his easel to look at his painting in a new light… The paint is still rather wet though it’s been a week. Any imperfections he’s found, he’s learned to live with, adding an element of himself to his art– flaws and all. He wouldn’t change it for anyone. He rather enjoyed his isolation, being that his job required him to expend his energy with interactions among others. He’s kind to the other Witnesses, Bishops, and his newly acquainted friend, Feryn. Certainly, several others if he was asked about it. The company of others is enjoyable in short doses, but he struggles making more meaningful relationships. Being bound to someone may compromise his own needs, and he didn’t need much. A mattress on the floor and his own space to paint was more than enough for him, but recognizes that it may be too minimal or boring for another. He never minded what others had to say about it, not that he would allow others into his space. It sent tingles up his spine to think of someone entering his sanctuary. Having a visitor would never occur on his own terms, except for Witness Allocer. They were similarly mannered and Allocer could appreciate written art in the same way he felt for visual. Oftentimes, the two would be spotted together around the temple grounds. Their duties intermingled, but aside from such he would go as far to describe Allocer as a friend. Still, the both rather enjoyed their solitude separately.
Guilt washes over him; he finds temporary relief when he settles on the couch, but he’s still conflicted. He shouldn’t have told her of Witness Bathin’s passing. He withheld critical information, such as who’s responsible and how they’d died. Though if Heket reacted that way to the message, he could only imagine what she would do to Narinder and Ember. In a way, he’s glad that he didn’t reveal much more than she needed to know.
Ember… The memory of her smile haunted him. The same one she flashed all those years ago… Determined to clear her path with her righteous hammer. Zealous, brutal, catastrophic in his name, his honor and his love; never had he feared something so tiny… That was then, but now she hides it well. Her devotion to Narinder has not lost its flame after all this time, and that was something Agares respected. Feared, maybe– it was all of the same to him. He runs his claws through his fur, then pushes himself off the couch and aims for the door. There was a promise he kept to Feryn, and nearly forgot to request his time off.
Notes:
Hi!! It's been a while since I updated anything at all. I've had difficulty staying motivated in my creative outlets, and it forced me to take a break. I wanted to return for Feryn, mostly. They have too many chefs cooking in their kitchen.
Thank you for your patience and support!
SorrowLad on Chapter 1 Thu 06 Mar 2025 12:45AM UTC
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Sammykh on Chapter 2 Mon 10 Feb 2025 03:59PM UTC
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SorrowLad on Chapter 2 Sun 13 Apr 2025 09:21PM UTC
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Sammykh on Chapter 3 Thu 27 Feb 2025 05:41PM UTC
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