ʟᴇᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʟᴏᴛ ꜰᴀʟʟ? ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅ?

on  the  thoroughfare  below  a  gallery  of  perpetually-flowering  magnolias,  lancelot  stood  gazing  at  the  idyllic  cottage  which  nested  to  the  west  of  the  main  house.  it  was  ringed  by  a  white  picket  fence  and  an  immaculate  garden  whose  tending  was  entirely  sorcerous.  it  was  a  little  after  daybreak,  and  the  light  was  transparent  as  cathedral  glass.

as  he  waited,  he  felt  for  a  moment  irrationally  brittle,  though  he  had  no  reason  to  be.  he’d  seen  her  just  the  week  prior,  in  the  city,  which  had  not  yet  resonated  with  lancelot  so  much  as  defeated  him  into  a  placid  acquiescence.  last  they’d  spoken,  it’d  been  at  great  length  about  days-of-yore  and  a  now  faraway  world;  how  the  silk  of  their  splendour  had  frayed,  yet  she  was  enduring  as  time  itself.

it  was  an  old  ache  that  assailed  him.  an  archaic  fear,  so  unlike  anything  he’d  learnt  to  take  fright  at  since.  that  she  would  someday  be  lost  to  him,  too. 

he  strode  down  the  cobbled  path  at  last,  to  the  door  of  the  little  cottage,  and  raised  a  fist  to  knock. 

"lancelot," his name like a thorn in her throat that no one amount of swallowed honey would dislodge, his name, a devotional novena she had sung in search of eternal salvation. no other sound had ever been so tender upon her tongue. two fingers, barren and denuded of any embellishments like branches of the old honey locust tree in the verdant yard, find their way up to ginevra's lips, contorting in the shape of a question mark, half elliptical. "i didn't assume i'd see you here." a mere breath away.

"perhaps i'm only half-awake, imagining things." because what are they if not a tale of loss? what if she had conjured him somewhere in the penetralia of her mind, ethereal and evocative, just to lose him again to dream-dashing daybreak?

      it was as if hamlet had been in a daze, occupying his hands — and in turn, their mind — to the point of lucidity. at this point, his handicraft was an extension of themselves, acquainted with steel and titanium just as much as he with flesh and blood. blissful, willing ignorance, some would say. hamlet would agree. at this point, it was the only thing keeping him sane. alas, they could only build fortresses so high before the rot inevitably seeps in, buzzing around each ear with its chanted taunts.

it's the metallic smell, of course, that takes her back, a vicious melange of things she wrongfully named as forgotten. modernity has divested ginevra of most of her old possessions and recollections which laid latent in the crevices of her keen mind, but here and now, she thinks of home, of once dazzling camelot, of fleeting hope and fatalistic pride.

briar's  brown  eyes  scan  the  room  around  her  and  an  easygoing,  albeit  small,  smile  tugs  at  the  corner  of  her  rose  tainted  lips.  there  is  a  sense  of  safety  in  being  surrounded  by  so  many  people  (  however  minimal  and  undeserved,  especially  with  what  is  known  about  what  goes  on  outside  of  the  safety  of  the  magical  ward  around  fabletown  )  and  briar  lets  herself  be  surrounded  by  the  familiar  faces,  the  chatter  and  the  clink  of  glasses.  it's  easy  to  forget  her  problems,  the  unknown  figure  that  brought  her  back  from  slumber  not  with  a  kiss  but  something  else  ━━  something  strong  enough  to  pull  her  out  without  any  problem.

just  the  mere  thought  of  it  is  enough  to  create  a  crack  in  briar's  good  mood  and  she  excuses  herself  out  of  the  gala's  room  ━━  the  sleeping  beauty  slips  away  and  in  a  snap  of  fingers  it  is  if  her  familiar  slumber  calls  to  her,  just  as  she  allowed  herself  a  moment.  briar  reaches  the  rooftop,  a  small  garden  just  above  the  celebration.  she  opens  a  small  container  and  downs  one,  two,  three  sips  of  it's  contents.  it's  then  that  she  hears  someone  else's  footsteps  and,  as  if  caught  red-handed,  briar  stops  mid  sip  and  looks  at  her  newfound  company.  "i  know  what  this  must  look  like  and  it's  not  booze."  briar  smiles,  shaking  the  metal  container.  "it's  coffee.  you  can  have  a  bit,  if  you'd  like."

consumed by something she has yet to name or give proper place and room within the apsidal chapel guarded by her ivory ribcage, she pushes herself closer to the rooftop's edge, pliant pale fingers reaching for the wrought-iron balustrade. "i only came here for the fresh air. forgive me, it wasn't my intention to disturb you." 

"My name is Helly R. I'm an innie. And everything they've told you about severance is a lie!"