Sam G's writing shenanigans

He would prefer to just be done with the Magnus Institute. 

He peered down at Tim as the other man wrapped his hand. Tim was frowning, but the anger from earlier seemed to have vanished from his expression, replaced with a stern focus. Not exactly an approachable look, but that had never stopped Michael before.

“Can I ask you a question?” He said, leaning forward and hiss slightly as Tim tugged a bit too hard on his hand. 

“What?” Tim responded, not looking up. Michael sighed. 

“It’s sort of a weird request but… can you tell me what I look like?” This did catch Tim’s attention, and he looked up at Michael quizzically. 

“What?” Michael glanced aware under the gaze, grinning nervously.

“I haven’t exactly been able to use a proper mirror in a while… it’s been awhile since I’ve seen myself without the distortion ruining the image,” He thought for a moment. “I can’t even remember what it looked like to be honest. I mostly just remember enough neon to be nauseating,” Tim hummed, before dropping Michael’s hand and standing up. Michael frowned, realizing he might be asking too much. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, I know it’s weird-” Tim waved his own hand, running the other one over his face and through his hair. 

“It’s… it’s fine. I can tell you. You’re pretty average looking, I guess? You got this blond mop of hair, you’re pretty pale, greyish eyes. I knew about ten guys that could practically be your double from when I was at uni. The weirdest bit is that you don’t even look that different? 

“Your hand’s normal, far as I can tell, and your voice doesn’t give me a migraine anymore. You just look like a normal guy. The sweater is a little weird, but it’s not as flashy as I think it was,” Michael looked down at what he was wearing. They were the same clothes from his journey into the mountains, but they were definitely different. They did look older, to start. His jeans were ripped where they hadn’t been. His sweater was worn at the wrists and he figured the coat he’d attempted to lend Gertrude was frozen on a cliff somewhere. He looked back at Tim, and was startled to find the assistant staring intently at him with an odd look that he couldn’t place. Tim turned away.

“Your hand should be fine for now, it’s not a bad break. Try not to use it for awhile if you can.”

“Thank you,”

“Are you really Michael?” 

“What?”

“Are you really Michael Shelley? Or is this just some weird trick to lure us into a false sense of security. Those fucking clowns are up to something, woudn’t be that surprised if you were working together,

“The circus? No, I hate the circus-” He cut himself off. Did he hate the circus? He hadn’t actually known about the unknowing before Gertrude decided to feed him to delusion incarnate. Did he hate the Stranger, or was it simply remnants of a thing lodged into him?

No. No he hated it. He could remember that much. The distortion had wanted him to interfere, but so had he. It was a ritual, like the ones Gertrude had been after. If he could throw a wrench in its workings, then perhaps no one else would receive his fate. But that isn’t exactly how that small thought buried in his mind had been realized. His face hardened. 

“I hate the Stranger and the Spiral and every other so-called god. My name is Michael Shelley, and if that isn’t who I am then I would prefer someone to let me know now before I get any hope back. Now,” He stood, moving towards the door, “thank you so much for the first aid, but I’d really like to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Tim said, voice unsure, glancing between Michael and the door.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Michael ground out, and left the room. He did not slam the door behind him, but the thought crossed his mind. He had never been one for slamming doors. Perhaps now was the time to start.

Seeing Elias Bouchard in the Hallway before the elevator back up to the library was a bit of a shock.

Well, not a shock. It wasn’t that surprising to see the head of an institute standing in a commonly walked area of said institute.  But Michael was not prepared for it in the least. He stumbled and felt himself pale slightly at the sight of the man standing so nonchalantly. This man was a murderer. A direct conduit of the eye.

Michael had met Elias when he’d first started at the institute. The older man had been alright, if a little bit unpleasant to be around. He was intimidating but only in the way that a university student who drinks and parties on weekends is intimidating to someone in secondary school. Which is to say, not that intimidating once you realize how much of an idiot the man is. 

The Elias standing in front of him wasn’t an idiot. He’d grown a lot around the time he became the head of the institute. He looked sharp despite his age, and his eyes bore into Michael. After a moment he smiled, and his grin was nearly reflective. 

“Mr.Shelley! How wonderful of you come back to us! We’ve missed you,” Michael had seen a hunter before. The distortion had enjoyed trapping one or two in its mazes, giggling as they would chase each other or his other prey around, not noticing that they were being devoured themselves. The expression on the other man was far more predatory than any he’d ever seen on those animalistic creatures. Michael felt his mouth go dry, but it shifted into his usual friendly workplace smile anyway. 

“Hello Mr.Bouchard,” He said, “I was actually just leaving. Wouldn’t want to be in your way,” But neither of them moved. The hallway was small, and while Michael was lanky enough that he could have definitely fit on either side of Elias, it felt as if any attempt would end poorly for him. Though he was probably just paranoid. When Elias just continued to look at him, he continued. “Actually, I did want to talk to Jon before I left, have you seen him?” 

“Oh, yes, he’s talking to Martin right now. Explaining everything so the poor man doesn’t jump out of his skin when he sees you. Wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened with Tim no would we?” The man’s tone was far too light for how sick Michael was starting to feel. “Especially now that you’ll be working together,” 

“What?” 

“Oh, well of course! I don’t blame you for not thinking of work, I’m sure your head’s still a little fuzzy, but you never actually resigned. And you’ll need work anyway to get back on your feet. The archival assistant position has actually gotten a higher salary since you’ve been gone. Now, if you could just come up to my office and sign some paperwork…” His voice turned to static in Michael’s ears. What a cruel joke. To still be trapped somewhere after finally escaping hell… but the more he thought about it, the more he sensed a lie. 

He remembered thinking about quitting back before Gertrude had started pretending to value him. He had thought a lot about finding a less high stress archiving job, maybe with more people his age, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it. The spiral had known how the eye trapped people, not terribly unlike how it trapped people in their own broken minds. He didn’t feel that now. There was no reluctance, no hesitation. The sick feeling in his stomach was simply because this man had far too much blood on his hands for anyone to be comfortable talking to him. The eye didn’t have hold on him anymore.

Perhaps he could thank Gertrude for something after all. He grinned back.

“Actually, I’m afraid I won’t be returning to work. Seven years is quite the long vacation, and I’m afraid I’ve forgotten most of what my position entailed aside from being condescended to, and I don’t miss it. Besides, you wouldn’t want any lingering distortion to mix up your carefully organized files, right?” He leveled a stare at Elias, trying to ignore the slight way his unbandaged hand was twitching. “I’d like to find Jon now, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Try the kitchen,” And then Elias walked away, leaving Michael alone once more.

Jon was not in the kitchen. There was, however, a woman that he’d never seen before making tea, who jumped slightly when he opened the door. She seemed a bit younger than him, or maybe just much smaller, with brightly dyed hair wearing a graphic tea. He’d say the spiral had influenced her fashion choices, but she looked far too serious for that to be the case. 

“Ah, um, hello,” She started, “Uh… who are you? I don’t think you’re supposed to be down here,” She spoke with an unsure amount of authority. 

“I’m Michael. Michael Shelley,” He waited for the flinch or gasp of some sort, but it didn’t come. She just continued to look at him with a sort of sneering disinterest. There was something in her eye that almost seemed familiar, but he chose to ignore it. So Jon hadn’t gotten to explain things to her yet. Well. He’d love a conversation with someone who wasn’t familiar with the monster, and it wasn’t like he was lying. Not completely.

“I know Jon,” He said, trying to sound appeasing, “I needed his help with something so I thought I’d stop by,” She didn’t look convinced. 

“Not to be rude mate, but you look like you just got hit by a bus,” Michael laughed in response. 

“Honestly I feel like I might have been. I uh, had a bit of an accident this morning,” He held up his wrapped hand, “A regular one of your institute scary stories I think,” Michael could see when she closed off. They stood in silence for a moment, him smiling nervously while moving on the balls of his feet, and her holding her fresh cup of tea looking like she’d lash out if he made any sudden movements. In the end she just shook her head and sighed. 

“I think there’s a cot in the store room if you need a place to crash for a bit. Doubt anyone would try to stop you.” She said finally, before taking a long sip of tea and walking out. She might’ve mumbled something rude under her breath, but Michael just nodded absently and stood there for a minute, before turning. 

Michael didn’t care about talking to Jon now. He really needed to get out of this institute. 

Two days later, they sat across from each other at a coffee shop, both of their reflections looking perfectly natural in the well cleaned window. They had gotten chances to talk in the past couple of days, mainly right outside the institute, so it was nice to just sit in a peaceful environment. Jon had gotten himself the blackest tea that Michael had personally ever seen, and he’d gotten Michael a hot chocolate and a sandwich. Michael stared at the spiral shape of the whipped cream before breaking it with his spoon. They talked for a while, mainly pleasantries, both obviously unsure where to start the serious conversation. Jon broke the peace first. 

“Elias is sending me abroad,” Jon said and a small part of Michael panicked. 

“I’m not coming,” The words burst out of him before he could think about any other reason Jon might be telling him this.

“What? No, I didn’t mean… I wouldn’t ask you to come. I’m not that dense, I don’t expect you to come, of course not. I just…” Jon trailed off for a moment “I know you’ve been sleeping outside these past few nights.” It wasn’t Michael’s fault he didn’t have enough cash for anything more than a park bench. At least it’s spring, he’d thought. But it wasn’t like he wanted Jon to know that, even if the knowing was unavoidable. 

“I-”

“Michael,” The blond man sighed and looked down. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” 

“I didn’t want to push you, because I know this is hard,” Michael couldn’t stop the slight chuckle that escaped him. Jon smiled at him softly and continued. “You are probably going to have to reenter society eventually? Basira still has some pull with the police, I really don’t think you’ll experience too much trouble in that department. What I wanted to talk to you about is if you’d want to stay at my flat for awhile?”

“It’s fine if you don’t, I know you’re not exactly comfortable with… me… yet,” Jon held up a hand when Michael began to protest and continued, “but I’ll probably be out of the house for a month or so anyway and I’d really appreciate it if you could keep an eye on things,” They both knew that wasn’t the reason. Michael could tell that Jon simply wanted him somewhere safe and to be able to check in, and for him to feel like he was at least somewhat in control of his new normal. Perhaps not all archivists were good liars after all. “And Michael?” Jon reached over and gently touched Michael’s injured hand with his own recently scarred one. “I’d like to be friends,” Michael froze. Those words sounded so familiar. Like they were his in a distant, broken way. They felt safe. They felt true. Michael smiled, perhaps the first purely genuine smile he’d shown in the past few days. In the past few years. And he knew his answer wasn’t a lie. 

“No, my queen.” The queen sighed, and the boys winced.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh… Wednesday?”

“Try again.” It never failed to amaze James how much annoyance could go into such softly spoken words.

“Oh! It’s my birthday!”

“Correct, and this-”

“Wait,but, Mother,” Pieridae cocked his head to the side, “You never celebrate my birthday. I’ve been planning my own revels since I was seven.” Maybe James imagined it, but he could’ve sworn her eye twitched.

“Yes, Pieridae, and that is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. You are turning sixteen today, and I’m assuming you have a revel planned for tonight, and I wanted to discuss proper decorum going forward.” Pieridae scoffed and James shot him a panicked look.

“Decorum? Mother, it’s a party.”

“Well, it should still be a party with rules. And as the crown prince of the spring court, those rules should be especially important to you. Your siblings already know this, you should too.” Pieridae rolled his eyes. James was going to strangle him.  James still hadn’t gotten a chance to meet Pieridae’s other high royal siblings, but Pieridae had once explained “They’re dicks, you probably wouldn’t like them anyway.” 

“Alright, my queen, lay them on me.” 

“First of all, you should not be participating in the dancing, unless it is with one or two trusted partners.”

“Ah, what?”

“Secondly, you should be on your throne the entire time you are not dancing.”

“Mother, I don’t have a throne,”

“Then make one. Following that, if you want something to eat, someone else will go get it and test it for you. Your human should be able to do that for you, yes?” She finished her statement looking at James. So that was why he was here. He glanced nervously at Pieridae.

“Steller doesn’t come to my revels.” Pieridae said, and of course it was the truth. James had never been to one of Pieridae’s parties. He’d ask to go once, and Pieridae had shook his head immediately, saying James wouldn’t be able to handle it. James had been offended at the time, but when he asked Aeran about it once and the older fae had turned pale and warned him that he should avoid the revels, he decided to drop it. 

“Well, he does now.” The queen said, and James got a very strong feeling that they were not going to win this argument. He turned fully to Pieridae.

“Perhaps we should listen to her, Pieridae,” James said, “I’ll be right next to you all night, alright? No need to worry.”

“Your human needs better manners, my child, he assumes too much,” James really needed to work on honorifics,  “but he is correct. You should listen to me.” Pieridae dipped his head, but James could see his yellow eyes flicking back and forth, as they always did when Pieridae was looking for an answer. “Yes, Pieridae?”

“Yes mother. I will work on those things right away,” Pieridae stood, and  motioned for James to follow. “C’mon Steller,” James stood up and followed Pieridae out of the court. 

Pieridae started to panic well before they got back to his court.

“Shit!” 

“Language, Pieridae,”

“Fuck!”

“That’s worse,” James sighed, sinking down into his pillows. 

“I don’t know what to do, James!” He threw his hands up, “Why does she care about my revels? Why does it matter now?”

“Maybe we should just listen to her, Dae, I mean, it can’t be that bad. I’ll just sit next to you and go get you drinks, like she said,” He hummed, thinking, “Though I guess I don’t get to drink, right? Not so bad, it’s like going to a party with alcohol,” Not that he’d ever gotten the chance to do that. 

“Ugh, why are you on her side?” Pieridae groaned.

“Uh, cause I don’t want to get turned into a vegetable or a zombie or have my lungs removed or whatever it is your mom does?” Pieridae dropped his arms and sighed, before walking over and dropping down next to James.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pieridae leaned into James, “I know she scares you-”

“She locked me in a dungeon for like a week, Pieridae.”

“I know! Let me finish. I know she scares you, and for good reason, but you need to understand these revels… It's a party, like I said, but some fae have a tendency to go overboard when it comes to, well, fun. And I’m worried that, if you came, you might get hurt,” James shifted slightly, so that he could look down at the prince. A grin overtook his face.

“You care about me,” He sang, humor filling his voice, bringing his arms around the other’s torso and hugging. Pieridae smacked him away.

“Oh, shut up, asshole. You’re a weak little human who couldn’t handle himself at the most mundane of revels,” He sighed again, “Seriously, though. We need to set up some ground rules,” James nodded.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“Ok so first off, you should be near my throne most of the time. No going off to dance without me.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You probably shouldn’t talk to anybody else either.”

“Well hold on-”

“Oh gods, should we even talk? Maybe you can just stay silent the whole night.” “Yeah, that’s a no. Pieridae if I have to go to this thing, I at least want to have fun,” James said, seriously, causing Pieridae to pause and shake his head.

“I know, but there are so many factors! I’m sure we’ll go to another soon, can’t we just treat this as a test run?” James shook his head. 

“No way, I am not going to be some human statue for the entire night. I’ll be careful with who I talk to, I won’t dance, I won’t answer any personal questions, I’ll stay within sight and earshot, and if you’re worried about your loyal subjects seeing you get so chummy with a human than we can learn sign language or something,” James rattled off his ideas quickly, then looked back to Pieridae who was nodding slowly. 

“I’m still worried, but if you stick to those it might not be so bad, actually, but what was the last thing you mentioned?”

“Oh, it’s something I’ve been thinking about for awhile now,” James smiled, “Ok so I don’t know a lot cause my dad only taught me a few signs when I was like, super little, but basically, sometimes humans can’t speak or hear properly, so they communicate with their hands,” Pieridae nodded.  

“Alright, so it’s a language? I can probably convince one of the changelings to grab us a book or something on it and not tell anyone,” He replied. James hummed.

“Sounds good. But about tonight…”

The pair talked for a while, and argued a bit, but eventually settled on a plan. They took a nap, James on a pile of pillows and Pieridae sprawled across his rug like a cat, before Pieridae nudged James awake and said they had to start getting ready if they wanted to get there early enough to not be surprised, and so Pieridae had time to make his throne. 

Pieridae tossed some clothes to James, shrugging when the human raised a questioning eyebrow. James shrugged in return. The shirt was a loose, flowy thing, that looked like it might be used in a play. There was also a shimmering blue vest that had feather-like clasps where the buttons should have been. It was surprisingly comfortable, but most of the clothes that he had were. Pieridae looked as he usually did, but he had some new jewelry that he seemed excited about. 

The walk to where the party would be was longer than what James was used to. They passed the door to Aeran’s court, before turning a way that he didn’t recognize. They wandered down the veritable maze that was the fae stronghold, Pieridae holding tightly to James’s hand to make sure he didn’t get lost. 

They arrived at a door that Pieridae pushed through, and while he had been expecting a courtroom like the Queen’s, James was shocked to see it wasn’t a room at all. The door opened to a wide open expanse, no cave walls or thick forest in sight. There was a large circle made by a moat in the grassy plain where it was obvious the revel was to be held. There was a stone path leading to a cobble-stone dais in the center. Something seemed different, in the air. Like it wasn’t as humid.

“Where are we?” James asked, following behind Pieridae as he walked up on and on to the dais. Pieridae looked around.

“I’m not sure, but we’re not in the woods anymore.” James rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I can see that, but I mean… are we still in your… realm or whatever? It feels different.” Pieridae had raised his hands over the center of the stone platform and his eyes were closed, but he responded anyway.

“I guess you could say we’re in one of the mushroom circles… a really big one,” His voice sounded a bit strained. “Technically where we are right now is in the human world, but not anywhere close to where you’re from. When it gets later this place will be in our world… this place has existed for a really long time. I’ve heard stories that humans who came in the early hours of morning and went into the ring itself would get stuck on our side,” With that Pieridae grunted and made a tugging motion with his hands. Gnarled roots burst from the ground, twisting and bending and growing larger and harder until they resembled a high backed wooden thrown. The prince let out a sigh. “There! That should do it, don’t you think?” 

James was too consumed by his thoughts to enter. He was back home? This was the human world? Normal earth? No shades or creatures or poisoned food, could he leave? Could he hop the gap in the land and just run for it? He hadn’t thought about escape in almost a year now, but it was so close, and as he looked out at the rolling green fields he could swear he could see houses and people in the distance. But as Pieridae came up to him and cocked his head to the side, silently asking if he was ok, he remembered the last part of what the prince had said.

“Pieridae, could those people that got trapped get back out?” He asked, still looking out over the expanse. He felt Pieridae’s sad expression more than he saw it, and heard the regret in the sigh that came before the older boy’s answer.

“I knew you would ask me that. These circles are tricky. Much easier to enter than to exit. No, they couldn’t get back out,” There was something else that Pieridae wanted to say about that, James knew, but he didn’t press when Pieridae continued. “You’re still going to leave one day, alright? You’re not going to be stuck here forever. Besides, I think this place is in Ireland, and that is definitely not where you said you were from,” James let out a slight laugh and leaned into Pieridae. 

“Yeah, yeah. So when’s the party start?”

The dancers in the chain around the small fire jumped and spun erratically, never letting go of each other. They circled flames, laughing and singing, beckoning others to join. James doubted he could keep up, even if he hadn’t promised Pieridae he wouldn’t dance with anyone else. Their garments swayed with their movements, and his eyes couldn’t keep track of where one dancer ended and another began. All he saw were strokes of paint, flowing freely around the inferno. To him, it seemed as if they left afterimages in their wake before the light of the fire overtook the clearing once more. As he sat on the steps near Pieridae’s throne, watching this alien celebration, one of the dancers broke off and walked towards the pair. She bowed to Pieridae, before motioning to the steps, clearly asking permission if she could rest with James. After a moment, Pieridae nodded, waving a hand before bored eyes once again resumed watching the festivities. 

She sat down next to James, causing the pine needles and moss that covered the rocky steps to shift slightly.

“Why don’t you join us?” She asked, with a voice that was giddy and drunk on the atmosphere. She was pretty. She was smaller than him, wearing an old style pink dress that didn’t reach her bare feet. Her eyes shined in a kaleidoscope of colors, squinting at him in glee and good humor. Her blonde hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders, only interrupted by her pointed ears and the abundance of flowers around her head.

“My feet are not as strong as yours,” He said gently, “I’d rather just watch.” She nodded sympathetically, seemingly unaware of James’ slight lie. 

“I can understand. I love it, but some of the others can only go so long before they fall over,” She said, and he nodded in response. She frowned at him. “You’re human, aren’t you? You’d probably snap in half,” James found that he didn’t like the way her eyes shined when she said that. 

“My dad and I used to dance together,” He found himself saying, and Pieridae shot him a look. He wasn’t sure what had pushed those words out, but something made the memory come to the surface. “He’d turn on our little radio and we’d dance around the kitchen,” He smiled softly. Caught up in the memory, he didn’t notice him being pulled to his feet and stepping off the dais. 

“Steller, what are you-” Pieridae started, but James only waved his free hand and smiled. 

“I’m just going to stretch my legs, your highness! Let me get you something to eat!” James wasn’t sure where that came from either, but it wasn’t untrue. The golden haired fae laughed as he pulled away from her and bowed slightly, walking towards one of the stones with fruit piled high atop it. Walking through the crowd, he saw plenty of fae having fun outside of the dancers. It was a less diverse crowd  than the Queen’s courtroom, but that was only because the guest list was mainly made up of spring faeries, and there were only a few from the other courts. 

 His head felt a little fuzzy, and he suspected it was the atmosphere. As he turned back to deliver Pieridae his snacks and keep the bored prince company, he felt something brush against his leg. He glanced down and suppressed a yelp at the sight of a shade curling up his foot. It was fine, it was fine, they were harmless when they weren’t being controlled, it was probably just here to keep an eye on things for the queen, right, yes, and all he had to do was walk back to Pieridae. 

It was harder than it should have been. James had to turn down way too many offers to dance, and many of the fae didn’t seem to understand the meaning of personal space. It came to a head when a large tree spirit stepped in front of him, bending down to look at his face. 

“What are you?” It asked, slowly in a deep and menacing voice, though James was more annoyed than anything else.

“What am I? I’m currently late for delivering the prince’s food, so if you don’t mind,” He attempted to side step the spirit, but another hand reached and grabbed his arm. They seemed to be a court fae, with long straight black hair and pale skin dressed in delicate finery.  

“That isn’t what it meant!” He said in a sing-song voice, “It meant, what type of being are you? You’re certainly like nothing I’ve seen.” James frowned. 

“Well right now, I’m being delayed, so if you really don’t mind-” The grip on his arm tightened. 

“Oh I know! You’re the prince’s little human! Heard you caused a stir when you first arrived,” Arrived, he said, like James hadn’t been kidnapped, “So much energy in such a frail body! Come dance with me, human, it’ll be fun, the prince won’t mind!” James scowled and tugged his arm free. 

“I’d really rather not,” His patience was wearing thin, and while James knew to be polite to fae he didn’t know, he was very close to forgetting his manners. He got around the spirit, and got up to the edge of the dais. Pieridae smiled when he saw him, and started standing up from his chair, but suddenly his face was overcome with a look of surprise, and James felt pain on his arm. That fae was back, holding it far too tightly, smiling up at Pieridae. 

“Hello your highness!” He sang, “Mind if I take your human for a dance? My own prince sent me to see what all the fuss was about. You spring types are always so silly. I haven’t seen a human this alert in ages!” His body seemed to shift as he said that, almost as imperceptible as the dresses of the dancers, and his grip felt like ice. James spoke up, unsure of what to do.

“Your highness I have the food I promised! I’m afraid I can’t give it to you until this kind man lets go of me,” James suspected that if he was cursed the inability to lie as most fae were, he wouldn’t have been able to add the adjective. And apparently it was the wrong thing to say, as suddenly, the blond fae from earlier was lifting the plate of food out of his hands, giggling all the while, as if she’d just fixed the simplest of problems. The dark haired fae’s other arm came to rest on his shoulder. 

He snapped

“Get off of me!” He practically screeched, yanking to pull his arm away from the creature that was holding him. It didn’t work, and the man’s smile grew wider, revealing too many sharp teeth. The prince seemed to snap out of whatever decorum he’d been trying to uphold at the same time.

“Let go of him!” Pieridae hissed and leapt from his throne, and James managed to break free, but the fae’s ice cold claws sliced his skin as they released him, and he fell to the floor in shock, clutching his arm. Pieridae stood over him, snarling at the fae who hadn’t yet left the foot dias. Mushrooms and moss grew and died rapidly around them, roots broke the surface and then decayed, and while James wasn’t looking at the Prince’s face he could imagine the animalistic rage that he would see on his features. 

“How dare you touch him?” Pieridae spat. “How dare you come into my court and expect to act like an animal? That goes for the rest of you! I can see you! I have watched all night! This revel is over!” 

James didn’t hear the rest of whatever Pieridae was shouting. Some of it was drowned out by the chattering and shouts of the disappointed fae, and some couldn’t be heard over the rushing in his own head.  He barely noticed when the crowd went quiet. He felt a hand rest on his back.

“Can you stand?” Pieridae whispered, and James pushed himself to his feet without answering. There was a question in the Prince’s eyes as James looked back into them, as James steeled himself and nodded. Pieridae was still looking at him when he started speaking again.

“Why is it locked?” The archivist spat, and the lie could tell that he was not lying. 

“It can’t be!” It said, tension seeping into its voice. 

“Well you try it!” The archivist stepped away from the door, motioning for the entity to try for itself. 

“That- that’s not-” Something clicked. After years of spirals and distortion and broken minds, something clicked inside of Michael. “Oh. Oh no.” 

And then he was screaming. He hadn’t felt this sort of pain in so long, or perhaps he had never stopped feeling it and the twisting in his mind had simply caused him to forget. He was unwinding, separating. Was he still holding on to the door knob? He couldn't turn the handle, but that couldn’t be right. The handle was part of him, as was the door, and his ending twisting corridors. But were they? 

When did he become himself again? 

With that thought, he let go of the handle, tears streaming down from eyes that no longer saw impossible colors, and he was gone. 

Michael Shelley woke up on a sidewalk in the middle of London with a splitting headache and a broken hand. The sky was overcast as he looked up from where he was lying, the gray clouds twisting and rolling above him like the sea. Laughter bubbled up inside him, but fizzled and died as a strange choking sound. A few passers by seemed to notice the sound and went from simply avoiding or ignoring him to glancing down worriedly and hurrying quickly along. 

Michael sat up, groaning slightly as he did so, clutching his hand that could no longer pierce through flesh and bone. He stood slowly, before quickly making his way over to the steady brick wall on the other side of the path and leaning against it, taking deep breaths. The world had stopped spinning. The world was still and hard and constant, and all the people around looked like people, and for a single moment Michael could almost convince himself that his memories had simply come from a drunken nightmare. But he had spent so long lying to himself and to deny himself the reality that he hadn’t experienced in so long felt like a betrayal. 

He needed to figure out where he was. Yes, yes, that was it. He could figure out where he was, and then try to find his way home.

He realized, however, as he had this thought, that it would be impossible. He had been gone for so long. He had certainly been declared dead, his flat sold, his dog adopted. Gertrude was never one to forget to tie up loose ends. And even if he hadn’t been confirmed dead, he had at least been missing for nearly a decade! Nothing would be the same. Hell, everything would’ve been gone if he’d been missing one month, much less seven years. No one was there to look for him; no partner, an estranged family. It’s not like Elias would call Gertrude out on what she’d done. Even if he hated her too, he’d become such a bastard after becoming head of the Magnus Institute. 

When he realized he would need to go back to the institute, he almost started crying. He didn’t want to go back to the institute. He loathed the place. In fact, he’d hated it so much that the hatred had stayed with him while he’d been an unfeeling eldritch horror. 

He supposed it was why the spiral had finally seen fit to spit him out.To many feelings unrelated to its own goals. To much clear hatred burning through the haze of being a living distortion, it almost made sense that he was evicted by someone better. Like being sacrificed to for being an annoying employee. 

He had seen Gertrude again while he was Michael. She hadn’t been alive, but it had seen her corpse in that dark room in the tunnels. And it had laughed and laughed and laughed, unendingly pleased that the woman that made it had finally gotten her due.

Now he just felt sick. And confused. And so restless and irritated that he didn’t even realize that he had been walking until he looked up and saw that bloody owl looking down on him. 

Oh how he hated the eye. 

He introduced himself as Michael to the woman at the front desk. She hadn’t worked here when he had, and it was a common enough name that he doubted it would automatically be related back to a mysterious figure that occasionally terrorized archive employees.

“I’m here to see Jon,” He said with a nervous smile, one that he’d worn thousands of times in the past but felt foreign in this context. She returned the expression, but it looked odd. Like she couldn’t quite believe him. That, or she assumed it was a prank.

“Jon?” She asked. “Really?” 

“Yes?” He replied, cocking his head to the side, “I’m sorry, is there an issue? I- I haven’t heard from him in awhile, he said I was free to come visit his work. He’s not too busy, is he?” The lie slid easily off his tongue, but not as easily as it once would have. 

“No, no, of course,” She said, waving her hands in the air gently, as if trying to placate him. “Jon doesn’t get a ton of people coming to visit him at work is all. And he has been gone for awhile, some bad sickness or other. You can head down now no problem, I’ll just have to give you a visitor’s pass. What did you say your name was?”

“Michael.”

“Last name?” He almost hesitated.

“Shelley. Michael Shelley.” She just nodded and typed it in, before smiling and handing him a name tag. 

“Have a nice visit,” She said cheerily, and Michael headed down.

It was amazing what he remembered, both from being a monster and working here. Michael the distortion never really had a need for directions or a good memory of proper turns. Michael Shelley on the other hand, was great when it came to navigating the twisting halls of the institute. Perhaps that’s why the spiral had become him instead of digesting him. 

But he clearly remembered how to find the stairwell leading down to the archives, and from there the way to the head archivist’s office. He didn’t pass many people in the halls, which wasn’t too surprising. By the time Gertrude had seen fit to be rid of him he’d really been the only one to make any noise down here. Even if Jon had more assistants, he doubted they would want to be wandering the halls. Not alone anyway. 

He came upon the door leading to Jon’s office. Boring some unknown piece of him laughed. He reached for the handle. 

“Hey!” He flinched, his hand falling to his side. He took a deep breath, before turning to meet whoever had discovered him and smiling his nervous crooked smile. 

“Hello, um I’m sorry I’m just here to talk to your archi- Jon. I’m here to talk to…” Michael could hear his own voice fading into nothing as the man who had been locked in the distortion’s corridors for a few hours (or weeks, depending who you asked) stormed toward him.

He really should have seen the punch coming, but damn did it hurt. 

Tim was shouting something at him, but it just sounded like noise. Michael waved a hand at him, the other being used to hold his now bloody nose. 

“I just need to talk to Jon,” Michael bit out, interrupting the other man in the middle of his tirade. 

“Yeah? And why are you going this way, huh? Don’t you have your own fucked up methods of travel?” Michael shook his head almost sheepishly.

“I don’t anymore, and I really need to talk to your archivist so if you’ll just let me-“ it was Tim’s turn to cut him off.

“Oh what so you just decided to stop being a monster, that it?” In the past Michael had rarely been one to get annoyed, but the longer he stood, bloody in the hall of the Magnus Institute, the closer he felt to snapping.

“Not exactly, though honestly I wouldn’t say that’s exactly a negative development, and if you want to punch me again or yell at me for the things that it- I- we did to you feel free but can you please wait just ten minutes?” 

Tim looked pissed. Michael realized that, and he let out a deep say, fully accepting that after surviving becoming the muscle of an otherworldly being of fear he was now going to die at the hands of a ticked off library science major. 

And then the door opened.

“Tim I thought I heard…” Michael stared at the archivist. He looked different then he did the last time he’d seen him. Less beat to hell, obviously, though his skin still looked relatively great. He had different clothes on, ones that weren’t torn and bloody from a month in a demented wax museum. 

But more than that he just looked… normal. When the spiral had looked at Jon, it had seen twisting thoughts, confusion and doubt. Fear wrapped in a tight package of green jumpers and too many eyes. But to Michael the man just looked human. Tired sure, with his eyes still a bit too bright to be normal but not really enough to be noticeable. 

For a second he almost felt jealous that the man’s beholding characteristics were so concealed, but he tamped that feeling down and locked it away. Jon spoke first.

“Michael?” He asked softly, as if talking to a scared child or a rabid dog, “Michael Shelley?” Michael didn’t know how else to respond to the question other than to nod. He noticed Tim looking rapidly between them, so he decided to speak.

“Can I come in? Is that alright?” There was a moment when no one said anything, but soon Jon was opening the door to the office wide, ushering him inside. 

“Ah Tim, I’m not sure you should…” Michael heard Jon say once he was in the room and out of harm's way, so to speak.

“You can’t keep doing this, Jon, you need to tell me what is happening. It doesn’t matter to me what happens to you, but I’m not going to be blamed for you getting snatched by another monster!” Michael couldn’t make out Jon’s response, but he couldn’t find him to involve himself in the conversation. He glanced around the office. 

It had been here recently, a few months ago at the most, pestering the archivist about something or other. He couldn’t remember what it looked like. Surely it hadn’t changed much, it’s not like Jon was suddenly inclined to change the decorations, but it seemed so much less… colorful. Like a strobe light had been turned off. The last time he had been in this office with it looking anything close to how it did now had been when he had excitedly come to inform Gertrude that the cab was here to take them to the airport. How thrilled he had been to be of assistance, how excited to have been going on his first ever international trip, and with a woman who he respected so much no less. What an honor, what an opportunity, what a… mistake. 

He’d been so focused staring holes in the desk chair that he hadn’t noticed Jon saying something. When the other man gently laid a hand on Michael’s shoulder, he spun around, causing Jon to jerk back as a look of panic overtook his features before being schooled into academic normalcy once again. 

Michael supposed some fear was to be expected. After all, something with his mind and body had threatened to kill Jon not too far in the past. 

“Would you like to sit down?” Jon asked, gesturing to one of the chairs. Michael suddenly remembered how tired and sore he felt, nodding and collapsing into the chair, careful not to hurt his injured hand. Michael smiled at the archivist, even if it felt a bit forced.

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m afraid that would just add to the current confusion.” Jon went over to sit in his own chair, watching Michael, but not exactly meeting his eyes. Tim was inside the now closed door, with his arms crossed. A poor imitation of a security guard. 

“How are you… here? The distortion said you were gone.”

“The distortion isn’t exactly the most truthful of beings, don’t you think?” Jon made a noise of affirmation. Michael watched as the archivist glanced quickly over to Tim, the door, and then back to Michael. 

“Michael, I… I want to help you, but I need to ask you first… do you still want to kill me?” Michael shifted in his chair. No was the obvious answer, and it was the truth, he didn’t want to kill Jon. But he would be lying if he said he could no longer feel the writhing thing in his stomach urging him to leave the archives, lock the doors, and burn it down with everyone still inside. 

“No. When I was… merged with the distortion, the only thing I could recall was the betrayal I felt from Gertrude. The Michael you knew was aware that she was dead, but saw you as only The Archivist. Her replacement. The small piece of me in control could only see you as connected to the person who didn’t care about me. I was angry. I am… really sorry.” Michael let out a nervous laugh, but stopped when he saw both Jon and Tim freeze at the sound. He felt cold.

“And are you still connected with the distortion? Can you still feel it?” There came a slight buzz with the archivist’s word and Michael’s nervous expression quickly transformed into a frown. 

“I do not know, archivist,” He said the word with some contempt, “and while I respect you and your assistance, I do not appreciate being Beheld, Jon.” In response to this, Jon jerked slightly, shaking his head and bringing a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, like he was trying to shake off a headache. Tim was now staring at him with something akin to disgust.

“I apologize, it’s hard to tell when I’m doing it or when it’s… nevermind, this is not about me. Is there anything that you think is important regarding your recently regained humanity?” 

Michael thought for a moment.

What an odd question. What he thought was important, what a subjective thing. What he thought. He was just getting used to thinking linearly again. 

“It’s hard to say… I feel... fuzzy. You know when you’ve just woken from being sick? You’re warm and confused and there's a jittery feeling in your fingertips. I feel like I am fully here for the first time in years, but I’m afraid that in a moment I will fall back into that… twisting. Isn’t that terrible?” He giggled on the last word again and choked on the sound. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m trying not to laugh. It’s not funny and I’m not that thing, I promise I…” Tears had sprung from his eyes, and through his cloudy vision he could see the discomfort clearly on the two men’s faces, and he looked down, and suddenly he stopped, “Oh right,” Jon straightened in concern.

“What?” He asked seriously. Michael glanced up sheepishly.