#apprentice amaryllis

She’s been called to the palace to meet with Nadia, a routine update about the school she’s overseeing. Vesuvia’s educational system is incredibly lacking, and Nadia had recruited Beatrice to help, though she seems to spend more of her time in boring meetings than in the school teaching like she’d wanted. She’s arrived quite early, as is her habit, but as large as the palace is, Beatrice can’t seem to find a place where she can wait for her appointment in peace.

She wanders the back hallways aimlessly, hoping to avoid more run-ins with palace staff or belligerent bakers. It’s much quieter back here and there’s not a soul in sight, only the sound of her boots tapping against the polished floors keeps her company. But as she turns a corner she thinks she hears music in the distance, the sound of a piano, an indistinct voice. She can’t help her curiosity and follows the sound down the hall, noticing the voice growing more clear. 

Whoever it is has a lovely singing voice. When Beatrice finds the doors to the room where the sound is coming from cracked open she can’t help but want to peek in. She can only see a tiny sliver of the room, and she resists the urge to push the door open further. She knows she probably shouldn’t be here, but as she listens to the somehow familiar voice she feels herself almost inexplicably pulled in. 

Then, Beatrice sees a flash of scarlet hair through the gap in the door and realizes that she knows exactly who this is, Amaryllis Leroux.

Despite her reticence for socializing, Beatrice has been to plenty of parties and events at the palace as Nadia’s guest, and Amaryllis has performed at all of them. At every event she’d been drawn to them, and whether it was their bright hair or their alluring stage presence and sultry voice that caught her eye- when Amaryllis is on stage Beatrice notices nothing else. 

That’s why Beatrice now found herself glued to the crack in the door, unable to tear her eyes away from the glimpse of Amaryllis she can see as they pace around the room. She’s never seen them this close, and they’re even taller and more intimidating than Beatrice had thought. All of the features that had drawn her in from afar are only amplified, and their voice sounds even better up close. She’s never heard them talk beyond a few words, and she finds herself wondering if their speaking voice is just as nice as their singing.

Amaryllis seems frustrated, the words they’re singing disjointed as if they’re composing as they sing. She realizes that they probably are, yet another reason why she should turn around and leave before she’s noticed or happens to disturb them. They’re using some sort of spell to play the piano without having to sit at the instrument, and Beatrice is both impressed by the display of magic and captivated by the movement of their hands in the air as they play.

Their back is to the door and Beatrice leans closer, straining to get a better look. She leans too close and the door creaks causing her to freeze and, for a moment, consider running away. Amaryllis turns, a reprimand at the ready and crimson eyes flashing in the candlelight, and for a moment she wishes she had. 

But they’re surprisingly nice about the whole eavesdropping thing. When they invite Beatrice to enter the practice room, she’s caught off guard by how much their confident stage presence seems to carry into their normal demeanor. Beatrice, however, finds herself feeling quite the opposite. As they converse Beatrice proceeds to make a fool of herself, unable to form a coherent thought when faced with Amaryllis this close. 

When Amaryllis reaches out their hand in greeting she hesitates, not wanting to seem too eager to greet them, and then they mention having noticed her before and she’s at a complete loss. Out of all the people in those crowded ballrooms how could they have noticed her? She’s always hiding in her cloak, and usually crowded against a wall in the corner. 

If they’d noticed her did that mean they’d also noticed how much she’s watched them? How her gaze is stuck to them whenever they’re around? 

Beatrice compliments their singing and before she really realizes what's happening, Amaryllis offers to teach her. She doesn’t know why she agrees so quickly, maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to disappoint Amaryllis by declining, or maybe it’s because she just wants an excuse to see them again. As soon as the words are out of her mouth she regrets them, she can’t sing, and certainly not in front of them! 

But then Amaryllis reaches out to touch her face and meets her hazel eyes with their crimson ones, and she finds herself willing to fight back her nerves for another chance to be this close to them.

“I’m sure we can make a prima donna out of you yet.”

Their words, their finger resting under her chin, their general proximity, becomes too much and she finds herself pulling away despite her desire to stay. She notices the scent of roses as they gaze down at her, their lips pulled into a grin. She wonders distantly if they taste like roses too. 

By the time they’ve agreed on a time and place for the singing lessons Beatrice realizes just how late she is for her meeting with Nadia, and she makes a hasty exit. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Amaryllis,”  and then she curtsies and tries to hide the fact that she’s mortified that she just curtsied. 

Some instinct had overtaken her in that practice room, and as she rushes to the opposite side of the palace she finds the embarrassment sinking in. She’d noticed their keen glances, so surely Amaryllis had noticed how flustered she was, how much she clearly wants to be around them. Beatrice really doesn’t know how she’s supposed to face Amaryllis in that practice room tomorrow.

Beatrice arrives at Nadia’s private parlor around ten minutes late, which for her usual punctuality feels like hours.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Nadia!” She apologizes, taking her seat across from Nadia. She smooths her skirts down and hopes she doesn’t look too flushed from her near run across the palace and her interactions with a certain beautiful court musician. 

“No harm done, you’re here now. Let’s begin, I have another meeting in an hour,” Nadia smiles, and Beatrice nods, digging out her planning notebook from her overstuffed bag. An hour later the update meeting is over and Beatrice feels sufficiently back to normal. She’s never more confident than she is when talking about curriculum or budget plans, and the flush has finally left her face. A knock on the door ends the meeting, and Beatrice begins to collect her things.

“That should be Amaryllis, “ Nadia says, gesturing for a servant to open the door. “You know of them, yes? We’re discussing plans for the upcoming masquerade, and you’ll be invited of course.”

“Oh, thank you, Nadia! I’d love to attend,” Beatrice smiles politely, already fighting the urge to blush again at the mere mention of Amaryllis’ name. She stands up to leave and reaches the door just as Amaryllis is entering.

“What a pleasant surprise! We meet again, Beatrice,” Amaryllis grins, still standing half in the doorway. Beatrice nearly drops her bag at the sound of her name said in their melodic voice. She catches it at the last second, swinging it around to rest on her shoulder.

“Hello again, Amaryllis,” Beatrice says, giving them a returning smile. She wills herself to meet their eyes and finds them trained to her face. “I was just uh, just leaving.” 

“Of course,” They move out of the doorway so she can pass, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Beatrice echoes, intent on leaving before she can embarrass herself further.

“Oh, and Beatrice?” Amaryllis says, causing Beatrice to turn back to look at them, “I’m looking forward to it.” They wink.

Beatrice just nods, not trusting herself to say anything in response. She turns her flushed face to the door and rushes out without even saying goodbye to Nadia. At least she didn’t awkwardly curtsy this time. The whole walk home she replays their interactions over and over, analyzing what was said and their body language. 

She’s had an interest in Amaryllis for a while if she’s being honest, but she’d never thought she’d even get to talk to them, much less agree to one-on-one singing lessons with them. Amaryllis is the type of person who Beatrice is meant to admire from afar, she’d never expect them to have any sort of interest in her. As she replays the conversation they’d had in the practice room she comes to the conclusion that Amaryllis was probably just being polite. There’s no way they’d be flirting with her, of all people.

When she gets back home she heads to the old upright piano which sits in the corner of her living room. It's a bit dusty, but still in tune despite the fact that she doesn’t practice much anymore. If there’s one thing Beatrice is good at, it’s studying. She knows she’ll be more confident if she comes to the singing lesson having practiced, at least a little. So she clumsily sings her way through a few scales, knowing there’s no way she’ll be this calm in front of Amaryllis tomorrow. 

Beatrice curses herself for agreeing to the lessons, but though part of her is consumed by nerves, an equal part of her is excited. She’s wanted a chance to get close to them, and now she has it. She’s watched Amaryllis performing countless times and wished she was the recipient of the smiles and winks they throw out to the crowd.

Beatrice might be in over her head, but at least she can admire Amaryllis from up close instead of as just another face in the crowd. She can’t fathom why they’d bother to teach her to sing, and she’s determined to find out why. She just hopes she can keep it together long enough to avoid being a total disaster. 

Later that night she stands in front of her wardrobe wondering what on earth one is meant to wear to a singing lesson. After twenty minutes of thinking and even a pro and con list devoted to the “pants vs skirt” question, she decides to stop overthinking it and chooses a dress she’s been saving for a special occasion. If she’s going to be a disaster tomorrow she figures she might as well be a pretty one.

Amaryllis has a carefully crafted façade of mystery and intimidation. They prefer to retain their composure and show little emotion on the outside, but still enjoys to draw attention through song and seduction. There are very few cracks in their mask, only to be seen by the few that they allow close enough, for whatever reason.

Tall and slender, with long maroon hair and crimson eyes, they can typically be found cloaking themself in any assortment of blacks, deep greys, and reds.

Likes: “creepy” animals, floriography, poisonous plants, causing problems, composing, the rowdy raven

Dislikes: nobility, wearing white, fire, cooking, fish, talking about feelings, warm weather

After what happened with Veronique, they decided they would run. It took a few weeks of planning, but they did it. Ran as far away as they possibly could.

They have nowhere to go, no one to turn to here. There’s dozens of other orphans on the streets, fighting for all the same resources, while people dressed in finery pass them all by without a second thought. Bustling markets, guards patrolling the streets, gatherings in the square, rowdy taverns, a brutal coliseum.

It’s nothing like the dull, monotonous happenings in Chevaisé.

It’s already been a week, and they've spent most of the time hunkered down in various inconspicuous corners, listening—and learning— as the Vesuvians around them openly air their improprieties. There’s some rotten men here, and if they close their eyes it almost feels like they're right back home.

They only chose Vesuvia on a whim, the furthest place they could think of where they still knew the language. But even if the people here were just as evil as in Chevaisé, at least here there was no one to control their every move, every breath.

They had to be at least a little thankful for this city. Without it, they would have never been able to escape the gilded cage they were born into.

It doesn't take long for them to figure out that the only way for them to make it here is to fall back on their old tricks. They pick a spot near the marketplace with heavy foot traffic and summon up a song, every note a spell of persuasion.

They aren't necessarily out to con anyone, they at least wanted to pretend they had some newfound dignity in this city. It was just meant to give a little push to any passersby who just so happened to get caught up in their tune.

Starting from the ground up was a little daunting, even if their effortless street performances didn’t give off that impression. They had figured out a reasonable enough pattern— sing on busy corners, get tips, find somewhere to eat and sleep, then do it all over again the next day. Just about everyone who passes by is compelled to leave them a tip for their talents, some more generous than others.

Overall, they still prefer this to being trapped under the vicomte’s thumb.

But, today seems to not be turning out as fruitful as yesterday.

They've only just begun to conjure up a song when out of nowhere they’re grabbed by the arm and pulled around the corner into the nearby alley way.

Their instincts kick in and they’re ready to fight their way out of whatever this is, but a woman’s firm voice snaps them out of it.

“Child, do you have any idea what you've been messing with?” The voice scolds, with a heavy accent unlike any they've heard in the city so far. They have to look down to make eye contact with her. Kind— but stern— hazel eyes stare back up at them, waiting for a response.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” they respond, unconcerned. Maybe there's some unspoken Vesuvian rule about street performing and they've secretly been offending all the locals. There’s no way this woman could know the secret meanings woven into their songs.

“Oh, I think you do. I've been casting spells longer than I'm sure you've even been alive.” She drops their arm, folding hers over her chest. “Nothing gets past this witch.”

In all the years they've been performing this way, no one has ever been the wiser.

But then again, they've never known anyone else with abilities even close to theirs.

They mimic her body language, turning their nose up at her from underneath their veil. “Well, perhaps this witch is none of your business.”

“You've made it my business, showing up out of nowhere, on my side of town, conning innocent working-class people.”

They give the woman a quick once-over. She’s dressed quite modestly, in a well-worn blouse and bodice, the colors faded from what they once were. Her hair is fading too, from a deep black into patches of gray, the strands woven into an intricate braid. The glasses upon her nose sit crooked, her boots muddied.

It's clear she's a woman who has worked her way through life.

“That wasn't my intention,” they confess. “I suppose I was trying to con people. But only the ones who have more than enough to spare.”

The woman laughs, the sound high and raspy. “You're on the wrong side of town for that, but I can appreciate your quick thinking.” Her demeanor switches then, from prepared to reprimand them like a mother would her child to something softer, accepting. “What’s your name, dear?”

They stare at her blankly, unsure of what to say. They hadn't planned on what to do if someone asked their identity, they didn't even know if they have one outside of Chevaisé. But they couldn't introduce themself as who they once were. They ran away from being the unfortunate one.

Their eyes shift to their surroundings, racking their mind for anything that might sound like a decent alias. No— not just an alias— they would be speaking themself into existence for the first time.

They land on the florist's stall across the way, the various flowers and greenery practically spilling from the small structure. But one set of blooms in particular manages to capture their attention, their crimson color standing out against all the others— prideful.

They turn back to the woman.

“It’s Amaryllis.”

-☽☼☾-

The woman’s name is Thana. She explains that she actually owns a magic and oddities shop a few blocks away, and insists that they— that Amaryllis— come with her. When she offers a hand, they take it, her grip radiating comfort.

And then they’re off, Thana leading them away from the only comfortable place they've found in this city so far.

Amaryllis keeps their eyes trained on the street before them as they walk, but their magic is focused on her in an attempt to pick up on whatever her motive might be.

“I was quite impressed by your performance, but your songs were much more subtle than whatever you're trying to pull now.” Thana speaks up, breaking Amaryllis out of their careful inspection of the woman. They feel a pang of irritation at being found out, for the second time in the last hour. Defensively, they straighten out, pulling their hand away.

“I’m at my strongest when I use music to cast. Reaching out with my aura is more difficult,” they admit with a pout.

“I wasn't trying to discourage you, dear. Your magic is quite the impressive feat.” Thana smiles, backing up her compliment. “I haven't seen proficiency in that manner of magic in many years or from very many magicians. Who was your teacher? I likely know them, there are only so many that are capable of weaving spells into song.”

“No one, actually.”

“You’re self taught? You’ve never had a teacher?” Thana sounds truly astonished, and Amaryllis wonders if around here it must be the standard for people to have magical mentors.

“I didn’t have the resources growing up. Magic isn't exactly a welcome concept where I’m from. I figured it out myself.”

“How long have you been in the city, dear?”

“A week,” they reply. “It’s been a long one.”

“All alone?” Thana asks, and Amaryllis nods. “Goodness child, how old are you?”

“I’ll be fifteen in a month or so.”

“And you don't have anywhere to stay, do you?” Another shake of the head. “This might seem a little impulsive, but if you end up finding the shop to your liking, perhaps you'd like to stay? I could use some help running the place, I have a spare room and lots of time to help you hone your skills.”

Amaryllis’s steps falter, and they can’t say anything, only stare at Thana for a few moments, trying to wrap their mind around her proposition.

“I— But you don’t know me? Surely there are better candidates here.” They feel foolish to be so hesitant in taking up such an offer. But frankly, they’re astounded, it seems an offer too good to be true to trust so blindly.

“Maybe, but I haven’t found them.” Thana shrugs her shoulders. “But you need a roof over your head and someone to keep an eye on you, and I need a protégé and some extra hands. It feels like fate to me.”

For another moment, all Amaryllis can offer is stunned silence.

“I— well. Alright, I suppose,” they agree, still quite skeptical. They don't like feeling as unprepared as they do right now. “As long as when you wake in the morning to find I’ve vanished, along with your most valuable possessions, you don’t blame me.” It’s simply a joke, a lame attempt to feel like they have even footing here. They're half expecting Thana to completely revoke her offer.

But then she laughs, sweet and loud and sounding like it belongs to someone much younger than she. “If that’s the case, then so be it, I am the one who insisted. But I doubt you’d do such a thing anyways.” Amaryllis wants to argue, tell her that she knows nothing about them, what they’ve done. But before they can say or do anything else, Thana wraps her arm around their shoulders and continues to usher Amaryllis away from the square.

“It’s this way to the shop. For now, let’s get you settled in, sound good?”

Amaryllis nods, letting the petite woman lead her away, a mix of conflicting emotions swirling around their mind.

-☽☼☾-

Magic was never something Amaryllis had ever set out to do. They barely remember discovering they were capable of it, never really realizing what it was they had been doing until years later. There was a point where they sought out tomes and other books to hone their skill, but with all the time they had to kill they quickly mastered the material and moved on. Magic wasn’t exactly accepted as a normal skill for one to have in Chevaisé. They kept the truth hidden until that secret was taken from them and extorted.

“So, explain this music to me, Amaryllis?” Thana requests, but it isn't like any Amaryllis had ever received before. It's casual, an inquiry that they're more than welcome to decline to answer. And if Amaryllis refused, the kindly witch would simply smile and move on. Thana was strange and confusing, the most intriguing part being how kind she was. Amaryllis had done nothing since she dragged them here besides use up all her hot water and eat more than their share of her food. Deep down, they've been expecting Thana to reveal the catch any minute now, feeling guilty to find the woman suspicious for no particular reason. But Amaryllis can't blame their gut feeling, as it was very biased. They simply aren't used to kind people.

“I’m not sure how to explain it,” Amaryllis answers, a little deadpan. They’d felt exhausted and a little detached since Thana brought them to the shop. They surmised it was from the sudden upheaval of the last week, and staying on their feet with no resources was more work than they thought. But Amaryllis doesn't understand why they're feeling this way.

They're far away from Chevaisé now. Away from the vicomte and the madame. Away from Veronique. Away from all the disgusting nobles they had no choice but to appease. Amaryllis would never have to see them again. And despite the things they've overheard in the city, Vesuvia was promising. Thana’s opinion of it was positive— big, bustling, and diverse. Her family immigrated here when she was young for all those reasons. And on top of it all, they’d been brought into the warm and caring refuge of Thana’s shop, her home. There was hardly anything to be upset about anymore.

“That’s alright, you don’t have to explain it if you don’t want to.” Thana smiles softly as she takes a sip from her teacup.

The master and her new apprentice sit at a table in the backroom of the shop. It's a cozy little room— the walls decorated in hand-embroidered tapestries and the area sectioned off by curtains dyed with rich, vibrant colors. There's a large section of shelves that hold what they can only imagine is every sort of magical artifact and book to exist. Candles littered around the room, casting every inch in a warm, calming glow. Thana’s familiar, Pandora, a fluffy black cat, naps away peacefully in the window. Thana had explained when they first sat down that this is the room where she practices divination, tarot cards, palm readings, tasseography, scrying— a sect of magic Amaryllis isn't at all familiar with.

“No, I mean–” Amaryllis truly has no idea how to explain it. “The best way to describe it is… as I'm composing the music, I concentrate my magic on what I want it to accomplish. I’ve been using my magic this way for a long time, it took me a while to even realize what I was doing,” Amaryllis explains, fidgeting with the silken tablecloth before them. “Music has been my only solace my entire life. I've always found it comforting to pour my goals and emotions into it.”

“And in turn, your music rewarded your love with quite the gift.” Dimples and laugh lines frame the radiant smile Thana gives them. Amaryllis isn't sure if anyone has ever looked upon them with so much genuine pride before. “What sorts of spells have you composed? What you were using in the square was very clever, even if I don't agree with its use around here.”

They feared Thana would ask this. Their most impressive compositions were all embedded with charms meant for much more serious manipulation. They don't want to lie, after everything she's given them, but they didn’t want her to know either.

“The spell from the square was a subtle version of the spells I’ve used in the past. It was meant to be more of a suggestion than anything. But I’ve worked with much more powerful charms before, on audiences even larger.”

“So you're something of an enchantress— or enchanter? Sorry, dear.”

Amaryllis smiles at Thana’s thoughtfulness. “Either is fine. But yes, I suppose that's the word for it.” Thana hums softly from across the table, curious, asking without asking. They don't have to tell her anything, but they’re surprised to find they want to. It's an unfamiliar feeling, one they’re hesitant to bask in. “Where I come from, I was surrounded by many unpleasant and cruel people. My compositions, and in turn my charms, kept me safe.”

Thana reaches across the table to give their hand a gentle squeeze, an unfamiliar gesture of comfort.

Amaryllis wonders if this is how a mother would have treated them, if they ever had gotten the chance to have one.

Thana breaks the lull in conversation.

“What do you say I give you a reading? You’ve never had one before, have you?” Amaryllis shakes their head, quietly intrigued. “Alright! Then this will be fun, I promise.” She sets aside their cups, and she pulls a deck of cards right out of thin air.

Thana shuffles the deck without even looking, cards effortlessly weaving through her ringed fingers with all the practice of someone who's done this for decades.

“Alright, I’d like you to keep a question in your mind, about anything. It doesn’t even have to have a possible answer. Keep it loose, and don’t worry, trust the cards.”

The only query Amaryllis can think of is ‘why?’

Amaryllis nods, and Thana gestures for them to select one out of three stacks of cards. They choose the middle stack, and Thana spreads the cards out across the table, in a crescent shape. They glide easily across the teal satin tablecloth, and the flickering of the candlelight makes the golden detailing stand out against the black cardstock like stars.

“Choose the three that call out to you,” she instructs.

Truthfully, Amaryllis has no idea what that even means, but they focus anyway, reaching out with their magic until they decide on three.

Thana does away with the rest of the cards, laying the remainder out face down between them.

She flips over the leftmost card first.

“Three of Cups, reversed,” Thana announces. She pauses, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath in. “In the past, you’ve felt as though you've indulged in frivolity while things were burning around you, and in turn isolated yourself, as punishment.”

Amaryllis feels their expression twist before they have time to stop it, but Thana continues on to the next card.

“The Fool, upright.” She smiles, but they don't understand the meaning behind her apparent joy. “Currently, you've been blessed with unlimited potential. There's much for you to learn, and it's up to you to seek that experience without chaining yourself to the past.”

They can accept those words better.

Thana moves on to the last card.

“The Star, reversed. Her message is harsh, but of the utmost importance. You're insecure, and it will be nothing but a detriment to you going forward. You must find something to believe in, and hold on to it tightly. At best, you will remain stagnant. At worst, you'll fall into depths too deep to manage.”

Amaryllis remains quiet, letting everything sink in. It all feels so hauntingly accurate, it’s jarring. They know next to nothing about this kind of magic, and unless Thana is just that good at reading them, it must be powerful.

“Nothing laid out here is set in stone, The Arcana’s words are meant simply as a guide to you. The Star told us what you needed to hear, even if it isn’t what you wanted.” Thana rises from the table, leaving the cards where they lie. She comes around and places her hands on Amaryllis’s shoulders, gently leading them away from the table and up the stairs. “I know it all must be a lot to take in, so let's have you rest, dear. It will be easier once you’ve slept on everything.”

-☽☼☾-

Amaryllis is always right.

Or, at least, that’s what they've come to believe.

It was something of a standard they held themself to— possibly more of a coping mechanism. But one that they needed to uphold nonetheless.

They had always breezed through every textbook, aced every test once the vicomte decided they were worthy of an education. Their limited magical studies never confused them, and they picked up every new skill with ease. It’s why Veronique hated them so much.

Overall, Amaryllis couldn’t recall a time where wrong or couldn't figure it out on the first try.

Until now.

“Fait chier!” Amaryllis shouts, slamming their hands down onto the countertop.

“Language.” Thana scolds, earning a side-eye from her frustrated apprentice.

“Thana, this is a disaster.”

“Amie, you need to relax. It will be a disaster if you get riled up.”

Thana decided Amaryllis’s first lesson would be on pyromancy.

They know all about it, and know it's a relatively simple magic, something absolute beginners were assigned.

But it had been almost an hour since they began, and Amaryllis hadn’t even managed to light a simple tea candle.

Perhaps Amaryllis couldn't do it now because of the one time they did manage it. Because for the last hour, all they’ve been able to focus on is that time. The stench of Veronique’s skin as it burnt away under their touch. The sound of her screams as she cursed the day they were born. The feel of their own blood rushing down their cheek, the pounding pain from the slash their own sister had inflicted there.

“Maybe we should just move on.” Amaryllis snaps, pushing themself away from the counter.

“And why is that?” Thana crosses her arms too, mimicking Amaryllis’s attitude-filled posture.

“We have a stove salamander, you have a grasp on basic magic, and even if there wasn't any of that, matches exist! It's not like I need to be able to do this,” they argue.

“You aren’t wrong, but you don't actually want to quit, do you?”

It isn't Amaryllis who's always right. It’s Thana.

“...No.”

“Good. Now take a deep breath, and try again.”

Amaryllis does as Thana instructs, taking a slow, deep breath, inhaling and exhaling. They turn back around to glare at the innocent candle on the counter. If things were going their way, their glare alone could have lit it and the entire shop on fire.

Amaryllis focuses on bringing the burning sensation of their anger into their fingertips. Another deep breath, eyes closed, the visual of a spark sprouting from their fingertip, setting the wick ablaze, the dripping of the wax.

They hold just like that for several moments, staying level headed for most of the time. But just when Amaryllis can feel their frustration beginning to creep back up, a delighted cheer erupts from Thana.

“See! Was that so terrible!” She laughs, and Amaryllis opens their eyes just in time to see the small flame they produced before it ultimately flickers back out. They frown, and Thana puts a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “I know it probably seems inconsequential to you, but that was amazing dear. You’ll only get better from here, I promise.”

Thana seems to realize the time, and shoos Amaryllis away from the counter before opening up the stove and effortlessly lighting it herself. Amaryllis says nothing, just pouts at the witch.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, I've been doing this for almost double the time you’ve been alive. There was a point I could do even less than you, you know.” Amaryllis softens at that, able to muster a small, but grateful smile. “Besides dear, you don’t have to be good at everything. You’ve already excelled at so much.”

“I’ve never been bad at anything before.” Amaryllis points out, and then cringes once they hear how it sounds. “I don’t mean to sound conceited, but it’s true.”

“How about looking at it this way, you aren’t bad at it, you’re just still learning.”

“Well, it’s never taken me this long to just learn something.”

Thana laughs, a loud, amused cackle. “You are too much, Amie. A little fire magic is nothing compared to what you can already do. What’s really so bad about never being able to pick it up? You said it yourself, we have the salamander, I’m here, matches exist. But you can calm people, entertain them, charm them. You’re not missing anything if you can’t light a candle a little faster than the average person.”

She moves around the kitchen, prepping for dinner. Amaryllis sits at the dining table, leaning onto it with their elbow. Pandora hops up, moseying over to Amaryllis for pets, and Thana gives her familiar an exasperated glance at Pandora’s rule bending.

“You know…” Thana trails off, making sure she has Amaryllis’s attention before continuing. “You also accomplished something else today too. You let yourself be frustrated, openly, in front of someone else. That’s important too, not just for magic.”

Amaryllis doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Um, I guess so.”

“I’m glad to see you becoming more and more comfortable here, dear.”

“I— me too, Thana. Thank you.”

“You can thank me by coming over here and washing these veggies.”

Amaryllis had lost track of the time they spent aimlessly wandering around the palace gardens, mind lost in thought.

How it could be so easy for Julian’s memory to return, but that they were in a constant fight to regain even just the smallest hint of theirs. After all he did, they still helped him, and he couldn't even be bothered to offer them anything in return.

Julian’s refusal at least confirmed one thing in their mind.

The two did in fact, mean something to each other before.

-☽☼☾-

Now, Amaryllis sits at Portia’s dining table, listening to Julian prattle on about his recovered memory.

That back then, when Lucio was infected, Julian was working diligently on a cure.

“I was down there that night, working, but Lucio was convinced I wasn't working fast enough. He locked me inside and I, well—“ In a flash, he pulls off his eyepatch to finally reveal his eye. It isn't just an empty socket, as he’d implied before. It’s all there, and even appears to have vision, but the sclera of it is a deep red, just like that of the victims of the plague. “I was dying. But the cure worked, and it could still be down there in that dungeon.”

From his coat pocket, he pulls out the skeleton key, and a folded up paper. “I thought long and hard last night, and this is what helped me make sense of it all,” Julian says, gazing down solemnly at the paper. They recognize it as the one that fell from the pages of the grimoire hidden away in their room.

“Then perhaps if you'd have let me read my own writings, we could have come to this conclusion sooner,” Amaryllis says. From the corner of their eye, they can see Portia give them a pointed look.

“Well, it sounds like you two need to go down to that dungeon.” Portia diverts back to the real subject at hand. “We’re running out of time, with how close the masquerade is. Luckly, the countess will be quite distracted today, as some of her sisters are arriving from Praka. So you have the perfect opportunity to go searching.”

Amaryllis glances over to Julian, expecting to see him putting on his classic brave façade, but instead finds him already looking back at them, uncertainty casting a cloud over his features.

“Then by all means, Julian, lead the way.”

“But first!” Portia interjects. “Ilya, you need a good disguise! I have some spare staff uniforms I snagged for the occasion. You can play the part, can’t you?”

“I suppose that could work,” Julian murmurs, mind obviously still somewhere else.

“Actually, I have a different idea. I'd rather not have any missteps, so I’ll use another glamour spell on you.”

“The same one as before?”

“No. This one will be much different.”

Amaryllis murmurs a quick incantation, and in moments before everyone's eyes he turns from a towering, lanky man, into a petite young girl.

“Oh my, Ilya look at you! How cute!” Portia squeals. “Amie, who is he supposed to be? She’s a beauty, for sure.”

“My ward, Ophélie. Julian is familiar with her,” they explain to her. “My first thought was Asra or Vesper, but I can't risk the real ones appearing while he’s disguised. She’s quite unlikely to make an appearance here, so If we run into anyone we shouldn't, it will be easy to explain why she’s with me.” Amaryllis turns to Julian, who's looking at his new appearance in a mirror on the wall. “And the two of you are just alike— you won't have to pretend to be anyone else.”

Amaryllis watches as Julian reaches up to cup his—Ophélie’s— face. “We are just alike, aren't we?” he says longingly. “She’s gotten quite big in the last few years, hasn't she?”

“You remember her?”

“Bits and pieces. Enough to put together what it is I've missed.”

“Well, the sooner we get this excursion over with, the sooner you can go see her for yourself. She’d love nothing more than a visit from you.”

-☽☼☾-

Julian claims to remember the entrance to the dungeons being located somewhere in the library.

With him disguised as Ophélie, the two were able to waltz right through the halls of the palace without a hitch.

“It was a secret passage. A book! I remember… red… gold?” Julian mutters, through Ophélie’s much higher voice, pulling at almost any book on the shelf he can find.

Finally, he pulls on a book bound in deep red leather with golden accents, just as predicted, and the shelf whirls to life, pulling away from the wall to reveal a dark, unlit passage.

Amaryllis summons a flame in the palm of their hand. They find themself far more wary of the flame than the ominous tunnel that lies ahead.

“Down we go?”

Julian only nods. They half expected him to fight back against them going too.

Amaryllis takes the first step, Julian close behind, dropping the glamour as they start to descend.

It’s a long, winding stairwell full of uneven steps. The further the two of them go, the brighter Amaryllis casts the flame. It’s eerie, but their discomfort at what they might find only grows when they sense a headache coming on.

Julian is uncharacteristically quiet, possibly too quiet.

Eventually, after what feels like several stories down, the steps end and they find themselves in a dirty, dimly lit clearing. There’s an old, rickety looking lift directly before them. Crimson light leaks from underneath it, likely coming from wherever the contraption leads to. A gate locks it away, made out of old and rusted wrought iron.

Amaryllis sends the flame they're holding into the rest of the room, lighting the worn torches mounted upon the walls.

Julian— fully himself once more— takes a few hesitant steps closer to the gate, a gloved hand reaching up to wipe at the iron plate in the center of it.

“This… I know this. It’s an old nightmare.”

Amaryllis joins him at his side.

There’s an inscription, along with a keyhole

“Bloody hands may turn the key. Know the weight of your sins, and enter,” they recite.

Julian pulls the skeleton key from his coat. “Well, this is it.”

Quickly, Amaryllis snatches the key from his grasp.

“We turn the key together, or not at all. Your innocence has been vouched for, I don't need you coming up with any other crimes before we have our proof.”

Julian seems to know better than to argue with them at this moment in time. He nods, an uneasy grin on his face, and his hand wraps around Amaryllis’s.

The lock turns over without a hitch. The gate snaps open with a horrible screech.

“Either we’re both just as guilty, or it's bullshit.” Amaryllis’s words don't seem to offer Julian any comfort. He stares down at his hands, cradling the key. He's filled with dread, from his expression to the way he holds his shoulders. There's a tremor running through him, they hear his breathing quicken. Against their better judgment, they take his hands in theirs, steadying him.

Amaryllis has been cruel to him, they know it. They could help it, they've considered that, instead of pushing him away they could have pulled him closer despite his protests. Their attitude might not have made his self-loathing any worse than it was, but it certainly hasn’t helped.

Julian gasps when Amaryllis touches him, like their comfort was the last thing he was expecting. He leans into them, burrowing his head into their shoulder, hands still clasped. “Amaryllis…” His voice still trembles. “I've been asking myself a question, over and over, since last night. If I didn't kill the Count, what am I guilty of? I've forgotten so much. Even though my memories are coming back…” He exhales against their neck, deep and shaky. “I think I know what it is. I think I’ve known since the letter I found tucked away in the book hidden in your room. If it’s true, I don't know how— I know it would be worse than if I was simply guilty of killing Lucio. I’m afraid that my crimes are here. At the bottom of this pit.”

“And what of mine, Julian? I have no memories, I have the same mark as you. Lucio’s own ghost accused me of his murder. According to your own standards, I’m just as guilty as you claim to be. What if we go down there and there’s no evidence of whatever crime it is you think you've done, but piles against me, what then?”

“I’ll still take the fall.”

“That’s not what I’m asking of you, but it proves my point. Why have you been so quick to judge yourself so harshly for the same thing you’d accept me as is for? You can't tell me it's different, because it’s not.”

Julian takes another deep breath, but this time it's steady and sure. His head turns, and then suddenly his lips are on theirs. Amaryllis kisses him back as his hands find their face, cupping their jaw and pulling them as close as he possibly can. They missed this, even if they only had it for a short moment and it had only been gone just as long. It feels so familiar, and they're so enraptured in the comfort he brings, that they don't notice the slight way Julian turns the two of them. They don't think anything of it when Julian’s hands slide back down to grasp their shoulders.

Amaryllis only realizes that they've made a mistake at all once Julian is already pulling away from them. He pushes them away gently, catching them off guard and sending them a few steps back. Before they can make sense of it, he’s already locked himself away in the lift.

They scramble forward to the gate, prying at the bars, but it’s locked itself once more, and they don't have the key.

“Julian!” they shout, fingers wrapping around the rusted bars.

“I’m sorry.” There's a look of genuine remorse in his eye, but he stands tall, confident in the choice he's made. “For what it’s worth, thank you, Amie. I’ve done a lot of things I regret. Things I remember, and, I’m sure, things I forgot. But I don't, I couldn't possibly regret meeting you. Every moment I have with you is a blessing. I want you to know, I… I want a future with you. I always have. More than anything. I’ll find some way for that to happen, to make you forgive me for everything. I promise.”

“Why are you making this sound like a goodbye?”

“I’ll see you soon.” Julian pulls the lever and the lift comes to life with a screeching of gears.

Amaryllis watches it take him down, still pressed against the bars of the gate, until the red glow consumes every last bit of him.

-☽☼☾-

As soon as Amaryllis is back into the palace proper, they rush to find Portia. It’s about midafternoon, the sunlight flooding through all the magnificently crafted windows is jarring when they first come up from the cavern. The halls are bustling, with all sorts of servants bussing about, cleaning and decorating. They stop to ask a few familiar faces if they've seen Portia lately, most have no answer, and a few look at them like they've just seen a ghost.

They haven't managed to compose themself by the time they finally stumble upon Nadia’s parlor. Determined, they push open the double doors and step into the room.

“Has anyone seen Portia?” Amaryllis doesn't bother waiting for the conversation they're certainly interrupting to be finished, doesn’t wait for their presence to be announced.

“Amaryllis?” Nadia questions, sat at the organ across the room. “You look a mess, what's happened?” They scan the room, no Portia to be found. But Asra is there— dressed to the nines in an outfit Nadia must have gifted him— along with several others who look far too similar to Nadia to not be related.

Asra shoots up from where he’s seated, almost spilling his cup of tea when he sets it down on the table. “Amie, what’s wrong?” He rushes over to them, thumb reaching up to brush something away from their cheek before his hands settle on their arms. He has the same look of genuine concern on his face as he does when he's waking them from yet another nightmare.

“Nothing, just… investigating.” Amaryllis clears their throat. “I apologize for the interruption. Is Portia around?”

“Her and I were quite busy most of the day with masquerade planning. She’s been wearing herself thin lately, and looked awfully tired. I— gently— ordered her to go home and get some rest until dinner.” Nadia explains, rising herself and stepping towards them. “You seem a little fatigued yourself, Amaryllis...” For a moment, they're worried Nadia is suspicious of them, but one look at her tells them she’s nothing short of a concerned friend at the moment.

“Nadi, why don't I take Amie back to their room to get cleaned up, maybe rest a little.” Asra suggests. Amaryllis can only nod, too embarrassed to admit that they really do need his comfort right now.

“I believe that is a wonderful idea. Perhaps if you're feeling well enough after, I could have the chance to properly introduce you to my sisters.”

Asra thanks Nadia and bids farewell to the room, and spins them around, leading them out the door and through the busy halls with an arm around their shoulder.

The walk to Amaryllis’s room is quiet. Faust pops out from Asra’s collar to greet them with a snake kiss on the cheek, and then disappears right back into the fabric.

No one speaks when they enter the room. Asra simply sits them down on the chaise, disappears for a moment, and then returns with a glass of water, helping them to drink. They didn't realize they had the taste of that cavern stuck in their throat until now. He leaves again, and Amaryllis vaguely registers the opening and shutting of cabinets. This time he returns with a damp cloth, wiping at their face once more, careful to be gentle around their scar.

“I've noticed you've stopped wearing your veil lately.” Asra finally speaks up, and it isn't what they were expecting him to say at all.

“I just haven't felt the need. I don't know why I ever did at all.” He takes their hands, and they look down at them, finally realizing they're covered in all sorts of dirt and rust from the cavern. No wonder every person they'd come across on their way looked at them funny.

Asra sets the cloth to the side and leans down, unlacing their boots, slipping them off one by one. He stands them up. “Come on, let's get you changed.”

And Amaryllis lets him lead them across the room, stands patiently as he unlaces their gown and switches it out for a clean nightgown. Lets him sit them down at the vanity where he goes to work brushing out their hair, as he braids it back out of their face. It's been years since Amaryllis has allowed him to care for them so closely, but once upon a time it was all they knew.

But right now, Asra is exactly what they need, and they'd be a fool to push him away.

-☽☼☾-

The sun has already set when Amaryllis wakes. They don't remember falling asleep, and they barely remember how they got in bed at all. They know Asra— nowhere to be found— was here. They know they stormed into Nadia’s parlor unannounced. They were looking for Portia because Julian—

Julian.

Amaryllis throws the duvet back and rushes out of bed, into the main room. Their panic rouses Styx, who’d been sleeping away on his perch in the corner this whole time.

“Amma?”

“Where is he, Styx? Has he come back yet?” they ask aloud to their familiar.

“Has who come back yet?” Asra’s sitting in the armchair, rising as they come rushing into the room.

“Julian.” Amaryllis tells him, as if they could be worried about anyone else at the moment.

“I don't think so.” Styx’s response echoes in their mind.

“Amie, slow down. Now that you seem to be yourself again, why don't you tell me what happened?”

“His memories are returning. We found the lift down to the dungeons. We were supposed to go down together but he went down alone instead. He was terrified about what he would find down there, what evidence he'd find of his crimes— of mine. I have to find another way down there.”

“Your crimes? Amaryllis, what are you talking about?”

“Lucio’s back. He told me I'm not innocent in his death. If Julian finds something that can prove I killed Lucio, he’s going to try to take the fall anyways.”

Asra sits back down, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his curls. “I know the dungeons. He’s fine, I promise. He’s not going to find what he thinks he will down there.”

“Then what is it he’ll find?”

“Answers. But I don't know if they'll make any sense to him.”

Amaryllis doesn't bother questioning Asra any further, but they're still uneasy and they're sure he knows it. He stands and approaches them, taking their hands. “He’s fine. He’ll find his way back up if he already hasn’t by now, and tomorrow you can track him down and continue sneaking him around the palace while I keep Nadia looking the other way.”

“That’s why you showed up here?”

“I had my suspicions, and I thought it was finally time to visit Nadi.” Asra gives their hands a squeeze. “Ilya is just… being Ilya, unfortunately.”

Amaryllis rolls their eyes. “Don't I know it.”

“I know I've been harsh when it concerns him. I’m sorry.”

“No, I don't blame you. I've said a lot of cruel things to him in the past couple days.”

“Oh really? Ilya finally got an earful from you?” Asra bites back a laugh.

“He makes it hard not to.”

“Well, I think you deserve not to dwell on him for a little while. Nadia sent for us to join her and her sisters in the ballroom, what do you say?”

-☽☼☾-

Asra spins Amaryllis around the ballroom. They can’t remember a time where the two of them ever danced together, but having him as a partner feels natural, like they've done this a billion times before.

“Nine years.” he whispers against their ear. Amaryllis isn't surprised to learn that they’ve known Asra for a third of their life.

“If I’ve known you that long, how long have I known Julian?” Amaryllis asks, surprised to find that Asra doesn't falter.

“It’s weird to hear you call him that, you know.”

“What else would I call him?”

“Ilya. That's what you knew him as, how you introduced him to me.” The two step effortlessly in time to the music Nadia and her sisters are playing, a routine forming out of thin air. “But you've known him longer than me. At least ten years, I think.”

Amaryllis doesn't know how to respond, and shouldn't have brought Julian up in the first place. They were having a nice time, but now anxiety is starting to creep back in. Asra must sense it, because he twirls them again and flourishes it by dipping them low, wrapping their leg around his waist.

The song being played changes to a slower ballad then, and Amaryllis rises slowly, keeping their leg hooked on Asra’s hip.

“Another dance?” Amaryllis drops their leg, no answer needed from Asra to know he would. Not with the way he’s looking at them now. They take his arms, guiding them up to their shoulders, while their hands go down to rest on his waist. Amaryllis leads them, swaying gently to the music. “How different am I now? Am I still the same person I was before?”

“Hauntingly so.” Asra breaks from his daze. “You're the exact same Amie I knew and…”

“And what?”

“…And loved. Love.”

Amaryllis breaks the rhythm they'd fallen into, standing still on the dancefloor, music still swirling around them.

“Why now, Asra?”

“I just thought you should hear it. I know you know, and I know we missed our chance, but I've never told you—“

Amaryllis cuts him off. “I woke up loving you, it was my first coherent thought.”

“But?” His expression isn’t hopeful, just, curious.

The music and their conversation is cut short when Styx comes flying in from the outside veranda, screeching.