#galett

"After the assassination of his parents, His Majesty, XGaster the Emperor, was declared the youngest ruler in our Empire's history." In the silence of the palace's classroom, no sound can be heard but the steady scratching of chalk against blackboard and a middle-aged woman's droning lecture. "At the current time, many high-ranking nobles had protested against the decision, claiming that His Majesty was too inexperienced to take over the crown, but our Emperor proved them wrong with his many achievements merely one year later, including the co-invention of the portable magic scrolls, the complete eradication of the Temper of Destruction, and the treaty he drafted with Lady Nim, Highest Order of the Faery Court."

Marchioness Galett's voice is as gentle as gossamer threads, and yet they draw you in just as effortlessly. It is one of the many qualities Frisk admires about her, the way she so easily makes others dance to her silk-woven words, gliding across the political world with the graceful steps of a silent predator. Despite being the female head of a noble household, she has accumulated enough power and influence to make everyone think twice before they dare to become her enemy.

His teacher is absolutely terrifying, and Frisk thinks she is the coolest person he has ever met.

However, while the Prince would normally gladly let himself be led by spider strings, right now, the thoughts inside his head are simply too heavy for the threads to hold onto.

Today is the weekend. The day Chara, Cross, and he agreed to sneak out of the castle.

Still, hesitation is a turbulent ocean inside of him, drowning out any courage or determination in its deathly cold grip. What if something goes wrong? What if they stumble upon yet another group of child traffickers? What if one of the servants notices their disappearance? What if Father finds out and oh All Creator he will be so disappointed this is a terrible idea-

"His Highness?"

The soft chide pulls Frisk from the endless depth of his thoughts. He sucks in a sharp breath, hoping to calm his raging anxiety, and drags up a strained grin from the bottom of his stomach. "Yes, Madame?"

"I've been calling your name for the past ten minutes now." The Marchioness says, and although there is no anger behind her words, Frisk still finds himself shrinking, swallowing a mouthful of shame. "Is there anything troubling you, little Prince?"

A part of him wants to tell her everything, to spill out all the doubt and worry and terror before he can choke on them.

The other part remembers the hope unfurling across his twin brother's face, weak and fragile, yet blooming so beautifully, so vibrantly.

And Frisk will do anything to keep that hope alive.

So, instead of the reassurances he desperately seeks, the Prick plucks the first thing that across his head and lets it tumble out. "Can you tell me more about the Witch of Fables?"

Lady Galett, clever as she is, sees his question as the deflection it is. But because she is his favorite teacher, and he, her favorite student, she does not push him any further, instead electing to hum deliberately.

"I see you've met Ink."

Surprise overtakes his nervousness. "You know them?"

"Of course. As rare as their visits may be, Ink is the Emperor's closest friend. It would be quite idiotic had I not known about them." It's important to watch out for important players on the board, little Prince. One of her earliest lessons echoes. "They've been around for a long, long time. Before you were born. Before I married the Marquess myself."

Frisk's curiosity rears its head. "What do you think about them?"

The Marchioness's many eyes peer right through him, and he unconsciously straightens beneath that considering gaze. "What do you think about them?"

"Well..." He meticulously picks apart his memories, unwilling to disappoint his teacher. "Chara made them to be this fearsome and powerful figure, but from what I've seen, they seem like a... Pardon my language, but they seem like a bumbling idiot."

"Is that all?" She asks, her lips curling into a secretive smile. "Haven't you noticed anything else?"

Frisk scrambles to find a correct answer, but they keep slipping away from his grasp. "Are you suggesting that their foolish act is a pretense?"

"Oh, little Prince, Ink's personality is in no way false." She tuts. "And it's what makes them so horrifying."

He frowns, struggling to see the complete puzzle. But with every piece that slots into place, the picture keeps on shifting, twisting, changing in front of his very eyes, a bucket overflowing with colorful paints until you cannot figure out which is which.

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"Think about it, little Prince, in the short period of time you've known them, have you ever managed to predict their actions? Have you ever truly understood their drive? Their goal? Their weaknesses?"

Realization slowly trickles in, watering a thing full of thorns. "No. No, I haven't."

"Exactly." Lady Galett's expression is as composed as ever, but having known her ever since he was a child, Frisk can see the irritation seeping through her clenched teeth. She has always hated what she cannot control. "Ink is powerful, that, you can deal with. However, they're also unpredictable. They don't follow the same morals and social standards that we follow. They don't have the same greed and pride that we have. What motivates them? What angers them? What is the reason for their interest in us? We have no clue."

She heaves out a sigh, one heavy with the weight of trepidation.

"With someone like that, how can we be so sure that they won't turn their back on us for no reason other than their own entertainment?"

Frisk does not answer. Cannot, really. Silence settles over them, a Damocles's blade ominously swaying back and forth.

With someone like that, how can we be so sure that they won't turn their back on us for no reason other than their own entertainment?