#kingphie

It’s leaving you. No, no, no, NO! You don’t want to wake up! You don’t want time to move again! Why can’t it all stay like this? Why can’t you stay like this? You don’t care if you’re frozen, you don’t care if Vaugarde suffers.

You see it. You see it in the distance. And it drifts across the ocean, further and further away.

Single moments, stretching like taffy between your teeth.

“Do you remember?”

You’re at the beach. In this memory, you’re running. From what? Toward whom? Something behind you cracks and crackles and caramelizes. There’s a bright pinprick in the distance, and you’re barefoot in the lightless sand, uncaring of rock of splinter all to get to them.

Something is wrong. Something is breaking. What are you searching for? Who are you searching for? There’s a boat out at sea. Is it that?

Someone’s behind you. She’s smiling. She asks you why you’re so scared. She follows your gaze back to where your home used to be and freezes.

That’s the last thing before you trip over into the waves.

“Do you remember?”

You cry and cry and cry because it’s all you can do. It’s all you can do as your power worms its way through Dormont, through Vaugarde, through your home. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

It won’t ever be enough, until

The scent hits you.

Before they even enter the room, it reeks. It reeks of comfort, it reeks of the Universe. Somebody else has been blessed, same as you. It could only be…

Something forgotten recognizes them. Not the eyepatch or the dagger, but that knowing glint in their eye and the stitching on their cloak. Why do you know what it feels like to the touch?

You need them to remember. They have to remember. Please. Please. Maybe it’ll be enough. Maybe two will be enough, but it will never be enough, nothing is ever enough to make up for what you lost

“SAY IT!!!” you beg. You are a King, begging on his knees. Disgraceful. Pathetic. No wonder you’ll never be enough.

Blood drips from your mouth. This can only end in tears and blood, but you have to try anway. It’s all you can do. All you can do is cry and cry and cry out for time and stars to listen to you.

The bright one’s friends crowd around them. The heroes stand between you both bleeding night onto the ground but you are so close.

You see it. You see flashes of it. You are not in the House in Dormont, you are on a beach at dusk running toward a distant boat, a tiny figure in a darkless hat, you reach out your hand to them and…

“We just have to say its name!”

You struggle to speak, to force the air out of your throat as it bubbles and coils. Why why why does the Universe grant any wish, but not the one you desire most? Remember, remember, why can’t you remember!

The bright one hugs their own chest, shaking their head, crying along with you.

You almost heard it, almost heard their name, “Once again, we have to try...... Together! “

But they break away from their little group. They stare you dead in the eyes and scream.

“Let it die, let it die, let it die!”

Never. Never never never never. Fine. Fine, you’ll do it alone, as you always do it alone, as you are the only person in this blinding country who will ever even bother to try, because you know, you know, you know, no one will remember for you. No one will remember you.

Your throat burns and your lungs burn and your head is swimming your insides melting with every wheezing grasping shaking breath you force out.

Just one syllable, and the next, and

And before it all fades away once more, you see their face, etched into your memory.

“Do you remember?”

You cry and cry and cry because it’s all you can do. It’s all you can do as your power worms its way through Dormont, through Vaugarde, through your home. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

It won’t ever be enough, until

The scent hits you.

Before they even enter the room, it reeks. It reeks of comfort, it reeks of the Universe. Somebody else has been blessed, same as you. It could only be…

“Let’s stop fighting,” they say. You disguise your laugh as a croaking sob.

You see it. You see it in their eyes. You needn’t ask if they remember, because they are trying just as you. But you, you’ve had years. Years of distant flashes put together, of research and Color Theory and wishes and stars and the Universe.

They…

They are sure of what to say. Even as their friends object, they press on.

Time pulls at your stomach. You’re sure of it, you’re sure in just enough, in their confident gaze…

“We’re looking for the same thing,” they say, “Just leave this country be,” they say. And, well, how do they know that? Hm? How could anyone ever know what you truly want, when even the stars refuse to give it to you? No, no, no, you have to take what you want.

And what the bright one wants… is surely not the same.

If it was, you’d have won already.

What a fool. As if moving on could ever be enough.

“Do you remember?”

The Bright One is scared of you. Can’t they see you’re not trying to kill them? The other ones, the ones you care about much less, are scared of you, too, in ways you expect. You meant for this appearance to intimidate, after all. A king cannot be soft-faced and sweet. He must be cold and jagged, like all the old stories before the kings all died.

“Do you remember?”

You arrived in Dormont with little fanfare. After all, nobody yet knows what you set out to do. But the Universe’s favor sizzles at your fingertips, tugs at your stomach. You froze birds and stray leaves and even fish in the river, so you’re sure it’ll work.

The House welcomes you in with open arms. Of course they do. They are Vaugardian, after all. So kind. So sweet. So welcoming. Your strange (forever strange) appearance garners attention of the Housemaidens. You see a ribbon-wearing one skitter back. How cute.

Even the Head Housemaiden welcomes you. She is tall, with long, kinky hair, a wide smile gracing her lips and she…

she…

had to be frozen. Immediately. One such as her cannot be allowed to wither. She opposes, of course, always so dear to changing and forgetting but it is a phantom reminder that crashes through your head and compels you to freeze her first.

A terrarium. How did you know that word and so few others..? Somebody had… it slips away again.

She reaches out toward something, sweet craft sparkling to life around her in the shape of the Universe. ...what did she do? Well, at least you caught her in this moment. In the moment the Universe shines down upon her face.

Would have been nice had her expression been more serene, but, ah, no matter. As long as she is preserved.

“Do you remember?”

The bright one stops you. How often have they stopped you? How often have you won? Aren’t you doing what the Universe wishes? She always thought it did not care. It granted everybody’s wishes in equal measure, after all, but to you, only those worthy of it gained its favor. She’d never liked the stars as much as you did, though she loved hearing you talk about them, hearing you explain constellations to… to…

You had to do something to make it stick. To stop the Bright One. Under other circumstances, you’d freeze them instead, but, ah, the child won’t remember, will they? What a shame, what a pity, that the child must die for it to stick, to feel them wriggle in your palm with vigor, with fear.

It won’t stick for the child. It will for the Bright One, you hope. Otherwise it was all for naught.

You needed to believe the Universe still loves you.

Otherwise you’d have to accept that…

it meant for this to happen.

“Do you remember?”

They are unremarkable. A big hat and a long coat obscures most of their body.

They are unremarkable, but not in Vaugarde. No. No, no, no, not in Vaugarde. Here, they are most remarkable indeed.

They are familiar. So familiar. You trace the shape of their face and try to hold it in your mind as it already slips away like sand (sand, sand, hold the sand, lightless sand in an hourglass).

They are familiar.

So all you can do is ask, “Bright One, do you remember?”

You… don’t know where the term comes from. It’s just a habit. Big one, pretty one, reading one.

Bright, bright, bright, say it three times for good luck.

They stare at you, resolute. They are here to stop you. To kill you.

You are not afraid of death. You are afraid of oblivion.

“Do you?”

And you laugh. For the first time in so long, you laugh and laugh and laugh, crying all the while.

No, no, no, how could you ever remember? Only broken shattered pieces you can never glue together, words you hold on the tip of your tongue. Flashes of your past, of memory, of family. Somebody warm and something soft, a touch on your face and a hand in your hair -

your own child could stare back at you, and you’d never recognize them.

Of course you don’t remember.

Sand slips between your fingers. You call out, reach out, but your fingertips can’t even trace the feeling.

“What am I supposed to remember?”

Someone’s braiding your hair. Already, it winds across the bed, onto the floor, and nonetheless, deft fingers weave away the strands.

The Head Housemaiden? She’s… sitting at the foot of the bed. Your bed. Because you’re not frozen in that hallway anymore. You…

You cry.

“Awww, don’t cry! You just failed to destroy Vaugarde, is all. Here. Have some water.”

A cup of water is unceremoniously shoved in your face. What else are you supposed to do but cry? You had it. You had it all, you had your wish. Why are you here. Unfrozen.

Why are… why is it already slipping away…? Boat and hat and face and voice and repeat it over and over again--

She pushes the glass of water into your face, spilling a drop on your clothes. You’re not… wearing armor anymore, just an undershirt and cloth trousers. Simple, and comfortable, and not at all intimidating.

You take the water from her hands to avoid her eyes. It’s easy to tell she’s still watching, like a cat that caught the canary. Amused.

You swallow. Tastes like sugar.

Some of your headache clears. Now thinking a bit better, you can actually take in your own state. You failed, obviously. You can’t even remember what happened after you froze (something about sand…? And a boat?) and looking at the Head Housemaiden makes your stomach lurch. In pursuit of your goal, you haven’t eaten or drunk in quite possibly several days.

She puts a hand to your forehead and you sock her for it, except she catches your fist with a barrier spell. Ah.

“You were much friendlier in your sleep. Just mumbling ‘do you remember’ over and over.” She even pitched her voice down in a very bad imitation of you. As exhausted as you still feel, you can scarcely protest when she pushes you back into the pillow and takes your temperature.

She shakes her head. “Still running a fever, I see. The same thing happened to the traveling one, you know? Craft overuse, what with your… reality warping powers, and all that. Time Craft doesn’t exist, silly.” She slaps you on the shoulder.

“But it does…?”

Maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s your stomach doing somersaults, but the Head Housemaiden is strangely offputting.

And she keeps chattering. “Seeing as you are still ill, you can stay in the infirmary as you recover. And since all the Housemaidens are terrified of you, you’ll be in my care! Isn’t that nice?”

…. you nod.

“Glad we agree! And I’m sure you also agree, someone of your notoriety can’t go prancing around Vaugarde again, can they? Once you’re recovered, as resident of the House, you will sadly be obligated to participate in chores, such as cleaning, cooking, or laundry. Usually, Housemaidens will also venture into Dormont to help there, or pilgrimage around the country, or give and take classes, but that’s not quite on the table for you yet, hm?“

You don’t even know her name.

Not like you know yours, either, right?

…and you sure aren’t a king anymore.