#lostxtooxmany

4. My muse is completely drunk and incoherent.

“’Melia?”

He’d have been content to stay in the alleyway all night, sleeping off the alcohol buzzing pleasantly through his system, not bothering her, but it seemed it was not to be. 

Well, this was…different.

He’d finally managed to get a hold of a house, and though it was small, that was how he needed it since it was just him and maybe a dog. They’d see about that later, once he was settled.

15. Your muse bites mine.

“What the hell, Emelia?”

Scotty ripped her off of his arm, pressing his hand to the tiny drops of blood that welled there and staring at her.

Scotty was dozing in his chair after dinner when Emelia came to him, but he managed to keep his eyes open for her.

She wished him a happy father’s day. That was…sweet of her. He’d never quite expected to be her real father, and certainly not enough for her to give him a gift in honor of his caring for her.

“No, Lady.“

He quickly swiped away the tears he’d been trying to hide and turned from the window to look at the woman who had brought him so far from home. He didn’t like being penned up in the castle with a council of advisors always heckling him and making decisions without his input. If she’d brought him here to be king, then he should be king, should he not?

The nightmare left him pale and shaking and spooking at every shadow, but it seems there’s still some good in the world. Emelia knows him and how to deal with him, just as he knows her, and she’s right; kindness and good food are just what he needs right now.

He slides his legs over the side of the bed and wraps his arms around his Emelia, sighing and comforting himself with the simple presence of her.

They have taken his little one away from him and he nearly killed himself trying to defend her as well as himself. It takes him long days to find the strength to rise, to oh-so-slowly melt away the chains with blue streams of fire from his nose, to lick his wounds and wash the blood and filth from his body.

The pain of not having her is agonizing. Sometimes he thinks he sees her hair or hears her laugh as she runs just out of his sight, but he is always wrong. She is gone.

Then, one night, what feels like forever after it happened, it storms. He knows wherever his little one is, she is terrified and wanting for him, but he cannot go to her. He does not know where she has gone, and even if he tore apart the world looking for her she would never forgive him.

Then the pain he feels in his chest begins to spread. Down his long belly, his legs, compressing his wings and tail into new form. He screams as he is squeezed and stretched, the sound morphing from its deep bass roar into something thinner and more painful, ripping from his throat. Eventually, he passes out, letting pain push him into blackness.

When he wakes, he is...smaller. He finds himself unbalanced on what used to be four feet, so he stands to two, wobbly but learning quickly how to navigate this new form.

It is only when he makes his way to his room that he sees himself in the polished silver mirror and realizes that somehow, he has become human.

As he turns to examine his nakedness, fascinated by this new form, he sees that he has perfect porcelain skin, hair the color of golden-red flame, and a tattoo of his wings on his back. He is elegant, as humans go, well-formed and well-muscled.

In this body, he can find his little one. She will know him by his eyes and the unnatural heat that still resides in his belly. He will need clothes, but he can find those among his treasures, as well as the finest armor. He will be a knight- oh, the irony- and with some of his gold he may buy a horse. Or many horses, to bear him across the length and breadth of the land quickly, in case he cannot find her.

Of course, the knights who took her away could only have come from the nearby royal court. He will look for her there first, and barring that, he will find help.

Before the sun has dipped below the horizon, he is off, dressed in jeweled, polished steel armor, a sword at his belt, bags of gold concealed on his person and held in a soft leather bag he found. He also has food, an extra set of paired daggers, and a large flask of the golden honeyed mead from the cellar of the defunct castle.

He will not go back there until he can find Emelia. If that means he dies out in the wilderness, so be it, so long as he died searching for she who he loved.

The first night, he stops at an inn, drawing eyes to the rich, handsome stranger. He does not speak much, instead barricading his door, shuttering the window, and listening to the idle talk drift up from the thin floorboards.

There is tell of a princess, recently rescued and brought home to the castle, though she has refused to do anything there and instead spends her days in her room or wandering the grounds, pining. Often, they say, she is found in roughspun, barefoot, hating the fine silks she is dressed in. They whisper and gossip, one making a bawdy joke about how he'd like to help her get them off, another couple laughing.

The fire in his belly burns hotter, but he does not emerge and deal them justice. He cannot draw attention to himself any more than he has. He will remain a mystery until he reaches the court.

He can only pray she is there to see him come for her.

~

He is determined.

He will find his little one and protect her, no matter what. He kills one horse under him, driving it through the night, and learns to let them drink and walk and rest every so often- privileges he often denies himself.

The day he reaches the court, he makes sure to bathe and clean his armor, to make sure he is as pristine as possible for his little one and the king. When he asks for an audience before the royal family, he uses the commanding tone that has compelled people to follow him, wondering who he is and where he came from.

When he strides into the throne room and drops to one knee before the throne, he only bows his head for a moment before he lifts his eyes to the beautiful woman standing beside it.

He has found his little one, and before any other words can be spoken, he says only this: