#my hot garbage

In an instant he hauled all movements, frozen with confusion. It felt like it came from nowhere, was he losing his mind? But then, “Just…Breathe.” It repeated. The voice sounded rather sweet and soft as it spoke, and Muriel felt a bit more at ease. It then became evident that he was no longer spinning endlessly in a whirlpool, but rather flowing in a calm dark. 

“Breathe, Muriel.” The voice repeated one last time. 

Finally, out of options, Muriel opened his mouth letting the tar enter his lungs. He choked on the black liquid at first, unable to stop himself from coughing. But as soon as he fully inhaled, he realized that he wasn’t drowning. Despite the escaping air bubbles and all of his other instincts, he stops struggling and keeps still for a moment. He stayed there floating calmly, it was eerily calm. He waited for a moment to hear the sweet voice, but the voice disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

“Asra?” Muriel then called out, but what came out was muffled mumbles, air bubbles, muted grunts and gurgles. “….Rhemi?” The same. There wasn’t any way anyone could hear such a faint noise.

Despite it, he tried to call out Rhemi’s name on the top of his lungs. But yet again, his voice was muffled like it would be when you’d screaming underwater. Only the bubbles that came out of his mouth and nose seemed to have a mind of their own as they dispersed into different directions, (not very helpful when trying to find the surface). 

He gave it a large sigh as he observed his surroundings and gazed around into the emptiness unsure what to do next. Finally, he felt feet land on what he could only assume was the bottom. “How could this thing have a bottom if it didn’t have a top?” He thought to himself. With his feet touching what he thought was the bottom, he could feel movement under his feet move. It was as if he was inside the belly of a beast that was dragging its undercarriage on the ground like a fat dragon.

Muriel then looked around again about to call out again in this liquid prison for his companions. But before could open his mouth, he heard another familiar voice. This time it was small and very squeaky and high pitched, nothing like the one before telling him to breathe. But who else would be in here? Better yet, how would they have gotten in here? Then at last his eyes found the little creature as it scurried in front of his feet. “Rem-Roo!! Rem-Roo! Rem-Roo!” The ferret muttered as he pitter-pattered away. It was strange, he didn’t seem to be underwater like Muriel was. It was Ezavior… Rhemi’s late familiar she had as a child. What was he doing here? This darkness wasn’t a memory… was it? What even was this place? Was it even a place?

“Too many questions… not enough answers…” he thought. 

Unsure what to do, the mountain man blinked a few times before he finally followed the creature’s trail.

It was still very dark all around him, but the little creature seemed to emit a slight warm glow. Muriel dragged his long legs through a slight current to keep up with the ferret and had to use his large arms in a kind of swimming motion to keep up with the creature. At one point, Muriel thought he'd lost the creature. But then he noticed the ferret stopped and looked back towards him. Wait… Could he see him? Wasn’t this a memory? But if he saw him, how could it be a memory? Did Ezavior… want Muriel to follow him? Once the hermit caught up, the creature started to scurry with his little legs again. Well, whatever this was, Muriel wasn’t going to let this get away.

————Asra––——— 

The magician floundered ceaselessly in the tar, feeling like he was just going round and round in tight circles, doomed to drown in the dark by himself. He could feel his chest pound harder and harder as panic set in and felt himself about to wake up. But then amidst the floundering, it finally occurred to him— None of this was real. Not really anyways. His body was back home in the shop asleep next to Muriel on the floor. He was safe. When he and Muriel were running around the mansion trying to catch the little Rhemi, not once did they get fatigued or out of breath.

 Of course… This wasn’t the real world! This was basically a glorified fever dream. Finally he stopped struggling and drew in a deep breath then sighed it out. He watched as the bubbles left his mouth and they aimlessly flouted about. He was right! There was no way he could drown. The current finally stopped spinning him about as he took in another deep breath and everything became somewhat calm.

A faint voice radiated in his ears rather dully and he scanned all around him to see if Muriel or the ghost was there. But he was all alone. The voice spoke out again, and he realized it was his own voice. “Rhemi…” His voice says again.

He attempted to say, ‘hello’, but he found his voice muffled by the tar.

He knew just the spell to remedy this, but as soon as he started it, he heard Rhemi’s voice. 

She was talking to someone, but he knew this conversation. This was a conversion that had played in his own mind for almost five years. Finally a dim light appears and with it the image of the shop comes into view. Asra felt his feet drop to the floor of the endless tar pit as he helplessly entered into this memory. His eyes widened, realizing which moment in time he was. This was Asra’s and Rhemi’s last conversation before she—No…. Not this—please… Why in god’s name did I stumble here??

It was the day when he left Vesuvia. The day he left Rhemi behind. They were arguing. But this was the last time he ever saw his beloved Rhemi— at least the version of Rhemi he so desperately tried to get back.

————— Muriel—————

With each step, Muriel felt like the liquid was becoming harder and harder to move through, but he had to follow the ferret. He couldn’t lose the best lead he had since the little Rhemi with a hole in her chest. It was still so dark, he had to squint to see what was in front of him. For a moment, he thought Ezavior was getting larger, but then he realized he couldn't see the creature, but he could see that he was approaching a door. Finally something in the void! And a familiar one at that! It was the door to the Rowdy Raven. Half expecting to be pushed back like before, he reached his hand to the handle, but instead of it swinging open, he fazed through like an illusion. 

Confused, he took back his hand and stared at the door for a moment before trying it again. But it was no good. He might as well be a ghost himself. His head cocked back as he signed defeated, just making a cloud of air bubbles. Suddenly, he could hear all too familiar voices coming from behind the oak door. He then got an unusual idea, he stuck his head right through the door. The sudden surge of light nearly blinded him, but after a few good blinks his eyes adjusted, and he could see Rhemi. This has to be his Rhemi! He attempted to call out but only water gurgles came out. 

Ecstatic, he clumsily fazed through the door completely and half ran, half swam as fast as he could towards her. Rhemi! The corners of his lips curled up in a relieved smile and his chest started to flutter… but then realized her hair and her outfit. She had her head down on the bar top clutching to a half drank pint of ale and broken glass and liquids was littered around her. She had a black plague doctor’s jacket on, and her hair was shorter than she kept it now, although it wasn’t as short as it was back in the colosseum cell memory. But it was obviously not the one he had thought. She was at least well into her twenties now. This must be a memory too. “Damn…” he thought to himself, feeling defeated. He was getting tired of being only a spectator in this place. 

Strangely. This memory wasn’t like the others he had seen back in the mansion. These memories didn’t have designated doors. It was as if they randomly appeared.

Just before he started to lose hope, he heard rattling chains coming from behind him. He turned around and saw his own face. Taken aback, he watched as his younger self entered the tavern with his tattered old cloak covering his head, his broken chains around his wrists and neck, that dark-sad look in his eyes, and his discomfort around anyone. Ever his silent self, he quietly walked over and yanked the drunk woman off the bar and she started kicking, swearing, and hurling insults. Muriel cringed as he started to remember this memory. This was… well…. It wasn’t a good one… Why couldn't he stumble into a good one for once? Honestly, he never realized how bad these two’s interactions were. It wasn’t like they were much different than his other interactions with people back then.

The memory’s scenery suddenly moved with them as they walked through the city, but it went by in intervals, like she didn’t remember chunks of it. Finally, after persisting and protesting more than half way home, the younger Muriel let Rhemi down to give his shoulder a break where she was kicking him. Although she staggered and stumbled on the uneven cobblestone, she was insistent on walking on her two feet. Her face was red, and she was utterly pissed.  “Coulda made it myself, ya know…” She drunkenly says as she turns towards him to flick him off, but then crashes into a full water barrel. “—OOOOOF!” She tried her best not to double over, but she did run into it pretty hard.

“…’Parently not...” The memory of him grumbled doubtfully as he pinched the bridge of his nose. In other circumstances, this probably would have been funny. But neither of them were in a chucking kinda mood. 

As Muriel watched this memory, he remembered the reason for the encounter. She was asked to leave the tavern for breaking goblets and bottles behind the counter with her magic as a way to show off. When she refused to leave, the bouncers were afraid to deal with a drunk magician. But luckily Muriel wasn’t too far. Asra asked him to watch her when he was gone. He hated doing it, and sometimes didn’t half-assed. But this time he came a little late to the party, and he had to bounce people out of the tavern more than once.

“…. Why’d ja even bother to walk me home?” The drunk Rhemi asks as she leans on the water barrel and rips off her boots to carry them. “...N-...Not your problem…”

Muriel stared judgingly with an eyebrow sharply raised as she started to hand him the pair of boots to him. But he shook his head disapprovingly. He wasn’t gonna fucking carrying them. Her shoulder dropped and she stuck out her bottom lip poutily. “... Fine…Ya didn’t question the answer though.” She said tying her shoe strings together and slinging them over her shoulder.

Muriel gave her a pointed look. He was pretty sure she meant that the other way around. But then he stood there for a moment, unsure whether or not to explain that Asra asked him to make sure she didn’t get into any trouble while he was gone. It may have come across creepy. Finally, he shrugged and vaguely answered,  “Dunno….”

“... Dunno???” She sarcastically replies, terribly imitating his deep bassy voice. “Don’t ya ever fuckin‘ know anything? Fuckin’ swear. A pile of potatoes would know more than your dumb ass…” She mumbled that last part under her breath. 

He shrugs silently again, shooting her an annoyed sideways glance. As soon as their eyes met, he averted her gaze to the ground, then huffed, “… Asra’d want you safe.”

Grief flickered behind her eyes for a moment, “Hmph…. Riiiiiight…”, then she flared her nostrils and rolled her eyes as she lifted the seal and unlocked the door of the shop. “…. Oh yeah, because he cares soooooo much about me… Perhaps that’s why he hasn't…. *hiccup*... -hasn’t bothered to write to me, or contact me, or even come home in over six months!!” She tossed the key carelessly to the ground with a satisfying metal clunk as she staggered her way inside. “...Stupid piece of shit motherfucker.” She muttered under her breath as she underhandedly chucked her boots at the bottom of the staircase.

Muriel shook his head, she always was a handful but tonight she was dialed up to eleven. He watched as she used her magic to instantly light all the candles inside the shop. Finally, he could leave. However, before he could turn away back to his comfort of his hut in the forest, she shouts, “… Rude to keep lingering in doorways!.. don’t make your guest wait!” a bit surprised, he stood there awkwardly then looked around to see if anyone else was around. Not only was he unwilling to step inside, but why would she want him to? And wouldn’t he be the guest? This was her home after all. Plus, he’d never really been inside the shop before. They weren't friends. Hell they were barely acquaintances. “Oooi!!! Blanket-Boy! Get your fat-ass in here! You're letting out all the- *hiccup* –freakin’ heat!” She barked. Well now there was no doubt she was talking to him. Disgruntled, he groaned and dropped his shoulders wishing to just disappear. Begrudgingly, the hermit stepped in and closed the door behind him. 

The drunk Rhemi took a kettle next to the stove and with a flick of her wrist she got it to boil rather instantly and apparently started to make some tea. Blindly she pointed over to the crappiest stool in the room for him to sit on. Hesitantly, he trundled his way over to it and took a load off while she continued to boil the water despite her half stumbling around the place. He remembered how he thought it probably wasn't a good idea that she was messing with fire while she was drunk, yet he never offered to lend her a hand and just stayed silent upon his shabby stool. He could remember how he thought about just quietly slipping out the door more than once. He could have just said, ‘No thanks’, and be on his way, yet he remained. Maybe he knew something wasn’t alright with her. Maybe deep down he was concerned.

But damn, did he forget how awkward this memory was. The only sound that could be heard was the clanking of the ceramic tea cups, kettle billowing, the popping and hissing of the stove, and that damn tick tick ticking of that god awful coo-coo clock that had about an inch of dust on it. It wasn’t like he really wanted to talk anyway, but it just felt so uncomfortable. He also noticed that the shop smelled rather stale. Normally, he could recall the smell of sweet incense when he’d pass by or meet up with Asra in the back alleyway. But now the sweet aroma was replaced with a depressing aura and a faint whiff of old onions mixed with stale pumpkin bread. The place desperately needed a cleaning and airing out, it didn’t exactly have the inviting atmosphere that it does nowadays. Then again, it wasn’t like she had many customers either since she started working with Julian at the palace to find a cure. Maybe she thought there wasn’t any point to it now.

At last, Rhemi handed Muriel a half filled teacup. The hooded mountain man stared at the cup and his nose instinctively wrinkled up. Not only did she hand him the tiniest cup she owned, but it had an ugly green glaze that looked like wadded up cud. Not to mention, it was somehow warped and uneven and teetered on its ill fitting saucer so the tea kept spilling out of the chip that it had on its rim. Muriel grumbled as he stared at the strange cup, even he had better cups than this (which was saying something). Instead of drinking the unknown concoction, he just stared at it suspiciously and even sniffed it. It did have a faint odor of peppermint and chamomile, but it was practically just hot water with shitty old honey that was half congealed swirling around in it. 

Rhemi’s eyes finally fell on him, watching him as he stared at the hot tea with discontentment. Somehow she found his awkwardness amusing for once and she couldn’t help but just snicker to herself as she added more alcohol to her warm brew from a flask. “Pffsh. WOW….” She leaned against the glass case lazily, much like Asra would do, and stared at his muscles hiding under his tattered cloak, as if she just had noticed them. “Shit... You still don’t trust me, do you?” She asks with an eyebrow raised as she takes her first sip.

Muriel shrugged annoyedly, firmly placing the rocky cup to the floor.

An odd slightly flirty laugh radiated from her lips as she kept eyeing him up and down with a bit of hunger in her eyes. “... You…. you hate me… don’t you?” She says with a strange yet sad smile.

Alarmed by the question, he glanced towards her feet as he opened and closed his mouth. Honestly, he didn’t have an answer; if he was being really truthful, he didn’t know what to think of her—Hell, he didn’t want to think of her. All their interactions always felt like emotional whiplash, one moment she was helpful, the other she was spiteful and rather mean. In all fairness, his mind was nowhere near this shop. Really, he wanted to be home in the forest, far away from this noisy city, away from people, away from her, alone with Inanna in his hut and his chickens, next to a roaring fire, far far away from whatever this was. But for one reason or another he was here, sitting uncomfortably inside this girl’s house not drinking weak-ass watery tea.

Taking the silence as a ‘yes’, Rhemi chuckled to herself before downing her spiked tea in two alarmingly large gulps, then whipped her upper lips with her pointer and middle finger provocatively. “… Alright… Could work with that.” She says rather seriously, placing her cup down at the counter, then proceeds to peel off her black jacket seductively and blindly toss it to the ground behind her. “…Never done a hate fuck before.” 

“—Huh?” Alarm bells rang loudly in the hermit's head. Stund he just sat there confused as she walked closer to him, she had a loose white shirt under the jacket with a black corset belt. He could feel the sweat beading on his brow as she got closer and closer. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as she leaned towards his face. Muriel had a very different look about him than one would think; there was no red on his skin, there was no flustering or floundering about. Instead his face twisted with disdain as he recoiled into himself. Finally, as he realized there was no way to escape this situation, he quickly pressed his large fingertips into the top of her collarbone and ribs, (touching her as little as possible) as he pushed her away looking anywhere but her eyes, “—The hell are you–?” he mutters in disgust. 

Confused by his rejection, she blinked a few times before she scoffed, “…What? Despite my better judgment, You're a man, and I’m a woman…” She says as she stared down towards his trousers biting her lower lip. “… And we're alone…”

He shifted his eyes towards the door then back to her neck and shrugged. “… Aaaaand?” Hoping to the gods she wasn’t being serious.

“… Andddd—Don’t you want to fuck the shit out of each other?” She said as she grabbed her breast. 

“…..‘Xcuse me?” Baffled, Muriel wrinkled his nose looking away from her once again, standing to his feet. “What are you–…?” 

“UGH!!! It’s a hate-fuck, moron!” Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and her shoulders dropped. She couldn't believe she had to explain this. But then she sighed and smiled as she looped her fingers around one of his belts pulling him closer suddenly finding his nativity kinda cute. “… You know, I call you a ‘stupid fucking piece of shit’…” she says grabbing his wrist moving his hand towards her neck. “…and you choke till I’m red in the face and we fuck the everloving shit out of each other—it’s a very simple concept, Blanket-boy. You can do whatever you want to me and I can do whatever I want to you…. Then after, you can be on your merry way, and we’ll never talk about it ever again…”

Dumbfounded, the Hermit stared at her general direction blankly with his mouth gaped open with a total loss for words. Where did this even come from? One minute she was pissed off and hurling insults and profanities, and now she wants to fuck him? None of this made any sense to him.

But… Now that his current self could see it again, he noticed the cold emptiness in her eyes. Did she even want him? ….Or did she just want to feel something? Judging from her length of hair and the season, this was waist deep into the epidemic. She probably had witnessed scores of people die by now. By the look of it, Asra had been gone for quite some time now. Either way it was obvious, there was something very wrong with her psyche. Now that Muriel thought about it, she died only a couple of months later… Maybe all she wanted was to just not be alone that night. Maybe she felt like offering herself up like that was the only way she didn’t have to be alone.

Finally, Muriel’s past self shook out of his stupor as he pushed Rhemi away and fastened his belt back tightly, making her slightly tumble backwards. “… Hells wrong with you!?”

“Hells wrong with you?” She snapped back as she braced the glass counter. She looked him up and down before a smirk creeped in from the corner of lips as she realized. “... What? … This your first time or somethin’?—" Finally some heat radiated from Muriel’s cheeks from that rather invasive question and he shrunk into himself. She giggled demeaningly as she started unbuttoning her blouse. “I see… That’s fine… I can show you—”

“–STOP!!” He half shouted. “JUST…. Stop!”

His outburst suddenly made her freeze, she felt a twinge of fear from his booming voice. But after shriveling into herself, she stuck out her chest (showing more cleavage than Muriel would have liked) and clenched her fist, absolutely infuriated at being rejected like this. No one had ever turned her down like this before. “... What? You think your precious Asra’s gonna give a shit?—hate to break it to you, Blanket-Boy… but Asra ain’t here!!... HA! Bet ya he’s probably fucked about a three dozen people by now.” Muriel’s fist clenched, and his teeth gritted. She knew that this was an open wound to him, she didn’t care about his feelings, but she was out for blood now. “...Yepppp! Sorry to burst your bubble there, Blanket-Boy… But he doesn’t give a fuck about you–”

“—Do you ever shut up??” He finally growled. He was furious, every muscle seemed to have been tensed as he stood there. “Do you ever stop to think of why you’re here alone??” 

“... Excuse me–? I’m not alone… You’re literally the only guy that’s ever said no—”

“—It’s your fault Asra left!!” He barked angrily. For a moment he was surprised by what came out of his mouth. Of course he realized how hurtful those words were. But at this very moment, he didn’t regret what he said. “And it’s your fault you're all alone.”

Rhemi glared at him emptily for what felt like minutes. Then tucked her chin towards her chest as she looked at the floor. Unexpectedly, Rhemi smiled maniacally and started to giggle to herself disturbingly. Tears swelled as she kept her eyes on him. “…. Don’t you think I know that?” She muttered softly as a tear dripped from her lashes. Her smile then fell as she slumped to the ground, her back to the glass case and her knees tucked into her chest. “... Ya ruined the mood…. Get out…”

Furious, the past Muriel lifted his hood and turned his heels towards the door and left without another word. And Muriel watched himself as he disappeared from sight after slamming the door shut. With the heavy force, all the candles blew out as Rhemi was left with only the moonlight from the rear window. 

The current Muriel could only watch as she sobbed. He hated watching her cry again and again, he felt so helpless. He knew this all already happened, but all he wanted to do was to hold her. Back then he had no idea how broken she was. But then again, back then he was too. Was he even capable of being a comfort back then? Muriel reached out, but instead of being repealed, his hand fazed through her body just like the door. Somehow this felt even worse than before. It felt like every time he was closer, yet further away from her. He stayed by the poor girl’s side until she faded away. 

Suddenly, the ferret zipped past Muriel’s feet as the memory disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

“Rhemi-Roo!” he called out again, darting quickly in another direction. Muriel then got back to his feet and quickly followed once again. Muriel looks back up that there was only darkness where Rhemi was once sitting. She wasn’t there anymore, but he could still hear her cries and he could feel tears welling his eyes as he turned towards the ferret once more.

———–—— The dead Rhemi–––——–

The apparition was constantly and violently dragged down by the currents. Wave after wave fell over her, it almost felt like a thousand hands as they held her down and just wailed on her already weakened body. Their fingers dug into her paper thin skin and she felt like she was being ripped apart. Whatever this thing was, it was hostile as hell. Finally, it let go as she was thrown down to the bottom and both her arms broke away from her body. Feeling the release, she inhaled hard and tried her best to catch her breath. Once regaining some of her composure, she quickly took her right arm and clumsily fused it back together by using her forearm and chest. Her other arm floated away a few feet before she could get a hold of it and fuse it back as well. 

Once her limbs regained their function, she exhaustedly collapsed face first to the ground trembling. Pain… There was so much pain. There was always this terrible pain. Slowly she rolled over to her back and gazed up, breathing heavily as she tried to get her bearings. It was dark all around her. It seemed to stay that way for a long while. But then a dim light suddenly swam towards her. Shielding her eyes from the brightness, she sat up rather irritated with all of this shit.

After her eyes adjusted, she saw that she was in a dimly lit hallway. She was back at the shop in the upstairs hallway and could hear faint sounds of a lullaby. It sounded almost like her mother’s voice, except it was deeper and impossibly raspier. Rhemi must have been at least twelve or thirteen. 

“Goddamn it….” The ghost muttered now realizing that she had been swallowed by that tar monster. She looked around, ignoring whatever bullshit memory she was in as shouted out for Muriel and Asra, but of course, only bubbles and gurgles came out. With a grumpy growl, she mustered up some magic and pointed towards her throat until she felt the constriction on her throat release. At last, the bubbles were replaced with actual words. 

She sighed in relief, and muttered, “Fucking shit….” crystally clear. “Mother fucking, piece of shit, dirty ass tar… Audacity to swallow me…” She grumbled throwing more and more profanities as she stood to her feet.  

She opened her mouth again to call out for Muriel or Asra, but then she heard a young girl’s voice mutter, “Mummy?”

Her own young voice sharply drew her attention back in and the ghost then looked back on the memory; as soon as she did she felt her stomach drop. “Noooo…. This wasn’t a memory… this was a dream.” She whimpered confused. Dreams didn’t belong in memories. Not in this place at least. 

A young Rhemi was following a trail of brownish-grey feathers mixed with bloody footprints, and scratch marks on the floor boards. “A-...Athena?... Is that you?” She whimpers, still listening to the eerie humming coming from behind the door to the bedroom. “Who’s there??” There was thumping and ripping like an animal was feasting behind it. The door was slightly ajar and the young Rhemi could see a creature inside Athena and her mother’s room that eventually became her own. She could only just barely make out a silhouette of the figure, it was too dark to see and their back was turned away from her but there were feathers everywhere. With shaky hands she pushed the door a bit more, but the hinges let out a rusty sounding, CREEEEAAAK. 

The young Rhemi let in a sharp and terrified inhale as the creature halted its feast and slightly lifted its head and a low growl mixed with a haunting dark cooing emanated from its throat that sounded like what a grotesquely tall monstrous morning dove would. The poor girl froze and trembled as she watched the creature drop what looked to be a piece of freshly dismembered deer with a loud THUNK as it slowly stood to its feet. The thing had to have been at least over six feet and it slowly turned its head to face her. The little Rhemi shuttered as she saw their dark large animalistic eyes. There was no white in those eyes, only brown and black pupils that were blown out. The creature just stood there, growling and muttering incoherently as Rhemi nearly pissed herself as she slowly backed away feeling her heart pounding out of her chest.

Suddenly hands quickly covered Rhemi’s eyes and mouth as the memory went black as she felt a forgetting spell being placed on her and all she could hear were distancing screams.

“Stop….” The dead Rhemi whimpered helplessly. 

The forceful hand then returned with a vengeance as they snatched the poor cadaver and viciously threw her into another whirlpool. She tried to fight back but it seemed to just make it worse. 

When she finally was released again, she found herself thrown into another horrid memory. This time she was in her late teens and Asra had met a new friend. They went off a few times together around the city. Rhemi was invited, but she never did accept the invitation. But this time she did follow them from behind the corners with her mother’s old hooded cloak. It was never clear if they were dates or just innocent friendly outings, but either way, Rhemi was terribly jealous and possessive. The friend's face wasn’t even clear, all the detail that came through was their bright bluish teal beautiful luscious hair. All other details didn’t matter, she couldn’t even recall their gender or orientation or anything like that… She couldn't even remember their face. It was just a blank featureless thing and they did have an annoyingly kind and flirty sounding voice. But what she could only see was that with vibrant pretty hair. She always did want pretty vibrant hair like that. 

All Asra and his friend were doing we're sitting near the fountain eating some kebabs and fresh pumpkin bread. But Rhemi was fuming with hatred as she glared at Asra's companion. The past Rhemi could only watch her young self as she conjured her magic as a nearby horse drawn carriage carrying some various goods went by. “Don’t….” The ghost muttered desperately. “Don’t do it!”

 Of course this was useless. All of this happens already, but still she wishes she never lifted her hand back then as her magic to spook a horse nearby. Rhemi was hoping for the creature just to kick up mud or maybe scare Asra’s friend a bit. The horse reared up sharply and started bucking wildly. The merchant tried his best to calm the beast, it then broke off from its cart and kept bucking and bucking. There wasn’t much time to react, by the time Asra and his friend tried to get out of the way. The horse’s left hoof smacked into the temple of Asra’s friend. A horrible sounding boney THUNK cracked aside their head and they dropped to the ground violently with a heavy sounding BLUNK.

A look of horror struck Asra’s face as he watched his new friend bleed on the cobblestone and innocent bystanders around scream in terror. The young Rhemi’s hand that casted the spell shook as she stared motionless at the scene unfold. She meant for some moderate chaos to happen perhaps; but she wanted nothing like this to happen. What the hell had she done?

But what’s worse was she could have ran out from her little hole and helped them. She could have helped comfort Asra as he fumbled through his way to heal their injuries. Better yet, she could have helped heal their injuries. She was better at it afterall. And yet she remained hidden behind that corner, doing nothing as their head continued to bleed on the filthy streets. She knew she should have helped this person, but all she did was stared. Everything in her brain was screaming to go and help, but instead her feet turned and her slow trundle turned into a sprint down the alley. And she just kept running.

“STOP!! I didn’t mean to hurt them!” The ghost screamed. “I just… I didn’t want…I didn’t want to lose–”

“Coward.” A dozen or so voices snarled.

The light dimmed and the hands returned, ripping her away yet again into god knows where. It felt like it would last forever this time, but then it finally threw her down hard face first. For a moment she held her face overwhelmed with stars in her eyes. She might be dead. But fuck did this hurt… She didn't even notice the light coming back as she held her poor broken nose. 

“Gods… You’re beautiful, Rhemi.” the ghost hears Asra’s breathless voice. 

“Ha…. You’re only saying that… that’s what you're supposed to say after..” she hears herself teased dismissively.

The dead Rhemi jerked her head up towards the direction of his voice with dread. “Oh fuck you…” she muttered now angry. As if the other memories weren’t enough…. This one was a bitch slap right across the face.

“No, I mean it.” He said with a half chuckle, tucking her short hair behind her ear.

This was in Rhemi’s room at the top of the shop, late in the afternoon, the candles were romantically lit and the intensity was sweet and fragrant. This couldn’t have been too soon before Athena died, but it was obvious she wasn’t there that day. That must have been when she started working for the palace. Rhemi couldn’t recall how they both ended up here, but all that matters is that it did… Rhemi and Asra were laying naked in the freshly messed up sheets as sweat clinged to their brows and glistened their bodies. They both were so young it seemed. They had to be in their early twenties by now.

He stared lovingly as he caressed her face as she stared off into space. “…I love you…” he finally admitted with that soft smile of his.

“....Wha—?” A look of shock stiffened the young Rhemi as those words sunk in. She shot up on bed and started to breathe a bit faster. “I’m sorry I think I’m hearing stuff. Maybe we should open a window, the incense is getting to me—”

“Rem…” Asra sat up with her and held her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you.”

Oh dear gods… He said it again… Frozen, she stared at him stupidly in silence and blinked rapidly.

Asra squeezed her hands as he mustered up the courage to say it another time. “Rhemi, I love you—“

And with that Rhemi quickly snatched her hands away, stood up and hastily started dressed again. “It’s—it’s getting late. We need to tally up the sales for the day. We told Athena we would…” She says with a cracking voice, very badly trying to hide the panic in her voice.

Confused, Asra half stumbled out of bed, grabbed his pants and started to don them on. “Rhemi…I—I’m serious-” 

“—Don’t we have a delivery of something coming tomorrow?” she diverted. “.. Is it the crystals or the dried herbs this month? I can never remember…” she kept her back to him, unable to look him in the eye. She didn’t want him seeing her trembling hands as she quickly tied her corset on.

Asra blinked emphatically with a sigh; He knew she was never good with these kinds of things. “Rhemi…” 

“—Matter of fact, we actually could use some more spices and teas… it’s not too late! Maybe I can make it to the market and pick up some—“ 

“Rhemi!” Finally Asra spun Rhemi around and grabbed her face sweetly. “Please….”

Helpless, she stood there and listened as her heart pounded loudly in her chest. 

“I… I’ve always loved you, Rhemi. Since we met at the Masquerade. I’ve loved you more and more each and every day. I love you so much I can barely stand it…” Slowly Rhemi lifted her left hand and brushed his fluffy white hair out of his face and he leaned into her touch. “ I… I want to be with you for the rest of my life—” Without warning, she placed her index finger and thumb to his temple and bridge of his nose and a warm sleepiness enveloped him. Just as she finished conjuring up a forgetting spell, the white haired magician sank down to the ground like a sack of potatoes with a THUD. 

As soon as he hit the floor she backed away clutching her chest and shivering as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. “Fuck…. Fuck… fuck…. FUCK!.” She muttered under her breath unsure what to do now—how could he have said that out loud?? He can’t say that now! How could he ruin this??? Why? Just why??

The apparition grunted and punched the ground with such force it nearly made her break apart again. Why on earth did she do that? Why didn’t she just let him love her? Why did she wait until the day he left the city to realize she loved him too?? “GODDAMN IT!”

The ghost could feel the hands returning, wanting to take her to another wretched memory; but finally she had just about as much as she could take, so she gritted her teeth ferociously. —“ENOUGH!!” The dead Rhemi yelled at the top of her lungs. The embers lit up as she mustered the magic that she could and created a current of her own. With her remaining magic, she reached out, looking for a trace of Asra or Muriel. She could feel the tar’s currents fighting back, but she shot out of there like a cannon, seeking Asra’s magic. Finally she could feel his lavender aura. “ASRA!!” She shouted.

————Muriel–————

Somehow a huge body of water appeared in front of Muriel and he watched as the ferret dove head first into the grey water and disappeared once again. Muriel sighed, getting tired of this game of hide and seek as a long wooden boat suddenly came from behind him. This boat actually looked rather familiar. Back during the plague, he’d been on this boat more times than he’d care to say. 

That day Muriel was there ferrying. Normally his job was to bury the dead, but today they needed someone to take people to and fro. That early morning, he shyly guided people on board, telling them to mind their step as he held up a lantern with his tattered hood covering his face. Muriel then realized Rhemi was also on board. She had her hood up and slightly hid herself realizing who her ferryman was. The whole entire trip to the island was silent. It was a foggy dawn and the waters were surprisingly still. Muriel never seemed to even mind. He was just doing his job. Rhemi glanced to the floorboards, there was a large shovel with dirt caked on its edges. She then chuckled softly to herself. She realized she was riding with the man who’d put her into the ground. Muriel outside of the memory’s stomach twisted sickeningly as he remembered this. There was so much happening back then… Finally as they docked a few people were found waiting to welcome her with their plague masks and black coats. They just looked like strange bird people waiting for a sacrifice. Without hesitation, Rhemi stepped onto the dock, ready to face her death. The bird people gently waved her closer and a guard wearing a mask nudged her. Then it seemed she had second thoughts, and she turned slightly towards Muriel. “You were right by the way…”

Confused, he turns to look towards her, half annoyed. But then he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were bloodshot. The whites of her eyes now almost matched the color of her irises. And her skin was yellowed and blood vessels in her face were broken and pronounced. Rhemi was dying. “… I really am a coward… It was my fault he left….”

Impatiently, the soldier with a spear started to nudge her from a distance pushing the blunt end towards her, pushing her along. She stumbles a bit, before stopping again defiantly, now facing Muriel completely.

“Take care of him…. Will you?”

Muriel nodded slowly, he felt a profound sadness in his chest as he looked at her. She looked so…. withered. Never had he thought he’d see this girl that was so young and full of life be taken away from a damn plague. Not to mention, he never ferried anyone he actually knew. 

It felt like this memory took forever, but finally it faded away and the ferret reappeared once again, calling out for his Rhemi-Roo. 

————Asra & The past Rhemi————

Unable to move, the white haired magician watched his past self as he packed his bag and walked out the door. In his own memory, he thought that she shoved him out the door, that he was forced out. But here, he just left on his own volition. Was this how she remembered it? Or was this how it actually happened? That argument was not only heated, but emotionally heavy. 

His eyes then fell on Rhemi as stared at the door for a few moments. Her fist still clenched in a fit of anger, she looked like she could burst into flames. But she just stood there, part of her refusing to believe that he’d go through with leaving. 

“Open the door back…” She mutters. Part of her believed that he’d burst back through the door with his key and say sorry. Then she would too. They would hug, cry it out just like they always did. Everything would be fine like always. Everything will be like it always was. Them against the world…

However then the unmistakable sound of his thin shoes clacking against the wet cobblestone going in the other direction made her heart completely drop into her stomach. “No…” she softly whimpers, still listening to his fading food steps. “…You’re supposed to come back–” she starts to feel her heart race.

But his footsteps just kept getting farther and farther away. He’s really….. leaving…. He’s walking away. Her best friend…. Her only friend she had left…. The last person she had left in her life has just walked away. “No….. No…. No no no no no no…NO!...” She shouts to herself shaking her head as tears stream down her face. She listened once more, he had to come back. He had too… But there was nothing.

The room started to spin as her hands started to tremble and she could feel her heartbeat in her ears. Her lungs started to feel constricted as she pressed her back against the door. He’s not coming back. He’s really not coming back! She slammed the side of her tight fist into the hard wood behind her as she gritted her teeth. Slowly, she slid down and collapsed to her feet as she tried to catch her breath. She kept slamming the side of her fist back against the door over and over again until it trickled blood as rage, resentment, and sheer panic swirl violently around inside her body. Magic starts to pour out, and chaos explodes within the shop. The curtains shredded into ribbons, the ceramic tea cups and saucers on the table shatter into a million pieces, and cold kettle steams starts to whistle loudly with boiling water. Then the tension came to a head as she screamed on the top of her lungs, “—ASRA YOU STUPID FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!” and the glass countertop shattered and ingredients went flying everywhere. 

The pain of her bloody hand makes her open up her eyes and she inspects the damage she has now done; her hand was still shaking uncontrollably, but at least the room stopped spinning. Suddenly a broken piece of porcelain catches her eye. It’s Asra’s favorite teacup, a very dainty violet colored glaze with hints of greens and blues over the gray ceramic. It was a beautiful cup…. and now laid there in broken pieces on the wooden floor. It was a prized possession of his… and now it layed in pieces on the floor. And emptiness like other envelopes her whole chest. Slowly her eyes gaze around this now desolate space. It was so dark and quiet now. It has never felt so quiet before. It was so….. empty…. All the warmth that had once resided was gone. She started to rock back and forth, hitting the back of her head against the door. Her neck cocked back as a wave of tears overwhelmed her. With her knees tucked her knees into her chest, sobbing relentlessly, still rocking back and forth. “........Asra…. Asra….. don’t go….. Please don’t leave me alone like this…. I can’t do this all on my own…. I need you…I… love you too....” 

Asra stared at the memory, his chest started to feel so heavy. Pushing through the resistant tar, he reached his hand out for his Rhemi but his hand fazed right through her. He then fell to his knees as he watched her sob alone in the dark. He had abandoned her. Of course she was so clingy and possessive, behind it all she was afraid. Afraid he’d leave her, and that's exactly what he did to her. But back then, he just cared about himself. If only he’d insisted on Rhemi coming with him. Maybe things would have ended up very differently.

“ASRA!!” The ghost of Rhemi suddenly burst out of nowhere and found herself feeling some kind of gravity and she placed her feet to the ground. The sound of sobbing carried her towards his direction, and finally she saw Asra as he was on the ground in such distress. Only after she noticed the shop’s state and seeing her past self back pressed against the door did she realize what memory this was. “Oh no….” She faintly whispers. “Asra?” But he didn’t even seem to notice that she was even there. “Asra.” She called out once again but nothing. The ghost then slowly placed her crumbling hand to his back and he jolted his head up. 

His eyes red and wet, his bottom lip trembling full of regret. “Rh-... Rhemi…. I… I’m so sorry….”

The ghost looked towards the fading image of herself and shook her head. “Asra it wasn’t your fault.”

“I never should have left you…” He says, choking back his tears.

“… Asra… I could have just as easily opened that door. I could have chased after you….. but I didn’t. You had to do what was right for you. I never respected that. I…. I was such a selfish fool back then. I never could see what was the right thing for us… I only expected you to make sacrifices…. Not both of us…. I did whatever was good for me and my stupid ego… you… you deserved better…”

“I…. I wanted you to be back so badly.” Asra mutters through his tears. “I just wanted to hear your voice again… hear you singing in the shop while you brewed potions… feel the warmth of your skin.. all I wanted was you…. But… you didn’t come back to me…” shame now fills his tone as he admits, “…despite everything after all this time… part of me still wants you to come back.”

Rhemi glanced down at the ground with a sad blink. “I know… but I can’t—.”

“—I know you can’t!!” He sharply snaps, throwing down his fist to the ground. “You don’t understand—I know it’s impossible… I’ve spent years searching for an answer to bring you back, and I still came home empty handed!... And now…. If you were to come back…”

She sighs, gently placing her hand onto his clenched fist. “… Then the Rhemi you have now would no longer exist.”

“I have everything!” His fist loosens as he nods mournfully, wiping his face with his wrist. “There is this… emptiness in my chest…  It's been there so long! I… I don’t want to feel like this anymore, Rhemi!”  As the words left his lips, his eyes swell more as he cries even harder. It was if he realized that he very much meant what he said. “… All this time…. All I’ve done is mourn you. But it’s been so long, and I just want to move on. I think I’ve wanted to for some time now… I just want to live my life!! I want to be with someone who lo—” He hesitates as he sobs through his fingers and the other Rhemi grimaces a bit knowing exactly what he was saying. The words sting them both, but they obviously need to be said. “I want to love someone else.”

“Ilya…” She whispers knowingly.

Asra nods, unable to look her in the eye. He shakes as he sobs even more. “He gives me everything…. And— and I want to give him everything too, but I—I just…. can’t!! It’s like something won’t let me!!” He then clutched his chest, doubling over. “…. L-like something is holding me back.”

Tears rolled down the dead Rhemi’s cheek, making the embers hiss and sizzle as she stared at the poor magician. He was in such anguish. With a brave inhale, she reached into the left pocket of her skirt. “…It’s hard to admit this…. But I always wanted this… so once I got it… I didn’t want to let it go…” Asra lifted his head to watch as she pulled out a red blob and cupped it carefully in her hands. Confused at first, he just stares at the thing slightly disgusted, half expecting this was going to be like the creepy little child Rhemi with the teeth. “… But if I’m honest… I think Julian would take better care of this than I have. Perhaps I always knew that… maybe that’s why…. I hoped you two would meet...”

The red blob starts to beat, just a single beat. Asra’s chest leaped, feeling a hard palpitation behind his ribcage. The blob beat once again, and his chest seemed to follow as if it was answering its call. His eyes scanned the red blob and realized there were fresh veins and studied the contractions it was making. Then he knew. “… Is that?”

She nodded as another large tear ran down her face and turned to mist against the embers on cheek. She takes his wrist and brings it to the severed organ still cupped in her crumbling fragile hands. “…I… I should have given it back a long time ago.”

———Muriel——— 

As the ferret and Muriel came upon another dim light, he heard the ferret’s very distinct high pitch voice.  “Shouldn’t be here…” The small voice says. 

Muriel squinted his eyes towards the dim light. This memory was rather hard to see, but what he could finally make out, it seemed that a child Rhemi and Ezavior were in some kind of dark cellar or something. He had no idea where they were though.

“Pére said he was doing something for work.” The little Rhemi replied with a whisper. “He never brings stuff from work…And I wanna see!”

“Smell blood…” The little creature shivered. “Smell blood… Shouldn’t be here, Rhemi-Roo! Shouldn't be here!”

The child’s adventurous excitement then melted away as an eerie sense of unease took hold of her as she approached the rusty door. It looked to be an old safe door. 

Behind the door was Rhemi’s father and another man about thirty years old or so, who was tied up in the middle of the room with a rope that hung from wooden rafters, but his feet still touched the floor. The man was in rough condition covered in bruises, some shallow cuts around his torso and thighs, and some of his teeth littered the floor alongside a fair amount of blood that was new and old.  

Rhemi could hear her father speaking in Charlesian to a stranger. Muriel knew that they were speaking in a different language, but somehow he understood them perfectly. “Normally I do not like to repeat myself... and I have just about run out of patients.”

“Please… Monsieur Alarie… I work for no one…” The man whimpered weakly.

“So, if you wouldn't mind, Elias…” Martin continued ignoring his pleads. “...Tell me, who sent your sorry pathetic ass to spy on me?”

“Smells like gardener.” The little ferret mutters.

“The gardener? The one we just got a month ago?” She whispered back behind the door. Rhemi liked that man. He was always so kind to her and even kept some flowers in the corner of the grounds that she liked. Why was he down here with her father? Why was he tied up?

“Please… Monsieur Alarie… I didn’t…” The man hung there for a moment as he treaded off into silence with his hand tied to chains that hung from the ceiling. Martin took in a calm sigh and hung his head before he sat back down to an old wooden chair, then suddenly used his magic to bring a large sledge hammer into the air. The man shook his head desperately begging him to stop. 

“No! No please!” The man begged. THUNK!! The sledge hammer came out with a hellish force, shattering the man’s leg bone leaving it mangled and deformed. The stranger screamed so painfully and loudly it left little Rhemi ill feeling. It even made Muriel feel sickened as he watched.

“This is what happens when you do not listen.” Martin says annoyed between his prisoner’s blood curdling screams as he leaned back into the wood chair lighting his pipe for a smoke. “I broke your left leg… Probably beyond repair. Don’t worry, I know plenty of surgeons skilled in amputations.” He says tossing the used match to the ground. “...Now, why don’t we see what happens when you break the other leg?… Or perhaps we break something that you are sure to miss…” He says as the hammer hovered over the man’s genitals.

“NO!! Please!!! Please!! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”

“Well well well!” Martin smiled as he blew out a bellow of smoke as he stood up and walked back over to the poor man. “… That's more like it, Elias.” Martin then leaned in close as the man muttered into his ear as he patted him on his head like a dog. “Give me a name.”

As Elias starts to weakly whisper in Martin’s ear for the name, a butler sees Rhemi and quietly yanks her back upstairs and shakes her and scold her. She was told a thousand times not to go anywhere near the cellar. But as soon as he started to lay in her even more, he noticed her eyes were blank and she was pale as a ghost. It all felt like things were in slow motion. Then finally, Phara ran over to her student, and the memory started to become hazy as if it was hastily scrubbed away by a spell. 

The memory of course faded away, and the ferret returned bounding and leaping away into the dark emptiness, leaving Muriel dumbfounded of what the fuck he just saw.

–———Asra & The past Rhemi———– 

Asra sat on his knees there very quietly but his eyes said it all. It was astonishing. Somehow it made sense, of course she had it. He did give it to her after all.

“But Rhemi… wouldn’t she—“

“Your Rhemi has her own heart now…” The specter half smiles with her tired lips. “Your Rhemi has had her own for a long time now….”

“… W-… When—?”

She shrugs, fighting the tears back. “—Since the masquerade…  the night Lucio came back, when all the deals with the Arcana were broken.” Her eyes stare at the half heart, gently stroking it with her thumb, the warmth always brought her comfort. “But I-… I wasn’t ready to let this go yet… besides, Rhemi was never the one who had it… I did…”

“… You know…. You always had it.” Asra mutters cupping the back of the ghost's ash-colored hands softly. “You’ve had it since the day we met…”

Now sobbing herself, the other Rhemi chokes through her tears as she glances up to him, “And you had mine…” 

For a moment Asra smiles, looking so relieved. The magician stares at it thoughtfully and he wipes his face again, hesitant to take it. “…. What will happen to Rhemi if I do take it back?” 

“Nothing…” The specter rasping replies. “She only needed your heart for a while, but like I said, over time she grew her own. You know, she’s much stronger than you think…”

He nods with a faint chuckle, “So I’ve been told..” Honestly he felt rather reassured. The new Rhemi was never a bother, Asra loved the version of her that came back to life, despite her not being the one he wanted back. But he didn’t love her like the way he did before. Over time he realized how special she was too. But the ghost was right, she already moved on, and her heart was with someone else who cared for her. And he couldn’t be more proud of that. 

Finally he cups the heart carefully in his hands and slowly pulls it towards his chest with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Rhemi.”

She forces a smile back, her face hissing and sizzling from the steady flow of tears as she gently takes her hand and twists a curl of his fluffy white hair. “I will always love you, Asra.” He pauses, looking back into her red gaze. Even though they were bloodshot, he could still see the beauty in them. They warm pools of brown and red with a deep sense of cynicism that he always thought was charming just like when they first met. Back then, she was just a messed up kid, just like him, and he loved that about her. “…I’m— I am sorry I was never brave enough to tell you that when I was—“

In one foul swoop, Asra then takes the heart in one hand, pulls the sleeve of her shirt with the other and swiftfully pulls her into his arms and he places a passionate kiss on her lips. She tasted like a crematorium and dirt, but he didn’t care. She kissed him back longingly wishing she told him her feelings long ago. But really it doesn’t matter. What was done is done.

They part as they hear a windy howl billow all around them. The tar then rippled and growled as it made a b-line towards the spector. The other Rhemi knew the tar was coming back after her. Quickly, she takes Asra’s wrist that held the severed heart, and she forcefully shoves the organ quickly to his chest. He shutters as the remaining air in his lungs l was pushed out, but then he could feel a rush of warmth seeping behind his torso. He inhaled almost laboriously and looked down to his now empty hand. He could only watch helplessly as the other Rhemi was ripped away as a heavy current dragged her down into oblivion as he felt the emptiness in his chest finally dissipate. 

“Rhemi!—” he faintly mutters and he watches her disappear. The world started to become hazy, feeling a strange sense like he was being pulled away as well, yet the tar still left him alone. 

“RHEMI!!!!”

—————

Outside in the real world, Julian was on his third or fourth cup of highly caffeinated black tea as he flipped through an old diary that was in the chest that was under the stairs. It was written by Athena, the journal entailing her time that she worked for Lucio before Julian’s time. Some of it was a loosely written diary, but it was mostly notes of her research of the plague. It’s too bad the doctor never got to know the woman more, she seemed to have almost cracked the truth behind the plague years before he even came close. It was honestly an interesting read and he found himself rather engrossed in her writings. 

He was about to take a sip of his very hot tea when Asra suddenly jolted violently, arching his back then collapsing back to the floor with a sharp inhale as if something had punched him square in the chest and he was trying to gasp for air. Startled, the tea went flying as the doctor shuttered. But then quickly, he placed the cup down with a loud CLUNK on the table and dashed to his partner’s side on the floor. “Asra??” He mutters, running his long fingers through the magician's white hair worried that something had gone terribly wrong.

“Rhee-….mi” He muttered as he shifted his shoulders. He was still asleep. “Rem.. wait…” he sleepily spoke under his breath again before settling down again. 

The tension in Ilya’s shoulders relaxed as soon as his partner calmed back down. This wasn’t the first time Asra muttered her name when he was asleep. The doctor never really got upset about it, he understood their relationship was rather complex and he still had moments where he didn’t seem to be over her. Let’s face it… It’s hard to get over someone who you brought back to life, not to mention after sacrificing so much for them. It was slightly confusing sometimes, and he’d be lying if he didn’t feel a little jealous of it from time to time. But who knows what was happening in the dream realm right now… 

Unwilling to disturb the trio’s dreamy work, the red headed doctor sighed as he pulled his hand away from Asra’s scalp then stood to his knees so he could return to his spilled cup of tea. But Asra wrinkled his face with a low groan and in his unconsciousness he grabbed Ilya’s wrist. Surprised, the doctor froze in place and only used his eyes to glance at the other two. Were they all waking up? Was it over? Was Rhemi going to be okay? But his silent questions were only replied with more silence. They were all still as they could be, but Asra was still stirring and mumbling incoherently. Fearful that he’d woken up much too early, and unaware of what was happening inside this dream realm, the doctor slowly sat back down and placed his hand back to Asra’s hair. Instantly the magician seemed to calm back down and fall back to full sleep. Julian then nodded his head and smiled as he petted his white hair again. “I’m here Asra…” he whispered lovingly. This was one of the rare times when the magician wanted to be cuddled and his hair fondled, and Julian refused to let this slip past him.

Julian then stared at the spilt tea on the ground realizing it was going to stain the only carpet that seemed to have survived the botched dinner party with Martin. He sighed defeatedly. “…Rhemi’s gonna kill me when she wakes up….” He then glanced back towards her still sleeping deeply on the velvet couch with a somber look. “…If she ever wakes back up…”

✨To be continued...

[Well... Hello there! It's been a very long long time my sweet sweet trash pandas. I have missed you all so very much. A little update in my life if you haven't seen, I had kiddo of my own just last year! I am officially a Mother Llama! So as you can image, life has been very very crazy. I am still so sorry it has taken me so fucking long to finish this damn thing. Part of me wants to just let it go, but I've honestly wrote about 75% of it at this point and just want to complete this project. Can't promise when this thing will be done, but I will try my damnest to keep cracking away at it! Anyways, thank you guys as always for reading my hot garbage! Mother Llama hopes you all are doing amazing <3]

In an instant, the small amount of brightness in his face falls as he continues to read and stands to his feet. Confused, he shakes his head and quickly goes to the next page. “This…. this is just a copy of a damn death certificate dated from over four years ago and some… deed?….. I don’t know a peasant woman named Rhemi.... Who would—” Words then die in his throat as he turns to the next page. All of the color in his face starts to drain as he sees the next page with a single phrase on it. 

“We’re all flying with the birds now…. Farewell, Père. —Your Little Pigeon”

Martin’s arms suddenly fall limp to his sides, dropping the letter and the two certificates along with it and they flutter to the ground. Bartholomew tilts his head about to pick up the papers from the ground. “M-Master?…. Are you alrig—?”

“—Get out…” Martin whimpers under his breath, his lifeless eyes blankly staring off into the marble fireplace as his mind stitches the pieces together.

Bartholomew freezes half crouched reaching out for the letter and confusingly replies, “....M-Monsieur?—”

Martin’s pale white face quickly flashes into a red hot hue as his voice crescendos from a faint mutter into a terrible roaring scream. “I…. said….. GET…. OUT!!!!” Grabbing the small table next to his chair, he swings it over his head with two of its legs—BAAMMM!!! CRACK!!! THUD!—

Bartholomew quickly ducks down, protectively covering his head, dazed as the solid wood furniture smashes against the wall into hundreds of pieces. With the sudden violent outburst, Beatrix makes a startled chattering hissing noise as she darts under the chair. “—NOW!!!! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING PIECE OF GODDAMN PIG SHIT!!!!” Martin screams with all his might.

The servant hastily sprints out the door, nearly struck by a heavy flying silver candelabra and pulls the door handle shut. Before he can, Beatrix squeezes herself through the crack in fear of being trapped inside, narrowly escaping this blind rage and scurries off down the hallway growling and snarling that almost sounded like a child crying.

Inside the doors, with a guttural grunt, Martin snatches up the book he was reading and slams it into the fireplace. The fire roars as the book's seams smolder and even starts to pop and hiss loudly from the oily pages burning. Pacing his study like a lion in a tiny cage, Martin then searches for what he could destroy. His face blood red and a million thoughts race through his skull. Rhemi Niamh. Niamh??…. That’s a goddamn Travelish surname. “My daughter. A noble child. DIED TAKING ON A FUCKING DIRTY TRAVELISH NAME???”

—SMASSH!!!

“SHE DIED A FUCKING LOWLY COMMONER?!”—RRRRRIIIIIIIPPP!!! 

“IN VESUVIA OF ALL FUCKING PLACES? WHY DID IT HAVE IT BE FUCKING VESUVIA??!” —CLANK-CLANK-CLANK!!!— “I HATE VESUVIA!!! AND SHE FUCKING DIED IN THAT FILTHY PLACE?! JUST LIKE THE OTHER FILTH THAT LIVES THERE?!” —BOOM!!!! KIR-CLANK!!!

Bit by bit, he rips apart the chamber, breaking apart all of the fancy furniture, smashing once prizes foreign porcelain vases, tearing down the satin currents, denting very carefully crafted gold and silver sconces. He even shifts his hands into sharp talon like claws with his magic, digging them into the wall leaving huge gashes and fraying the fashionable dark green wallpaper. Turning his attention towards another stationary victim, he rips up the canvas of a large expensive painting of the mountainous countryside that hangs on the wall; Screaming with such hate and rage like a rabid animal. With his breath shallow and heavy, he stands in the middle of his study, still not yet satisfied as his magic courses through his hot blooded body. Conjuring his energy in his hands, he throws them both up above his head then swifty throws them down again, throwing dozens of heavy books from a wall of shelves, making them rain down to the carpeted floor and quaking the entire chateau. He repeats this over and over again until the shelves are bare and empty like the feeling in his chest. Once there are no more books, he paces in circles, ripping clumps of his plum gray hair out, kicking up some of the loose pages scattered across the ground as he screams at the top of his lungs. His magic swirls violently all around him and manifests it into metallic spikes, shredding the carpet, the walls, the doors, the books and their pages. Ribbons of paper flurry down like the frigid snowy blizzard outside. 

“THAT….. FUCKING WHORE!!! HOW DARE SHE STEAL MY CHILD FROM ME!!!!” 

Behind the door, the servants darn not enter nor even check on the master. They do however keep close to his chamber quietly murmur with one another, shocked at the severity of this episode. The Archmagister has had fits of violence and rage before, but nothing quite close to this. Carefully, Bartholomew awaits a foot or so away from the door in fear of being accidentally impaled or maimed.

Back inside, nearly exhausted, Martin doubles over catching his breath in his now fatigued lungs. Heaving furiously as sweat drips from his forehead, temples, and nose, his face blood red, vessels billowing up, veiny and bulged. A flash of gold catches his eye and he glances up, wiping away the sweat with his forearm as he sees a rouge painting he missed near the doors hidden behind a dusty white linen sheet. 

Realizing that he had one more good thing left to destroy, he storms over with teeth gnashing and claws out, ready to obliterate it. Ripping the cloth off the wall with a hateful sounding grunt, his clawed taloned hands digging into the thick gold-leaf wooden frame, teeth grinding so hard it is painful, ready to tear the artwork into tiny pieces as four familiar faces stare back at him. 

Suddenly, he stops dead in his tracks, his eyes finally scan the painting... completely unaware what was hanging there all these years, covered up. Forgotten. 

A portrait.

Florence, Rhemielia, and himself in this very room with a young scrawny Beatrix draped across his shoulders and a large fire roaring in the background. It was the last painting of his family before they were taken away. All the anger seemingly dissipates, giving away to the harsh sorrow he was so desperately running away from. 

No longer having the nerve, his sharp claws retract back and he smooths the frayed edges wishing he never touched it. He quietly shifts into his normal hands as he delicately releases the frame that has minimal damage, slowly taking a single step back. The portrait took up a good portion of the wall; his eyes scan up and down multiple times, studying the artwork as he finally catches his breath. Taking in every paint stroke, every color, every single detail that he hasn’t seen in such a long time. Rhemielia and Florence’s faces were perfectly rendered, matching nearly how he remembered them, give or take a few minor details he asked the artist to change. And as he looked at himself, he remembered how happy he was here, even though you’d never have known with his stoic expression. This one was actually one of his favorite pieces he had ever commissioned. He and his wife wore their best jewels, his favorite dress which was the latest fashion at the time. Little Rhemielia was so pretty in her light blush dress embroidered with delicate white lace and blue flower embellishments. She looked so much like her mother here…. No. She looked like Mairead… His sister. Those eyes. Those large red doe eyes…. Even with them, Rhemiliea was simply beautiful. His only child. A large wave of regret washed over him, wishing he’d never made the artist paint them a chestnut brown to match her mother’s. He used to hate seeing them so much, they just reminded him of dirty Travelish blood. Yet at this very moment, he would give anything to gaze into her deep shade of burgundy irises again. He then recalls how they would gleam in the sunlight and look like two large rubies. And for that moment, a tiny second, he thought they were just lovely despite his better judgment. 

Slowly, Martin turns away, no longer able to look at the ghosts that stare back at him. He covers mouth with his scarred burnt right hand, dampening a hard hiccup, and presses his spine against the same wall as the portrait. Finding himself rather exhausted, he surveys the damage and chaos he had created. As he looks all around to his once prized possessions with the bits of paper and dust still swirling all around him. It’s a goddamn mess. The room felt so large with nothing on the walls and for the first time since he was a young, he felt so microscopic and puny in his own environment. Unexpectedly, an overwhelming painful surge strikes his chest. The chaotic magic that swirled around starts to settle down and feels now like drizzly heavy rain before completely retreating back to his body. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he can’t stop himself from choking up, unable to remember the last time he had wept. Helplessly incapable of containing his tears as they stream down his face. Sluggishly, he slides down the wall, pushing back his disheveled plum and gray hair from his face, his knees drawn up into his torso like he did when he was a child. Just like when he lost his mother when he was but a boy… just like he did when he found Mairead hanging from her neck from a tree branch in the woods all those years ago.

The very seemingly proud and arrogant man sits there, weeping his heart out on the floor, mourning the loss of his only daughter. With a trembling hand, he pulled out a tiny pink pearl bracelet he keeps in his interior vest pocket that laid over his heart, clutching it tightly to his chest. Rhemielia always wore it, he gave it to her on her ninth birthday after traveling to the salty seas during a business for the king, he was promoted to the Chamberlain and wanted his daughter to have the finest things in life. She loved that bracelet, she never took it off, yet this precious trinket of hers was left behind that dreadful day she was taken. He found it amongst the rubble of his home and all these years he took it with him everywhere he went.

 “... Pigeon… My little Pigeon..... No…… not my child, oh, gods….. not my baby... Why?..... Why did you have to take her from me, Phara?—You stupid cunt.......” His fist clutches the small trinket and he closes his eyes tightly. “...Oh god…. my little girl is dead….” The pain in his chest. This agony.... This pain is unbearable.

Outside the door, Bartholomew finds himself taken aback as he hears his Master’s sobering mutters. The man has worked for the Archmagister for a long time, ten years to be exact. Over the years, he watched him drown himself in diplomatic work, took on an apprentice, and kept himself very busy. All these accomplishments, the riches he gathered, the titles he gained, one would think it would make anyone a little happy, and yet he always seemed to be joyless. Personally, Bartholomew had never met his master’s wife nor his daughter, many of the servants quit or never came back after the infamous fire. No one really knows why or knows what exactly happened either, only rumors and far fetched conspiracies with little to no weight behind them. Not many others knew them either, it was said that Sir Martin barely took his child to court, when he did he’d cover her face with a white vail and her mother kept her glued to her side. It was thought she was rather frail and ill and possibly unsightly. His commoner wife was always relentlessly bullied and slowly withdrew from attending social gatherings the last few years she was with him. 

Martin rarely spoke of either of them. And the servants knew better than to ever bring them up or ask of them. The last maid who entered the child’s old room to dust it was punished severely and made an example out of… The seldom times Martin did speak of them, his icy cold demeanor melted slightly, his face would soften, and his eyes even brightened. He would always say that they were both like rays of sunlight in the middle of a hurricane. “They always brighten the darkest of places with their light.”

Bartholomew knew that his master had been searching for his wife and daughter for a long time. Everyone in Charlès knew the tragic tale of the Archmagister’s wife and daughter being kidnapped by a Throthian woman named Phara who was once Rhemielia’s private tutor. The woman had to be very powerful to leave the King’s Magician in such a dire state. Nearly fifteen years have passed, the rest of the court had given up and even forgotten about it all some time ago, but he never stopped searching… Traveling far and wide, sending letters to various kingdoms, regions, and city states offering a very large reward for their safe return. So when this long awaited news came, Bartholomew hoped it would give Martin some kind of solace. But he was wrong. Very. Very. Wrong.

Bartholomew had believed Master Martin was incapable of feeling anything other than annoyance and pride. He was a tough man to work for. Harsh, demanding, cold, but as the butler continued to press his ear to the door, he realized in that moment he was human too.

This man behind this door was indeed just that. A man. A man with feelings and emotions…. A man in tremendous pain…. Worst of all, this man was alone. 

Bartholomew finally peels his ear away from the mahogany door and his heart unexpectedly ached. As he turns back around, he sees most of the servants staring at him eager for the good gossiping material. “Unbelievable..” He murmurs under his breath “...Nothing to see here…. get back to your duties.” He hushly mutters shooing them along. They all quickly glance at one another, still standing there stupidly like a herd of sheep. “Well—Go on!!” He quietly snaps. “...Give him some dignity. This is obviously a private matter for the gods’ sake!” Finally, one by one, they all go back to their duties leaving the hall barren once more. Now alone, Bartholomew slowly traveled down the hallway to fetch his master a bottle of expensive brandy and to draw him a hot bath.

As he enters the cold damp cellars, he can’t help but think about his own family. He also has a daughter, three in fact, along with a young son. His eldest is close to the late Rhemielia’s age and is married and pregnant with his first grandchild. He was proud of them, loved them dearly, they could be annoying and bicker with one another, but his wife and his children mean the world to him. The thought of losing any of them…well… He just couldn’t bear it… He at least had people to come home to. Other than the paid help, Sir Martin lived in this large chateau solely and with his familiar. It’s a beautiful home. Made up of the many rooms and the lavish architecture, many gardens and lush green lawns, it is the envy of many people even in the court. But to Barthelmew, he knew otherwise… This place was a pretty ornate but empty box with a velvet cushion inside. It's beautiful but it was devoid of anything precious to protect. What's the point of a pretty box with nothing to hold in it?

There’s no such thing as a wealthy servant, but being the butler for a high official and the king’s right hand man was still a very modest living compared to others in this city. It kept his family well fed and he was able to save up for a decent dowry for his daughters so they could marry well and so his son could have a higher education. That’s rare here in this country. He didn’t absolutely adore his master, but he did seem to be one of the few people who could at least tolerate him. He may not care for him like some servants care for the family they serve, but he could respect the man’s talents and ambitions. None of these titles were given at birth, he earned them all. So in turn he couldn’t help but be sympathetic towards him as well. After all…. How could you not pity a man who had fought for everything he owned and yet had everything taken from him at the same time.

“I wonder…..” Bartholomew muttered to himself as he carried a sealed bottle of brandy and a goblet back to his master’s study. 

“…Is this what true self sabotage looks like?”

_________(Present day after part 8)_________

Marching towards the wharf, his forehead and nose still trickling blood, the Archmagister makes his way to his ship too furious to feel all his injuries. Tears reaming his eyes as he reaches into his breast pocket he clutches the small pearl bracelet and he chokes them down.

Suddenly a large dark ball of fur scurried up the wharf catching up with him. Silently, Beatrix follows behind him sensing that things didn’t go well, and that her master was completely distraught.

As Martin finally approaches the port, the Charlès guards snap up into formations and more make their way up the dock that holds their vessel. All the men on deck stand to attention when they see the King’s magician headed their way, but all of them taken aback at his disheveled state. As news catches like fire among the men, the captain hurries from his private quarters to meet him at the ramp half dressed in his uniform from his ‘company’, blindsighted by this interruption. 

“Monsieur, Alarie.” The captain says with a quick salute. Noticing the blood, the capitan’s eyes widen as Martin keeps walking towards his chambers, and he quickly offers him a white handkerchief. “Your Excellency, you-you’re bleeding… What… What happened to–”

Snatching the handkerchief out of the captain’s hand, he finally stops and snaps it open while snarling, “—None of your concern, Captain.” As he presses the linen to the cut making his skin sting and wipes away the blood. Pushing through his shutter, Martin continues his orders, still rather cooly sounding, pretending as if nothing had happened. However it was clear with his body language and the cadence in his words he obviously still had a very short fuse. “...Tell your men to fetch Bartholomew and my things immediately from the palace. Then we are to set sail for the Southern Colony.”

Confused, the captain shakes his head looking towards his first mate. “But, Monsieur—The final trade meeting is tomorrow. The king had direct orders to complete negotiations with the western trade route. We’re not due to leave until–GAAAAH!!!”

Suddenly a rope from the mainsail flies over and curls around the Captain's neck, stopping him mid sentence and lifting him a foot off the deck and Martin’s hand swirling with a metallic-like magic.

“…I said. We. Are. To. Set. Sail.” Martin hisses quietly through his tight jaw and nostrils flared staring into the capitan’s eyes as some of the small blood vessels break and he grasps for the rope. “Do I appear to be the kind of man who likes to repeat myself, Captain?” The first mate stands terrified, unsure what to do as he glances between his captain and the Archmagister.

Martin leans in even closer to the poor choking man with a small eerie demeaning smile as the rope tightens around his neck. “When I say we are leaving for the Southern Colony, you are going to weigh anchor and sail to the Southern fucking Colony. And if you don’t… I will find someone who will… Do I make myself clear, Captain?”

Unable to talk let alone breath, the captain nods his head in desperation while holding the rope with his hands so the weight of his body doesn’t break his neck.

“... Good,” Martin exhales and relaxes slightly and flicks his wrist. The rope finally goes limp and frees the man’s throat. As he gasps for air on the wooden plants deck, Martin stares him down and leans into his face whispering. “Never. Ever. Question me again, Captain. It would do you good to remember that you are expendable.”

“O-....Oui, A-Archmaigster, Sir.” Absolutely terrified, the Captain replies raspily, still clenching his now rope burned neck. 

“Splendid…” Rolling his eyes at the poor sight, Martin straightens himself up and tosses back his now bloody handkerchief down back to the captain. “...Get the fuck up. You look pathetic wriggling about in front of your men.” 

Struggling to his feet, the first mate and other crewmen come swarming to his side and aid him until he gains his footing. “I’m fine! Leave me be!” He snaps with a strain in his voice as he stares loathingly towards the Archmagister unable to retaliate as collects himself. “We set sail in an hour…”

The first mate nods his head and reluctantly shouts, “Réveillez l'équipage! Nous devons appareiller dans une heure!” 

Martin angrily trundles over towards his quarters, slamming the door shut with his magic as Beatrix barely makes it inside and hides in the corner. He then snaps his fingers igniting all the lamps and illuminates his rather large seafaring courtiers. All the while he pulls out papers from his side pocket that he was mailed three months ago and sits at his large ornate desk, shuffling through them until he finds the one he was looking for. As he reads the paper carefully, he combs through it over three times and nods his head to himself. Without a single doubt in his mind, an eerie confident smile takes over his face, cooling his fury. As a satisfied chuckle finally leaves his lips he reaches for the wine sitting in the corner of his desk, pops the cork with his thumb and takes a long swig straight out of the bottle as he stares at the paper with malicious intrigue.

“... I will have you back, Pigeon.”

______________________________

Muriel presses his ear up to Rhemi’s limp chest, he can still hear her heart beating, and she’s very quietly breathing. But she's just too still after just being completely hysterical only a few brief moments ago. “Rhemi….. Rem! Wake up!!..... RHEMI!” Gently, he tries to shake her, but she doesn’t open her eyes. “.....Please wake up, beautiful…. Please….” Tears just stream down his face. She…. looks… like she's dead….

Asra places his hand on Muriel’s shoulder making him start a bit. “...She’s just passed out. It’s ok, Muri. It’s happened before. She used all her magic again.”

Reluctantly Muriel nods his head and quickly wipes away the tears. He’s witnessed her pass out before…. but not quite like this. Something about it made him terrified. It’s like she just… shut down. Mentally and physically shut down. Tenderly he scoops her into his large arms and takes her to the nearby couch on the opposite side of the room, being careful of all the glass littered on the floor while Asra fetches a cool damp washcloth to place on her forehead. 

The hermit doesn’t leave her side, sitting beside her on the wooden floor, petting her hair comfortingly and watches her chest rise and fall very slowly. Somehow she still looks like she's in great deal of pain.

Asra takes one look around the shop and huffs. It’s a fucking mess…. Potions, ingredients, powders, elixirs, everywhere– Luckily, the counter was able to be fixed with a quick spell, but the rest of the shop wasn’t as fortunate. In the chaos, all the glass and their contents mixed together, rendering them completely useless. Not only that, but the stairs are even damaged and they’ll need a carpenter to fix some of the steps. With a heavy sign and a flick of his wrist, he summons two brooms and a dustpan to start cleaning up the mess. Slowly, the floor started to look a little better with each sweep.

Taking a little break, he glances over to the couch where she continues to lay motionless. He knew Rhemi to have a lot of raw magical abilities before…. but never has she demonstrated something to this degree. His ears still partly ring after that ungodly sound she made. He never really has been frightened of her powers, but the anger and pain in her was so overwhelming, he was foolish to not be a little wary. 

The small coo-coo clock bell chimed. An hour has now passed, yet Rhemi hasn’t even made a slight stir other than a few sleepy jolts.

Muriel tries shaking her awake a little more, but still nothing. Both Muriel and Asra’s anxieties grow a bit more. Asra starts to pace a little and Faust slithers over to the couch and curls up around her right hand as if to hug her. “...Sleepy?” 

“I… I don’t know, Faust.” Asra murmurs, watching as Muriel runs his finger through her brownish-red hair. 

Asra places his hands over his hip and glances back at the clock again, it’s now a quarter after the hour, and he’s had just about enough of this. “I’m going to get Ilya.” Asra finally says. Muriel stays silent as he gently strokes his fiancée’s cheek with his thumb. She usually leans into his touch, even when asleep, but still there is nothing. “...Muri?” Asra whispers, placing his hand comfortingly on his friend’s broad left shoulder.

Finally, Muriel turns with a sharp inhale, his eyes still red, puffy, and wet as he nods firmly patting Asra’s draped hand and mumbles, “...Go.” 

Without even taking his coat or hat, Asra rushes out the door and races straight towards the doctor’s clinic. Julian isn’t all that far away, just down the street. But tonight, it feels like miles and miles away, and his stomach starts to turn the further away he is from his best friends. What is gonna happen to her? What if she doesn’t wake up? What will Muriel do? What will I do?? At last, he gets to the door and unceremoniously bursts right in without knocking. “—ILYA!” He shouts.

Julian jumps from his desk in the corner from his journal and is a bit surprised at his lover’s urgency. “Asra, dear, er, w-what ever is the—”

“It’s Rhemi!”

“R-..Rhemi??.... What? What’s wrong?? Did–Did something happen?? Is she hurt?!” He jumps to his feet automatically grabbing a bag throwing a few things in, knowing that something was terribly wrong. “Asra! Tell me!!!” He demands, doctor mode fully kicking in. 

Poor Asra being so disheveled, he rubs his forehead trying to think straight. “I-I… I don’t know! She…. just….. passed out!”

“But… doesn’t she do that all the time–?” Julian replies without looking up from packing.

“–Yes! Yes! I know! But this time she isn’t waking up—It’s been over an hour already!”

Julian keeps asking questions as he hastily zips around the clinic tossing things he thinks he’ll need in his bag, including a few of his trusty leeches. “—Is she breathing??”

“Yes. Muriel has been glued to her side, making sure she is.”

“Her pupils?? Are they dilated?”

“I… Shit—I didn’t check!”

“How is her heart beat?” 

“Fine, I—I think…. Muriel didn’t say anything about it—It’s like she’s asleep, but she won’t wake up! No matter what we do!”

Julian pauses for a moment thinking to himself. “Hmmmmm….. Odd....” He shakes his head and hands Asra his bag while he throws on his jacket.

“Odd… odd?? What do you mean, odd??? Can you help her or not, Ilya??”

After strapping on his eyepatch and donning his gloves, Julian finally sees this distought nature of his lover and he cups his face tenderly, soothing him instantly. “Asra, darling. I’ll be alright… I’m going to do what I can. Okay?”

A few tears roll down the magician's face and he nods cupping the doctor’s wrists. “I know….. Sorry…”

Taking back the bag from Asra with one hand, Julain grabs his hand with the other and then they both sprint back to the shop without another word. Having Ilya there by Asra’s side made him feel grounded in a way, he felt stronger, even braver. Julian had been studying a lot for over a year. He’s not the same hack leech obsessed plague doctor he used to be. Asra squeezes his hand a little tighter as they arrive back to the shop.

As they both enter, Julian takes a quick gander around confused at the mostly empty shelves that are always filled with glass bottles and ingredients, then sees the visible cracks in the front counter. What in the name of the gods happened here?? He ponders to himself, but decides at this very moment that it isn’t important and brushes it off for the time being. Muriel still clung to Rhemi’s side where Asra left them close by her side. 

Julian rips off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, then opens his bag, pulling out a small looking brass horn of some kind, he then carefully pats Muriel on the shoulder. “... Hey, big fella…. I need to evaluate her.” Muriel takes in a deep breath, then glances up at him. Julian has never seen the poor guy like this before. His eyes are pleading, looking so helpless, ‘help her’. Julian gives him a very serious determined nod and Muriel then stands up and moves aside.

Asra takes his hand and surprisingly Muriel squeezes back. “It’s gonna be okay, Muri.” His eyes meet his tall friend’s, he can tell that he is not at all convinced, but he nods anyway.

Julian sits on his knees and gets quickly to work. He doff one of his gloves and touches her cheek with the back of his hand. He then takes the damp washcloth from her forehead and places his full palm on it. “..Ahhh.. Well, no fever. But that doesn't explain why she’s sweating...” He mutters.

He then takes the small horn placing the wider part of the bell on her chest and puts his ear towards the small part. He stays there for a moment and moves it a few times while listening for something. Finally, Julian sits back up, removing the horn. “..Er....Her heart rhythm and lungs sound fine….” He takes her radial pulse from her wrist and watches the clock for almost half a minute. “Her pulse is a little slow…. Did she vomit or anything?... Convulse?” He asks half turning his neck so Muriel and Asra can hear him. 

“N- No. She just…. stopped…. moving….” Asra answers. 

“...It was like she collapsed.” Muriel mutters.

“That's interesting….” Julian mumbled to himself, examining her up and down, thinking. He then opens her right eye to look at her pupils but then is shocked by what he finds. “Wooh–That's….. very… er…. interesting….”

“What?? What’s wrong???” Muriel quickly moves back closer, terror in his voice. 

“Well...ah.... you two come take a look at this.” He waves them over and the two lean over him to look down at her with anticipation. 

“What is it?? Do you know what’s wrong with her??” Muriel asks desperately.

“Well… no. Not quite yet… but look.” Julian says, opening her right eye again, as it darts back and forth rapidly.

“She’s….. she’s dreaming?” Muriel mutters. 

“Looks to be that way. What exactly happened before she fainted??” Muriel and Asra’s face twist slightly and they exchange angry looks, feeling the exact same hate. “Well?? Wh-what happened???” Julian shrugs feeling completely left out.

“Her father…..” Muriel finally answers, shaking his head, feeling furious all over again and rubs his freshly cut up and bruised knuckles. 

“... Martin?? What about that old jerk?” Julain sneers, it seems that everyone feels the same about that man.

“... Asra found an old portrait of her mother and her Aunt…. And well….” Muriel trails off for a moment unsure how to say the next part. “....Apparently Athena—Rhemi’s Aunt who owned the shop—Well .... Apparently she wasn’t her aunt after all….. Her real name was Phara or something? Or it was? I don’t really know…. But from what I gathered, when they lived in Charlès, Rem’s mother had an affair with her… then they all three ran away to Vesuvia. Apparently they all changed their names when they came here.”

 “... They all lied about it…. Rem never told me the truth…” Asra adds still taking all of this in as well. “... Why didn’t she tell me back then?”

“Maybe…” Muriel starts to say as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, thinking about how Rhemi was back then. “... She didn’t know how to? If you think about it, they were all wanted by Charlés.” 

“Oh….. oh my….” Julain replies, scratching his scalp. “That’s….. ahhhh…. hmmm. A lot to, er, unpack there.....”  

Muriel opens and closes his mouth a few times, before being able to get out the words, he’s so angry and upset at the same time and it makes it difficult to make sense. “He….he told Rem that Athena or… Phara, I guess it was—brainwashed her mother and convinced her to take Rhemi with her… Forced both of them to come here… Kept saying she didn’t belong here…That she didn’t belong with…. me….He saying such awful things…. Then she… she started to have this horrible migraine. She was crying, she was in pain.... She was in so much pain…” Muriel eyes water up again but he chokes them down. “She begged him to stop… But that fucking bastard didn’t even care! He just went on and on and on, saying these awful things…”

“We tried to stop him, but he made a barrier with his magic…. We couldn’t get to her…” Asra fills in.

“T-.... Then he…. he fuckin’ picked her up by her hair ....” Muriel says slowly, shaking his head. 

Tears overwhelm the hermit and he presses his lips together tightly, still shaking his head and Asra pats his arm. “It’s alright, Muri. We did everything we could.”

“.... He…. What?!” Julian’s expression goes from shock to pure rage as the information sinks in and he stands to his feet, whipping his head around searching for the dickbag who claimed to be her loving long lost father. “Where’s the fucker now?!”

“Gone…” Muriel barks, staring hard and cold at the wooden floorboards, part of him wishing he decked that fucker in the face for hurting his soon-to-be wife. “...Rhemi kneed him, got him to let go— then she made this…. terrible screech…. It broke the barrier, along with all of the other things in the shop.” 

“....We pushed him out, and surprisingly he just… left down the street. Then she passed out soon after that…. I feel like he gave up too easily.” Asra says feeling a bad pit in his stomach.

Julain then pulls a small vile from his bag and pops it open. The sharp smell of ammonia filled the air and the three of them blinked from the strong odor as he waved it carefully by her face. Even with the smelling salts she moved uncomfortably, but did not wake. Asra and Muriel quickly met one another’s eyes in disbelief. That should have worked. 

Frustrated, Julian puts the cork back on the small bottle and stands back to his feet and faces the Asra and Muriel. He shakes his head while running his fingers through his thick curly red hair staring at his shoes, poundering to himself. “Hmmmmmm…. Well…ahhh… Medically…. I can’t find anything wrong with her….but… healthy people don’t just fall asleep and don’t wake back up like this… but then again, most people don’t come back from the grave either. Our Rhemi is rather…. An anomaly for a lack of a better word. So maybe her illness is too?”

“...I thought you said you could help.” Asra grumbles.

“I said I would do my best…” Julian faintly replies, knowing that his partner is just still upset. “... All we can do now is wait…”

Julian was right, despite the frustration of Asra and Muriel, shaking didn’t work, cool water didn't work, even smelling salts didn't revive her. What else was there to be done? It’s as if she was locked in a dream. So… what else to do other than just wait it out?

Hours then flew by, unsure what to do, the three of them just sat there. Just waiting. Hoping. Praying she’d just wake up. Soon the outside started to brighten up and the lamplighters started to douse the lanterns in the streets. And still nothing. Asra finally makes a fresh pot of tea for them all having nothing else to do. 

As Asra hands Muriel a cup, he suddenly feels a strange sensation of a warm feather brushing against his cheek. As he looked all around him confused, there was nothing there, and Asra was across the room now over to Ilya. He realizes he can smell something eerily familiar. 

“Wait….. Do you feel that??” Asra says quietly, feeling the same presents. At the same time he takes out the tarot cards.

Julain sharply looks around, yet keeping very still unaware and shakes his head confused.  “....errrrr… Feel what, Love??”

“Shhh–” Asra places his pointer finger to his lips so he can still concentrate on this feeling as he looks at his tarot deck. He senses a particularly strong feeling from one in the middle, as he flips the card over he doesn’t know what to make of it. It is The Fool in reverse. “Rem… is this you?” He whispers looking intensely at the card trying to see what they're trying to tell him.

Muriel reaches out his large hand, feeling a very familiar warm aura hovering over Rhemi’s incapacitated body; it was faint, but still palpable. It’s some of Rhemi’s magic…. except… it didn’t feel exactly like hers…… It smells like ash… It feels like somehow whatever it is is reaching out for them.

Muriel then stands to his feet, wiping his wet face and nods his head glances at his friends. “I think…. No…. –I know what we have to do…”

With anticipation, Asra and Julian stare up at the tall man, ready to do whatever it takes to get Rhemi out of this trance.

✨To be continued…

[*Resurrects from the dead* DID YA 'LL MISS ME?? I missed all of you guys! I still really wanted to write this story because it bothered me I left it not completed. It's still a very long piece of work but I still think its a story worth telling. It was originally hard for me to tell it because it was triggering even for myself and I was struggling with self confidence and with Dorian buying out Nyx Hydra and effectively the fanbase dying out etc. etc., but even if I have one or two people reading this, it still makes me happy that I can give something to you! I am still creating and still writing, and I am healthiest (mentally I have been in a long time) I am even starting my own original story that I want to tell! It's gonna be Fantasy/Steampunk meets Westerns. So I hope I can still keep you hungry trash pandas still well feed with my hot garbage!]