[Then Amy nods enthusiastically at Henry's question.]
Uh-huh! Mama sends him letters and pictures so he knows my hair is red like his.
And guess what?
[The young girl leans closer to give Henry a conspiratorial whisper.]
When Papa comes back he's going to let me read his med... medical... [It comes out sounding like "medicool" instead.]
... Body books!
[There, she looks triumphant. Her mother is coming over to the table with plates of food rolling her eyes. Up close, Amelia shares many of her mother's traits; the shape of her face and eyes, and that faint smile hidden by a veneer of seriousness. She serves Henry first then herself and her daughter.]
"Amy, that's not proper reading material."
But I'm done reading my library books!
[Before they can continue, the doorbell rings. The mother whips her head towards the entrance, eyes wide. She's the one who moves to the door first. Amy on the other hand is frozen and she looks at Henry with equally wide eyes as if at a loss.]
[He leans in, too, when she whispers this little secret to him. Henry, despite his... everything, is oddly good with children, a character trait that stands at odds with the rest of him. But it's been ingrained in him, if not through the training pressed upon him in HNL, then the fact that he had so many "brothers and sisters", once upon a time. He settles into the role well.]
Body books. [A faint grin.] You'd be great at it, I think.
[But he knows that's not what happened, is it? She's not a doctor, she's a witch. No, her life took a turn that she could not have accounted for, but children can so very rarely account for anything at that age. Life simply tugs them along its cruel path, uncaring.
The doorbell rings. Henry straightens, glancing at Amelia, then over to her mother. Now, now, what's this? He has an idea, but he says nothing.]
[There's a cry... of joy. Amy cautiously slides out of her seat and walks to the kitchen entrance to peek from behind the wall.
At the front door, her mother is fiercely embracing a tall man in a neatly ironed suit and a shock of red hair from beneath his hat. He spins her around and their happy words are a rush of mixed questions and answers and even more joy if possible.]
"You said five o'clock!"
"I wanted to catch you off guard! And you know I've always been more than punctual."
"Oh, you—! You couldn't even let me get dinner ready? Are you tired? We should go out or... Oh, Frank, you always throw me off!"
"We'll figure it out later. Susan, where's Amy...?"
[The little girl jumps at the sound of her name. She glances uncertainly at Henry one last time before making her way to the front.
Her father's hair and beard are red just like hers. When the man locks eyes with the child they both freeze. There had been tiredness in his green eyes (darkness, war plagued, eyes that have seen too much, hopelessness and despair) but it vanishes when he sees the girl. Tiredness is replaced with something painfully pure; love (she was his reason to endure that hell). The man squats down so he can watch her at eye level. His wife puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles at Amy, beckoning her to come closer.]
"... Amelia?"
[The husband smiles his eyes misting up.]
"Amy... Button, you've gotten so big. C'mere."
[She can't hold back anymore. The girl runs to the man's outstretched arms and gets lost in his hug. The mother wraps her arms around them both. If it isn't clear before, now it was; the witch found this memory precious with the song of that day signaling what's yet to come.]
Let me stay, let me stay... Let me stay, let me stay...
[Her father picks up Amy and spins her around much to her delight. The family of three goes inside and the bearded man and Amy wave to Henry as if to invite him to join in with their jubilation.]
Let me stay, let me stay... Let me stay, let me stay...
Edited (rewording things for true literature) 2023-05-10 02:11 (UTC)
[Oh. How strange, to find a memory like this one. Coupled with a song that would more likely than not eject him from this place if his intentions were otherwise malicious. But no, today, Henry Creel is just an observer, and what he sees before him is a happy reunion. A warm and joyful one, the sort that banishes away all the weary pain and grief born from memories of war, simply to make way for this singular moment here.
And he can't relate to it.
He watches it in the same manner someone watches a fantastical show on television, wondering, but choosing not to be affected. This sight of pure joy that he could never really achieve with his own family, at least never from his own perspective. How strange, how unnatural it feels against the weight of his own powers, like oil slicking against water.
But he smiles, anyway, at her happy family, and joins them when they indicate for him to. For as long as this portion of the memory lasts. If this day is held in so high regard, it must be contrasted against something not-so-wonderful. Surely. Surely she has those, too.]
[In her memories, the days pass as a blur. Normal days, holidays, celebrations, times of grief, and healing with other families who lost their fathers, husbands, or sons. She remembers the quiet comforts of her mother and father's presence, especially the latter. Many of her memories are moments when she's sitting in her father's lap as he explains complex medical terms and diagrams and instead of horror she listens with incredible focus for a child while her mother either rested with them or busied herself with the house.
Amy continues to be a normal girl in this past life. She's more precocious than expected, perhaps more than was considered appropriate at the time. Her mother, Susan, expressed her concern, as a conscious housewife who worried about what others thought of their spirited daughter. Her father, Frank (now a doctor with his own small practice), encouraged Amelia's independence and curiosity tempered with his firm wisdom.
There is dissatisfaction and restlessness within her as she soon grows up to be of six years. Nothing out of the ordinary. The girl goes home with bruises on her knees and elbows and vents childishly about her classmates, mostly older boys who would push the younger ones around. The teacher sends home a note saying that perhaps she is too forward and unladylike. Susan purses her lips while reading the note while Frank is stern but gently pats his daughter's head and doesn't stop her from reading beyond her level.
And so the girl reads, not only books on medicine but also immerses herself in fairy tales and fables. She's not playing as much as she could be with other children after school, content to lose herself in pretend play.
It is during one of these sessions that her life is changed forever.]
🌹🌹🌹
[A man whose hair is a curtain of red, redder than hers and dressed in all black, is watching the Steinbeck family on their park outing. They have a picnic with other families and while the gaggle of children run amok to play ball or chatter away, Amy, without missing a beat, takes out her large book and goes to find a tree to take refuge under and read.
You'd think that man would be hard to miss with his gaudy long hair that reaches past his knees and his blue-tinted glasses, and most notably of all those void-like black eyes. He's contemplative as his eyes follow the girl and while she seems to be the only one who notices him, minds her own business.
Her mother told her to not talk to strangers after all.]
[He's not surprised to see these days pass as they do. Amelia does seem like she would've been a precocious child in her younger years, and these memories only establish this notion further. And in some ways, maybe only faintly, he's reminded of himself: losing his time to things that were not the other children around him -- his books, his studies, drawing, the spiders he would find in and around his house. Though she's happier than he ever was, he can see that clearly. Is he envious?
Not particularly.
Because he knows, just like himself, that there's a day coming that'll change everything. That's how these stories always go. He need only remember who Amelia is now to ready himself for it. Anticipate it.
And so it comes, in the form of another memory. He blinks, and there he is, in a park, watching little Amy unearth a book and find the sprawling shade of a tree to read beneath. Henry casts about to see what else is happening in this memory, and his eyes land squarely on a man with red hair and strange, strange eyes.
Of course he's going to step closer and greet him. Henry's wandered through memories enough to recognize a focal point, and whoever this is seems important. (A flash of red. Could it be?)]
[The man turns to face Henry (eyes that look through rather than at him) and he pairs his greeting with a friendly wave. He sticks out like a sore thumb in her memory, an existence that wasn't normal even if it had all the basics. He seems pleased to have Henry's company. His voice is deeper than expected and playful.]
The weather is perfect, picture perfect you can say.
[The stranger glances over at Amy more. The little girl had swiftly hidden her eyes behind her book and it was obvious she was staring at him a couple of seconds prior.]
Now, unfortunately, I don't think she's taking much notice of it. I think it's such a shame! Well, since you're here, do you mind if I bounce a few thoughts off of you?
[No, he seems like an anomaly, even in memory. But Henry finds it easy to put up a friendly front, and as always, his smile is warm.]
No, she isn't.
[His eyes track over to little Amy and her book, which hides her face in an almost comedically obvious way. Yes, they're being noticed; or at least, this man is. Henry is less a participant and more an observer unless he decides to change this on his own accord. Right now? He's choosing not to fiddle with old memories, letting them play out as they should.
[He makes grand animated gestures with his arms and hands as he rambles away.]
Now humans have always been around long before I decided to claim this as home. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating creatures! They make for a fantastic point of reference.
[References for what? He doesn't elaborate.]
You'd think they'd be incredibly dull, something to swipe away before they burn each other alive— Which, by the way, I won't let that happen, I would like to keep this around for as long as possible— but you see, as long as you sprinkle a bit of this, a bit of that, they'll take it away and run with it!
[He's so... Gleeful. If the light was able to pass through his eyes, they'd be shining with that of an enthusiast who is able to give a passionate spiel on their treasured topic.]
And all I have to do is sit back and watch. It's great fun, you see.
[Is it just Amelia's perception that shapes how this man is acting? Perhaps. But he had always been like this.]
Lately though, I feel the urge to take on a new creative endeavor.
[He wonders. Memories change depending upon who's doing the remembering. Either this man has a love for dramatic gesticulating, or Amelia just remembers him this way, in an almost unflattering manner.
Maybe it's both?
His brows pinch a little.]
Sorry, you'll have back up a little for me. You're not human...?
[Henry interrupts immediately, smiling. :) He can be rude, too.]
There's a difference between implying you're not human and actually expounding on that idea. No, you're just telling me what you think about humans in general, not what you are. I'm curious. Your... enthusiasm will make more sense if you explain.
[The man strokes his chin feigning deep contemplation. Amy's green eyes peek over the top of her book still staring at him, trying to figure out why she's the only one who can see him and none of the other park visitors or her parents can as people pass him and Henry by, not even looking at his gaudy appearance.]
Unfortunately, I don't have a "what" for you, young man! Will a "who" suffice instead? The "what" has always been, "not human." I don't even have a, "what" for myself if I were to be completely honest!
[Hopefully, Henry is starting to get a small inkling of why Amelia gets in a bad mood because of this figure...]
[That would be a trashfire of a thread and clearly it should happen someday.
But for now... Yes. This man's personality, contrasted with Amelia's? He can see where the frustration would churn and roil. This has to be the person she was talking about; or rather, refused to talk about during the incident with the skull.
Interesting.]
Fine. Then not "what." [Whatever. Henry can't quite say "what" he is, either, not anymore. Perhaps a better question would simply be to get a feel of this man's intentions, his abilities. He makes them sound not insubstantial, and contrasted with the memory from the skull? This is a not-man with a long, long reach.
There is something sudden in how the sunlight shifts in a different direction, the tension in the air tightening as if two invisible fingers just pinched and pulled an unseen string. The world in her memory tilts although she would have never been able to explain how it felt. The little girl stands up hugging her book and looks back and forth trying to parse the imperceptible change.]
I do love curious souls.
[The air is charged with energy and as it glides over Henry, Amy, and the other visitors, colors in the environment jump around; black and white like a television screen, red flowers become impossibly violet, and then back, clouds suddenly dot the perfectly blue sky crawling through it like eerie bugs instead of a natural force.
Amy is looking at the ground and white roses bloom in a circle around her. Her eyes widen and she kneels down again to examine the blossoms, enchanted by the sheer magic. When everything around them settles back to the way it was, only the roses remain as evidence of any tampering.
The man is turning his attention back to her. His smile never leaves his face and with no scruples and no hesitation, he starts towards her leaving Henry behind, long hair trailing behind him.
[The world shifts and changes. The colors dart around, everything is eerie and off, and Henry knows that this man is the source of it. Reality warping on a whim. This is the kind of power that Henry has over someone's mind; but this "Witch King"--or so he declares, as he begins to walk off--can simply apply this same kind of manipulation to the world?
He thinks about what the redheaded entity had said earlier. That he's claimed this world as his. That humans are so very interesting to him.
Henry's lips quirk, humorlessly, despite the usual curve of politeness it often imitates. At least the vista's back to normal now, minus the flowers that Amy's been left with.]
She's just a plaything to you, isn't she.
[But it's just a murmur. He doesn't expect a reply, not when the other has already walked off. But Henry will follow, just to see what happens now.]
[And so the scene plays out before Henry, the turning point in Amelia Steinbeck's life.
When the Witch King walks up to the child, she's already standing up, hugging her book for comfort as she stares cautiously at him. When he stops in front of her, Amy is ready with her demanding questions.]
How did you do that?
"Oh? So you noticed, didn't you? Very good."
I noticed but no one else did. That means you wanted me to see you show off!
[Smart girl. Not smart enough for what happens next. Chuckling, the Witch King squats down to her level, and his crimson hair drapes across his shoulders and back.]
"It's just a little magic. Nothing more, nothing less."
Magic...? Oh... [Although her brow wrinkles, Amy is quick to accept his words at face value. She just saw her world move around after all and the roses were still there. The stranger seems charmed by her reactions but his placid smile could mean anything at this point. He plucks one white rose out of the ground and holds it out to her.]
"Would you like to learn?"
Learn what?
"Some magic of course. You can do everything I just did if you really wanted."
[The white turns to golden yellow with pink-edged petals. Amy gasps and nearly drops her book.]
"I'll ask you again and properly this time." [He places the changed rose in her hair. One rose turns into two and then three and to her delight, her hair becomes decorated with them and she laughs at the ticklish sensation.]
"Do you want to become a witch?"
[It's such an innocent but loaded offer. How could anyone resist, much less her, a child who was already beginning to be bored by her everyday mundane life? Amelia spins around, her book forgotten and as the Witch King patiently awaits her answer, she spots Henry and points to her crown of flowers excitedly.
Would you look at this? Isn't this amazing? Isn't this wonderful?
Her emerald green eyes are so bright and overwhelmed by this discovery, handed to her directly on a golden platter.]
[As he watches this transpire, all he can think to himself is this: Not only does he think she's a plaything, but an easily manipulated one. And when Amy smiles at him, pointing to the crown of flowers adorning her head, all he can do is tilt his head and smile back encouragingly. This has already happened; there's no changing the past.
(And who is he to criticize, who is he to feel indignant at her upcoming plight? The shudder at the sea change in her life that he's viewing now? Henry considers his own motives to be less flippant and more necessary than this man's, but he can see himself doing much the same. It's easy to appeal to a child's sense of wonder; he learned that long, long ago back in the lab.)]
You look very pretty.
[Is all he has to offer her. Isn't it wonderful?
Of course. All things gilded in gold are pretty on the surface, even if they rust in the middle. What did she trade for magic? This life? Her family?
[Before she can say thank you to Henry, the Witch King's voice gets her attention again.]
"Well?"
[The girl pauses looking unsure once again.]
I... I want to learn magic. But I still have to go to school... [Surprisingly there's no protest on his part.]
"True! School is essential. There's plenty of time after school. Ah, but I should think you'll have to make more time for it as you grow older. No need to double up in the future."
[That should have been her first clue. But she lights up instead.]
So you'll be my teacher? You'll teach me all the magic and how to be a witch? [The Witch King stands up, smiling down at her pleasantly. Even then, his dark eyes intimidated her and his friendly smile balanced it.]
"Mm. Yes. Yes, you'll become such an interesting witch, my dear. We can start as soon..."
[He's interrupted by her parents calling for Amy. In the distance, they're waving her over to join them for the picnic. They do not see her newly self-appointed teacher.]
"Our lessons begin soon Amelia."
[His statement is punctuated by the sound of... A wind chime?
The Witch King gives Amelia a pat on the head. The girl looks confused now, trying to focus on three things all at once; her parents, her teacher, the wind chimes, her name being called, her parents, teacher, the visitor with blonde hair and blue eyes, what was she doing here again, she needs to go back, her father is calling her, she has to go back...!
The wind chime keeps singing, the sound of metal tubes increasing in its distress. The little girl tries to start off in the direction of her parents and she whispers.]
I wanna go back. I have to go back.
[Removing her flower crown, Amy begins to walk away but the Witch King, this memory version of her teacher that is beginning to twist and distort, has grabbed her by the face, forcing her to look into the darkness of his eyes.]
"You've accepted my offer. You can never go back."
[The child can barely whimper. Her eyes look at Henry, imploring—
And then the wind chimes overwhelm and take over.]
[The entire house is filled with the shrillness of her wind chimes, trying to awaken their witch who has overslept.
And awaken she does with a start. One wind chime had traveled to her bedroom, floating above her face and it tingled as if murmuring with worry. The witch tries to collect herself, steady her heartbeat, and breathe. What time was it? It's a weekend at least but that's the least of her worries.
What just happened in her dreams?
The wind chimes begin to die down leaving behind their soothing murmurs but they won't silence themselves since they also have a guest who needs to wake up.]
[The dream takes a turn. It all twists ominously; and Henry knows that this might be the outside influence of her mind, rather than what happened beat-by-beat, but even this knowledge is just as vital as the rest.
After all, meeting her eyes with his own, there's nothing he can do. He's almost sorry for her. Her life has begun its change at someone else's behest, and no doubt she'll find herself stuck on this path she's agreed upon, when she was too young to agree upon anything. You can never go back.
Trapped, in a way, like he was.
But then the memory slips away, and the chimes ring out.
...He opens his eyes. How long has it been? Henry's still seated at the edge of his bed, and his limbs feel sore from keeping this position for so long. He raises a hand to his nostril, feeling the slightest warm wetness there. A small amount of blood, eking.
A smile cracks across his face. Back to normal, it seems. Still, those windchimes... Are they still singing after he's "awoken"?]
[The clock in his room reads about ten minutes until ten o'clock. Not terribly late for a weekend, but for Amelia it may be. There's a wind chime that also hovers over Henry and when he awakes, it chirps and tingles its greetings and flies away back to the ceiling in the living room.
In the hallway, he can hear the sound of the witch's door creaking open but she doesn't step out. There's a muffled noise, of her slumping down against the wall instead.
All is silent now and an uneasy peace washes over the house.
Amelia is sitting against the wall, running a hand through her hair, trying to compose herself. But her thoughts are jumbled and confused; lingering in that memory of her parents, her father who held her in his arms when he returned, the unconditional love that she held onto for all those years as proof that someone valued her during those dark, dark times.
It was supposed to be a comforting memory but the vividness and clarity of that time was so blinding as a dream. She feels drained. The longing that she thinks she's tamped down comes back as the grief that never really disappeared.]
... Give me five minutes more Only five minutes more... Let me stay...
[Her voice floats down the hallway and stops as she stands up. When she makes it to the kitchen, Amelia takes a deep breath and starts making some coffee. She clears her mind. A new feeling takes over.
There are embers of irritation that are slowly turning into a fire.]
[Welp. He doesn't know if Amelia will be aware of his presence in her head, because all of it could simply be passed off as a dream. The easiest way to go about this is... to admit to nothing, to play dumb, to go about the morning as usual. He looks at the clock; almost ten. Even if it's a weekend, that's late, even for Henry.
So he dresses for the day, makes himself perfectly presentable from head to toe, and emerges from his room (did he hear her voice just a minute ago?) to walk down the corridor. He's guided into the kitchen where he assumes she is, the scent of coffee catching in his nostrils.]
Smells good. But it's a late start to your morning today, isn't it?
[Amelia is busying herself by cutting up some bread for toast. Her thoughts are focused on the task at hand but her words cut to the chase.]
The disabling rune has faded away.
[The serrated knife cuts through the thick crust. There's no follow-up from her, she just waits for Henry to reply as she puts the slices on the tray making no eye contact with him.]
[He stands quietly at the entrance to the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. He listens to the faint, faint sound of her knife cutting through the bread.]
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sunfloras2023-04-20 07:42 pm
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[Then Amy nods enthusiastically at Henry's question.]
Uh-huh! Mama sends him letters and pictures so he knows my hair is red like his.
And guess what?
[The young girl leans closer to give Henry a conspiratorial whisper.]
When Papa comes back he's going to let me read his med... medical... [It comes out sounding like "medicool" instead.]
... Body books!
[There, she looks triumphant. Her mother is coming over to the table with plates of food rolling her eyes. Up close, Amelia shares many of her mother's traits; the shape of her face and eyes, and that faint smile hidden by a veneer of seriousness. She serves Henry first then herself and her daughter.]
"Amy, that's not proper reading material."
But I'm done reading my library books!
[Before they can continue, the doorbell rings. The mother whips her head towards the entrance, eyes wide. She's the one who moves to the door first. Amy on the other hand is frozen and she looks at Henry with equally wide eyes as if at a loss.]
no subject
Body books. [A faint grin.] You'd be great at it, I think.
[But he knows that's not what happened, is it? She's not a doctor, she's a witch. No, her life took a turn that she could not have accounted for, but children can so very rarely account for anything at that age. Life simply tugs them along its cruel path, uncaring.
The doorbell rings. Henry straightens, glancing at Amelia, then over to her mother. Now, now, what's this? He has an idea, but he says nothing.]
no subject
At the front door, her mother is fiercely embracing a tall man in a neatly ironed suit and a shock of red hair from beneath his hat. He spins her around and their happy words are a rush of mixed questions and answers and even more joy if possible.]
"You said five o'clock!"
"I wanted to catch you off guard! And you know I've always been more than punctual."
"Oh, you—! You couldn't even let me get dinner ready? Are you tired? We should go out or... Oh, Frank, you always throw me off!"
"We'll figure it out later. Susan, where's Amy...?"
[The little girl jumps at the sound of her name. She glances uncertainly at Henry one last time before making her way to the front.
Her father's hair and beard are red just like hers. When the man locks eyes with the child they both freeze. There had been tiredness in his green eyes (darkness, war plagued, eyes that have seen too much, hopelessness and despair) but it vanishes when he sees the girl. Tiredness is replaced with something painfully pure; love (she was his reason to endure that hell). The man squats down so he can watch her at eye level. His wife puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles at Amy, beckoning her to come closer.]
"... Amelia?"
[The husband smiles his eyes misting up.]
"Amy... Button, you've gotten so big. C'mere."
[She can't hold back anymore. The girl runs to the man's outstretched arms and gets lost in his hug. The mother wraps her arms around them both. If it isn't clear before, now it was; the witch found this memory precious with the song of that day signaling what's yet to come.]
Let me stay, let me stay...
Let me stay, let me stay...
[Her father picks up Amy and spins her around much to her delight. The family of three goes inside and the bearded man and Amy wave to Henry as if to invite him to join in with their jubilation.]
Let me stay, let me stay...
Let me stay, let me stay...
no subject
And he can't relate to it.
He watches it in the same manner someone watches a fantastical show on television, wondering, but choosing not to be affected. This sight of pure joy that he could never really achieve with his own family, at least never from his own perspective. How strange, how unnatural it feels against the weight of his own powers, like oil slicking against water.
But he smiles, anyway, at her happy family, and joins them when they indicate for him to. For as long as this portion of the memory lasts. If this day is held in so high regard, it must be contrasted against something not-so-wonderful. Surely. Surely she has those, too.]
no subject
Amy continues to be a normal girl in this past life. She's more precocious than expected, perhaps more than was considered appropriate at the time. Her mother, Susan, expressed her concern, as a conscious housewife who worried about what others thought of their spirited daughter. Her father, Frank (now a doctor with his own small practice), encouraged Amelia's independence and curiosity tempered with his firm wisdom.
There is dissatisfaction and restlessness within her as she soon grows up to be of six years. Nothing out of the ordinary. The girl goes home with bruises on her knees and elbows and vents childishly about her classmates, mostly older boys who would push the younger ones around. The teacher sends home a note saying that perhaps she is too forward and unladylike. Susan purses her lips while reading the note while Frank is stern but gently pats his daughter's head and doesn't stop her from reading beyond her level.
And so the girl reads, not only books on medicine but also immerses herself in fairy tales and fables. She's not playing as much as she could be with other children after school, content to lose herself in pretend play.
It is during one of these sessions that her life is changed forever.]
[A man whose hair is a curtain of red, redder than hers and dressed in all black, is watching the Steinbeck family on their park outing. They have a picnic with other families and while the gaggle of children run amok to play ball or chatter away, Amy, without missing a beat, takes out her large book and goes to find a tree to take refuge under and read.
You'd think that man would be hard to miss with his gaudy long hair that reaches past his knees and his blue-tinted glasses, and most notably of all those void-like black eyes. He's contemplative as his eyes follow the girl and while she seems to be the only one who notices him, minds her own business.
Her mother told her to not talk to strangers after all.]
no subject
Not particularly.
Because he knows, just like himself, that there's a day coming that'll change everything. That's how these stories always go. He need only remember who Amelia is now to ready himself for it. Anticipate it.
And so it comes, in the form of another memory. He blinks, and there he is, in a park, watching little Amy unearth a book and find the sprawling shade of a tree to read beneath. Henry casts about to see what else is happening in this memory, and his eyes land squarely on a man with red hair and strange, strange eyes.
Of course he's going to step closer and greet him. Henry's wandered through memories enough to recognize a focal point, and whoever this is seems important. (A flash of red. Could it be?)]
Hello. It's a nice day today, isn't it?
no subject
[The man turns to face Henry (eyes that look through rather than at him) and he pairs his greeting with a friendly wave. He sticks out like a sore thumb in her memory, an existence that wasn't normal even if it had all the basics. He seems pleased to have Henry's company. His voice is deeper than expected and playful.]
The weather is perfect, picture perfect you can say.
[The stranger glances over at Amy more. The little girl had swiftly hidden her eyes behind her book and it was obvious she was staring at him a couple of seconds prior.]
Now, unfortunately, I don't think she's taking much notice of it. I think it's such a shame! Well, since you're here, do you mind if I bounce a few thoughts off of you?
no subject
No, she isn't.
[His eyes track over to little Amy and her book, which hides her face in an almost comedically obvious way. Yes, they're being noticed; or at least, this man is. Henry is less a participant and more an observer unless he decides to change this on his own accord. Right now? He's choosing not to fiddle with old memories, letting them play out as they should.
He turns his attention back to the new face.]
Off me? Sure, if you want.
no subject
[He makes grand animated gestures with his arms and hands as he rambles away.]
Now humans have always been around long before I decided to claim this as home. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating creatures! They make for a fantastic point of reference.
[References for what? He doesn't elaborate.]
You'd think they'd be incredibly dull, something to swipe away before they burn each other alive— Which, by the way, I won't let that happen, I would like to keep this around for as long as possible— but you see, as long as you sprinkle a bit of this, a bit of that, they'll take it away and run with it!
[He's so... Gleeful. If the light was able to pass through his eyes, they'd be shining with that of an enthusiast who is able to give a passionate spiel on their treasured topic.]
And all I have to do is sit back and watch. It's great fun, you see.
[Is it just Amelia's perception that shapes how this man is acting? Perhaps. But he had always been like this.]
Lately though, I feel the urge to take on a new creative endeavor.
no subject
Maybe it's both?
His brows pinch a little.]
Sorry, you'll have back up a little for me. You're not human...?
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[Well, he's honest, or memory him anyway.]
I've confided my very personal thoughts and you couldn't pick that up? I thought I was being very upfront!
[He is, however, condescending in a particularly irritating manner.]
Anyways, as I was saying—
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There's a difference between implying you're not human and actually expounding on that idea. No, you're just telling me what you think about humans in general, not what you are. I'm curious. Your... enthusiasm will make more sense if you explain.
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What, you say? What indeed. Hm.
[The man strokes his chin feigning deep contemplation. Amy's green eyes peek over the top of her book still staring at him, trying to figure out why she's the only one who can see him and none of the other park visitors or her parents can as people pass him and Henry by, not even looking at his gaudy appearance.]
Unfortunately, I don't have a "what" for you, young man! Will a "who" suffice instead? The "what" has always been, "not human." I don't even have a, "what" for myself if I were to be completely honest!
[Hopefully, Henry is starting to get a small inkling of why Amelia gets in a bad mood because of this figure...]
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But for now... Yes. This man's personality, contrasted with Amelia's? He can see where the frustration would churn and roil. This has to be the person she was talking about; or rather, refused to talk about during the incident with the skull.
Interesting.]
Fine. Then not "what." [Whatever. Henry can't quite say "what" he is, either, not anymore. Perhaps a better question would simply be to get a feel of this man's intentions, his abilities. He makes them sound not insubstantial, and contrasted with the memory from the skull? This is a not-man with a long, long reach.
Little Amelia doesn't stand a chance, does she?]
Then who are you?
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And then he smiles.
There is something sudden in how the sunlight shifts in a different direction, the tension in the air tightening as if two invisible fingers just pinched and pulled an unseen string. The world in her memory tilts although she would have never been able to explain how it felt. The little girl stands up hugging her book and looks back and forth trying to parse the imperceptible change.]
I do love curious souls.
[The air is charged with energy and as it glides over Henry, Amy, and the other visitors, colors in the environment jump around; black and white like a television screen, red flowers become impossibly violet, and then back, clouds suddenly dot the perfectly blue sky crawling through it like eerie bugs instead of a natural force.
Amy is looking at the ground and white roses bloom in a circle around her. Her eyes widen and she kneels down again to examine the blossoms, enchanted by the sheer magic. When everything around them settles back to the way it was, only the roses remain as evidence of any tampering.
The man is turning his attention back to her. His smile never leaves his face and with no scruples and no hesitation, he starts towards her leaving Henry behind, long hair trailing behind him.
But he does answer Vecna's question.]
Witch King.
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He thinks about what the redheaded entity had said earlier. That he's claimed this world as his. That humans are so very interesting to him.
Henry's lips quirk, humorlessly, despite the usual curve of politeness it often imitates. At least the vista's back to normal now, minus the flowers that Amy's been left with.]
She's just a plaything to you, isn't she.
[But it's just a murmur. He doesn't expect a reply, not when the other has already walked off. But Henry will follow, just to see what happens now.]
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When the Witch King walks up to the child, she's already standing up, hugging her book for comfort as she stares cautiously at him. When he stops in front of her, Amy is ready with her demanding questions.]
How did you do that?
"Oh? So you noticed, didn't you? Very good."
I noticed but no one else did. That means you wanted me to see you show off!
[Smart girl. Not smart enough for what happens next. Chuckling, the Witch King squats down to her level, and his crimson hair drapes across his shoulders and back.]
"It's just a little magic. Nothing more, nothing less."
Magic...? Oh... [Although her brow wrinkles, Amy is quick to accept his words at face value. She just saw her world move around after all and the roses were still there. The stranger seems charmed by her reactions but his placid smile could mean anything at this point. He plucks one white rose out of the ground and holds it out to her.]
"Would you like to learn?"
Learn what?
"Some magic of course. You can do everything I just did if you really wanted."
[The white turns to golden yellow with pink-edged petals. Amy gasps and nearly drops her book.]
"I'll ask you again and properly this time." [He places the changed rose in her hair. One rose turns into two and then three and to her delight, her hair becomes decorated with them and she laughs at the ticklish sensation.]
"Do you want to become a witch?"
[It's such an innocent but loaded offer. How could anyone resist, much less her, a child who was already beginning to be bored by her everyday mundane life? Amelia spins around, her book forgotten and as the Witch King patiently awaits her answer, she spots Henry and points to her crown of flowers excitedly.
Would you look at this? Isn't this amazing? Isn't this wonderful?
Her emerald green eyes are so bright and overwhelmed by this discovery, handed to her directly on a golden platter.]
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(And who is he to criticize, who is he to feel indignant at her upcoming plight? The shudder at the sea change in her life that he's viewing now? Henry considers his own motives to be less flippant and more necessary than this man's, but he can see himself doing much the same. It's easy to appeal to a child's sense of wonder; he learned that long, long ago back in the lab.)]
You look very pretty.
[Is all he has to offer her. Isn't it wonderful?
Of course. All things gilded in gold are pretty on the surface, even if they rust in the middle. What did she trade for magic? This life? Her family?
Was it not worth it?]
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"Well?"
[The girl pauses looking unsure once again.]
I... I want to learn magic. But I still have to go to school... [Surprisingly there's no protest on his part.]
"True! School is essential. There's plenty of time after school. Ah, but I should think you'll have to make more time for it as you grow older. No need to double up in the future."
[That should have been her first clue. But she lights up instead.]
So you'll be my teacher? You'll teach me all the magic and how to be a witch? [The Witch King stands up, smiling down at her pleasantly. Even then, his dark eyes intimidated her and his friendly smile balanced it.]
"Mm. Yes. Yes, you'll become such an interesting witch, my dear. We can start as soon..."
[He's interrupted by her parents calling for Amy. In the distance, they're waving her over to join them for the picnic. They do not see her newly self-appointed teacher.]
"Our lessons begin soon Amelia."
[His statement is punctuated by the sound of... A wind chime?
The Witch King gives Amelia a pat on the head. The girl looks confused now, trying to focus on three things all at once; her parents, her teacher, the wind chimes, her name being called, her parents, teacher, the visitor with blonde hair and blue eyes, what was she doing here again, she needs to go back, her father is calling her, she has to go back...!
The wind chime keeps singing, the sound of metal tubes increasing in its distress. The little girl tries to start off in the direction of her parents and she whispers.]
I wanna go back. I have to go back.
[Removing her flower crown, Amy begins to walk away but the Witch King, this memory version of her teacher that is beginning to twist and distort, has grabbed her by the face, forcing her to look into the darkness of his eyes.]
"You've accepted my offer. You can never go back."
[The child can barely whimper. Her eyes look at Henry, imploring—
And then the wind chimes overwhelm and take over.]
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And awaken she does with a start. One wind chime had traveled to her bedroom, floating above her face and it tingled as if murmuring with worry. The witch tries to collect herself, steady her heartbeat, and breathe. What time was it? It's a weekend at least but that's the least of her worries.
What just happened in her dreams?
The wind chimes begin to die down leaving behind their soothing murmurs but they won't silence themselves since they also have a guest who needs to wake up.]
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After all, meeting her eyes with his own, there's nothing he can do. He's almost sorry for her. Her life has begun its change at someone else's behest, and no doubt she'll find herself stuck on this path she's agreed upon, when she was too young to agree upon anything. You can never go back.
Trapped, in a way, like he was.
But then the memory slips away, and the chimes ring out.
...He opens his eyes. How long has it been? Henry's still seated at the edge of his bed, and his limbs feel sore from keeping this position for so long. He raises a hand to his nostril, feeling the slightest warm wetness there. A small amount of blood, eking.
A smile cracks across his face. Back to normal, it seems. Still, those windchimes... Are they still singing after he's "awoken"?]
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In the hallway, he can hear the sound of the witch's door creaking open but she doesn't step out. There's a muffled noise, of her slumping down against the wall instead.
All is silent now and an uneasy peace washes over the house.
Amelia is sitting against the wall, running a hand through her hair, trying to compose herself. But her thoughts are jumbled and confused; lingering in that memory of her parents, her father who held her in his arms when he returned, the unconditional love that she held onto for all those years as proof that someone valued her during those dark, dark times.
It was supposed to be a comforting memory but the vividness and clarity of that time was so blinding as a dream. She feels drained. The longing that she thinks she's tamped down comes back as the grief that never really disappeared.]
... Give me five minutes more
Only five minutes more...
Let me stay...
[Her voice floats down the hallway and stops as she stands up. When she makes it to the kitchen, Amelia takes a deep breath and starts making some coffee. She clears her mind. A new feeling takes over.
There are embers of irritation that are slowly turning into a fire.]
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So he dresses for the day, makes himself perfectly presentable from head to toe, and emerges from his room (did he hear her voice just a minute ago?) to walk down the corridor. He's guided into the kitchen where he assumes she is, the scent of coffee catching in his nostrils.]
Smells good. But it's a late start to your morning today, isn't it?
[Hi.]
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The disabling rune has faded away.
[The serrated knife cuts through the thick crust. There's no follow-up from her, she just waits for Henry to reply as she puts the slices on the tray making no eye contact with him.]
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Straight to it, then.]
It has. How'd you guess?
[He stands quietly at the entrance to the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. He listens to the faint, faint sound of her knife cutting through the bread.]
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