[The unheard tragedies of the dead]
——xxx——
No singing birds were tweeting in the backdrop of the moonlit skies. Day had been overrun by night in the mere minutes of their time in the castle, changing in the blink of an eye.
Though perhaps the normal occurrence of an even 12 hours between the bright sun and elegant moon had been obscured in this story.
Deep into the forest, far enough that the screeching howls and squirming flesh had faded into the background, before completely disappearing. Lucas bent over a tree, feeling the spikes of damage coursing through his body.
No matter how resilient or sturdy he was, no person could practically be dragged from the second floor, crudely land, and escape free from injuries.
Sweat trickled down his neck, brushed gently by the moon's watch. Raven strands clung to his face as his chest rose steadily, frowning in exhaustion.
He pushed back the disheveled strands, revealing a sharp pair of pale eyes, luminescent and reflective. A million more curses were running through his head.
Branches rustled softly in the distance, the previous excitement an afterthought.
Lucas peered at the other shadow, leaning against a trunk, tiredness seeping over his bones.
Served him right, sneered Lucas mindlessly, hoping that the other had at least sprained something as a consequence of his recklessness. Of course, it was unlikely considering Elias' proper position revealed no injury.
Elias had closed his eyes to catch his breath, making him appear serene, like a rippling lake that had smoothed its waters, returning to a tranquil still.
In the calming breeze, all Lucas could hear was the subdued breathing of the other.
Finally, the man cracked an eye open and elegantly smiled, straightening his back. A hint of caution tickled his voice—or perhaps that was another illusion. "Any injuries?"
"None." At least, nothing he couldn't handle. He rubbed his bruised legs, straightening his clothes. "And you?"
"Nothing serious." A slight wince caught in his tone, and the man eventually crouched down onto the bundled grass at the feet of the tree.
Lucas narrowed his eyes, observant.
Though the other excelled at acting and playing the role of a joking man, Elias was anything but.
A dangerous temptation scripted by death, one that beckoned seduction and chaos. Elias was such a man, as if his very existence was written as an ode to 'Hell'.
But it wasn't because he was abnormally handsome, nor especially charming.
It was in which his eyes were slanted and piercing, burrowing into your mind as his every word tugged you further into his web of trickery.
It was in the way he carried himself with such poise that one couldn't begin to refuse his slippery words that promised things beyond your wildest dreams.
For Lucas, there was the tugging darkness that hides under layers of tease.
Or that was how it had been.
But at the relaxed smile on the other's face, the act of immunity to worldly matters—Lucas felt an abnormal curiosity. To the glimmer of weakness that had slipped into his voice.
It wouldn't have been noticeable originally. Elias wouldn't allow for his facade to stumble.
He took a step closer.
Elias's lips curled with interest, raising his eyes to smile, as his fingers splayed against the ground in invitation. "If you stare so long, I'll assume things, Lucas."
Lucas stared, mute.
Then, shadowed by the night, he took another step towards the man.
Slender fingers roughly yanked at Elias' chin, a scowl flickering on the other's somber face. "You speak too much."
"Only for you."
No reply comes as the digits trailed against the curve of the man's jaw, tracing every vein as if studying art. Lucas' downcast eyes never faltered, almost obsessive under the speckled light that cast a faint pulse in his gaze.
"Darling," said Elias after a moment, allowing his face to be moved to the other's bidding. "I'll only warn you once."
"Quiet," replied Lucas, before his eyes shifted and he stopped, pressing down on a particular spot at the back of Elias's neck, running along the side.
Elias hissed.
Lucas pulled away, staring deeply with a frown. "I knew it. You're injured."
Likely not from the fall, but from one of the other disturbances that they'd encountered when running. The wound wasn't fatal, though it ran deep and sharp, no doubt causing pain.
But before Lucas could step back to fetch something, anything to wrap or ease the wound, a hand snaked around his waist—
—and he was falling.
Backwards, onto what should've been the slightly prickly roots, and gentle sway of feathered nature, but instead was a hard chest and a teasing smile.
"....."
This again?
It took an instant for Lucas to flip himself around, though the slender fingers around him relaxed to allow his movement, remaining loosely on his waist like a decoration.
Elias's eyes curved. "I didn't think I'd prefer it, but I rather like you on top of me."
Legs sprawled out over the man's chest, and hands uncomfortably resting between them, Lucas sneered. "And I rather like you under me."
"That can be arranged," said Elias smoothly before adding, "As many times as you want."
"Stop playing. Use some of your clothes to wrap the wound and stop the bleeding."
"Weren't you going to help me?"
"You lost your rights."
"That's unfortunate." His fingers curled around the loose fabric that hung around the thin waist. "What can I do to gain them back?"
Lucas' scowl deepened, and Elias's smile grew.
Eventually, Lucas, under the blatant stare of the other, reached out and smoothly ripped his own sleeve off, stitches breaking away. A muscular arm hidden under the flowing fabric appeared, and Lucas wrenched down the man's collar.
His movements were swift as he wrapped the fabric, deciding that the unnecessary and difficult outfit had some use in the end.
He yanked tightly, making the other wince.
"...You did that on purpose, didn't you?" accused Elias.
It was Lucas' turn to play an oblivious character. "Hm? Wasn't I tending to your wounds?"
He patted the wound again for emphasis, making Elias' expression distort momentarily, having not expected such cruel treatment by his companion. Lucas raised his eyebrow, as if daring him to say something.
And really, the man would've if Lucas hadn't indifferently stood up and turned the other way. After doing whatever he wanted, he abandoned his target.
Elias almost understood the feeling of being discarded by a terrible man.
Lucas stepped closer to the trees, gingerly tracing over deep grooves, unnaturally made. The bark peeled away, chipping along every scar.
As if somebody had slammed something several times and missed.
Had the supposed weapon hit its target, it wouldn't have indented the tree to that extent. Furthermore, if they intended to cut down the tree—since Lucas felt that the cuts could indeed be made with an axe—the aim wouldn't be so terrible.
Had they inadvertently come across Snow White's execution site?
Only, in the tale of the wonderful princess, her initial assassination had failed.
The hunter had been unable to kill her.
Originally, one wouldn't question the reason behind that.
However, this was different. For Lucas to discover the True Ending, he had to discover the true emotions of everybody in the cast.
Why did the Hunter fail to kill Snow White?
Because he pitied the innocent beauty, that he would disobey a woman he rarely went against, that he would risk his own life?
Although possible, Lucas didn't think that was the only reason. The Queen must've chosen the Hunter because the woman believed in his abilities—she believed that he would be able to kill.
To dirty his hands for her sake.
Then, if he was a man who could kill, the question went in a full circle: why not Snow White?
Lucas walked around, catching a glimpse of a tossed axe, worn down and wedged at the bottom of a tree. There was a piece of ripped fabric, the corners frayed and clinging to dried-up blood.
He picked it up by a cleaner edge and held it closer to the moonlight.
A smudge of black coated the white cloth, and in the corner, embroidered in a clumsy, careful script, read: 'To my dearest brother.'
"I have a hypothesis. Want to hear it?"
Elias stood beside Lucas, raising his eyes at the cloth briefly. Glancing back at the axe, he caught a glimpse of metal.
He walked over and pulled hard, using his foot to pry it out of the tree. Bending down, he slowly pulled the chain with a finger, dangling it high up.
Why didn't the Hunter kill Snow White?
A silver necklace, with a single carved apple pendant, glistened.
Because Snow White was important. Somebody he wanted to protect, at the sake of going against his very own mother.
"The tragedy of a warped family," mused Elias, a sarcastic drawl in his hoarse voice. "A jealous mother sent her own son to kill his newfound sister. The boy refused, out of either pity for the shared blood in their veins, or out of love."
"I believe it was the latter," said Lucas.
He thought back to the organized room, almost as if it were tidied out of fear, out of desperation to perform. Although, of course, some preferred to keep their room that way out of habit.
His mother likely doted on him, if not with affection, with everything he desired.
Lucas doubted the boy hated his mother—no, he likely loved her. And in loving, sometimes, it was easy to believe in their words, no matter how ridiculous.
He didn't think the boy wanted to disobey the one who raised him.
And for a girl he'd just welcomed into the house, it was unlikely that such a sensible teenager would sacrifice his family for her. Even if his mother had gone mad or crazy, the boy hadn't wanted to abandon that woman.
Not unless he truly cared for the girl.
Elias considered it, then nodded. "I'll have to take your word for it—it won't do me much good to try and understand."
"You should try."
"And why is that?"
Lucas fumbled with the pendant, tracing the curves on the delicate metal. He wondered what thoughts had run through the young boy's mind as he dropped the axe, betraying his mother and losing his sister.
"Because," he started, voice scattered in the whispering breeze, "even if you end up disagreeing, all perspectives are worth understanding."
"How do you know right from wrong, truth from fallacy, if you never question anything?"
The other man chuckled harshly. "Not everybody wants to know the difference."
"And that's why I said you should, not must." A solemn glance, frank and indifferent to the other's disagreement, flickered sideways.
Lucas didn't continue the topic.
"We're following Snow White's footsteps. What she saw, what she experienced." Lucas pointed to the scattered twigs on the ground, blending in at a modest glance.
But they had been shattered into several pieces, flowers pressed to the ground and wilting away. There had been a scuffle before Snow White could run.
She ran far away....
"All the way to the seven dwarfs' home."
"Lucas." A sheen of hesitation passed over Elias' darkening stare as he lifted his head calmly, a smile no longer on his face. "Do you know the identity of Stories?"
"...whether I do, or don't, does it matter?"
"You do."
Lucas remained indifferent. "It's not difficult to figure out."
Deciding it would likely be a longer conversation, he wandered to a smooth, particularly pleasant-looking stone and sat down.
He raised his head.
"Cinderella was a girl who went crazy, killing all those who wronged her. Until the bitter end, she never got to see the one person she wished for the most. If I had looked into it more, maybe I would've learned more about the extent of her delusions."
"A sweet, kind girl who eventually reached her breaking point."
"But if everyone were dead, they couldn't disobey her anymore. She indulged in that life, but never filled her gaping heart."
Lucas' words were chilled with a delicate frost, reciting a script.
Elias chuckled, the murmur of laughter melting against the dead night. He waited for the other to continue, crossing his arms.
"Soul Stories are based on real people. Then what are Stories made from—classic fairy tales, with a twist? That's too simple considering how sadistic the apocalypse is."
"Then, what is it?" wondered the listening man, knowing.
The moon shifted in its position as they spoke, and with the change of place, it now spilled over Lucas in fine streaks, folding over the shadows of leaves. Another gust tentatively ran past them, a sharp sting of cold lying over exposed skin.
His posture while sitting was surprisingly proper and slightly proud. The image overlapped a distant memory, and Elias saw the outline of a throne in his vague thoughts.
The man blinked, and the image distorted back to reality.
"A Teller's tragedy."
The announcement echoed in the silence of two.
"A former human's tragedy, to be specific," added Lucas nonchalantly, shuffling into a more comfortable spot. "A ghastly past of the most dreadful history."
The true identity of Teller wasn't something surprising to Lucas.
He'd made a theory at Cinderella's odd actions, and the Teller's strangeness, but he never had the opportunity to enter another Story to determine the truth.
But the black bunny had habitually softened its tone at the mention of Snow White. The comment before he disappeared only confirmed Lucas' thoughts.
The rabbit wanted one person to know the truth. Of an exclusive, horrific past.
A person like Lucas was, in fact, deeply affected by emotions, able to grasp an understanding faster than the regular person—a person who didn't fear what he felt, nor believe that feeling could be called a weakness.
However, this meant he was easily swayed by stories, pitying the poor and the weak. He would get involved, putting himself in danger.
This was what Elias believed about the other man.
However, Lucas shook his head. "The stories of Tellers won't sway me."
"Why not?"
"I won't sympathize with them."
Elias repeated in a low tone, "Why?"
Lucas' answer was straightforward, with no fluctuations holding him back. "I can understand a person's feelings and ignore them. I can read the room and know how to act, and choose to behave differently."
"Why should I do something, just because I understand their feelings?"
It was a straightforward way of thinking.
Although Lucas often noticed a person's change in mood, when they were sad or happy, that didn't mean he adjusted to adapt to them.
He could notice anger rising in someone's voice and provoke them rather than calm them. He could see a glint of tears welling, and ignore instead of comfort.
Lucas never purposely went out of his way to upset somebody; most of the time, irritating people was a natural talent. However, he didn't believe in adjusting himself for other people—he wasn't that kind.
A terrible, selfish person.
But it wasn't his responsibility to take care of everyone, nor his role to be an understanding, caring youth.
Honestly, he wouldn't be able to handle that mentally.
Elias agreed with this sentiment, though he knew that Lucas' actions weren't quite so cruel. The behaviour Lucas showed around those he stayed with was a touch gentler, hidden behind expressionless faces.
Therefore, he warned, "You're diving into the back story of the Teller, and everything that happened in their past. It won't ever be a pretty story."
"I don't mind."
Regardless, the Teller wished for someone to listen to the buried tale. And if that were all, Lucas would oblige.
"I want to know," Lucas said abruptly, in a soothing, lethargic voice, "Why are you warning me?"
Elias' gaze was deep, starlight scattered in the depths of sinking blue. Under the sway of leaves overhead, he seemed to blur with the darkness.
His voice carried with the wind.
"I'm afraid I don't know."
Initially, he'd thought it would be amusing to witness everything, a slight curiosity prickled by Lucas' overwhelming support for his brother. By a man whose ideals completely opposed his cynical thoughts, yet not in a flowery, unrealistic way.
He wanted to watch the foolish sponge's fall into depravity, the collapse of that indifferent expression hiding so many different emotions.
And he still did.
But, he was suddenly uncertain.
Although he still craved adrenaline and amusement—such as provoking the angered reaction out of Lucas that had resulted in their entry to this Story, he didn't quite want everything to conclude.
A calamity awaited, and he'd been eagerly prepared to sit on the front lines. Yet...
The next words were said in an almost mutter, gone unheard by Lucas.
"I don't know if that's what I desire anymore."