21一 how is it that you go about defining good and evil?

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The truth is many things so warped in circumstance that no one can decipher which truth they're looking for anymore.

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MAGIC IN AND OF ITSELF, IS SUCH an odd, curious thing. It has rules, yet doesn't seem to follow any rules in particular. It can be a terrifying force, yet at the same time, a useful tool for everyday use.

Wishes fall under the odd and curious category as well. They can be powerful in their own right; blowing out candles, wishing on stars, and throwing money down certain wells 一 which are also quite mysterious 一 perhaps even having some sort of wishing catalyst. Add magic and powerful emotions to those wishes, and a person could potentially find themselves displaced. But here, it is where people don't realize that wishes are fickle things, much to their displeasure and misfortune. For you see, people will get their wish granted, yet it doesn't come about in the way they suspect it should.

Their wishes get granted either in a very roundabout way, or are somehow slightly corrupted. There are many stories that involve the dangers of a corrupted wish. The most infamous of them is the tale of a girl who had a rather horrible fight with her lover. He was simply leaving the premises, as one would do to clear their mind – it wasn't as if he was leaving her. But alas, as he was leaving, she was worried he would leave her. Instead of being willing to simply talk and listen, and unwilling to risk having her heart broken if that ever came about, the girl had access to a wishing catalyst.

So in her selfishness, anger and sadness, she wished that her boyfriend would never leave her. And he never did; he became a tree that forever rooted itself in her garden. She was also unable to find love with anyone else, because technically the love of her life had never left her.

So their emotions when they make their wish must be taken into account. Are they being selfish, selfless, or 一 if the person is thinking of themselves 一 are they wishing they could have another chance to do and become something more? A desire that is not selfish, because it is something all truly sentient beings should strive for.

A desire to change; and be better for it.

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HUMAN NATURE IS SO FICKLE, SO EASILY influenceable by those with lesser morals. It's called a sheep mentally, going along with the flock even if the destination is no better than a slaughterhouse for those who do not bother to think for themselves.

The action of spotting those who influence the tides of consciousness is easy. You just have to look for the person that sits at the epicenter of a group. They stand so proudly amongst their followers, prim pressed suits and leather shoes, empty words and faceless masks.

They speak in dulcet tones and woven honey, yet their intentions taste like poison on your lips. It's a slow acting venom, if anything.

But among those that jeer and whisper of inevitable death, among those that wear their fear clothed in jealousy, he stands like the sun after a dreary day. Like the rays of light peaking through the clouds of a stormy sea, bringing hope and happiness and the possibility of better days to come. He burns so beautifully, a holy glow of acceptance and genuine concern engulfs him like a second skin. Then, perhaps, comparing him to a celestial star is not so far off.

There are many things that ring similarly in between the two imperial men. The Emperor's ability to spot a lie even before it is uttered is uncanny, an ability that he'd honed since his days of youth. Yet, whereas His Majesty can see your very thoughts, the son is much more different in his approach.

Many have tried to insert themselves in the little, tightly knit group the prince had formed, yet being glanced at with those otherworldly jeweled eyes is akin to having your soul stripped of all its outer layers. And you lay bare before him, every sin and accomplishment tattooed in the cracks of your self-image and the judgment of a person of his standing is monumental. That is where the difference between father and son lies.

As humans are creatures of intent, their emotions are never quite so easily controlled. Claude wears his masks with practiced ease and every now and then some tendrils of his personality slip through. But those moments are few and far in between when in a formal setting. Instead, the emperor projects indifference and anger and ruthlessness with barely a thought, as it is muscle memory by now.

The prince... The prince is worlds of differences away. He is a cocktail of emotions, all easily swirling from one another in his eyes and picking one up to categorize is a task in inutility. He dips from one extreme to the other, rage and love and mirth and despair, he plays with his own emotions as if they are of no consequence. As if they do not matter.

He who burns so brightly, who thoughtlessly gives himself to others yet closes up at the slightest hint of being approached. Like a scarred animal, weary and yet still so hopeful.

And he burns for all that he is a star. Oh by gods, he is a beacon of light. A guide best followed from a distance because closeness means getting burned by the flames that lick at his being. Come too close and your wings might melt, not unlike Icarus in flight plunging to the depths of the ocean. Too much, too close.

And Atropos finds him brilliant in his contradictions. Because he is the very definition of the word and the red haired man can never quite grasp the truth behind his glowing facade. He doubts that anyone could ever decipher the being that he is.

Chosen of the gods, they call him. But they see only the goodness in his soul and forget that the world is a cruel place. For that blinding brilliance is lined in shadows of blood that cannot be scrubbed away. And they darken as time goes on, forming a canvas of color on pristine white.

He is marred by darkness and he goes along with life, because life does not wait on anyone. And Atropos finds himself frustrated, for that mentality is so much like his cousin's and it hurts. The similarities hurt. But they are all so nostalgic he cannot bring himself to hate them. They bring back memories of days when all was well in their bubble of ignorance, and a fondness wells in him at the sight of his nephew. But that fondness is tinged with worry and the smiles he sometimes gives to the younger are often grim and pained.

He just wishes that his brilliance would be permanent, that it would stop dimming as the months go past. He wishes of days when nothing would have gone down the drain. Days of family and smiles not passed to a political strain.

Alas, those were mere wishes.

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THERE HAD TO HAVE BEEN A CATALYST for this to happen, she thinks as she gazes at the young woman before her. She stands prim and proper before the Madam of the Sapphire Palace, plastic smile and flowy movements betray the breeziness of this woman. And she is a woman, for at the age of twenty-one she can be nothing but.

She is a bad match for her ward, Iris ponders idly, face a mirror of a stone wall. Intelligent beyond his years Athanasius might be, but he is still a child that had yet to be fully introduced to the cruelties of the world. (She lies to herself as such, olden heart hoping for the child of stars to smile fearlessly.)

"It is my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance Madam." Ashen black hair pinned back to showcase beautiful ruby eyes, Iris cannot help but compare this woman to a temptress一 pretty faced and rotten to the core. An oportunist of the highest caliber, if you will.

She stays silent, not gracing the youth before her with an answer. The seconds tick on and Iris sees the visible way in which the ignorance that graces her affects the young lady of Banafrit. She is still inexperienced in matters of noble conduct, she notes as her counterpart's delicate face twists into a mockery of sadness. 'Not enough exposure to the capital's social circles.'

(She can't help but criticize her, this girl who dreams of reaching the unachievable.)

Before any lies and accusations could spill from those red painted lips, Iris cuts the nonsense that this woman had brought with her. "His Highness is not available for an indefinite amount of time regarding the foreseeable future." Lavender eyes narrow as if daring this girl to refute her words.

She keeps quiet, proving that she is not all that stupid. Because, after all, what can she do? She, an adopted daughter with barely acceptable noble standing, against a woman seen as the pinacle of female noble virtue? A mere adventurer before an insurmountable mountain?

Cassiopeia steps back and bows her head, but Iris can see it, clear as day, her desires have not been waned by this confrontation. The spark of determination burns within her with brazenness and Madam Pomery is of half a mind it will end up swallowing her whole.

(She'll go up in flames like all those before her.)

Iris turns on her heels and backtracks her way back to the gardens. She had been in the middle of admiring the Prince's angel trumpets when a maid had come to fetch her to deal with the disaster that had walked in her charge's den. A good thing she had hurried, otherwise that viper might have bullied the servants into doing her biding. It wouldn't have been hard, given her relation to Prince Athanasius' brother in all but blood. Frankly speaking, it would have been stupidly easy to corral them as she wished. Not a particularly pleasant though to have.

Lady Cassiopeia was ambitious, Iris had to give her that. The position of Crown Princess was highly converted, and since His Highness' debutante even more so. It was no secret that the emperor guarded his son like a dragon would its hoard, raising him to be the next greatest sword of Obelia; as such, the person who would receive the privilege of standing at the prince's side in the throne room had to be carefully selected.

But there was a silver lining. Claude refused to accept any of the meeting offers with the prospective ladies candidating for that spot. Not out of lack of desirable attributes that would compliment his son, but simply because he did not want to make such an important decision for his child. (Iris would, begrudgingly, admit that she respected his decision of such.)

Many a young lady admired and pined after her charge. She wasn't blind. She could see it clear as day as they fawned after him in any public setting. But she rather doubted any of them could really hold Athan's attention for more than a few minutes at a time.

"They're... boring." Athan had admitted one night after a social gathering where he had been in attendance.

The cusp of the matter was that Athanasius' mind swam at depths most would drown in. Brilliant child that he was, he always sought out more from such basic interactions. That was why so few of people managed to endear themselves into his graces. Not many had the mental capacity to keep him engaged and entertained for long period of time.

Therefore, she wished the young lady of Banafrit great luck and fortune in trying, for the Madam was sure she would mostly fail.

(And, if Iris hoped that one day someone would move her charge's soul from the stasis in which it had put itself, so that he would no longer be lost amongst the stars, she kept those wishes close to her chest.)

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It is absolutely terrifying the kind of deep suffering the happiest looking people are able to hide inside themselves.

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I almost forgot that I had to upload this on schedule 🤡

I won't be uploading for the months of December and January, as I'm taking a break from writing to prepare for midterms and to relax during the holidays.

So, I wish you guys an early Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!