12 Phantasia (Exspiravit) Drive

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A SCREAM. Full of rage, full of anger, full of the purest hatred. Serokas leap from the trees, flapping their wings in anguish as they strain to get as far as possible from The Palace.

Beside me, Briar winces.

I turn to her, lips turning up at the corners.

"Do you think she's angry?" I cock my head to the side, blinking. Briar shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as she bites down on her twitching lips.

"ELLLLAAAAAA!" More birds fly off, abandoning the grand willow tree––which is now almost bare of their fluorescent purple and green quills.

"I better go," I wink at Briar, fending nonchalance when really my heart is pounding.

When really, I'm angry, too.

Because as it turns out, what we've been working towards these past, grueling 16 years, has all gone to nothing.

Because Ice made a mistake.

And Ice does not make mistakes.

Thus, the screaming.

I unclasp my cape as I walk through the entrance, the vines parting for me.

When I reach the war room, the screaming starts again, and there's a loud crash.

Snow stands in the corner, hands fisted.

Mu leans casually against the wall, midnight eyes sharp as she studies her, lips slightly twisted in a scowl. Jaz and Merida aren't here, of course, because they are out in the territories, trying to gather and train more recruits.

And Belle is, as she likes to say, "Fille sait où".

I only wish.

I cautiously put my hands up as I slowly approach her.

"Sno—Ice, calm down, we will find her. It's oka—"

"NO!" She screams, eyes red. "Do you know how long I've waited to kill him?! She is our only chance, Ella! And I fucked up, and now he's sitting in his little fairytale castle on his little throne cackling in victory because he knows. He knows..." Ice backs more into the corner, her finger jutted out at me as she works her mouth, eyes crazed. She clenches and unclenches her fists, and then her eyes fill with determination.

"I'm going to kill that bitch!" She snarls, storming forward. In a flash, Mu is there, a dagger pointed to her throat.

"Don't choose death, sister," She says quietly.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Mu? You are the biggest killer of us all! You even dismembered—" A hand snaps around Ice's throat. Mu leans in close.

Her lips stretch, eyes dark as night. "Don't you dare speak his name, you—"

"Okay that's enough!" I yell. Mu steps back, the dagger sliding away into the dark and intimidating folds of her cloak.

"That's right. Go back to Ella," Ice seethes. "Do you see where that got us?"

I breathe deeply, massaging my neck.

"Mu, leave us," I say, running a hand through my cropped hair.

Ice is...

Well.

The only reasons I keep her around is pity, because I don't know what the hell she would do without us after what happened to her dwarves, and she's a damn good fighter. I'm so afraid she might break one day––go into the territories and start killing some innocents.

But sometimes, I really question those reasons.

"C'mon Snow," I say. "You know that isn't fair. These years have been just as hard for me as you."

Ice snaps her head towards me, lips pressed so tightly together they're blue, her body shaking.

I'm confused for a moment, but then I realize what I did wrong. I clamp my hands around my mouth, eyes wide.

"Screw you!" She barks, and charges past me. I reach out to grab her, but before I know it, I'm on the floor, my hands pinned beneath me, Ice's own wrapped around my throat. She gives a little squeeze, but I refuse to show weakness. I stare into her eyes, unblinking and cold.

She stands up—still daring to hold my gaze, and I lie there. She shakes her head, storms out. I rest for a moment, closing my eyes, before sighing and getting up to follow her.

☽

By The Rose Field

Have you ever seen the sound of the forest?

I crouch down in the brush, the stolen book pressed to my chest, and let out a small yelp as a thorn snags on my arm, teeth gritting as I yank it out from where it was buried in my skin. Warmth spreads from my bicep, dribbling down. I wipe it away from my sleeve with a sniff.

I move forward, eyes darting back and forth in the rare dapples of light coming through the thick underbrush, ears straining for any sound that might suggest unwanted company from The Town.

When I'm confident I was not followed, I stand up. A rabbit squeaks in surprise, swiftly darting away. Some speak of those that can actually communicate with the rabbits, but I think it is simply more mythical rumours spread from caravans and delinquents.

I jump up, hand snagging on a branch—all those days hauling shipments paying off, and let myself swing like that for a moment like the monkeys in the storybooks.

With a swing, I kick out my legs, hugging them around the branch while refusing to let go of the book from my right hand. I tilt my head upside down, feeling kind of silly, my floppy hair reaching up—or rather, down.

The world tilts again and I find myself now crouched upright, toes pointed outwards to tighten the grip. I stand up—gracefully I might add in pride, and start to make my trek, swinging from branch to branch and walking along the thicker ones while also slowly going higher and higher until finally, I break through. The leaves and shrubs part, allowing me a view of The Rose Field. I breathe in their sweet scent. No one knows what they smell like, for there is no comparison to its wonders, but I think it smells like happiness and far away dreams, and above all, hope.

I find my spot, a large and old trunk weathered away by rain and years of resting right there so that it perfectly cups my back. The light from the Father in the blue hits the spot just perfectly, the leaves and interlocking vines above providing both a headrest and refreshing shade from the First Season's heat.

I let out a sigh of relief as I nestle into my spot, the knots of the tree flawlessly hitting all the right places that have been so overused this past week. I am about to open up the book—glimpsing the words Le Lecteur Solitaire scratched beneath its wooden cover—when I hear the singing.

Beautiful, melodic, pure...Almost hypnotizing. I drag my eyes from the page, immediately recognizing the voice. I should probably hide. I should probably be afraid, for she is betrothed to The King.

But her voice...

She dances among the flowers, plucking their little petals and weaving them into her dandelion hair as she sings to them. Her voice is soft and sweet. Utterly hypnotic.

Though on the horizon, there is a dark blur...

I squint my eyes, leaning forward. Forgetting I am not exactly on solid ground, I cry out as I tumble down from my spot and into a patch of tall grass. Groaning, I turn over, rubbing my scraped elbow and bruised side.

The singing halts.

☽

Above The Portal

I sit by myself today. I'm just not up to socializing right now, I guess.

I stare at today's soggy spaghetti noodles before me on the plastic plate and tray, with my chocolate milk and some fries.

I tug on my HP hoodie, wrapping myself in its warmth as I ignore the steaming food and let myself zone out, eyes blurring on an exhale. 

I think of a field of roses on a bright summer day. The flowers are all shades of red; crimson, maroon, scarlet, coral, carmine, ruby. The stems are different, too. They're a creamy ivory speckled with a charcoal black. The sky is a beautiful cerulean, not a cloud in the sky. Such a pure blue, it almost has a sparkly sheen to it. Ethereal. It's the only word to describe it, like a fresh car in hot July, paint still wet.

Though it is cloudless, I can't see any sun, but the shadow of a moon. Not the Moon, because it's different. Kind of bigger. Right now it's full, but if I squint, I can see the contours and planes that almost make a face, weathered with age, and a knowing yet kind look in their eye.

The roses sway in a calm breeze, releasing a perfumey scent that makes me gasp because it's not what I had expected—'cause it smells like chocolate, y'all. Beautiful milky chocolate, with warm, caramel and cinnamon undertones.

There's the sound of singing. Pure and melodic. A girl comes into my periphery. Her hair is golden and braided with delicate pink and white flowers, with the bluest eyes and perfectly-tanned skin. She's skinny, too, almost too skinny, in which I am kind of worried for her, but her voice pulls me away.

She looks like someone right out of a music video, a Disney princess come alive.

She dances among the flowers, throwing up her arms and tilting back her head, basking in the light. She's magnetic. Even the roses seem to gravitate toward her, leaning in her direction and blossoming their velvety petals.

On the horizon, there's a small blurr.

"You!" She snarls to her left, and it sounds nothing like the singing before. Twisted with cruelty and hate, it shakes me to my bones.

The girl pauses, looking confused towards something out of my vision. But she turns around when she sees what's rushing towards her from the opposite direction at full speed.

There's a shriek, like a banshee. A woman rides a horse of the deepest blue with lighter spots. She has inky blue black hair in a ponytail braid that reaches her waist. Her face is heavily scarred, with dark indigo eyes flecked with gold, and small, heart shaped lips and rosy cheeks. The hate on her face seems almost misplaced, but it's there. Oh yeah it's there.

This lady is angry.

Real angry.

The woman leaps off of the horse before it can fully come to a stop. She's holding twin cutlasses etched beautifully in gold and blue and red.

She kind of looks like Snow White.

A freaky, badass, mean ol' Snow White.

The girl's face twists in annoyance and disgust.

"Eiw. What are you wearing? And what's that shit on your face?" She twirls a lock of hair around a finger.

Woah.

This got weird pretty fast.

And I decide, I do not like this girl.

And so, I find myself rooting for Snow White.

"You," Snow White pants as she snarls. She lifts a cutlass and points it at the brat.

"Oh I'm so scared!" She says, and gives the biggest eye roll known to humanity.

Snow White ignores her.

"Today," She snarls. "You die." The girl narrows her eyes, planting her hands on her hips.

"Okay, that's enough. Don't you dare even scratch me, you bitch, or else my fiancée, the fucking King, will make your life a living hell—"

The cutlass moves. A few swift cuts.

"Oh, I'm so scared!" Snow White mimics. But I'm silent, lips parted in a choke.

The girl just stands there for a moment. Then makes a sound that I will never forget as her head slides, then lops off. And then her arms collapse onto the roses. And blood spreads from her stomach as her guts spill out before Snow White on the beautiful roses.

And she just stands there, a wicked grin on her face as she sheathes her glorious swords, triumphant.

My stomach bubbles, and I'm pulled back into the cafeteria. I let out a little squeak, clutching my belly—-as if I were just dismembered and were trying to hold my guts in—-before grabbing my backpack and running as fast as I can through the big double doors and towards the nearest bathroom. I knock into a girl on the way. Her warm brown eyes open wide with concern.

"Quinn—" she starts, and we both freeze for a moment before I continue my sprint. Finally, I make it, and burst through the door, jumping as it bangs loudly against the wall. I don't even bother locking the door as I fall to my knees before the toilet.

After I'm sure I'm done heaving up my inner organs, I sit there for a moment, gasping for air, my fingers white as they clutch the seat, tears spilling down my cheeks. I sniff and swipe at my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie.

There is something wrong with me.

Something really, really wrong.

I get to my feet, gripping the walls for strength on my wobbly knees, though I stop short in front of the mirror.

Purple eyeliner and blue glitter run down my cheeks, my lipstick just as smudged too. My face is sweaty and clammy, my braid half undone. I yank the ponytail out and it poofs, running down below my shoulders, it's width the size of my head on either side. I grumble.

Damn the rain.

Though what stands out the most are my eyes. They're crazed, but with something wicked behind them.

I lean closer to inspect, my aching stomach pushing up against the porcelain of the sink, digging into my rib cage.

But only one thought penetrates my fazed mind:

I have to get out of here.

I slam my fist into the sink, then scream and jump back as it slams into the floor, a hand sized dent in the corner.

I'm going.

I'm going.

I tie my hair into a low knot and hurry out, flipping on my hoodie and making sure to keep my eyes on the floor before anyone notices my blood shot eyes, my hideous makeup.

"QUINCY SEINFELD WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?" Mr. Singh roars.

My heart drops.

––––

This chapter's a little gory. Okay. I mean, the book gets like waaayyyy worse, so we're easing into it a bit. I might want to re-edit this chapter when I finish the whole thing as parts of it were written a really long time ago and my writing has changed since then (this has been an on and off book for the past three to four years), which I feel is pretty relatable to many writers. 

Anyways. See you at the next update!!!