Violet sat in a puddle of her own blood, clutching to her stomach with all the strength she had. "Why?" she whispered, for what must have been the hundredth time. She didn't know who or what she was questioning anymore. She'd thought it had been Brendan, for committing such an act, but maybe it had been her, the whole time, for letting him come so close. 

      She let the forest consume her, sweep her under the shrubbery like the broken pieces of a china plate, finally fallen from its place on the wall. But like all those intricately decorated dishes, her place in the forest had been her prison. Only ornament, no use left. She'd done nothing with her life for so many years and until yesterday, she'd thought that was how her life was meant to be. But something inside her had woken when the knife had killed her child.

      It wasn't long before Spriglet's flash of blue appeared, darting between the branches of approaching trees curling towards her, shooting upwards then ducking and swooping left and right, darting through loops and finally bursting out from behind the closest group of leaves. "Violet, are you okay?"

      "Don't call me that," Violet mumbled angrily, though all her strength was gone. Head dropping downwards, her jet black hair fell in a curtain of darkness between the ground below her and the bird beside her. 

      "Lift your head, Vi. And tell me what happened. All of it," Spriglet said, pushing her beak through the weak wall of hair. Despite hating the name still, the nickname warmed Violet's heart enough for her to lift her head and fall backwards, collapsing onto a hospital bed of tree trunks and padded leaves. With a sigh, she started the story. And this time, there wouldn't be any blanks.

      It took a while but between gasps of pain and huffs of anger, Violet told Spriglet of everything she'd lived through and learned about over the last however long. The exact length of time had never been of concern to her and was now lost forever to the breeze that had torn through the forest when she'd faced her attacker. Brendan.

      Spriglet had listened honourably, absorbing every word with loving eyes and a burning heart. "How dare she?!" Her sprightly nature somehow making the anger more real, comforting Violet in the knowledge that Spriglet hadn't been in on any of it. She was and always had been her friend, just not for as long as either had believed. "But I do have something to share with you, too," the woodpecker admitted, shuffling closer, drawing all of Violet's attention to her next words. "I met an oracle before this one, once."

      "Really?" Violet asked. Somewhere in the midst of her explanation, the forest had healed her wound. The leaves had swirled over her as the roots of the ancient trees ran a circle around both her and the bird with the branches creating a dome overhead. When at last, the golden browns and reds had scurried away, she wasn't pregnant anymore. Her child was gone, and with it had disappeared all evidence it had ever existed, the naivety she'd been cursed with since birth and the falseness of the past she'd so strongly believed in.

      "Yes," Spriglet said. "And they told me something then that I've never forgotten. But I can forget it now, because now it's become true." She was grinning now, her voice raising in pitch ever so slightly. 

      "A real prophecy?" 

      "Yup!" Again came the chipper giggle. "And it was about you!" At Violet's widening eyes, she laughed again. "I should tell you what it is before your eyes pop out your head, but I don't know if it'll help or just doom you quicker," she joked.

      "Definitely tell me," the girl said, a smile on her face for what felt like the first genuine time in her life. Of course, that wasn't true, but how was she to know when she hadn't even realised her whole life had been a lie?

      "From sibling to sibling, from knife to wound, spells are broken, memories resume," Spriglet recalled. "It doesn't technically rhyme but apparently they don't have to," she shrugged, her top feathers fluffing a little.

      "It rhymes enough," Violet muttered before holding her hands out for Spriglet to land on. The dome of branches fell to the ground around them, swallowed by the earth to go elsewhere, as the dark haired girl stood up with her deepest-blue bird atop her golden hands. "And I'd like to be called my original name from now on, if you wouldn't mind," she asked, her smile soft and friendly even with the jagged, broken look in her electric blue eyes - the eyes that had had her brother wrapped around her finger, once upon a time. That felt so long ago now, and she could feel herself growing, rebuilding who she was with every thought that rose and fell in her flooded mind. 

      "Of course, Rose," Spriglet answered with a smile that showed the promise of making up for the misconstrued time not long since passed. There was a sparkle of anger in those purple depths, formed from betrayal and encouraged by love. "Now let's go and get some answers before I kill someone."

      With a nod and a grin, Rose turned to the forest to direct her to the oracle. 

      Rose and Spriglet stood before the oracle, looking innocently into her pale green eyes. "Daithí," Rose started, eyes wide with ignorance and pain. She had to hide the smile itching at the corners of her mouth when the oracle's expression turned to worry.

      "What is it, Violet?" Daithí asked, slowly putting a hand out before letting it rest on Rose's shoulder. Her blue hair didn't shine so much anymore, Rose noted. It was almost as if even the sun had realised it's mistake and had retreated, perhaps much like Rose should have done herself. 

      Then Rose let her smile grow, though did her best to hide its vengeful intent. "I remember now." 

      "Remember what, girl?" Daithí replied, though the change from her name to 'girl' was indication enough to Rose that she knew well enough what she was meaning, or at the very least, feared it. 

      "Everything," Rose said. 

      The single word did as she thought it would: it terrified the woman. Although, any sign of fear was quickly masked by frustration. "Be specific," she commanded. 

      "Why?" Rose asked, feigning ignorance, smile wavering ever so slightly in confusion. "Are there some things I shouldn't remember? Shouldn't know?" Her brows furrowed further into her golden eyelids as her eyes strained against some invisible barrier in thought. A moment passed between the oracle and the girl. There was no way to tell if Daithí was completely fooled, but her next outward breath seemed to relieve the tension from her body that had built during the short conversation. Since Daithí was relaxed, Rose continued to ask, "Anything you care to tell me?" Her voice was soft like summer rain, head tilted just so, eyes sparkling in the thin ray of sun piercing through the layers of leaves. 

      Still sceptical but giving the situation the benefit of the doubt, Daithí simply said, "Nothing at all, Dear." 

      If she thought it would satisfy Rose, she couldn't have been more wrong. "Tell me now. I know anyway, I just need clarification before I do something stupid."

      If Daithí recognised the electric anger buzzing through the girl before her, she didn't let on. "If you already know, I have nothing to tell you," she replied calmly. She turned away from Rose with an expression of forced blankness, fading into the forest as it progressively concealed her.

      Rose didn't waste time standing there, staring at the back of the woman she'd thought she'd known, for nothing. It was important to know every aspect of your enemies. And she couldn't deny that that was the category where Daithí had put herself. In all honesty, Rose had never felt such a feeling before and hadn't been sure how she was meant to deal with it. But that was before she'd faced Daithí, before the oracle had avoided apologising, before she'd watched her false mother-figure walk away from her in disgust. Somewhere inside her, an idea was forming, too delicate to reach for just yet for fear it should shatter beneath her touch. Later, on the very same day, she'd know exactly what to do with that feeling. 

      As if they shared both brain and heart, Spriglet knew exactly what Rose did, in what must have been the same moment. But there was one thing she wasn't fully caught up on yet.

      "And I forgot to mention," Rose started with an apologetic smile, "There were a few things about your life that came to me too. Your name is as much Spriglet as mine is Violet."

✹✹✹

      At the same time that Brendan had murdered his unborn nephew, Augustus and Bruno had come to miss each other greatly, despite only having been in different rooms of the same house, and acknowledge the great friendship that bound them.

      Augustus and Bruno sat together at the kitchen table. Augustus had finally decided that whatever had possessed Bruno during the episode with the acorn wasn't a reason to ignore him, and when he actually thought about it, there was only one thing he wanted more than to spend time with his friend: find his daughter - who quite possibly didn't want to be found. 

      Bruno had gotten over the incident rather quickly; that type of thing should be normal to him after his journey through the forest after all. He'd also found himself thinking a lot about the king as he'd made mugs of tea for both of them. The way his friend had run after his son with all the motivation Bruno himself had never seemed to be able to muster. Even as he'd watched Augustus tear after Brendan, he'd known that even if he'd have caught up to him, no harm would have been done. He'd have questioned his son, of course, on everything that he was about to do, but no more. Brendan would have hated it, and he was nothing short of certain of that. Had Bruno been in Augustus' situation, Brendan should have counted himself lucky to come away with such little consequence. Bruno found himself respecting his old friend and more, struggling to find reason for his annoyance at him just hours before. It surely couldn't all be the king's fault that Brendan had turned out as he did. 

      And so, sat together, they discussed those things exactly, admitting to one another each doubt they had held about this friendship. "But I'm sorry," Bruno finished. "I should have stuck by you when times got tough, and I know I did to start with, but that should have continued. I thought it would get easier for you but I know, at least I know now, that as long as you don't have an answer, it only gets harder. I was wrong to find my temper so short when there was reason enough for your depressed state without me adding to it as I must have done."

      Knowing him perfectly well, despite the translucent challenges of the last year or so, Augustus didn't utter a word. Instead, he simply nodded and let the flicker of a smile pass over his chapped lips before taking another sip of the tea. 

      For a while, they just sat there, completely contempt with the company for the first time in a while.

      They both knew the silence wouldn't last forever. Augustus broke it first, "Do you think we can find Rose then? Is it possible she is avoiding us?" The question was inevitable and Bruno should have better prepared himself an answer. However, despite the inescapable fact it would come up, until that moment, Bruno had lived on the hope that it wouldn't.

      "If she is alive, it didn't escape my attention that she may have left of her own accord. In that case, it's quite possible she is avoiding us. But your questions don't need to have opposite answers. Perhaps, even if what I've suggested is true, we can find her still," Bruno said. He reached across the table and left his hand balanced on his knuckles, palm up. Augustus didn't hesitate, but rather naturally slid his own paler hand into place on top. After a gentle squeeze from both, their hands parted in a promise that they would succeed. They would find her. Together. 

      "So where would she be?" The king's voice was a lot more stable then, accepting the limited number of possible situations and coming to terms with the most likely: That she had escaped the life he'd given her. But whatever the truth, she was alive. 

      "If the voice of the acorns is anything to go by, I'd start with Lachinsinsi Forest."

      Without another word, they rose from their chairs. Bruno gathered the mugs to wash and Augustus went to the wooden bars at the edge of one wall where the towels were left to dry by the wind of the open window beside them. Removing the driest towel from the rack, he joined Bruno by the sink and picked up the first mug while the second was being washed. Not two moments later, they were finished, everything put away. Again, without conferring in any way, both knew to take themselves away to their rooms to change and pack, for this time, they'd be travelling into the forest together, and they wouldn't be returning without the princess. So, parting at the stairs, Augustus went up to his bedroom while Bruno left the house altogether to enter his own. 

      As the door opened with Bruno's hand, his eldest daughter, Anna, stood behind it. "Anna, I'm deeply sorry but I have to leave again. This time I may be away even longer," he said as way of greeting, it seemed, because nothing else was said. Her sad eyes nodded and welcomed him through the door to close it behind him. Her only other response was to run down the hallway and into the farthest room from the door, the playroom as they still called it, to get Flower, the youngest of Bruno's two daughters. 

      Bruno made his way upstairs with an air of discontent. He didn't want to be leaving his family behind once again, but he knew - more than he'd known anything before - it would be harder for him to leave Gus. With that fact giving weight to his decision, he quickly changed and grabbed whatever he thought he needed and gathered them in a cord bag he 'borrowed' from his wife's wardrobe. 

      Making his way back down the stairs, he made a stop at the kitchen to pack another bag of food from the poorly-stocked cupboards. After he'd taken all he'd let himself take, he walked back towards the front door to find his two daughters stood in the way, hand in hand. Anna, a seventeen year old girl of slim yet athletic physique, had her deep brown hair in two Dutch braids, a few stray waves falling over her ears. Beside her was Flower, a fourteen year old girl with a thing figure, dotted in an equal mix of both mud and bruises from her adventures round the greener parts of the kingdom. Her hair was loose, the uncontrollable curls falling only to her shoulders. Both girls bore the same eyes: deepest woodland brown. Seeing them both block his way out with the glistening blurriness of their eyes reflected in their sad smiles, brought tears to Bruno's eyes. "Girls-"

      "We couldn't let you go without a goodbye," Anna said softly, and suddenly their arms were around him and his wife was behind him waiting her turn. He hugged them all, kissing them goodbye, promising to see them soon, and left without another moment's hesitation. If he hesitated any longer, he feared he'd simply stay there forever. 

      They met between their houses, no more king and subject than they'd ever been, but friend and equal friend. Questions answered without being spoken, they let their eyes fall away from each other as their feet fell into step, walking away from their kingdom and towards the forest.