"What could I become if I stopped worrying about death, about pain, about anything? If I stopped trying to belong? Instead of being afraid, I could become something to fear."

━━ THE CRUEL PRINCE

Mathias Rantanen [The Hunter]

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

They walked in silence back to the village. Mathias was trying poorly to conceal the intense fury which threatened to cloud his judgement, quietened by the fear that it may draw irredeemable things from his lips. Inkeri knew that his rage was justified, and she couldn't find any words of consolation. 

Finally, she worked up the nerve to speak. "You joined The Hunt," Inkeri said listlessly. She remembered all the hours they used to spend mocking the foolish boys with their 'hooligan' behaviour. 

"What else was I supposed to do?" He asked. It wasn't accusatory, but a genuine question.

"I'm sorry," Inkeri said suddenly. Mathias didn't respond, so she stopped walking, pulling him around by the hand to face her. "Mathias, please. Try to understand me."

"I am trying," he said, finally meeting her gaze, and she believed him. The world of lies and deceit had been left behind; Mathias had never shown anything but genuineness, like a well-worn path through the forest. 

She took his hands in hers. When he didn't pull away, she took it as an opportunity to speak. "I should have told you I was leaving, but I just didn't know how to. I was selfish."

"And cowardly," he added, finally looking at her with a brooding smile of acquiescence. Inkeri broke into her own tentative smile of relief. 

"And cowardly," she echoed. "And any other negative adjective you want." Mathias gave a half-laugh and half-shrug, cupping the back of her head with his hand and kissing her forehead, before continuing forward. 

"What did my mother tell you?" Inkeri couldn't help but ask. 

He shook his head bitterly. "Nothing," he spat. Mathias had never been bold enough to criticise her mother before; the intensity of his rage clouding his judgement. "She told me to 'be a man about it and stop my whimpering.'"

On the outskirts of the forest, they found Inari Koivisto, lingering. She had clearly been expecting them, for she almost never ventured far from home. When she saw Inkeri, her eyes lit up with excitement. 

The younger girl ran up to her half-sister and hugged her so tightly that Inkeri thought her eyes might pop out. Surprisingly, Inkeri found her arms wrapping around the other girl and embracing her back. 

"Alright, let go," Inkeri grumbled finally, trying to pry herself away, "I reckon you've broken my ribs."

Inari pulled away, remembering herself and going slightly red with embarrassment when she saw Mathias. "Mother is eager to see you," the young girl said to Inkeri quickly. "She told me to bring you straight to see her."

"Wonderful," Inkeri sighed. "I suppose it is best to be done with the most tedious tasks first."

The entire way to the Koivisto house, Inari wouldn't stop badgering Inkeri with an onslaught of questions. Inkeri didn't know how much their mother had told her, but the questions seemed to become more and more specific. 

"What are you wearing?" A blouse and a skirt, Inkeri replied patiently. "Is that the fashion there?" For women, yes. "Are the people nice there?" Inkeri remained silent on this one. "Was the city overcrowded? And filled with lots of fancy things? And the school, of course, must have been absolutely—"

"Inari!" Inkeri exclaimed. "Shut up! You're driving me mad."

Mathias laughed, and Inari went even more red with further humiliation. She fell silent, and Inkeri felt guilty enough to try to answer one of the previous questions, but her sister now just sulked and trudged on in sullen silence. 

They made it to the small village chapel, where Lilja, according to Mathias, spent most of her time these days. "I will wait out here," he decided, and the two sisters entered the small chapel alone. 

Unsurprisingly, Lilja wasn't yet there. It was typical of her to keep people waiting; as though it somehow elevated her own importance. Inkeri's eyes trailed over the familiarity of it; the vines, the incessant drip of the fountain, and intricate designs on the walls. 

The silence was heavy and uncomfortable. "Look, I'm sorry," Inkeri said at last, when Inari refused to so much as look at her. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that." 

Inari scowled unforgivingly. "I'm not surprised," she said curtly. "You seem to have an exceptionally short tether that snaps easily when it comes to me." 

Perhaps it was the truthfulness of the statement that made Inkeri immediately defensive. "Maybe you should be less annoying, then?" 

The younger girl slammed her hand on the table, the sound reverberating around the echoey chamber. "I just don't understand," she said furiously, "You accepted Ingria, and Ilona— and even Isla as your sisters. You used to have room for me in your heart; we used to play for hours, don't you remember? You would even heal me, and hug me when I got hurt." 

"So you want me to caress your wounds?" Inkeri mocked, the heat rising to her cheeks at the callous mention of her deceased half-sisters. "I thought you were past that age. My bad, I suppose—"

"I want you to stop treating me like I'm nothing to you!" Inari cried. "Just because they are all dead, I am still very much here!" 

Inkeri inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. "You're giving me a headache," she said flatly, an air of finality in her voice. "Stop your tantrum before you catch a fever." 

"Like you would care," Inari snapped nasally, and that was the dismissal of the conversation. 

Lilja Koskinen entered the chapel moments later, flanked by her husband, Yrjö. As soon as the woman saw her older daughter, she immediately wrapped her arms around her, in a rare embrace of motherly love. 

Inkeri savoured it, if only for a few seconds, as Lilja pulled away quickly and cleared her throat. Inkeri noticed Yrjö and nodded to him, and he returned the gesture cordially. Their relationship had always been somewhat strained, though never unpleasant. 

"How are you?" Lilja asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice. It was almost strange, how awkward a conversation between mother and daughter could get. 

"Fine," Inkeri replied. 

"I— hope everything has been well. Ora has been keeping me updated." Inkeri nodded, watching from the corner of her eye as Inari began to converse with her father. It was so easy, so light. Inkeri wished she'd had that relationship with her own father. 

"Really?" Inkeri said absent-mindedly. "Did he tell you about the time I was nearly murdered? You could have sent a letter. As you seemingly knew everything." 

"That's not fair." Lilja's eyes bore into her, and Inkeri knew that she was being provocative. Lilja had explained explicitly beforehand that any letter may compromise them. Her guilt soon hardened into defensiveness over her actions; why did the woman get to pick and choose when to act like a mother? 

Inkeri would never be what Inari was to Lilja. All she resembled to her mother was the resentment and hatred and grief which had ended with the woman's divorce from Inkeri's father. 

Sighing, Inkeri ran her fingers through her hair, and Lilja looked at it rather proudly. "Your hair looks so beautiful," she noted. "It's grown. I do love it when you leave it down." 

A genuine smile painted Inkeri's lips. "So do I," she admitted earnestly. "Thank you."

"I was about to go and visit Ora. I imagine you have much to say to him as well. Would you like to join me?" Lilja asked hopefully. 

"I can't," Inkeri said quickly. "I have to go and meet someone else."

Lilja's smiled dimmed considerably, and her eyes darkened. "And who, exactly, would that be? If it's the person I think it is—" 

"It probably is," Inkeri said bluntly. 

Yrjö and Inari had gone silent now, perhaps anticipating the storm cloud that had passed over Lilja's face to unleash its violent tempest. Instead, the woman inhaled deeply. "I don't understand," she whispered, to Inkeri's shock, sounding wounded. "How can you even look at him after what he did?"

"The same way I look at you after what you did," Inkeri retorted, her temper and volume both rising. 

"I never did anything!" Lilja cried. "It's all the deluded lies of a madman, and you believed them! He turned you against me and you let him!" 

Breathing heavily, she turned away from her daughter, trying to hide the tears which threatened to fall, and Inkeri felt another sharp pang of guilt. Yrjö opened his mouth to speak, but his wife silenced him with a glace. "If you must go," she said at last, "you shall take Mathias with you." 

"Fine," Inkeri said. "Is that all?" A stiff nod. "It was good to see you, mother. Genuinely." With that, she left the chapel, not looking back. Mathias, who had been waiting outside, fell silently into step beside her, sensing her tense disposition. 

The village prison was built on the outskirts of the civilization, away from the eye of anyone going about their daily business. Amongst people cleansed of sin, the entire structure had been built to contain only one man. 

Inkeri entered through the door, greeting the singular guard outside, who didn't question her identity— everybody knew who The Light Bringer's daughter was— and Mathias once again decided to wait outside. 

As she approached, the air grew colder, as if the building itself exhaled a chill. The iron-studded oak doors, reinforced with thick iron bands, groaned in protest as they were pushed open, revealing a dimly lit interior. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows that danced across the rough-hewn walls, where ivy clung stubbornly to the weathered stones, but no amount of green could soften the harsh lines of the grim edifice.

She went down the winding staircase, the banister crumbling with mildew and decay, to the singular cell in the corner of the narrow corridor. 

There he was, hanging to the bars like a lunatic, watching her with bloodshot eyes that resembled a madman's thirst for blood. His hair was dishevelled, turning grey and yet still streaked with brilliant blond, tattoos covering almost every inch of him, including the face. But she kept coming back to those piercing blue eyes, a mirror image of her own. 

The man was sentenced to life imprisonment for the cold-blooded murder of Isla Koivisto, Inkeri's half-sister. She was eight years old at the time of her death. 

When he saw her, he smiled, but it was all bared teeth. "Well," he said raucously, "I see you're back."

Inkeri nodded. "Hello, father," she said blankly. 

｡･:*˚:✧｡

The full moon shone resplendently that night, bathing the forest in a serene glow. Silvery light flowed in through the open curtains, and Inkeri's own magic responded by glowing in her veins, visible through her pallid skin. She could never sleep on the night of the full moon, as power surged through her, akin to the subliminal body's celestial glow. 

Inkeri was in Mathias' room, lying in the bed with the blanket thrown to the other corner. She'd been too worried to face her mother at home, and the boy had agreed to let her stay. He himself slept on a bedsheet on the floor— apparently the other boys had told him it was improper for a man and a lady to share a bed. 

Finally, sheer boredom got the best of her as she got up, touching bare feet on the cold floor. "I'm going out," she said loudly. Mathias stirred, and the moon illuminated his white hair, as he peeked out from under his blanket. "I'm bored."

"Now?" He rasped, barely awake, though he sat up. "But it's still dark out."

"So?"

"So?" He echoed, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice as he ran a hand through already dishevelled hair. "Have you ever heard the expression 'better bored than dead?'"

"No."

He nodded. "That's because I made it up, just then, just for you." She rolled her eyes, not that he could see more than her silhouette in the darkness. "Where would you even go? The forest would be suicide at this hour— the spirits would tear you apart."

"Obviously not the forest," Inkeri snapped folding her arms, "I'm not completely brain-dead. I know another spot."

Mathias groaned loudly. For a moment, she thought he would go back to sleep, but then he shoved the covers away and stood up in front of her. "Fine," he acquiesced, but couldn't keep the juvenile excitement out of his voice. "Let's go, then."

They crept downstairs, going especially silent near the door of Mathias' parents' bedroom. As she fumbled with the lock, she couldn't stop giggling out of puerile excitement, and he had to clamp a hand over he mouth to stop her from laughing aloud. 

Outside, Inkeri savoured the fresh breeze on her face, while Mathias closed the door as slowly as he could. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him down the promenade, skipping every few steps as adrenaline— or magic— spiked her system. 

"Can you stop?" Mathias said, as his arm was nearly yanked out its socket when she pulled too hard. "You're acting like a horse with a twisted ankle. I'm feeling the magic surge too you know, and I'm acting normal about it..."

"Fine!" Inkeri said, dropping his arm. "My goodness, were you always this dull? How on Earth did we ever become friends?" 

"Because I have the patience of a Saint," he muttered, loudly enough to be heard, so he was surprised when she didn't reply. Mathias noticed Inkeri had stopped walking, and came over to check what she seemed to be examining. 

A Lily of the Valley flower grew on the edge of the misty meadow beside which they walked. He was worried she might touch it, but when he leaned closer, he saw what had caught her eye. 

Perched on the flower was a what appeared to be a tiny woman, with light hair that matched theirs, and translucent wings on her back, like those of a dragonfly. 

"Keiju*" Mathias breathed in awe, and Inkeri laughed softly as the sprite waved up at her. Inkeri waved back, and the boy watched her with a gentle sort of fondness. 

They walked for about twenty more minutes, and Mathias' tense demeanour slowly unravelled, as he eased into the familiarity of her company. 

It turned out, that Inkeri's supposedly "special" spot was an abandoned house on the very edge of the village, bordering the forest. The construction had been given up on, so the structure was lacking a roof. 

"You brought me all the way here for this?" Mathias demanded, and she brought her finger to his lips to shut him up, only pointing upward. 

The sky at this hour, far from the touch of human light, was a breath-taking spectacle. In the remote place, where the horizon was unobstructed and the darkness profound, the celestial canopy unfolded in its full grandeur. The stars seem close enough to touch, each one a silent sentinel of the universe.

"How do you feel?" Inkeri whispered, gazing at him to see his reaction. 

"Infinitesimally small," he replied, and she laughed. That was how Inkeri had felt when Asha had taken her up to the Astronomy Tower for the first time. She wished she could take Mathias there; this was nothing compared to that. 

"You know, they have the most glamourous dance, where I went," Inkeri said, changing the subject, as she brought Mathias to the centre of the room. She placed his hand on her waist, ignoring the way his eyebrows furrowed. "It's called the waltz."

"Oh?" He said tentatively, as she guided his moves the way Rosier had. Inkeri laughed at all of his fumbles, not bothering to mention that he was much better than she had been on her first try. 

When he spun her, they both laughed, and when he tipped her back to meet her eyes, both of their breaths hitched in their throats. 

Slowly, Mathias leaned closer, as though waiting for her to pull away, but she didn't. Instead, she brought her head up closer to his, and pressed her lips against his. They were soft to touch, unlike his calloused fingers, which brushed the tenderness of her neck. 

Everything felt so real, Inkeri didn't have time to detangle the mess of emotions she was feeling, except for one; burning desire. Her hand went to the tangled mess of his hair, gasping as his teeth touched the skin of her neck, and everything she was feeling seemed to diffuse past the realms of her self-awareness. 

His hand went to the buttons of her shirt. Hers went to the drawstring on his trousers. Every connection of their flesh felt like he was sewing a stitch in the rift that had ripped them apart for so many months. Her lips kissed his jaw as his fingers grazed places where she had never felt another's touch before. 

Pure bliss flooded her system as their heavy breaths and moans filled the still air. A thrilling icy fire crept under her skin, igniting it, but Mathias' blue eyes, the glacial colour of frigid waters, soothed the burn. She'd never known that anything could induce such a feeling of ecstasy before, nor had she ever felt so strongly, so alive. 

Except, perhaps, in her rage and hatred for Tom Riddle, but she pushed the thought of him out of her mind. 

As she lay on the floorboards, staring at the divinity of the darkness, she felt him curl up beside her, panting slightly. Inkeri's body was always freezing cold, and so was his, so they offered each other little warmth physically. 

"You're so beautiful," Mathias whispered softly in her ear as he lay beside her. She turned her head to look at him, bathed in moonlight, an angel of white locks and blue eyes. Those genuine, gleaming blue eyes. 

She curled up to face him, in a foetal position, as chills caressed her bare skin, closing her eyes. When she reopened them, she saw that his were now shut, and he was asleep, as she traced patterns on his arms, his back, his crotch.

Inkeri wasn't sure if she had slept with him out of a place of lust and physical attraction, or just compulsive curiosity. But as much as she tried, she couldn't find the place in her heart where her old infatuation had once resided. 

Paranoia was like a fiery hand of iron twisting her gut, and Inkeri's eyes fluttered open more than once. Each time, she was to be met with the reassurance that they were concealed from the eyes of everyone, spare for the scandalized yet indifferent stars above them. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Keiju— "beautiful creature like a small human, but with wings like those of a dragonfly. Usually avoids people, but friendly if encountered accidentally. Loves to dance and socialise."