batb part two: electric boogaloo

[fearlessly]

[ alisaie is not afraid of the woods.

truthfully, alisaie is not afraid of much at all - not the things that most are afraid of, at least. she does not fear the dark, or wolves, or bandits. she does not fear loud storms or knives in the dark of faerie tale monsters stalking haunted forests. what she fears is being along. grieving. losing those she loves.

and that is why she is here. alisaie has ridden tirelessly through the night, driving baptiste hard over the hard, wintry earth, her breath frozen in her lungs, the frigid wind stinging her cheeks and ears and eyes. alphinaud is her entire world. he is all that she has, all of her family that remains, and the thought of living her life without him, moving forward alone..

she would rather not move forward at all.

and so she will find him, regardless of he consequence, heedless of the potential danger, for without him, she has no life at all.

baptiste remembers the way, and though she can feel the tension and fear in the body of the horse beneath her, still they press on, hooves slamming hard into the earth, empty branches pulling at her hair, whipping over their heads. the forest seems to go on and on, deeper and deeper into darkness and mist, until at long, long last the space opens up, and a dark castle looms ahead, its twisted spires climbing into the gray sky, its gloomy edifice frowning down as she approaches the wrought iron gates choked with decayed vines.

alisaie is not afraid of much, yet still the sight of it sends a chill down her spine.

what is this place? she's heard of no such estate as this - a castle, so close to the village? how have there been no stories? no history? she has ridden less than a day to find her brother, not far from home at all, and yet.. there is nothing in their books about this great castle, no tall tales, nothing at all. it is a phantom. still, somehow it feels familiar to her.. like a memory of a dream's dream.

exhaling a shudder, alisaie slides from baptiste's back, leading him to an icy, overgrown brook for a drink, looping the reins over a strong, bare branch before at last she approaches the castle. it's silent, sinister, but she.. she has no choice. if this is where alphinaud is, then she must press forward. the rusted gates groan, splitting the silence, and alisaie approaches the great doors, the old rotten oak swinging beneath her weight as she slips carefully into the great, dark foyer. ]

Comments

[punshots]

[ Visitors are not something that Prompto often entertains. Seldom few have ever found their way through the wildwood to the castle, and those who have were frightened off enough by the ivied gates and whistling wind, the feeling of foreboding in the air that encompasses everything within the courtyard. None have dared to venture beyond the door of the hall, save for one, seeking shelter from a storm that had grown cruel outside.

But this is no problem of his. The foolish Elezen should have accounted for the weather before making such a journey. He should have died out there in the snow for his mistake. He never should have intruded upon this place, upon Prompto's solitude, upon all that remains here, cursed as he is. For once he has encroached upon this enchanted place, Prompto cannot allow the boy to leave again, taking stories to the village of the mystical castle in the wood that would inevitably draw others out once they knew it was actually able to be entered. It's too dangerous. Prompto can't risk the exposure, for himself, and for those who are imprisoned here with him, changed from their original forms for time and eternity.

For what hope do they ever have of this curse being broken? None, none at all. Most of the enchanted servants do not even stir these days; they, like him, have begun to forget what it was ever like to be human in the first place.

So he takes the Elezen to the dungeon to live out the rest of his days, providing little for his needs. What should he care if this foolish boy dies to an empty stomach or a cold night? Yet he can't quite bring himself to be so cruel, and sees to it that he is provided a blanket and a few scant meals a day. Maybe he'll die anyway, or maybe he'll try to escape and Prompto will have to kill him anyway. It doesn't matter, but the sooner the Elezen is out of the picture, the better. Then he can be alone again.

But fate has other plans in mind.

Only a few days later, there is another intruder beyond the gates of the castle, and this time, Prompto is quicker to find the source of the disturbance, ever alert after the arrival of the Elezen. What if there were others in a hunting party with him who have tracked him to this place? Or yet others who missed his presence back in the village and sought to find him in the woods? The reasons do not matter. Another has come to disturb his solace, and he will do what he must to silence this one, as well.

From the hallway high above the entrance hall, Prompto lurks, watching, waiting, until...the intruder appears. She appears. Another young Elezen with pale, white hair, appearing remarkably like the one who came before. His sister, no doubt, who has come to fetch her wayward brother. It's...kind and brave and stupid, the sort of thing he would have once admired, but those days are far behind him, now.

Now, his heart only sinks, a faint whirring echoing down to the foyer as he follows her from above. ]

[fearlessly]

[ the castle is as foreboding within as it had been without, dim and dank with high, endless vaulted ceilings choked with cobwebs, and colored glass windows thick with dust. everything is deathly still and quiet, and yet there is a strange, unnerving.. aliveness to the space, as if a thousand eyes are bent down toward her, a heavy, oppressive presence in the air that presses down from above, crushing the breath from her lungs.

gods, how did her brother come to a place like this? worry clutches at her heart with icy fingers. ]

Hello?

[ she calls, and her voice sounds so small echoing in the vaulted hall, meek and frightened as a mouse. it does little for her confidence. but confident or not, she cannot turn back, not if her brother is here. she must find him. she has no choice. there is only the way forward.

and so she presses on through the door, and her elfin eyes are keen in the darkness yet she cannot entirely pierce the veil. a silver candelabra sits dusty and ignored on the mantle nearby, its candles lit - she is not alone here. she cannot be. someone lit these candles. her brother..? ]

Alphinaud?

[ she calls again, her voice stronger now, and she seizes the candelabra and presses further into the dark. ]

Brother, are you here? Please, answer me!

[ a voice lilts on the too-still air, distant and thin - it's him. alisaie gasps sharply, forgetting her fear and gathering her skirts to dash into the darkness, following the call of her brother's voice. the closer she draws, the more her heart twists with fear - he sounds.. weak, pained, and her feet carry her down, down into dank dungeons - gods, how long has he been here? what has happened? falling to her knees, alisaie reaches thorough the bar for his fingers. he's so cold.. ]

[punshots]

[ Deeper and deeper she goes, undeterred by the aging wood and dusty stones that make up a castle that was once grand and full of life. Now its denizens slumber, barely stirring, although the presence of not one, but two unexpected visitors have brought some activity back within these walls. It has certainly seen Prompto up and about more often than before, though for no good reason. And she is far enough in now that he cannot allow her to leave. Not that it seems she would, anyway. So, he is her brother, and she has come to rescue him, it would seem. It's a shame and a tragedy. She should have just left well enough alone...

But of course it isn't that easy.

He trails her to the dungeon, to the cell where her brother has been imprisoned, where she seeks him out. Their reunion, their bond is something to behold, something he hasn't witnessed in a long, long time, but it doesn't reach his heart. How could it, when he has none? Cold and unfeeling is what he was made to be, and so he will accept the charge. It doesn't matter how much he might just want to set them free. It's too late for that now.

His approach slows, that whirring sound slowing to a few click-click-clicks, as he keeps to the shadows. There isn't much light down here to begin with, but he...shouldn't let them see his face. His body. He shouldn't let them have stories to tell about him, to wonder what he is. Better he be left as a phantom, an unknowable thing. ]

You never should have come here.

[ He utters into the dark corridor, his voice raspy from disuse and something distinctly inhuman. ]

[fearlessly]

[ normally alisaie is keen on her surroundings. she is a hunter, a wildwood true to the name, the forest is her home and her world, she knows every sound, the feel of the air as things move through it, but now she is caught unawares. too focused on the task at hand, deafened by the slamming of her heartbeat, she does not notice the hulking presence until it is too late, and though alphinaud attempts to warn her, it is not in time. with a sharp gasp she whirls around, pressing her body to the bars to protect her brother. ]

Who goes there? What have you done to my brother?

[ alisaie shouts, and her voice is tremulous yet fierce and forward. in an instant she is reaching for her belt, but her rapier is not there - it must have fallen away in her desperate run, or been tangled in the grasping vines at the gate - regardless of why it is gone, she is unarmed. her heart leaps into her chest.

she cannot be afraid. ]

Release him at once!

[punshots]

[ After so many years of quiet and solitude, the castle feels...alive again. But not in a way that encourages Prompto; instead, it is a kind of anxious energy that makes him constantly feel on edge. The castle's inhabitants won't stop talking about her, won't stop chattering with him about her, especially in those first few days. But how can they help it? She has a fire in her eyes, they say. Her spirit is strong, unbroken...could it be she is the one? The one who can lift the spell?

But of course, that's laughable notion, and Prompto makes sure they know it, as he snaps at them before leaving to brood in his quarters, where they know not to encroach upon his solace.

But for all their exasperation with him, they are perfectly happy to approach her, plucky and inquisitive as they ask her questions about the outside world, about her, about how she finds the castle. Though the circumstances for her being here could certainly be better, the fact of the matter is she is here now, and they want to see her taken care of to the best of their ability. The food they bring her is excellent, her sheets are changed regularly, her room swept and organized — in fact, she may find the castle staff a little too helpful at times. But they can't help it. It's been so long since they've had a reason to serve, for the Knight (as they refer to the castle's unsightly steward) asks for little from them these days. It's been so long since they've had a reason to hope.

As to the nature of their curse, however, or the qualifications necessary to lift it, they are strangely tight-lipped. They are always quick to change the subject, or pretend they did not hear. It seems the subject is a bit sensitive, and they would rather not the Knight find that she heard it from them, instead of him. It is his story to tell, after all.

Not that he is telling any stories to her. He barely speaks with her at all, and he never seeks her out, actively avoiding her when he can. It is only when they have a chance passing in the castle that he speaks to her, and even then, they are gruff reminders and commands that do not invite further conversation. He has no need of companionship, and he's certain she seeks none from him, either. The servants keep her company well enough. And he...

He has been alone for such a very, very long time. He has forgotten how not to be.

But sometimes, he cannot avoid encountering her entirely. Not when she has given her escort the slip, and she has taken to exploring on her own. Even that he could ignore, except that...she is veering awfully close to his quarters, to that wing of the castle that no one but himself is allowed to enter, and that he cannot allow.

The clunk and whir of his metal body foretells his approach, but for as cumbersome as his form is, he is upon her quickly, seeping around a corner with otherworldly swiftness to put himself between her and the rest of this corridor. Even now, his hood is pulled tight over his face, obscuring his features, only the sconced firelight flickering off the faint metal patchwork beneath. ]

You will go no further this way.

[ In case she had any lingering ambitions... ]

[fearlessly]

[ adjusting to life here has been.. well, it has certainly been something.

her first days were the most difficult - painful and lonely and frightening. she missed her brother terribly, missed her home, the feeling of the earth beneath her and the sky over her head and the sun on her face. she never sees the sun here. even with her windows opened, the sky is ever steely grey, cold and unforgiving and dim, the nights thick and endless black. some days it rains, sleets, snows, but it is never warm, the sun never shows its face through the unbroken cover of clouds. it weighs on her, and always she had felt watched, always she heard whispers all around her. at first she told herself that it must have been drafts, but her ears are too keen for her to have kept herself convinced for very long.

this castle is far more alive than she could have ever imagined.

it was terrifying, at first. when the furniture began to move and the candles flicker, alisaie had been certain that she was losing her mind. the claustrophobic walls and sky were driving her mad.

yet there was so much more to it than that. at first she could hardly believe it, she could not understand how such a thing could be possible, and the many, many creatures had evaded her more pointed questions - they still do - but she has worked out, at least, that this must be some sort of curse. powerful magic. terrible magic. she can feel it in the walls when she opens herself to it, but its brand is dark and shadowy, one she is unwilling to touch, lest its corruptive influence pull her to it depths.

but that beastly master - the knight, as the castle's denizens call him - has kept good on his word, at least. she is given the freedom of the castle and its grounds, and while a prison is, after all, a prison, she feels better when she is able to wander the long corridors and walk the gardens. they are choked with vines and weeds, and the winter is approaching, but alisaie does what she can, using her influence to tame the thorny vines and clear the strangled earth, one ilm at a time.

the weather is chilly, however, and growing colder by the day. a storm rolls in that does not relent for days and, unable to wander the grounds, alisaie wanders the castle, instead. there must be more to see. this building is enormous, and she is sure that she has not seen half of it - most of the western wings have gone unexplored.

she hears him before she sees him, the telltale screech and groan of rusted metal and scratched steel giving his presence away immediately, but he is upon her more swiftly than anticipated. alisaie gasps, surprised, though it melts away quickly, her brows furrowing. ]

Why?

[punshots]

[ BECAUSE HE SAID SO!!!!

But okay, he doesn't actually answer that way. Once again, he thinks to leave her without any answer, because he doesn't need to explain himself, but...he can't deny that she has been cooperative with him so far, and hasn't tried to run away or cause too much commotion. More importantly, if he doesn't give her an answer, she might decide to try to get back into these hallways later, when he is not so close by to stop her. And that he cannot allow.

Still, he makes a gruff sound in his metallic throat, making his annoyance clear. ]

It's where I retire. [ That's enough of an explanation in his eyes, though given how aloof he has been, it may be clear to her that he is...hiding something as well.

A beat as he glares down at her, at last asking: ]

Were you looking for something?

[ He can at least send her elsewhere and get her out of his hair. ]

[fearlessly]

[ since finding access to the library, alisaie's days here have been far easier. she still misses home greatly, of course, she thinks about her brother and her house, and all that she has left behind, that was swept so quickly away from her, but her days and nights here are no longer complete torture. painful, but manageable.

it certainly helps that there are thousands of books at her fingertips, books of all shapes and sizes and genres and ages - there is so much that she has learned even in a short span of weeks, and much, much more to be learned even still ahead of her. every morning she wakes to that excited tug in her gut, ready to rush off to the stacks of tomes, often even before eating - the castle's many staff, at least, are always quick to deliver her a meal when she misses it. it was strange and uncomfortable at first, to be waited on so much, alisaie does not particularly enjoy having things done for her, but it's difficult to deny the joy that it gives them to work. they were so old when she arrived, dusty and despairing, near inanimate for how long they had gone without purpose - if it can give them even some small measure of happiness to serve her, then well, she can suck it up and allow them to.

they were once people, after all. they had lives, loves, ambitions, things they may never entirely have again. she can sacrifice some sliver of her pride to bring them a bit of joy.

sleep, however, is not so easily come by. the books and globes and astrolabes and all number of gadgets interest her so fully that she finds it difficult to pry herself away. more than once she has fallen asleep slumped over a tome cracked open on the table, or attempted to go to bed only to find herself tossing and turning and returning to the library again in the middle of the night when particularly obsessed with a manuscript. it's all right, really, she can rest whensoever she chooses, so if she is up late into the night, what does it matter? it feels good to be joyful about something again.

right now, alisaie has no idea what time it is. the sky beyond the frosted windows is inky black, and has been for many hours now, and she finds her stomach rumbling, interrupting a particularly good read of an astronomy passage. at first she ignores it, but the gnawing soon becomes so distracting that when she finds herself reading the same sentence for the fifth time in order to absorb it, she relents. pulling her dressing robe more tightly around her for warmth, alisaie lifts a (non-animate) candelabra and sneaks off to the kitchens.

they're warm now, clean and welcoming - when first she arrived everything was rusted with disuse, blanketed in a thick layer of dust, but now the woodburning stove is always lit, the stone floor warm beneath her feet, the scent of tonight's dinner still hanging about the air, perfect and savory. the servants sleep, so she moves as quietly as she can to the larder, searching out a fresh loaf of bread and some butter and jam. ]

[punshots]

[ Things have settled into a pattern, in the weeks since she arrived here, and that's all the better, because it makes it easier for Prompto to stay out of her way. He has grown accustomed to her presence, but not used to it. There's nothing comfortable about the way he dodges around her schedule, and tries to predict the odd hours she keeps, but he no longer keeps her monitored as much as he initially did. Whether she has ambitions to escape or not he cannot be sure, but she has not made an attempt yet, and for that, he allows her more space. Guards are still posted outside the castle's exits, and he still has eyes and ears everywhere...but for now, things are probably as peaceful as they'll ever be.

It doesn't help that the servants seem fit to tell him about her every chance they get. About how clever and sharp she is, how fire and warmth burn within her. How they see her strong will as a possible solution to this curse that has befallen them all. He can't blame them for hoping, but...they still don't understand. He just doesn't have the heart to tell them that their curse will never be broken, that they dream of something impossible.

As winter settles in around the castle, he finds himself more restless, for even if he doesn't often venture outside the castle walls, there is something deeply isolating about the wind and storms that buffet against the parapets. It makes him more active than usual, skulking about the halls late at night, eager to find things to do with his hands. It's one such night that brings him to the kitchens, where he rarely ventures anymore. Ever since he got this body, he lost the need to eat, and a lot of the desire. But he goes there now, maybe to find something to nibble on, or to even attempt to make something. Maybe to emulate a very old friend of his...

But as soon as he pushes through the door to the kitchen, he realizes that he is not alone. Gods, why is she here so late? Surely he hasn't been away from society for so long that mortals no longer need to sleep during the night. But here she is, grabbing something to eat in the wee hours of the morning, and this is hardly the only time she has kept such strange hours. He's just been able to avoid her until now.

Given the weight and noise of his mechanical body, his presence cannot possibly go unnoticed by her — nor the fact that he wears his hood down, a fact which he realizes a moment too late. Unmasked by the shadows, well-lit by the warm hearth in the kitchen, his expression is open and wide with shock, his patchwork automaton face on full display. It seems both youthful and ancient all at once, rusted and welded, twisted and broken and uneven, gears apparent beneath gaps in his shell. But his eyes still remain ever as they were, clear blue as the sky, so very human for how much of him is plainly not.

A split second later he is pulling his hood back over his head, but a second is all it will have taken for her to see. He turns away, as if she still can see him, see the hideous metal face he wears beneath the hood of his robes. ]

F-forgive me, I didn't realize...you were awake.

[ Maybe he should be furious, but he isn't. He just feels...small, like a startled mouse. ]

[fearlessly]

[ he certainly has no aptitude for stealth, and her keen ears hear him before he reaches the door, the sudden screech and drag of rusted metal more than enough to give anyone a fright in the middle of the deep night.

alisaie yelps in surprise, startled, the bread dropping from her hands and onto the floor. ]

Gods -

[ she hisses, catching her breath through her teeth, straightening up to turn toward him. until this moment she has.. never seen his face. well, she has seen some of it, enough of it to make some educated guesses as to the shape and form of it, given what shadows she has seen, and what light has sneaked beneath his hood, but seeing him clearly in the light is another thing entirely. alisaie cannot help the look of surprise that cracks like a bolt of lightning across her face, nor the way her breath catches in a soft, feathery gasp. even her imagination could not have filled in the blanks.

he is.. extraordinary, like nothing she has ever seen before. what in the world.. is he? he speaks like a man, and his eyes are astoundingly, hauntingly human, so incongruous with the rest of his face that it is jarring, but everything else is metal and springs, more machine than living, breathing creature. she hardly knows what to think. was he made by someone, enchanted to move and speak like all the rest? but his eyes..

gathering her thoughts, alisaie shakes her head, exhaling a sound like a dry laugh. ]

Why in the world are you asking my forgiveness?

[punshots]

[ While no storms have had quite the impact on the castle than the one on that fateful night, it is still a long, cold, brutal winter, and while things are...peaceful enough between them, it would be as stretch to say they have established any kind of relationship. Sure, occasionally takes meals at the same time as her, and when he passes her in the hallways of the castle, he no longer dodges out of the way and avoids her. He may not speak much, and there conversations don't carry much weight. After that night, he would rather not...get into a situation like that again, so better just to avoid it all together. To talk about lighthearted things, painless things, meaningless things that do not ask much of them beyond simple, pleasant words.

It's better than the alternative, and probably about as good as they can hope for. It's...enough.

As he begins to feel more at ease around her, he no longer feels he must avoid the library when she is in there, either, and while he doesn't exactly greet her when they are both occupying it at the same time — really, it's large enough that sometimes they might miss each other anyway — he doesn't avoid her. On this particular day, several weeks after the storm incident, he sits hunched over one of the tables, a stack of parchment paper in front of him, several of them with completed or in-progress sketches, and others yet still blank. The pictures range the gamut from chocobos to landscapes to people, their expressions drawn with great detail and warmth, and all of them quite skilled. Lost in his art, Prompto's metal hand flies over the paper — it's something he did before...before he was like this that he is still able to do unhindered, though it has been some time since he has actually made time to draw. It has been some time since he has wanted to try.

But something has stirred within him...

As the evening grows old, he grows more and more engrossed in his work, completely oblivious to the fact that he is no longer alone. ]

[fearlessly]

[ it's.. comfortable.

which is a strange thing to think, that she would be comfortable here, with him, but when exposed to something for a long enough time, anything can feel normal. it helps that he's no longer scurrying around her like a mouse in a wall. she's still trapped, she still thinks about her family every day, but the servants are kind, the knight is tolerable, and every day the castle seems better than it was the day before. more things are dusted, repaired, cleaned, rearranged - it seems an entirely different place from the castle she first arrived in, bright and warm and clean where it had once been dark and haunting and cold.

and as suspected, even after many weeks the library still holds her attention, she has barely made it through a single bookcase. alisaie could live a thousand lives and never read them all..

it does not surprise her that he is here; this is not the first time that they have stumbled across one another, but usually he is reading, or examining a map - this time he is moving, bent over something, and she can hear the scratch of quill on paper. with his back to her, she cannot see what he is writing, but she approaches nevertheless with an armful of picture books. ]

Writing something of your own?

[punshots]

[ Absorbed as he is in his work, he does not hear her approach — until she is next to him, speaking, and it nearly makes him jump out of his skin (proverbially speaking). He starts, sitting up quickly and looking wildly over at her, the quill dropping out of his hand. ]

Oh, I, um — n-no, I...

[ In his haste, he hasn't obscured the drawing from her sight, but likely what she'll see won't make a lot of sense, anyway. The scene he is illustrating seems to be...a wedding. A wedding in the throne room of this very castle, if she can pick out the details, unobscured by cobwebs or broken furniture. The day is bright and sunny, the hall filled with guests and attendants, though only a handful of figures have distinguishable features. Those are the ones who stand near the front with the fair-haired bride and the dark-haired groom. They're happy. Everyone is happy, especially those that stand nearest the groom's side. ]

I'm just...oh.

[ He seems to realize then that he's left the drawing out in the open, and self-consciously he shuffles the pieces before him, until a harmless rendering of a chocobo sits on top, obscuring the rest of the pile. ]

Sketching.

[fearlessly]

[ sometimes, alisaie is simply too curious for her own good.

she does not mean to go to the west wing, she does not go there with the express purpose of breaking his rules, but nevertheless, she is here. sometimes she walks without watching where her feet carry her, she wanders, lost in thought, following the winding corridors wherever they might take her, without paying much attention to where she is going, or why. the castle is so large and sprawling that she has found so many things this way, so many little hidden rooms or shrouded passageways, places where feet have not walked for many years, and she has occupied the castle so long now that the servants no longer dog her every step. everyone has fallen into a comfortable routine.

and yet, here she is.

alisaie is carrying a small book open on her palm, a tome filled with old, ancient spells of a bygone era, from a country across the sea, and so absorbed is she in the arcane text that she does not notice the large overturned vase that has fallen across her path in the corridor until she trips on it. with a sharp gasp, she catches herself before she falls, steadying herself with a hand on the wall, and at last lifts her gaze from the book.

where on earth has she found herself..? this hall is dim and dusty, the curtains lank and motheaten, the furniture in a state of rot and disrepair. by now the servants, with her help, have cleaned up the castle quite well - had they missed this hall, somehow? ]

[punshots]

[ All good things — or even all slightly comfortable things — must come to an end. He knows it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong, before one of them loses their patience again and the tenuous peace that has formed between them is broken. Which is sad, really, that after months, that's all they can claim between them. A small measure of peace. They aren't friends. They are barely even acquaintances, and the blame for that lies, inextricably, on him. Even so, these last few weeks have been...better than usual. They talk more, greet each other, and while he hasn't opened up about himself, they are still on far, far better terms than they once were.

But it must come to an end, inevitably. Prompto no longer keeps tabs on Alisaie within the castle, only keeping watchmen posted at the exits and entrances, and even then...he isn't sure he would stop her if she went. So Alisaie is able to enter the western wing of the castle unabated, in it is certainly not in the state that she finds the rest of the castle. Here, the dust and cobwebs lie thick, mostly undisturbed, though everything beneath it is in disarray. The furniture is broken and overturned, papers and books lie scattered all around, and the paintings that line the walls are obscured by cloth, or worse, destroyed. There's a sense of disorganized chaos to this place, and to be sure, it is still where Prompto spends most of his time. Alone, holing himself away, hiding amongst his secrets.

The further in she goes, the more cluttered it becomes, and the more it tells a story. There are several suits of armor along the wall, but unlike the ones elsewhere in the castle, these ones do not move with enchanted liveliness. In fact, nothing in here seems to be alive the way the rest of the castle is. There's a desk nearby with the drawings he had done recently at the library upon it, and beyond it, a large window overlooking the forest beyond, where it would almost seem he's made a nest with items, linens and papers and quills and ink, parchment stretched out over an easel. Adjacent there are yet more pictures he has drawn, and while some of them are nonspecific, many are of...people. People she may recognize from the portraits in this room if she looked at them, portraits that feature faces similar to those in the wedding sketch he had done those few nights ago. The dark-haired prince as his fair bride, and his three retainers, his three knights.

Some of the sketches have become the focus of his ire, it would seem, with one of the faces scratched out — the one, if she is paying close attention, that seems to be the youngest and smallest of the three. The one that smiles the brightest in all the intact portraits. The one he would like most to forget.

And then, in the very center of the room, is a small table with a glass container atop it, and within that, there is...a flower. Not a remarkable one, like a rose, but a simple, plain, yellow wildflower, though it seems imbued with something magical, from the way the air pulls and ripples around it. ]

[fearlessly]

[ it is not long before it becomes apparent to her exactly where she must be.

she should not be here. this can only be the west wing. while alisaie might have stumbled upon it by accident, innocently, if she continues on from this point she is.. deliberately breaking his rules, knowing full well that he has forbidden her from this place. for a moment she hesitates. things between them have been.. comfortable. in many ways she has started to get to know him, to see who it is that he is, even if so very much is still shrouded in mystery. in going forward, she is expressly choosing to disregard his wishes.

she should turn back.

and yet, something beckons her forward.. natural curiosity, yes, but something else as well, something very physical - the tug of magic. as an elezen she has a natural affinity for the arcane, the the feel of magic in the air is as obvious to her as the scent of baking bread, or the sound of a ringing bell, and this magic - its signature is strong. there is magic all around the castle, magic in the poor enchanted servants, magic in the knight himself, but they feel quite faint in comparison with this, like a candle's flame compared with the sun. it is the same brand of magic, related to the castle, to the people, to the knight, but it is far stronger than whatever stuff it is that holds them together, and it beckons her on.

there is an unsettling aura here, and it is not only the influence of the magic. it is the space itself. the disarray of items. the torn portraits. the scratched faces. the sight of them drives a shudder down her spine, and she is sure that she recognizes these faces.. it is not until she sees the fair haired woman and the dark haired man that she recalls it - the sketch that she had caught the knight hunched over. whoever these people are, they are inextricably tied to his past, and tied to this place. smoothing her hand over a large, dusty portrait, alisaie gently presses together the shreds of torn canvas, and they come together in the shape of a face - warm, smiling, bright, with eyes that are.. hauntingly familiar.

a gentle twinkle of light catches the corner of her sight, and alisaie turns -

that's it. that's the source. that is where the magic is emanating from, whispering, beckoning, calling her. slowly, carefully she moves forward again, and it isn't until she is very close that she can see it - a flower under glass, bright yellow and warm as the sun. gently, she swipes the dust away from the glass with her finger, but she still cannot see it well enough, and so she lifts the glass away and sets it aside.

alisaie has never seen magic like this. elemental magic is her specialty, the energy of the earth and the air, the water and fire, but this is something entirely different. darker. forbidden. it is like.. life magic, soul magic, and woven so intricately and expertly that she can hardly begin to see where the spell begins and where it ends, where the seams are, the imperfections, the signatures. gods, who is responsible for this..? ]

[punshots]

[ In the days following Alisaie's recovery, Prompto remains steadfast at her side through all of it, eager to see her regain her strength, but also...to spend time with her. It's a quiet sort of acknowledgement within himself, that he wants to be around her, and if he thinks about it too much, he begins to grow nervous and uncertain. It still seems too good to be true, that she could possibly want him around her, but she has no reason to deceive him. If she wanted him gone, she need only say the word, and he would give her all the space in the world.

But she doesn't.

Of course, tending to her has meant that he cannot tend to himself, and while he didn't suffer from the storm in the same way that she did, his frame is certainly worse for wear because of it. His joints are either too tight or too loose, creaking and cracking painfully, one of his knees barely holding together. He's never been good about taking care of this body, but it's never gotten quite this bad before. But how can he think to stop and oil his hinges when Alisaie's tea cup might be running low, or her blankets might need refreshing?

He comes second, and in a way,that's nice, too. Prompto has always put the servants' safety and wellbeing ahead of his own, but this is...different, to be someone else's direct caretaker. It puts to use skills gone rusty, talents he forgot he had. Looking after her just feels...right. Natural.

But at last Alisaie is back on her own two feet, though Prompto is there still to make sure she doesn't overdo it. He knows her well enough by now to know that she isn't one to sit still for long, and no doubt she is itching to get back to the library and remain there for all hours of the night. Even so, he's brought her breakfast one more time, knocking on her door and waiting for her to admit him before shouldering it open and setting down the tray on the table in the room, wincing as he pivots on his sore leg. He needs to see to that knee soon...

But it can wait. ]

S-sorry, I mixed it up and put in three sugars instead of two...but I figured you wouldn't mind too much.

[ ...He has also grown familiar with her sweet tooth. ]

How are you feeling today?

[fearlessly]

[ by the time he enters alisaie is already sitting up at the edge of her bed, fully dressed - not in comfortable bedclothes, but in her usual practical dress, rolling her sleeves up to the elbow. her boots are unlaced beside her feet, ready to be stepped in. it's clear that she does not mean to languish in bed any longer. ]

Very well, just as I was yesterday.

[ she says through a wry smile. truthfully, she could have been out of bed days ago, but she was not blind to the fact that it seemed to give him joy to be helpful, to tend to her, and though she does not think it was his fault that she ended up the way she did, she knows that he feels guilty for it nonetheless. it likely assuages his guilt to take care of her as best he can.

but she has her limits, and her skin has been itching for days, now. she's ready to feel the sun on her face and the fresh air in her lungs, but she'll take a moment to stuff some breakfast in her face. ]

More importantly, when are you going to let me tend to that mess?

[ she says, gesturing in the general direction of his legs. if he thinks she has not noticed his gimping around, he would surely be wrong.. ]

[punshots]

[ Ah, look at her go, daintily stuffing breakfast pastries into her face, she is truly such an inspiration to him...

He goes stiff when she draws attention to his legs, though perhaps it would be asking too much to hope that she hadn't noticed his injuries, such as they are. Since his body doesn't heal like a human's would, the immediacy to tend to his repairs can easily get pushed aside, especially when he has better things to be doing. But even before Alisaie came to the castle, he still wasn't great about his maintenance. There's only so many times he can replace the gears in his body before it begins to feel pointless.

And anyway, he's the one that's supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around!! She is already doing more than enough for him just by tolerating his presence, so he waves a hand dismissively. ]

Oh, what, that? It's nothing...barely even noticed it was loose.

[ Just like...so many other loose places on his body right now. ]

Pay it no mind. I'll take care of it soon.

[fearlessly]

[ she's nervous, even if she does not necessarily know why.

they've grown together quite a bit, after all - she's comfortable in his presence, and he in hers. they laugh like old friends, spend more and more time together until soon enough they're taking meals at the same times, reading together, telling stories, constantly in one another's presence until at last she must retire for the night, sometimes well past any reasonable bedtime.

this seems.. natural, that he would ask her to something like this, to dinner, to dance, in a fashion unlike their usual quick meals together. this is different. it's formal. it's.. special. she cannot be the only one who feels what she is feeling, can she? he is strange, and different, he is not even a man and yet she is so comfortable with him, affection coming more and more easily with each passing day, her heart drawing nearer to his, and yet still she cannot help but wonder if this is just another way for them to play, if he still sees her as.. a prisoner. a girl. mayhaps even a fun new toy with which to pass the time. it's why her heart beats like a hummingbird against her ribs as she draws nearer to the stairs.

there's no need to be nervous. she knows him. she cares for him. she said yes, for heaven's sake.

and so alisaie inhales deeply, closing her eyes and steadying herself, checking her loose, half-swept curls in the mirror before she's carefully gathering the skirts of her gown and turning to move down the half-stairs to meet him.

it will be fine.

this is what she wants. ]

[punshots]

[ It's a strange, wonderful thing, that has blossomed between them. It's something he could have never seen coming, even in his wildest dreams. But Alisaie...has radicalized his narrow, hopeless view of the world around him. She has broadened his horizons and made him feel hope again. She has made him believe. She has made him want to move forward, rather than stay in the past, and all of this would be shocking enough on its own, but it's the fact that she actually seems to want to spend time with him that truly changes everything. It's what made it easy to ask her to join him tonight. Or, well — easier. No matter how natural it felt, there was certainly nothing smooth about his delivery. But Alisaie accepted his invitation nonetheless, leaving him to wonder...if it were at all possible for her to feel the way about him that he does about her.

He's been aware of the depth of his feelings for her for quite some time, since before she had entered the west wing, when they had first begun to get to know each other. Back when he was human, it wasn't uncommon for him to develop feelings for...well, just about any girl who looked his way, but this is...different. She is different, and he has never felt this way about anyone before. Nervous as he might be about this, afraid as he may be that he will mess things up, this is his chance. Maybe he's a fool to think...to think that they could be anything other than friends, but won't it be better to know? After countless years of waiting, he is ready to take a chance.

While he can't pretty himself up quite the way she can, he still oils his hinges and buffs his metal, removing rust and grime that has built up around his body, leaving himself gleaming and shiny. It takes some digging around the castle, but with the help of the servants, he's able to find some suitable formal robes in his size to wear, and he practices his steps in his room after she's gone to bed. He was no gifted dancer when he was human, and he's rusty at best now, but if he can at least manage to not step on (and crush) her toes, he'll count it as a success.

At last, the moment arrives, and though he's so nervous his frame slightly trembles, he makes his way from his quarters down to the stairs that lead to the dining room. He has barely a moment to register that Alisaie has made it there before him before he is stunned into silence at the sight of her, his breath leaving him as he takes in her divine appearance. Gods, she looks miraculous. How could he have possibly gotten so lucky, to spend the evening with someone so beautiful and smart and wonderful as her?

After a moment, his feet remember how to walk, though it takes his mouth a moment longer to remember how to speak. ]

Alisaie, y-you look...stunning.

[ That doesn't even begin to cover how beautiful she looks. ]

[fearlessly]

[ his.. transformation might not be so clear as hers, but nevertheless it makes quite a difference. he's an entirely different creature from what he had been when first they met - bent low, rusted and grinding and grimy, wrapped in a tattered cloak. now he stands tall, his clothing clean and fine, his body cleaned and buffed until it shines. he is not handsome by any usual standard of measurement, but alisaie has never put much stock in looks; he is as beautiful inside as he is out.

they reach the bottom of the stairs, and she has to remember the delicate curtsy she was taught as a girl, though beneath her skirts her knees tremble a bit. honestly, this is all very.. fancy, for her. alisaie might have been raised a noble girl, stuffed into silk and lace and taught to sit straight and drink with her pinky out, but it had never suited her very well. what if she trips over her skirts? what if it's obvious that she is not suited to this? what if she just looks.. silly, and stupid, in all of these frills?

but it soon becomes clear that he does not think so, and she releases a soft exhale, even as her ears flush pink, and she slips her small hands into his large ones. ]

So do you.

[ she says, earnestly, breaking into a warm, if nervous smile, her eyes fixed on his own, though when she speaks she puts on overly fancy airs. ]

Shall we dine, my prince?

[punshots]

[ And then she is gone.

Alisaie leaves him with tokens to remember her by, and to be sure, Prompto does not soon forget them. The drawing he did of her is both deeply personal and deeply sensual, a tangible sign of their connection to one another, but the kiss she leaves him with doesn't soon leave his memory, either, even if the warmth of her lips leaves him all too soon. Her warmth leaves all of them far too soon, and Prompto can already hear the castle's denizens murmuring worriedly in the wake of Alisaie's departure. Has she left us? What are we to do? Will we ever be free?

But Prompto can offer them no answers, and so he doesn't. For all she left him to remember her by, it's just that — they're memories. She made no promise to return, and after all, why would she? She is...free now. She no longer need live in the shadow of this castle, haunted by a tin man with an irreparable heart. She can live out her life in the village with her brother. Maybe he can find a way to send some of the books from the library to her, but that's as far as he dares go. He can never go visit her. He can never leave the grounds of this castle. And he cannot expect her to return of her own volition. They may have a bond, she may have bared herself to him, but...but that's...it can't...

...He only hopes that she was not too late. That she was able to help her village, and save any one in danger, keeping herself safe as well. It's just like her, to rush to the aid of others. Gods, how he loves her...

And at least he can hold onto that. That he had the tremendous privilege to meet her, to fall in love with her, to hold that feeling in his heart. Maybe in time it will make him bitter, and for now, it makes him grieve. But he wouldn't give it up for the world.

There isn't much of anything he wants to do after she leaves, and he is, as ever, unable to cry the tears he so desperately wants to cry. So instead, he curls up in his little nest in the west wing and stares out the window, intending to stay like that for a long, long time. ]

[fearlessly]

[ though she made no verbal promise to him, she keeps her word, and the castle's secrets, and speaks nothing of them.

her arrival in town is timely indeed, for to her horror it is her home at the center of the blaze, the home she shared with her brother a crackling, hungry inferno. thank the gods he has escaped it, but her things are gone, her memories burned away - but alphinaud overjoyed to simply see her safe. he had tried to rally the village to her cause again and again, to convince them to storm the woods in her defense, and each time he had been laughed out of taverns or homes or halls until at last the townsfolk began to find him more wearisome than entertaining. he was raving mad, going on about monsters in castles and enchanted furniture, and it was only a matter of time before someone found him more dangerous than amusing, and attempted to take matters into their own hands. clearly he must have killed his own sister, his own twin, and family. what else would have led to her vanishing? and his unbelievable story?

alisaie's sudden reappearance certainly throws a spanner in the works, and her defense of her brother is adamant, but how can she verify his wild claims about an enchanted castle without placing prompto in jeopardy? it grows more and more difficult not to shout the truth in their spiteful faces, and in time it becomes clear that they are no longer as welcome here as they once were. she will give them no explanation as to where she has been, no reason for her prolonged disappearance; how can they trust her?

but where could they go? must they start all over again? and can she leave this town behind, knowing who else she must leave behind with it..?

she must visit, even if it is the only time, even if she must soon leave - she cannot simply vanish from his life - their lives - forever, without an explanation. and so one morning she sets out early, when the frosty dew still clings to the grass, and she rides back to the castle, picking her way down the secret paths that seem to open themselves up to her without challenge as if the very woods remember her presence and welcome her.

at last alisaie draws up to the gates, and the castle towers above her again, silent and dark and sad. even in the few weeks she has been gone the gardens seem to have overgrown, the many windows that had twinkled with light now mostly dark. her throat constricts. she should have offered them a better explanation, but there had been no time..

alisaie does not hear the men behind her, men in dark clothes and cloaks and soft, soundless boots, men who had followed her. she rests a hand to the gates, pushing them open before her, and then she sees no more.

they have seen the castle, now, its dark spires and far reaching gardens, its high windows lit with a presence. the boy's wild ravings were true all along. they have seen the castle, and now.. they will come. ]

[punshots]

[ By the time the news reaches Prompto's ears, it is too late to stop what has already been set into motion. The sentries at the castle's gate send word, but already the men from the village are amassing their forces to storm the castle, to infiltrate this wicked, sinister structure they never realized was right in the middle of the forest nearby. How could they have never found it before? And yet now they have, and it is clearly crawling with dark magicks that must be snuffed out, to say nothing of the mechanical beast that presides over it, if the Elezen boy's ravings are now to be believed. They will protect their village from this vile monstrosity, and amass treasure in turn. No doubt the castle is crawling with valuable artifacts.

And so they gather in the woods beyond the gate, and the sentries burst in on Prompto's solitude in the west wing, something they have never, ever done before. But he can't even summon up the ire to send them away. He can only turn his head to hear their message, and once he does...

Oh. Oh, no.

He asks them only one question, how, to which they tell him, they followed her.

...She wouldn't have led them to this place willingly. No, no, he can't believe that of her. But if they followed her without her knowledge, and she meant to return for whatever reason...oh, gods.

All of his worst fears align at once as he springs to his feet, surging forward calling orders to the guards, telling them to organize all the castle's denizens and to prepare for a fight. Gods, what can they do against the might of men with weapons and torches? And yet they must defend their home, he must defend it, it was his solemn duty to defend this castle —

They will be ready for them, even if that hour comes sooner than he would have expected. The men move on the castle soon, and while he doesn't want to hurt them, he will do what he must. They are simple fools, but so is he.

They wait in the foyer, armed as best as they can manage, while Prompto holds the line until the villagers break through the doors. Then all hell breaks loose, and he fights like the demon they believe him to be. Yet in his ferocity, one question remains above all else:

Where is Alisaie? ]