Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blank page

Empty white

A void

Waiting to be filled.

Filled with what? I don't know. I don't know what I'm trying to do here. I don't know where I am anymore I barely know who I am at this point.

I don't know how to

I should throw this page over the side of the ship.

...This is anger. This is more emotion than I have felt in days. Weeks? 

I

...I won't throw this over the side. It's ugly, but I believe it's important, and if I toss more of myself out, I don't know what will be left.

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        The captain found me staring into the ocean and told me that I should go back to sleep. The ship will be pulling into the port of New Delsta sometime tomorrow, and he believes that I should save my strength for the city.

        I have felt more asleep than awake for the majority of the voyage. I have not had the presence of mind to consider my state of being. I'm wondering if I'm in shock. This feels similar to shock.

        I have not been injured enough to be in shock in a very long time. I do not believe I'm injured, but I am beginning to consider magical tampering. 

        Dreams are a strange experience. I can count the amount of them that I've had on one hand. At least, I could before the storm, before falling into wherever I am, with its strange seas, strange people, and cities I have never heard of.

        There's something in the sea. I don't know how to explain to the people here that there is something they cannot see lurking just beneath the waves.

        My current state of mind is still causing my writing to be infuriatingly scattered. The dreams. Dreams are not exactly a new experience, but I have never had them come to me with such frequency as they have this week. Every time I close my eyes, there are fragmented images of events that never happened waiting to sweep me away. They are all similar, with either minute or significant differences. Every single dream is a battle. Every single dream ends with Primrose stabbing me in the chest with the dagger of House Azelhart. 

        I do hope my double was satisfactory for her. I'll never see the conclusion to that story, no matter how many dreams may try to recreate it.

        ...I was irritated with the captain for suggesting that I go back to sleep, but the sense of danger around the ship is gone now and I am suddenly very tired.

        There is something in the water. I know there's something in the water. It dragged me into this situation. It might be causing the dreams.

        If I sleep now, it may be a fleeting chance to do so in the usual silence.

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        I cannot write. Every time I have stared at a blank page, my mind goes similarly blank. It should not be doing that, there is so much in front of me. Words should be flowing freely, capturing the same senses I am experiencing, and I should be able to organize those thoughts if they come out scattered in the first frantic burst of writing.

        There is no burst. I do not know how to summon it. I suppose that I could write down something boring while trying to coordinate my mind with my hand. It just seems like it would be a disservice to New Delsta. (Why is it "New?") I'm not certain that I'm enjoying my time here, but the city is fascinating. 

        I have never seen such a consistent crowd. The closest place I can think of that would have so much traffic would be Atlasdam. The crowds are larger, even, than that city, and they have all of Grandport's energy and color. I do not think that this city's focus is an open market akin to Grandport and Rippletide, but that is the closest identity I can give it. There is so much going on here that I'm not certain New Delsta has a single identity at all. 

        People from all walks of life are here. Many of those walks are ones I have never seen and do not understand. Of all places to land, I am grateful that it was in such a mixed city. I feel as though I am getting a better view of Solistia as a whole than I would with another single city.

        New Delsta is in the Brightlands. I still do not know why it is called that--well, I don't know why either of these places are named what they are. The names of regions in Orsterra were so on the nose that I stare up at the stars some nights and wonder if they are brighter here than they are in other parts of Solistia.

        I would be shocked if they were. It is hard to see the stars through the smoke. 

        The smoke helps to hide the thieves slithering on the rooftops and through the alleyways of the city. The whispers of the streets call them "Blacksnakes." The locals know them. Their nest is here in the city. I don't mind their presence, not particularly. They're a curious lot, collared around their necks to the organization that they serve. 

        What I do mind is how the darkness seeping out of the stones on the street wraps around the ankles of those thieves and is dragged along with them as they move. 

        It has a smell. It's barely noticeable under the scent of smoke, but whenever one of the Blacksnakes comes too close to me with the darkness at their feet, there is a musty, oily scent lurking just underneath every other foul scent of the city. 

        I recognize it. That's why I noticed it at all. The scent is subtle in the city, but it was overpowering in the whirlpool that brought me to the oceans of this place. It lurked in my nose until that ship picked me up. 

        It's very distracting. Everything in this city is, but my attention keeps getting drawn back to the presence that no one else notices. I keep getting too close to the Blacksnakes because the way that it interacts with them is fascinating. 

        Despite the very high crime rate in this city, there are enough outsiders that come through that don't watch their pockets too closely. I have gained more leaves than I have lost since arriving in New Delsta, so the cost of living is not a concern. I believe I still have more to learn here.

        I still cannot write as I wish, but sorting out my thoughts has been useful.

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        Regulus--scholar from Montwise, studies the stars. Consistently tired eyes, short black hair. Starving academic. "If you buy a scholar a meal" still applies here in Solistia.

        So.

        I slept for roughly twenty hours yesterday. I did not wake up rested and despite the fact that my stomach was empty enough that I felt sick, I got sidetracked on the way to the tavern by an open sewer grate of all things.

        I think it was the darkness again. The smell of it down there was stronger than the actual waste.

        The sewers were nearly as clean as the rest of New Delsta. This city is filthy. 

        Anyways. It had to have been the darkness that caught my attention. The fact that I didn't immediately recognize that was what drew me into the sewers is worrisome. My mind was... very foggy at the time. More than has been normal even since I came to Solistia. It was probably the fact that I hadn't eaten and my mind was already a wreck without taking that into account. 

        I found a door down in the sewers. The physical part of the lock to that door was simple, but it was attached to one of the most intricate magical seals that I have ever seen.

        I think that was the case, at least. It was intricate enough or at least foreign enough that I could not decipher it in the state I was in this morning. 

        I spent too much time down there trying to figure it out. My notes aren't even annotated. My sketches are a disaster, and I didn't even think to ask Regulus if he studies anything other than stars while I was at the tavern with him. Though I suppose that last bit is fine. I can probably figure out the seal on my own with enough time and a mind that is not infuriatingly scattered. Writing down simple facts about what happened today is difficult enough that I know I am still too distracted to be attempting anything of importance. 

        Regulus was an odd bright spot in a terrible day. After spending too long washing off the scent of the sewers this morning, I went to the tavern. The city's scent was all over me again by the time I got there. 

        This city is so loud. Sorting all of it out and prioritizing more important sounds over others didn't become easier until I noticed Regulus, who was obviously troubled by how much a meal at the tavern cost. I had the funds. I bought us both a meal and struck up a conversation with him. That purchase remains the best decision I've made today.

        Regulus lives in Montwise, which sounds like Atlasdam with far less pomp and circumstance and far more mountains. It's up north, near the Winterlands. (why? Winter doesn't always necessarily mean snow.) Regulus spent some time telling me about his home and colleagues, but he spent more time talking about his field of study, the stars. 

        I likely could have pressed him for more information, but letting him ramble was--well. It helped my mind settle. I am thinking far more clearly than I was when I entered the tavern. I also have some sketches of star maps now and notes of the constellations. The stars are very different than Orsterra's, but still fascinating.

        I wish I could see them more clearly here. I miss the mountains. 

        I should leave for the Crestlands once I figure out what's going on with that locked door. Perhaps I should procure a map of Solistia while I'm here as well. It might help me feel more grounded in my surroundings. 

        I haven't had an episode of being unable to rise from my bed or truly wake up since before the fall of my family's dynasty. That was a period of time when I felt as though none of my actions mattered and nothing felt real. I thought I had left that boy long behind me. This is another unpleasant surprise among many.

        I have work to do. I have purpose. Both are small compared to what I used to be before landing here, but that is of no consequence. I have goals. First, the door. Then I will leave this accursed city and its darkness behind me to see what else awaits me here. 

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        Familiarizing myself with the intricacies of this particular magic has been--well, in a word, interesting. It feels familiar, but very wrong. The runes are similar enough to Orsterran runes that I know that the language of the magic fairly well. The circles are connected in the same ways as High Hornburgian, and the knots are more flowing than jagged. 

        It's similar enough to dark magic that I can manipulate it. There are also traces of ice magic within it, the sort that can only be found within water. The magic is easier to manipulate if I'm using both dark magic and ice magic.

        There are consequences. There were consequences that came with using the power that Lyblac granted to me as well. Every time I used one of her seals, there was a burning sensation through my blood, and then a hollow, as if the fire had whisked away something important. It was easy to shake off. That "something" always grew back. Humans are resilient creatures, after all. Emotional and physical wounds can both heal. Things can always grow in an absence if they're determined enough, and I am determined enough to withstand any fire.

        I am. I've withstood so much this shouldn't be I shouldn't be hollow this makes no

        This magic has--not the exact opposite effect, but it is different enough that it catches me off guard every single time. Instead of fire burning through me, I can feel my own magic converging on me. The feeling of frostbite on my hands is familiar. The shadows dancing in my vision are also familiar, I know them well enough that I can ignore them. Well, mostly. There are a few new shadows that occasionally catch me off guard, and it has been long enough since I overexerted my magic that feeling these symptoms again at all is strange.

        What I cannot ignore is the sensation of liquid in my lungs and ears. It does not feel like drowning. I can breathe. It feels as though the liquid is rattling with the air in there, however, and it's unpleasant. That liquid feels like it is curling around the frostbite on my hands, and it wavers in my vision. The musty, oily smell of the magic being overpowering was expected, but that the expectation did not soften the blow of it. I can't work with the actual magic for too long without being in danger of vomiting.

        Simply put, instead of being hollowed out, something is trying to force its way in. There isn't enough room. The heat remains everywhere except for my hands. I think I've given myself a ten-minute fever a few times while trying to work with this.

        I feel as though I'm close to a breakthrough. I'm taking the notes back down to the sewers one more time tomorrow to compare, and that should be enough. After making a few final changes to my notes on how all of this works, I'll be able to start working on how to break the seal. Once I see what is behind that door, I'll be able to move on.

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        Dawncloud hair--Trousseau. Hands are almost birdlike with the way they flutter about. Constantly anxious, but that might be the situation rather than a general rule for his behavior. Eager to help. Doubtful of how much he can do. Very good at his job despite those doubts. Blue combined with that hair made me almost mistake him for he looks like Red eyes. 

        Goldspun bun--Castti. Looks like she could snap Trousseau in half. Serious demeanor with snatches of dry humor. Her humor is probably more apparent in less stressful situations.

        These two are from a group called Eir's Apothecaries. The Blacksnakes drove them into the wide open door that I've been trying to figure out how to unlock. I followed to see what lay beyond the door. I know I posited trying to figure out the lock as a personal challenge in one of these entries, but I'm not disappointed. The less that I have to touch that magic, the better. I just wanted to see what was beyond the door.

        I have a wound grievous enough that Trousseau wants has agreed to keep me around as his patient. Castti doesn't have a say in my sticking around yet. She's still unconscious, recovering from the magic that accosted her. I don't think she will be difficult to persuade. She doesn't seem like the type of apothecary who would leave a person with a wound like mine to their own devices.

        The door led down to an abandoned town. Well. Abandoned isn't the correct word. It was populated with people who have had their whole souls forced out to make room for the oily magic that was protecting the door. The gondola operator seemed to still have his soul, but he also had the same curling of darkness around his feet as all of the Blacksnakes. He got us in and out of that town amicably enough. Which is good. I'm not sure we would have escaped otherwise.

        The other person, who I suspect is in charge of the place, is Godtouched. I knew it the moment I saw him. I think he knows I am Godtouched as well. I saw recognition cross his face when our eyes met across the ravine. 

        I can no longer stay in New Delsta. I know the look of a predator, and I know I stole his prey from him. I don't know if he'll hold a grudge, but it would be foolish to not consider him doing so as a possibility.

        Trousseau and Castti live in a nearby town. I don't know if it's far enough for us to avoid trouble, but it will have to do. According to Trousseau, the Blacksnakes never venture out as far as Healeaks. There's nothing worth their time there. For now. I don't know enough about the group to know if they'll break patterns for us. 

        They've approached the inn room that we're in a few times. I've scared them off every time they get too close. They don't seem to be familiar with people using magic in the way that I do. Trousseau certainly isn't. There's fascination and fear in his eyes whenever he sees the warning patterns I create. The fear is fading, slowly, as we've continued talking. 

        He has a lovely voice. It's very distracting. Trousseau as a whole is very distracting. He's very pretty. He's very clever, too. Despite clearly being under a lot of stress from everything that has happened, he has shown a lot of competence in the heat of the moment. He's a nervous wreck now that we're relatively safe, but his ability to handle himself in a crisis is noteworthy. Castti's ability to handle herself while magically impaired is impressive as well.

        Speaking of Castti, I found out that I can in fact manipulate the strange magic. It was wrapped around her head like webbing. I managed to remove and disassemble it.

        It took a heavy toll, enough of one that I wasn't aware enough of myself to be able to document the feelings. I can still taste oil in my mouth and I feel very, very scattered. Enough that Trousseau has noticed, which is by all accounts alarming. His attempts to calm me are appreciated and they're working, though. Panicking over the fact that he has noticed I'm panicking is not going to be a good use of either of our time.

        In short, my involvement with Eir's Apothecaries was a development I did not foresee, but it is a welcome one. I feel inspired for the first time since coming to Solistia, though I will have to see how I'm feeling after I'm less disoriented.

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        If I have ever been so exhausted that all I want to do is sleep while simultaneously being bored out of my mind, I cannot remember it. That makes this experience new. Trousseau keeps apologizing for how loud the villagers have been, but I really don't mind unless they wake me up. Trying to hear what people are saying is something to do other than focus on the sluggish mess my head is.

        I suppose focusing on the pain is an option, but Trousseau and Castti both worry if I get too distant. Trying to organize what I'm feeling is arduous and takes all of my concentration. Trousseau can tell when I'm not sleeping. 

        He's very observant, even outside of a dangerous situation. He still seems to be in a constant state of alarm. I'm not sure if it's because my condition worries him or if he truly is always anxious. I'm leaning towards the latter. My wound really isn't that bad. There would be lasting damage if I tried to walk it off, but that damage would be nothing more than a terrible scar and perhaps some lack of feeling in that area. 

        I haven't told the apothecaries this. I would prefer not to have that damage, and clearly they feel the same way. 

        Trousseau worries about everything. I can feel it, despite my exhaustion. There's no challenge to it, either, everything he feels is written on his face. Everything he thinks is translated into his actions. It's a little difficult to read between the lines, but it has been interesting to try to get to know him by watching him work.

        He can lie, if guilt doesn't get in the way of it. He can fool Castti into thinking he slept the entire night when he did not. (I want to know what he saw in his dreams that has him practically bolting out of the room, but we don't know each other anywhere near well enough for that line of questions.) His ability to fool people depends entirely on what emotion is ruling him at the moment, and what emotion rules him absolutely depends on a situation's context.

        He hasn't tried lying to me yet. I'm...not sure why I find that so strange. 

        I am less scattered than I was that night in New Delsta. Trousseau has commented about how quiet I've been twice now, and I have assured him that it's because I'm calmer. I'm still tired. I'm so tired that it's been three days since I last picked up my pen. The exhaustion has only been fading marginally since we reached Healeaks. I haven't felt up to talking, and there's no threat that I need to use my magic for, so the old habit of not talking when I don't feel well has been creeping back.

        Gods. I'm still so scattered. The point of all of that was that I haven't been humming to myself without realizing like I apparently was in the inn room that first night. I haven't done that little trick of self-soothing in years.

        Trousseau picked up on most of the tune of that old lullaby. Enough to carry the main melody. I taught him the rest of it because hearing it is one of the only ways I can get to sleep with someone in the room. Despite how exhausted I've been, falling asleep around other people is difficult. It's been a very long time since I've had to try to do that. The familiarity of that song is soothing, and I do need sleep. I would rather it be a natural sleep than whatever herbs Trousseau and Castti have here.

        I should ask more questions about those herbs while I have the opportunity. Not today, I think. Perhaps I'll have more energy tomorrow.

        Anyways, Trousseau has a lovely voice. He's clever. He has absolutely no faith in his own abilities. He doesn't understand why I want him treating me instead of Castti. He doesn't understand why I think he's interesting, but he's clever enough to pick up on my interest. He's such a mess of contradictions and I want to know more about him. 

        Castti is interesting in her own right, but in different ways. They aren't ways that are catching my attention. That's likely all there is to it, but I'll find out, I suppose. I want her to leave more often than not. 

        She is not picking up on that. Thankfully. She is far less...I don't think observant is the word, but she doesn't catch what people are feeling the way that I do. The way that Trousseau also does. That's part of what little interest I have in her, it's an odd trait for an apothecary who clearly cares about what she's doing. Quacks are a dime a dozen in Orsterra and I can see them with that trait, but Castti isn't a quack. She's the opposite. She is more skilled than Trousseau, and if I were in a different mood, perhaps I could think up something for her potential.

        She's too steady, is the problem. Steady can be fun to pull down, but I would have to figure out where her foundation is first. That sounds boring. Trousseau's cocktail of emotions and the fact that he can potentially feel mine is much more volatile. I think I need volatile right now.

        He is also much cuter than her.

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I met you in your days of deepest hurt.

You were sharp with me and called me cold.

You came from a wasteland of fire and bone,

and the red scars on your arms were still warm.

That warmth would move to boil in your blood

even when your scars faded from angry red to pink.

The exertion from the climb turned your face pink.

You were willing to become more hurt.

Shrugging off death, you would accept her blood,

blood that was bitterly cold,

yet your anger kept you warm,

right down to your very bones.

I wonder if she exposed bone,

if the fluid in your mouth was pink?

Was the accursed flame warm?

How much did her light hurt?

In my chest is a hole so cold

when I imagine you lying in your own blood.

I so rarely feel my own blood.

I forget I too am made of bone.

I've grown so accustomed to the cold.

It is an affront to see the sky dawn pink

when all of Orsterra should be hurt.

The healing flames force it to be warm.

This land beyond fractures is also warm,

yet on the air is the scent of blood.

In the corners of my vision I can see the hurt,

I caught a glimpse of despair's bones

past white hair tinted with pink,

staring back at me with eyes deep and cold.

This land should be cold,

but his fluttering fingers are warm,

often stained with my blood.

The smallest comments make his face pink,

a shocking color on skin white as bone.

Where does his kindness come from, amid all this hurt?

You are cold. You couldn't be saved by her blood.

He is warm. I sense this land's poison in my bones,

yet the dawn remains pink while I hurt.

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 I can write again. It took some time, but I finally put my pen to paper, and organized a poem. I don't think I'll be composing plays any time soon, but this is a large step forward. 

        I can think more clearly as well. It has been roughly a moon (they call them months here. Strange word) since I first came to Healeaks. Writing down facts about daily life has been strangely difficult. 

        To summarize--I can and have been walking around Healeaks. Trousseau’s work has done wonders. I have been able to start his dagger lessons, and even demonstrate a few maneuvers to him. He’s not what one would call a quick study, but he’s nowhere near hopeless either. I think that he’ll be far more effective with a dagger than he would be with a tiny hatchet as well. He has the build and the quick movements, we just need to work on his coordination.

        “We.” It’s so wonderful to be able to use that word again. I had not thought that being left alone would have such a devastating effect on me. 

        My side still aches, but it’s healing. Trousseau says I still need another week and a half before I am able to move as I used to with it. Or rather, before we can do any mountain climbing. I would give it a week, but I’m willing to listen to his expertise. It’s gotten me this far. 

        He is so unlike you, Mattias, and yet the similarities that you two have are so striking. The hair, the being reigned by one emotion—yours was anger. His is fear. He lost himself to grief as well. I can still see the shadow of the sister he mentioned to me last night in his eyes. I want to know more. I need to know more of his story. I’m so very pleased that he trusts me enough to respond to me speaking truth to him with truth of his own.

        The reason I have not been writing is because I could see myself deteriorating every time I picked up my pen. There are many doodles in the margins of this book and I am…not an artist to say the least. I had to put this down. Breathe. Apparently I needed to talk about Mattias, who I will not be referring to as if this is a letter addressed to him again.

        …I hear him some nights, when I can’t sleep. Trousseau or Castti being in the room prevents the whispers in my ears, but it’s still disturbing. I can’t make out what he’s saying. I should not try. 

        I miss him, but there is too much happening here. Too much potential. I cannot wallow in what we had if I plan to ever move on. 

        I have plans for Trousseau and I. I must move on.

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Malaya, warrior.

Stalwart second to the chief

Her lover, perhaps?

-

Andy, carpenter.

A big man who creates new

Opportunities.

-

Randy, who’s just there.

Lover to the caretaker

Of all nonhumans.

-

Elma, kindhearted.

Knows that there are nonhumans

Who also need aid.

-

        Trousseau introduced me to the concept of haiku when he was telling me about the place the rest of Eir’s Apothecaries have been while I’ve been with him and Castti. This is not a lot of syllables to work with. It creates an interesting challenge when trying to fit an idea into such a short space.

        These four will be returning to Healeaks soon. In a week and a half or more depending on how kind the sea is to them. They sent word that their business in Hinoeuma (where haiku comes from) was finished. Castti and Trousseau both seem excited to see them.

        It will be an adjustment to have more people in the healing house. To see how Trousseau and Castti act around their friends. It may introduce some complications into our routine so I’ll just have to see what I can do to continue to grow closer to Trousseau before this deadline approaches.

        It’s quite nice to have a deadline, actually. It introduces stakes and a sense of urgency that I have been sorely lacking. I’ve been doing a lot better in most regards but my mind is still prone to slipping into pathways I don’t enjoy.

        Trousseau is cute when he worries (the way his nose scrunches and his left eye crinkles is fascinating) but I would rather that he was worrying about my physical health rather than whatever is going on in my head. I’ll get a handle on it eventually, I’m certain of that. It’s just another step in the recovery process.