Snippets and Stories: (BP) Seer's Fog

They awoke not to the solar light and warmth, but to a cold darkness that pierced deep into their body.

The visions they had seen in slumber lurked in the corner of their mind. So hauntingly vivid and far too real.

It nagged at them. Just as one knew there was something of importance to remember, yet could not recall.

But whatever grasp they had, was already fading.

Before being chased away altogether by the contact of metal and stone rang sharp in the deathly stillness.

The Bluepine flinched, jerking away from the light that they so longed for, but which in their prolonged stay in the dark, had turned into a blinding white that seared their eyes and stung their flesh.

Flesh which was exposed.

Prone flesh that lacked the protective layer of skin, for they had been flayed the day before that they may continue to contribute to Grand Sanctum of the 8th.

The distinctive clap of soles against the frigid stone echoed in the emptiness.

A low voice chuckled at him. A light sound, full of merriment and mirth, that did nothing to brighten the solemn atmosphere. If anything, the innocent sound was made all the more sinister by their predicament.

The sight was a familiar one. And one which brought a nigh unbearable weight of loathing into the Bluepine.

"You seem well, dear Heart. Did I not tell you I would make it a quick and clean procedure?"

They shot the tall man a scathing look, bearing teeth.

To their disgust he simply gave a pleased sigh, the blissful tone drawn out, "And still so spirited. How I absolutely adore that part of you."

Severed though they were, their foliage bristled, glistening even in the obscuring dark depths of the dungeon.

A hand grabbed them by the chin, and their first instinct was to turn away, but the hand remained firm, jerking them up roughly. Eyes of a golden honey hue smirked down at them, "Always remember, arrangements have been made for the accommodation and comfort of your brethren. It would be such a pity if we would have to, say, revoke such privileges."

They faltered, and the Bluepine averted their gaze, needles flattening.

The man nodded approvingly and pulled out small tin. Gentle hands smeared the cool, numbing cream over raw flesh and torn fibers.

They hummed as they worked, and against the desperate screams, the Bluepine couldn't resist leaning into the heat of the touch.

The warmth was tantalizing. It was soft, tender, and lovingly gentle.

Too long had they been exposed to the cold of the stone, with nothing by which to alleviate them from the icy cell.

It was the first warmth they had felt in far too long and it was so utterly enticing. Their lids grew heavy, and they were half in the man's lap by the Time the wrapping had been finished.

And the man knew. He smiled, admiring his own handiwork, "Now was that so difficult, dear Heart?"

The term of endearment was sickening, and the Bluepine though dozing, scowled.

Displeased the man grabbed them by the plumes of their crown, forcing their face up to peer at them. 

"Never forget." And then the vile warmth, one which brought up a rising urge of nausea,

was gone, "I'll be back in three days Time to collect your pelt once more. Till then, dear Heart." 

And they left, taunting smile just resting on their face.

A tumultuous storm brewed heavily over them, and they fought back the rising urge to impale the Reaper where he stood. But the thought of their brethren stayed the severed's hand.

That and a distant memory of long ago. When they had held those sweet, honey colored eyes in fond regard, and had once been so in turn. The eyed of a kindly man whom they had entrusted into their circle. Whom they had broken fast with. Who had listened to their stories in awe, and whom mesmerized them with some of his own.

A man whom the Circle had treated with, as one of their own kind.

And in a tender exchange, had partaken of the precious nectar of a flower that bloomed just for him.

The memories warmed them, and it was with slow yet startling realization, that the Bluepine realized there was a very much real warmth enveloping them.

And they felt a thunderous beat, a frantic chaotic flutter, pounding in a cage of flesh and bone.

The Shol blinked, startled by the fluid in their eyes, hot streaks that trailed down their cheeks. How much Time had passed?

The passage of Time had long since been lost to them.

The one holding the severed Shol was shushing them, "Why do you cry so, dear Heart? It pains me to see you so."

But the moment had passed.

"Let us go. If you truly loved us, you wouldn't do this." Their voice cracked with disuse, but wavered none, forcing each word out that they may carry the weight they bore for far too long.

"You know I cannot." The arms around them tightened.

"There is nothing stopping you." they returned easily.

A face buried itself into the crook of their neck, "There is no excusing what has befallen you and your's, and yet, pray permit me this selfishness in seeking what you shouldn't give."

They knew what was coming next, but it didn't stop them from tensing.

"I'm sorry."

Hatred seethed, roiling and snarling. Unbearably so. It wasn't something the Shol was accustomed to. It wasn't right. They didn't want to feel such a deep stained hatred, a hatred strong enough beyond even the forgiveness of their kind.

"Please, I beg of you, my dear. Stay your anger. Don't force my hand again, I beg of you."

The Bluepine said nothing, struggling with themselves. Before at last voicing a simple question.

"Who are you?"

He pulled away, bemused. But the Highland Shol was unyielding. There was no recognition in their eyes, blank as they were. At length, he spoke, "... What trickery is this?"

"Who are you to wear his face? For certainly you are not the one whom I chanced upon in the Cirrus Valley." The Shol stared, "You're not the one who the Alpione Ring has treated with."

The Reaper was at a loss for words, and so the Northern Blue continued, "Is this who you are? The tormentor, the warden who keeps us bound? Who are you really? Which of you is the false mask?"

The Reaper heaved a drawn out sigh, and a long slow shudder passed through them. Finally, at length he answered, "I will not pretend that the fault lies elsewhere--" A grin spread across their lips and the Bluepine tensed, "--than in such naivety."

Their chest felt tight, and though they no longer carried a Heartseed, empty core twisted painfully. The golden, honey eyes that had once held such tenderness, whom they had received with the same fondness, were now unveiled in a cold, cruel mask.

It had to be a mask. This wasn't the one they knew. 

A hand at the Bluepine's ruff dragged them to eye-level, "I thought to perhaps entertain this charade a bit longer, but you've seen me through."

This wasn't who they truly were.

With trembling hands, the Bluepine reach out. Touched the other's face. Yet never did it flicker with that familiar tender love of the one they knew. An unwavering slate of cold indifference.

It was the last thing the severed Shol could remember before there was a jarring impact. The cold stone pressed harshly into their cheek, and the world fell into darkness.

"Truly, this is much more fun than the vapid mask." came their chortling voice, cutting through their darkening vision.

If the one the Shol knew was truly a mask--the Bluepine thought perhaps this was better, for they could not bear the wakefulness any longer, and succumbed willingly to the comforting embrace of nothingness.

Yet even that would not be granted, and they awoke what seemed but mere moments later to a forceful push and the Bluepine snarled, snapping their teeth and reaching up to push the body away.

A small Shol fell with a yelp and they stared.

A Shol? Here?

They cringed, they hadn't meant to lash out. Were they hurt? But before they could take a better look a familiar voice snarled at them.

Where were they? This brightly lit hollow so eerily familiar yet so utterly... empty. Was he home? Was this another vision? A trick?

Their breath hitched as they hoped beyond hopes that such were but a nightmare. Ah but if it were, then they should be here. They craned their neck, searching, only to be met with the snap of a vine.

"Snap out of it you bloody fool!"

To their astonishment they were staring at themselves now.

Nothing was making sense. They'd been in the dungeons, had they been rescued? Circumstances weren't adding up. This was impossible. This must be another trick.

The doppelganger crouched protectively between them and the small Shol they'd pushed over.

"What--" their voice caught in their throat. What had happened? Instead of the usual melodic lilt, it was hoarse, and the tones far below their normal range.

Something was off, everything felt different, their vantage point was much higher, and everything seemed so much smaller.

"Who--how are you--are you... me?"

The Bluepine before drew a long breath, hissing sharply at them and scowling fiercely as they muttered, "Complete displacement. Wonderful."

Complete displacement? From what?

"I'm not you, or perhaps more appropriately, you--" they jabbed a finger roughly into their chest, "--are not me. Your name is Zeal, and you're a Reaper that for whatever dubious forsaken reason--" here they nodded sharply, gesturing to the younger Shol behind them, "--is playing chaperone for the little Coty yonder. You are his protector and caretaker both. I know nothing beyond that so pull your own bloody weight."

They stared up at the Bluepine before letting out a shaky laugh, "Is this another of the Reaper's mind games? Projecting my mind into the body of a Reaper in this... mindscape of sorts? I wont fall for this absurdity." They shook their heads, pure and utter madness this was.

The Bluepine narrowed their eyes before bringing a hand back.

And slapping him soundly across the cheek.

A smack that rang in the calm of den

"Lockes, don't!"

But the Bluepine was beyond themselves, eyes a seething, smoldering red, "You are not me! Those are my memories that you have been rifling through! Memories you have no right being privy to, so snap out of it you dolt!"

This Time the last scathing remark was accompanied with a glint hurtling towards him.

And it was to his surprise that despite the startling abruptness of whatever object had been hurled with far more force than was necessary, he caught it with ease. With his hands.

Where were the creepers that normally would've done so for him? Why could he not feel them? And these reflexes...

He stared at his hand, as if seeing it for the first Time. And perhaps in this moment, the Reaper truly was.

Flesh. Warm flesh covered by skin.

They turned it over to see the crisp surface of a mirror.

And in the polished crystal pane were pair of dark, droopy eyes of unsettling familiarity.

"Stare into the mirror and see yourself as you truly are, Reaper."

And he did. And like that the trance was broken. The connection that binded them severed, and his memories came flooding back.

They had been cleaning out the den, when one of a multitude of aromatic vials had dropped and broken. Lockes had clamored for them to stay put, to keep away from the viscous fluid. 

And they had, but being the closest when it broke, some of it had splattered on Zeal.

Sensing no toxicity to them, he'd swiped it off. It was just some oil from the Seer's Fog, a common botanic with known soothing properties similar to lavender.

It hadn't seemed important, until his vision grew hazy and vertigo overtook him.

In the darkness he had heard the familiar voices. Two of them, in a baleful duet. A somber melody that was so painfully poignant. 

It drew him in, and he'd reached out to touch one--and were overwhelmed by the deluge of memories. So much that they remembered who they were.

A Bluepine Shol. The Harvest Moon.

Lockes had since stormed off to finish cleaning and arranging the vials still splayed haphazardly on the floor of the den, and Vye, tentatively crawled up beside him.

"I'm alright."

Vye didn't press for details, and not knowing in his tender years what transpired, chose to fall into a blissfully ignorant sleep beside his companion. The young Shol was still asleep when at last Lockes returned.

The heavy shadows cast by the firelight obscured their face, yet not enough to hide the pained look in their weary gaze.

Before he could voice his thoughts, the severed Shol waved him off. "Oils procured from a Shol should never be dismissed so lightly. Even if you were familiar with the botanical subspecies of the flora, the same two vials from a single Shol can serve drastically different purposes."

The Shol slumped down near the fire, "That was Seer's Fog in the vial. But nothing like the typical pitiful herbs you may procure in the markets. Aye, 'twas infused with aethor, of the intent to seek out lost souls." The Bluepine sighed, and confessed, "I should've realized sooner that you were poisoned."

Nevertheless he apologized.

But such thoughts were waved off, "There's nothing to apologize for."

"That man. They were also..." Zeal trailed off.

"A Reaper in disguise." The Bluepine gave a stiff nod, "During one of the forages that took me to the lower Alps, I chanced upon them. Downed by the miasmic Cirrus, they were nearly asphyxiated, but we managed to revive and nurse them back to health. They stayed with me for a long Time and--"

Lockes didn't finish, and Zeal didn't ask. He had seen enough to piece things together. When they had been bound by the affects of the Seer's Fog, he hadn't just gone through the actions, or heard what the Bluepine felt. He had lived it as the dark Shol themselves. 

"I don't... I don't want to hate him. He was my friend. Somewhere in there he must remember--" memories of scintillating gold eyes flashed in his mind, their edges crinkling with a beaming smile. Pools of honey stirred with stardust, as if drinking in the sun itself, and Lockes grasped at their head, huddling in on themselves, "I--"

For a moment Zeal believed the Bluepine would finally break and borrow a shoulder. But they shed not a tear, clearing their throat and straightening up, "I'm... retiring. Goodnight, Zeal."

With that they leapt onto a ledge of a bracket shroom overhanging the pit, scampering along the hanging vines and branches and disappearing into a loft high above and out of sight and reach.

"Lockes, wait--"

But they were already long gone.

Zeal sighed and leaned back.

It was a cold night, and the warmth of the fire wouldn't reach the lofts above. It must've been frigid.

Against his better judgement, he hung a pot to boil over the fire, and waited until it had dimmed--telltale sign that the Bluepine had drifted off. Filling the skin he clasped it to the belt and scaled the wall.

With a grunt, Zeal hauled himself into the hollow where Lockes had disappeared into, and as expected, found the severed Shol curled up in a corner. A small form huddled alone in a pile of carded moss.

He pulled off the skin from around his waist and placed it on top of the Shol, covering them with more of the mossy bedding, shifting awkwardly once finished, "Sleep well."

And then he slid off and lighted down, back where he had been beside Vye's curled form.