In Desperation (PAFP, Semi-Advanced)

Without a sound, he bent and picked up the cloak from the floor, unfolding the garment and spreading it over his legs in an effort to stay comfortably warm. The fabric was still slightly damp, but it wasn't quite enough to bother him. He did not respond to her words, although he had heard them, for he had no appropriate responses at hand and did not want to accidentally say something which might startle them both once again. So instead he sat in silent for a few moments, dropping his gaze to his hands and keeping it there. His hands were something he knew, something familiar—long and thin and pale. Fragile, almost. They were shaking now, even when his breathing had slowed, and he did his best to mask that movement. It was just a little thing, and chances were that she wouldn't even notice his hands, but maybe if he could control one little thing he could keep his words in check as well.

For a little while, Alistair let the silence simply settle. It was nice to have all be calm and quiet, to not have to worry about what he said or who he was addressing. For a moment, he wondered why it couldn't always be like that. No, the young prince realized immediately after. I should appreciate this while I can, for there is next to no chance that it will stay this way for long. Sooner or later, there would be a return to the world of etiquette, to being afraid of making a single mistake. Was there any way out? Trying to distract himself from these thoughts, Alistair glanced toward the fire, feeling more comfortable with this than meeting her eyes. "Is- is it alright for me to ask you a question?" he attempted rather hesitantly, then waited patiently for an answer.

Alistair knew exactly what question he wanted to ask, what he wanted to find out about this strange girl who lived out by herself in the middle of the forest. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, the words that came out seemed altogether different. "Would you ever hurt me?" was what the boy asked, and a moment later his hands were at his lips as he realized what he had said, quickly shaking his head as though he could deny that the words had ever been spoken. "I- I didn't mean to ask that!" Alistair said quickly, green eyes wide. "I- I mean t- to ask what had happened to your family, and how you had come to live out here on your own. N- not the other...the other question." He could only hope that she took this in stride, that maybe she could just ignore the question he was not supposed to ask and would simply answer the one he had planned to ask.

Alistair had in fact been listening for anything out of the ordinary in her voice, and so the early part of her reply made him shift rather uncomfortably where he sat, trying to ignore the scorn. This was easier said than done, but he did his best to concentrate on her answer to the question he had been trying to ask and by the end of this there was a faint, wistful smile tugging at his lips. "N- no, that was not too much," he said softly, looking a bit shy still. "It just sounded so...so nice. Not like anything I was allowed to do in the presence of my parents." The boy seemed to shrink down slightly at the mention of his parents, not really wanting to talk about them more than he had to. So often, being allowed in front of his parents meant a test or a particularly strict punishment. "I- I wish," he began quietly, then shook his head and fell silent. "No, it would be wrong to change it.

His gaze was fixed on the window and the swirling snow outside, as if he could see something through the storm. The truth of it was that he was trying to keep himself calm, trying to stay somewhat normal and get used to this strange situation. It seemed hardly believable, really, that so much could have happened so fast. "N- never mind about what I was going to say," he replied, the words slipping away a little more quickly than usual. "I- I'd rather not talk about it, thank you." His hands had been folded in his lap again as he began to speak, but by the time he finished they were moving again, his fingers interlacing and then coming apart as he tried to find something that felt natural. "A- anyway, would it be alright if you told me more about who your father thought might have lived here?"

He moved just a little closer to her, seeming a bit more relaxed than before. The young man'a green eyes were alight with curiosity—he was doing his best to immerse himself into her story and forget his own for a little while. "Do you believe that such a person existed, then?" he asked, watching to see how she might react. "And if that is the case, do you think there were others like her? Or that other stories might be true as well?" He could remember one of his few journeys on the ocean, when he was very young, and how he had fallen out of a smaller boat only to be snatched up quickly and warned that when they were on the sea, he must stay well away from the edge of the deck, lest fantastic sea creatures find him. Alistair, so often isolated in the more hidden parts of the castle, was not sure if these creatures were real or if they had been made up to scare him as a small child, and as he had grown older he had learned that it was better not to ask a question which he was assumed to already know the answer to. Perhaps what she had to say, though, would provide some light.

There was a moment of hesitation, but then the young prince shook his head, still managing to hold her gaze despite the temptation to drop his own. "I- I think that such things might be there for us to see, but perhaps only when we are children do we have even a suspicion that they might be more than stories. When we are older, such things seem impossible, and we prefer to ignore or explain away what happened. It's when there's no way to do that...that's when we have to believe there's something going on, and that's when we get scared." Alistair was silent for a few seconds, then cautiously went on.

"I- I haven't told someone this for a very long time, not since I was much younger. I slept up in one of the castle's towers, where my parents assumed that I would be safe. But during the night sometimes, I- I would wake up and see shadows that- that weren't supposed to be there, shadows that couldn't have been cast by anything I could see. They were the most common during the full moon and the new moon." He bit his lip slightly, not sure if he should continue or if she would think him insane. "When I was a child, they frightened me every time, but I eventually tried to ignore them. But then, a- a couple years ago, I started wanting to find out what the shadows were, so I would get out of bed when I saw them and try to go over." Another hesitation, and this time his chair moved back slightly in case she decided that he was completely insane. "But when I did, they- they would grab me." His hands were shaking again. "They didn't really have hands like you or me—I couldn't see any of them clearly—but whatever they touched me with was always cold. And every time, one of them would hold me still, and another would come up behind and do something to my neck. I never knew what, because I- I would pass out immediately and wake up in my bed, later in the night, with no shadows that shouldn't be there. And I would never know if it had really happened or if I had just dreamt it, because there was nothing left to prove anything."

He had dropped his gaze a while ago, and only now did he glance shyly up again. There was a little more that he could have told, but he had no desire to say anything more for now. After all, a few years earlier when he had mentioned these strange occurrences to a tutor, he had been severely punished and told never to speak of such things again. Who knew how Apphia might react? "A- anyway," he said softly, trying to maybe move her attention away from what he had said, "I- I know it doesn't have so much to do with your question, but when you talked about hearing the singing, it reminded me of that."

Alistair was silent for a moment, then looked up rather shyly. "Th- that's alright," he murmured. "If anything you ask is too much, I will be sure to let you know. Y- you asked about why I haven't told anyone in a long time, though. I did try to tell someone once, when I was much younger and was just seeing the shadows, but..." He shivered, trailing off. It was several seconds before he spoke again. "It went badly. My parents weren't informed, but I was punished, and both my tutor and Cael mocked me for it. I was told never to say such things again or they would have to tell my parents, and then terrible, terrible things would happen. Like being called insane and being locked up in my room or bricked up in the dungeon and never let out again." Once again, he shivered and moved his chair, this time a little closer to the fire as he sought whatever comfort the warmth might give.

"You asked why I told you, though," he finally said. "And that isn't so difficult to answer. I- I told you because I thought that you might believe me, and that you wouldn't say I was insane or- or tell anyone else what I might have seen. I thought that maybe you could keep a secret."

"I- I don't know!" Alistair protested feebly, but after a moment of silence he added, "I- I suppose they could have, though. But I still don't...don't have any idea what the shadows were, or if I dreamt them, or why they came to me. And without knowing any of that, I can hardly begin to think of a reason why there would be a plan to keep such a thing away from my parents." He supposed that it could be possible, of course. After all, although he had often tried to give his brother the benefit of the doubt, it was true that Cael had really kept many things secret which should have been brought to light, and had threatened the younger boy into doing so as well.

There was a slight motion of his shoulders which some might have called a shrug, then nothing more—not a word, nor even a nod. Alistair had gone silent. The truth was that he didn't particularly want to talk, not at the moment. He was tired, and although he had been in the warm house for quite some time, a chill seemed to have gotten into his bones, and he couldn't quite warm up as much as he would like to. He hoped to perhaps remedy that by sleeping near the fire, but dared not mention it. The first reason for this was simply because she seemed to want to talk, and he didn't want to displease her by asking to do something else. The second was simply fear. Fear that while he was sleeping she would move him within the reach of the fire, or would do nothing if he moved close without meaning to, or would leave him alone if the fire caught on something else or started to go out. He couldn't bring himself to close his eyes willingly, and yet he could feel them slipping shut, almost against his will.

(bump)