In Desperation (PAFP, Semi-Advanced)

For a moment, he considered asking why she was not angry with him, but decided against it—to ask seemed like it would lead to strange looks and an end to conversation. Trying to figure out what he could say, his thoughts started bubbling to the surface. "It- it isn't impossible," he pointed out. "Perhaps once the snow is gone, we—" Catching himself, he broke off. "N- no, never mind. You would think it ridiculous."

He stared down toward the floor, only managing a few quick, shy glances in her direction. "I- I would certainly help, but...I didn't think that you would want me around after the snow was gone," he admitted. "I'm awkward and scare easily and say strange things, and I- I'm beginning to think that very little of what I've learned will help me survive in the real world...if you don't want me around, just tell me so, and as soon as the snow is gone I will be as well." For a moment, he bit his lip. "If you do want me around, though, then I- I would do everything in my power to help you find your sister."

He stood again, picking up the broom and beginning to sweep. "It isn't really my choice to make," he pointed out quietly. "I- I will come with you, should you choose to go and look for your sister, but it is not my place to decide whether you go." Alistair offered a slight smile. "You're right, though; I have nowhere to go. So I...I thank you, for allowing me to come with."

Actually, Alistair had begun cleaning again because the broom was dry and he wanted to finish what he had started, but he didn't know Apphia's thoughts and as such could not tell her this. So he just made his way around the small cabin, doing his best to sweep up every bit of dirt, dust, or grime he could. Fortunately, he managed to do this without knocking anything over—perhaps a better thing than it seemed, considering his tendency to scare easily.

He finished sweeping sooner than he would have liked, opening the door so he could sweep the dirt out of the cabin entirely. The air was cold and crisp, and for a moment he simply stood in the doorway, taking it in. But when he had shut the door again, had put the broom in a corner, and was turning around to return to the fire, it happened—he bumped into one of the covered objects in the back of the room, the one which he had thought might be a mirror. It began to tip, and although Alistair quickly tried to keep it from falling, it hit the ground with a rather ominous sound. He cringed. Hesitantly picking it up again, Alistair saw that there didn't seem to be anything broken on the ground, but that didn't mean that whatever this was hadn't cracked. One hand hovered over the covering, and he glanced nervously at Apphia. "M- may I take a look? To make sure that whatever this is didn't crack?"

Hands shaking, he lifted the cloth and let it fall. A moment later, he recoiled in wonder and horror, for what was under the cloth was a mirror. A beautiful, well-made, unwarped mirror. A mirror that took his breath away, having never seen anything like it before. A mirror which had a thin spiderweb of cracks lacing its surface, cracks which had most probably formed when he had tipped it over. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked up at Apphia with wide, frightened eyes. He had knelt on the floor in order to pick up and uncover the mirror, and he stayed there on his knees, unable to even speak as he waited for what he knew must be coming.

He nodded, shaking like a leaf. "I- I won't, I promise. I- I- I'll just leave, alright? Leave so- so I don't break anything else or say anything I shouldn't or- or make you kill me. I- I'll let you be alone again, like I never even existed." Alistair was on his feet in a moment, standing in the doorway within seconds. "I- I'm sorry. I- I won't tell anyone anything about you or mirrors or cabins in the woods or- or anything. I- I'm sorry. Goodbye." And then he was gone, running out into the snow, leaving the door swinging open behind him. Next to the door stood the boots he had left there earlier—fearful of what would happen if he stayed a moment longer, he had run off barefoot.

Alistair didn't even look back. He didn't care if he was barefoot or if it was cold outside of if there was snow covering everything. Apphia had scared him enough that in his mind, going back would be just as bad—if not worse—than going forward without shoes. So he continued his panicked flight, fleeing until he could no longer even see the cabin. Only then did he slow down slightly, beginning to glance around for somewhere to go, some place where he could get out of the snow for a little while.

Eventually, he came upon what seemed to be an open field of some sort. Squinting against the snow, he could make out dark trees on the other side. Pines? Pines would be good—perhaps he could find some shelter under the branches. Alistair started across this field, already beginning to regret going outside without shoes or his cloak. He couldn't go back, though. So he kept moving forward, making his way through the snow, until without warning the ground gave out beneath his feet and he found himself immersed up to his waist in icy water. The suddenness of it all made him shriek. What he had taken for a field was not a field at all—he had run back to the lake, and had broken through thin ice. His feet were slowly sinking into the muddy bottom, pulling him down little by little.

Already terrified by his encounter with Apphia, this only made Alistair panic further. The snow from the storm had piled up on the ice, meaning that although he was waist-deep in water, the snow and ice came up to his chest. There was nothing to grab onto, no way that he could see to pull himself free. Even if there was, the intense cold of the water had reached the point of pain, and he was shivering so violently that he didn't know if he would be able to grasp something properly. Freezing cold, terrified both of death and of life, Alistair began to cry. All the same, he scrabbled for a handhold in the ice and snow, hoping to maybe find a way to get himself out of the lake before too much heat was lost—although he feared that it might already be too late.

He didn't realize Apphia was there until she spoke. At the sound of her voice, he recoiled backward, nearly losing his balance and falling further into the water. Alistair didn't think he could trust her, not really. Not when she'd threatened to kill him over a mirror. But he didn't have another way to get out of the lake, and he supposed that she would at least kill him faster than the cold would. So he reached out his hands for hers, even though he was dreading whatever was to come once he was out of the hole.