ghosts
[[*since i'm technically still at work the event will be posted later tonight ><"
He fell down a fetid rabbit hole that smelled of death and the damp of surrounding earth -- of funerary beds and sickly-sweet lilies that had rotted away with the memories of the long-forgot. The Prince avoided this place -- at all costs, with little difficulty -- but at the behest of his brother’s silence, at the urging of his Uncle’s strange and stilted visit, he made his way downdowndown, deep into the darkness that had engulfed his brother, his cousin -- one and the other until it had beckoned him in turn, promising the souls of family who had once been fearless, kind --
once been more than monsters.
The light of a single lantern illuminated puny expanses, casting shadows violently along the poorly-lined crypts that dripped with sediment and the stench of old parchment. Truly, he wasn’t certain exactly what he was searching for -- who, of course, was apparent -- but in the breadth of years past and a face barely remembered there was little to expect -- only the ghost of kind words and gentle hands in the furthest-most reaches of his periphery.
He was silent -- prey -- shuffling along with rabbit-eyes fixed on every extinguished oil-lamp in mild horror as he went deeper into the Cathedral’s belly, fingers keeping him tight to the wall beside him.
The deeper the little Prince went, the more it smelled of mold and death. The change was not subtle; it hit him in the face the moment he turned a corner. A black, sticky wetness pooled on the ground there, ready to utterly ruin the expensive shoes on the boy's feet. There was no body; no sign of the creature that once been, nor the one that had done the deed. One thing was certain: only a large animal could leave such a mess.
He’d stumbled into the pool of human remnant before he’d realized what it was -- in the darkness, drowned in the depths the lantern didn’t reach, it pooled on pale silk, permeating the slipper with traces of death bought with pain and suffering. His arm came up, snuffing out the stench with the crook of his elbow. Traces of rose perfume lilted along the stale air, blossoming into a funerary melange with the topnotes of rotten blood.
“D-Dorian--” It was a feeble inquiry, muttered with disbelief into the dark. He stood still, the blood still lapping at the sole of his shoe.
Felix was met with a sudden press of limbs that twined around his torso, locking his arms to his ribs. The man that held him thus was taller, and strong, and from the looks of his arms and the irony scent that clung to him, quite dirty. He was barefoot, so that his footfalls had been silent, and bare-chested; even creatures didn’t like laying around in their own filth, and that shirt had been caked in gore.
“Who is this Dorian, to you? Why do you call his name? Is it not a beast you seek?” A harsh whisper, near his ear. He would hold the little Princeling fast, should he try to fight. Poor little rabbit.
There was no struggle to counter, only a weak whimper that was drowned in the blind scuffle that had entwined him in the beast's claws. Felix stood, still save an erratic heart and the tremble overtaking his limbs. His lantern had clattered away from him -- extinguished against the damp of the stones below, its echo still reverberating in the tomb he'd found his way into.
"He is a lost relative," the Prince whispered, with nary a stutter or quake in that hushed tenor.
"One who was buried by time, and the Turn and Altar's regrets. I think I have been lied to." The admission fell from his lips all the same, despite its likeliness to bear nothing but blood and a swift execution.
“A relative?” His captor inquired, sweeping him around; face to face. It was hard to distinguish the rich, honey blonde color of his hair; it had been ages since he’d washed it. In the dark, would his cousin see the greenish-gold of his eyes? Would he remember? He had been such a young thing, after all, when Dorian had gone off with the King’s armies. His face was more angular now, and a shade darker thanks to years in warmer climates.
“Quickly, what is your name?”
"Felix Eland," he murmured, fingers fleeting along filthy rags and flesh. He peered into the darkness -- strained to make sense of anything but the heat and carnage before him, but in the absence of light all that could be seen was a faint glimmer, one that radiated with violence and strife.
"I-- My Uncle Acelin does not visit irregularly. And Claude is too good a liar to go unnoticed. There were whispers of your name." It was honey, sweet and sincere. He found muscle -- sinew stripped of any domesticity it had suffered all those years ago, and it ripped from the Prince's lips a stilted sigh, quaking and shallow.
The revelation of the Prince’s identity did not lessen Dorian’s grip; his fingers tightened, in fact, and he growled his warning:
“I am not your cousin any longer; that man is dead. What you see now is all that is left; better left to rot here. Best forgotten. Your brother had it right when he locked me away. You had best get on.”
Dorian gave his cousin a shove, to get him away.
There was protest in recoil, and though his birdhollow frame gave way to Dorian's aggressions, the rabbit's stubbornness failed to cease, ever-present in that winnowed voice that was eaten alive by the maggots around them.
"But I just found you--"
“--you’ve found a shadow; a ghost. Nothing more. Keep me dead in your heart, little prince. Your grief for the memory of Dorian Eland won’t hurt nearly as much as the truth of this creature you see in front of you.”
The older of the pair kept the distance he had created, his fists flexing and unflexing, as he willed his emotion, and worse, his instinct, to restrain itself.
“I think truths ring more resonant than ghosts, even despite their potential burdens.” Felix peered into the darkness, his own hands wrung fraught before him. His knees shook -- trembled in the wake of a monster, but still -- family above all, above all and nothing. He spoke with full contrition -- a heartbreaking fidelity that spilled from his lips like diamonds.
“This creature before me is Dorian Eland. And I choose to see the truth of such a creature.”
Dorian’s hands rose to his head, sticking in the tangle of his hair. He stood there like that for a few moments, his eyes clenched closed. Finally, he said:
“I don’t know how you found me here, but you must leave,” in a hurried tone. “This is no place for the future King.” He lowered his hands and backed up towards the wall. When he met with damp stone, he sank towards the ground, drawing his knees up close to his chest. He watched his cousin through narrowed eyes, taking in the vast changes age had wrought upon him.
"It is no place for his cousin, either." Felix drew near and crouched, extending those featherdown hands to the filthy creature before him. Fingers pressed to filthy hair, realizing the squalor the beast had drowned himself in. Those honey eyes strained -- begged focus in the depths that his vision was unaccustomed to.
"I want to know you once more," he whispered, careless and coy.
"I remember you -- warm smiles, your tenor. Whatever has become of that now, I wish to know it."
The prince's touch caused Dorian to jerk his head away, though he didn't scramble out of reach. He was already backed against a wall. If his cousin tested his self-restraint for much longer, his teeth were going to come out.
"You are the Altar to your brother's Turn, dear cousin," the wretch murmured, lifting a hand to settle the hair Felix had disturbed. "Only Altar could have hope for the once-man you see in front of you: the murderer, the abomination who hungers for the hunt, for the kill... a common predator. A betrayer of his very race and nature! Oui, Monsieur. That is the type of creature you see here. But is your mercy as infinite as our neglected deity's?”
"Altar was never forgot, only veiled by the pulpit and the men before which it stands." Whether he meant his brother or not was left unanswered -- he merely remained as he knelt, close with cloistered fingertips at the ready to mend all wounds.
"A man is a man -- abomination or arbitrator. That is all I believe."
"And what is your intention, sweet cousin, now that you have seen me?" Dorian whispered, deciding that further attempts to persuade Felix away would be futile. "And how long do you have before your brother rages down those steps to fetch you from my clutches?"
"I would rather be in yours than his." His eyes had adjusted to the black, catching now all imperceptible shifts that had eluded him before. The Prince settled into himself, the filth of human expiry seeping into his clothes.
"Tell me where you've been," he begged, with all a child's wonder.
"Please, tell me everything.”
Dorian’s laughter was cruel and clear.
“Would you have me do parlour tricks as well? I am not your nursemaid, boy. This isn’t some nursery tale of adventure on the high seas. Are you such a cruel child, that you would descend those steps just to mock me with this inane chatter?”
He unwound his legs and arms, so that he could crawl towards the younger man that had so foolishly thought he get this close and not get bitten.
“Leave now, and I won’t feast on your parts like the last unfortunate child they dropped down here. You can tell my father how courteous I was. I’m sure he’ll love that.”
"It's strange," the rabbit countered, shifting just so -- just out of reach, and far from safe. The caustic laugh and admonitions fell upon ears that had bore the burden of far too many just like it, the difference being that this was furthest from an empty threat.
"How separate you would like to remain. Though you never thought to reason that I didn't mean where you'd been physically. Anyone can see you were cast among heathens." And he stood, indignation pretty and superfluous around its edges.
As Felix rose, Dorian stilled. He had accomplished what he had set out to do.
"No more than I am now," he whispered, his eyes glassy.