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Fantasy Waiting for the Eclipse

Syntra

Baba Yaga
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"Have you heard?"

Yes, of course she had. Sometimes, it felt like all Aira did was listen, and frustrating as that was, she also couldn't deny it was a... useful thing to do. A fine way to obtain information. More action to go with it would have been nicer, but to reap fruits, you had to actually plant some trees first.

She'd done exactly that. She'd planted those trees, and watered them with blood.

Lesser blood, to be sure -- but blood nonetheless.

"It will be such a splendid event."

That, Aira did not doubt. In these circles, 'splendid' was often a synonym for 'boring,' and she was prepared to be bored out of her mind throughout the evening as she did, what? Watched over the princess, lest she might break one of her perfect nails?

Color her intrigued.

"A little bird even told me," gasp! "That an unexpected suitor might show up. Someone to woo our dear princess Lucine."

That was enough to make the other maid, a stocky young woman named Annie, look up from her dishes. "Our Lucine? No way!" No way, for multiple reasons, none of which Aira really bothered to grasp. Something something, politics; something something, desirability. It didn't matter, mostly because the princess was going to die. The entire family was, if she had anything at all to say about it.

And, to their endless misfortune, Aira had a lot to say about the topic. She could write books about it. Maybe she would, one day.

"Don't stare like that, Evrian!" Ah, yeah. Evrian. Aira supposed it was closer to her actual name than Aira was, now, though she couldn't help but not think of herself that way. Then again, most people would also balk at her referring to herself as... well, herself. She certainly didn't look the part; Evrian was tall, muscular, and every bit as male as the name implied. With his strong features and blonde hair, many even called him handsome. Not to his face, of course! Never to his face, because that just wasn't how things were done around here. Too direct. The rumors hadn't escaped Aira's attention, though, and she had chuckled over them a great deal.

After all, wasn't it funny?

To know that so many of them had fallen for a fucking lie.

"What, me? I'm not staring," she finally said, "Just... thinking."

"Yeah? Worried someone might steal your precious princess from you?"

Oh, gods. "For the last time, Annie," Aira rolled her eyes, "She is not my princess. That I was assigned to guard her is..." just a lucky, lucky coincidence, "...A great honor but my intentions with her are absolutely pure."

As far as romantic adventures went, anyway. She really didn't want to 'soil her honor,' or whatever fancy euphemism it was that people used for fucking around here.

Admittedly, what she did want with her was worse... but maybe not in these idiots' eyes.

"Right," Annie grinned, "As if you could say anything else."

Can't you go one day without inventing inane stories? Of course, the answer to that was likely 'no.' That was why Aira didn't ask; unlike the other denizens of the royal kitchen, she didn't like wasting her breath. "Alright, I give up. We are actually planning to elope together. Satisfied?"

"Ha. I knew it!"

At this point, Aira didn't even bother to arch a brow. There was little point, and she supposed Annie could... dwell in her fantasies, if she so preferred. That the girl likely had a boring enough life that she had to spin these narratives was honestly a little sad, but not her concern. "Now, if you'll excuse me," she rose from her chair, "I will go serenade the princess." Translation: 'I will go pick her up.'

The celebration, pointless as it was, did have religious roots, and that meant that certain... traditions had to be observed. The princess had to 'cleanse' herself in the local temple first, whatever that meant -- and Aira, of course, had to accompany her. Nobody actually expected assassins, but it wasn't like those turned up when you did expect them. Besides, this was about sending a message! An unattended royal just... wasn't a thing.

Was there something she wanted to be doing less than this?

Aira honestly struggled to come up with an answer, because, between spending more time with the stuck-up princess and having to participate in her people's stupid fucking rituals, the competition wasn't all that fierce. Dying would be worse, she thought, But not by much.

After all, her own people were good at dying.

Something Lucine's family had seen to.

With a sigh, Aira straightened her uniform. After that, a knock on the princess's door followed, "Princess Lucine? Are you ready, or do you require more time?" And, though it wasn't all that smart, "I heard there would be a suitor, so you probably don't want to be too late!"
 
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Standing in front of the mirror and regarding her reflection, it is unnerving to Lucine how little she recognises herself. The temple robe she is meant to wear falls uncomfortably around her figure, sagging at the hips and tugging uncomfortably around her shoulders. They are plain in colour, slightly off-white due to age, rather than intentional design.

A knock at the door. Princess Lucine, are you ready comes the voice on the other side. She recognises the voice as her recently-appointed guard and steps delicately away from the mirror. I heard there would be a suitor, Lucine frowns.

“You may enter, Sir Evrian.” Lucine says, though distracted. “This is the first I’ve heard of suitors.” She’s heard rumours, of course, but there’s always rumours—especially about her. Every event large enough to warrant her attendance she hears them—whispers about marriage about suitors and men.

“Well,” Lucine says, her lips pressed together tightly. “We shall see. It’s matter, I have services to attend.” She looks at her guard, then starts heading for the door. “Let us leave now.”

☽◯☾​

Despite Lucine’s frustrations with it—or, rather, what it stands for—the temple is an architectural wonder and very pleasing to the eye. Where it appears small in size (especially when it is dwarfed by the castle she lives in) it is detailed so intricately that one could spend hours staring at all the walls and one still wouldn’t come close to seeing all the engravings. The walls are made from marble and, when the sun is full, it reflects a brilliant white. Now, though, as the warm months draw to an end, it appears sulky and grey.

The ritual is meant to be one of cleansing, to prepare unwedded girls for potential suitors at the festival and to prepare them for the cold months ahead where, in the past, they would stop bathing to avoid sickness. It is a needless ritual. There will be no suitors for her at the festival, she has very few desirable features. She stands to inherit nothing, she does not have a high standing within her family, she isn’t very well-liked and so on. She does have her name, which is worth something—but even that has been called into question before, what with her being born with raven-dark hair, as opposed to the brown her parents have (or had, in the case of her mother).

Lucine would rather do without the ritual at all. However, she doesn’t have a choice—so she’ll make it quick, instead.

At the back of the temple’s main room is an archway and set of steps. It leads into a small, open cave, one of the many that litter the land the castle is built on—it’s a large part of where the family’s wealth comes from. In the cave is a pool of water, crystal clear and so cold that plumes of grey mist rise from it. When they reach the archway, she stops.

“You can wait here.” Lucine says to Evrian.

There are some things already laid out for her in the pool room. A candle, a few bundles of herbs, a small towel and her festival dress prepared for her. Lucine starts by lighting the ends of the bundles with the candle. Then, with care, she undresses and leaves her clothes in a neat pile.

Slowly, Lucine lowers herself down to the side of the pool. Already, before she’s even gotten wet, the cold bites at her skin. She closes her eyes, breathes a deep sigh and, with bared teeth and great discomfort, slips into the water. The water is _freezing_. Her breath fogs up around her, joining the mist and she shivers violently. She forced herself to breathe steadily, her teeth chattering as she tries to find her tongue. The smell of the burning herbs is overwhelming by now.

With chattering teeth, Lucine manages to mumble through her rites. Ridiculous nonsense, praying for the cleansing and purifying of her soul—as if she ever got the chance to be impure. By the time she is done, the water temperature has become more bearable, and she doesn’t struggle as much with sitting there for a few minutes more. To reflect and meditate and delay having to go to the festival just a little bit longer.

Alas, Lucine cannot stay here forever. Straining, she pulls herself out of the pool and back onto the cave floor. The breeze from outside the temple brings on another harsh chill and she trembles harder, pathetically. Lucine towels herself dry as quickly as she can and moves to her prepared festival clothes. Most of it, she can dress herself in—and prefers to, to be entirely honest. However, she would normally have a maid for items like the corset.

“Sir Evrian, help me dress.”
 
Sir Evrian.

It was always Sir with Lucine, as if she didn't know Aira was as lowborn as they came. So beneath her, it wasn't even funny. Barely higher in standing than a stable boy, she'd been accepted for the job of a guard based on her martial prowess alone, and then raised to her current rank thanks to... what, luck? Personal valor? Aira, herself, didn't understand.

Didn't understand, and also didn't give a fuck.

It had not been her plan, but it would help. Every bit of access would help, just like every bite could make a starving man a little less hungry, and, gods, Aira was hungry. Hungry for justice; hungry for revenge. But also, a little bit, hungry for... answers?

Is she mocking me? That was something she could never really tell with the princess. Either Lucine was just so painfully polite that she defaulted to the title no matter what, or it was an insult. A blade wrapped in silk. Not knowing drove her madder than it had any right to, and Aira had to grit her teeth in order not to give anything away. Patience, she reminded herself, for what felt like the millionth time today.

"Well," she forced a smile, "It wouldn't be very exciting if you knew, would it? They say a maiden's heart yearns for thrill." Her maiden's heart yearned for blood, but that didn't feel proper to mention. Mostly because Evrian wasn't supposed to be a maiden, "Perhaps you shall get just that, princess."

~***~

The ritual was bullshit. Aira had suspected it would be, and was vindicated to learn that it, indeed, was exactly that, albeit she also had to admit to herself that some bullshit events at least had nice aesthetics going for them. Not that it matters. No, it just didn't. No matter how pretty a temple, it couldn't change the fact that they... apparently celebrated stopping to bathe? What?

How utterly barbaric. In the light of everything else, it was almost easy to forget that it was these fucking people who had hurt her own kinsmen so much.

Almost, but not quite. For that, the resentment felt too fresh under her skin. The resentment, as well as the memories of those she'd lost. The chains pressed against her own wrists, a million years ago, and the quiet 'click' that was and wasn't freedom.

It was, because she could go. It wasn't, because going meant taking up a mission.

Aira snapped out of her daydreaming, if you could even call it that. She didn't necessarily do it because she wanted to, but rather because the princess called out to her. "Sir Evrian, help me dress~," she mimicked Lucine's voice in her head. What's next? Sir Evrian, feed me? Help me wipe my pathetic ass? How any of those people had managed to reach adulthood without strangling themselves on their own hair was a mystery she might never solve.

(If Aira was interested in being a little more fair, she might have recognized that Lucine's clothing was... more complex than hers. Alas, being fair was the last thing on her mind. Not here. Not here, and not with her.)

"Coming," she announced. Of course Evrian would come; Evrian was a good boy, aware of his duties. Evrian... didn't actually know how to tie a corset? Neither did Aira for that matter, but that was a secondary thing. Can't be that difficult, she reasoned, Maids do it all the time.

Stupid maids, like Annie. It couldn't be much harder than breathing, otherwise Annie wouldn't have coped.

Annie, with her silly little fantasies of Evrian and the princess...

Okay, fine, Aira's breath might have hitched in her throat. Not for any particular reason, though! She had just never seen Lucine that naked before, so this was a totally normal reaction to have. Mostly, it wasn't even about Lucine herself, rather than about the absence of clothing in general. It just... felt weird. Unusual. And unusual sights easily led to unusual acts, which, in turn, meant that nothing about this actually was unusual.

Well, nothing that Aira knew about. Unfortunately for her, not knowing about something happening very much did not mean that it wasn't a thing.

Unbeknownst to her, something within the princess stirred. That something was hungry, and did what all hungry creatures did -- meaning, reached for something to eat.

For Evrian.

So, for the first time in years, it really was Aira standing there, looking like Aira, and sounding like Aira. Not that she noticed, as she worked on the princess's corset tirelessly, "Am I tightening this thing too much?" In truth, she likely was, and she relished in the knowledge, "Do let me know if something is wrong, princess."

And, well, a lot of things were. Aira may have looked remarkably like Evrian in that she was tall, handsome and fair-haired, but she was also very unmistakably a woman. A woman with a pair of horns growing on her head. Uh oh?
 
In her frustrations at the unnecessary complications of her clothing, Lucine had not stopped to consider that Evrian may not even know how to tie her corset. To her, it seems like something that should be common knowledge, even to men—they’ve never had an issue with _untying_ corsets before.

It also does not occur to Lucine that her current state of dress may not be appropriate for a man’s gaze. But what else is she to do? Have him fetch a maid all the way down here? No, that would be pointless. Even still, she goes a bit red in the face and very stiff when Evrian finally reaches out for the corset laces.

There may be another reason for Lucine’s discomfort. There is something very wrong with Lucine, something that has been there from birth—and now, it raises its ugly head once again.

A familiar feeling washes over Lucine and she gasps sharply, although Evrian does not seem to notice—instead, all he does is ask if he’s tightening the corset too much. Lucine doesn’t respond, she remains stiff as a board. The feeling is like drinking cold water or breathing in the icy mist of the cave pool. It trickles down her spine.

“Fine, thank you.” Lucine says, through gritted teeth, bowing her head. Then, with Evrian done, she turns around, and—

Lucine screams, shrill and piercing. She stumbles a few steps backwards, away from the… monster in front of her. There, Evrian stands—except it’s not Evrian, it’s something else now. It has horns like a fucking beast growing from its head. It looks like a woman—but it cannot be, it just can’t.
 
If Aira had to describe what she was feeling with one word, that word would be 'what.' Just... flat what, with no real emotion behind it aside from distilled annoyance. What the fuck is her problem?

'What did I do this time?'
would also have been a good way to phrase this.

Had her touch not been reverent enough? Had she forgotten about some pointless rule? Had Evrian, in his foolishness, perhaps tied the lace in the wrong order? That there likely was a right order in the first place only managed to convince Aira further that, yes, her mission was just. Any people so preoccupied with such nonsense clearly deserved to die!

All the blood on their hands was... just a bonus. Another justification in a sea of them.

Even so, it wasn't like the stupid girl could die here. Not yet. Evrian would obviously be blamed, and since Aira needed Evrian still, she couldn't quite afford to throw the costume away. Those things were expensive! Magic didn't just cast itself. Illusions, also, didn't keep themselves alive for free, because nothing was ever free. That was a lesson Aira had grasped early on.

So, what to do here? Ah, yeah! Pretend that the girl's behavior was concerning (which it was, in a way) rather than outright idiotic.

It would take all of her acting skills, but she would manage.

Hopefully!

"Princess Lucine?" Aira arched a brow, trying to sound... worried, instead of annoyed, which would have been the far more honest adjective. Of course, it also wasn't like honesty would have won her a lot of favors here, "What is the matter?"

I swear, if it turns out a spider is crawling over my shoulder...!

Was Lucine ever afraid of spiders?

Not the point, Aira thought, and took a step closer.
 
A very similar train of thought runs through Lucine’s mind—what. What happened? Why is this happening now? Why is Evrian, her sworn guard, a monster—and a woman on top of that, too.

Evrian—if that even is its name—just stands and stares at Lucine, just looking confused and mildly concerned. There isn’t a trace of malice or ill-intent on its twisted face.

What is the matter, it asks, it’s voice sickly sweet. As if it doesn’t know. What kind of a sick joke is this? Why had it waited so long to reveal itself? Is she truly to die now, in a holy temple of all places?

“Get away from me!” Lucine shrieks, as the creature takes a step towards her. She takes a few more clumsy steps backwards, nothing on her mind except to get away from this thing. She puts a hand out in front of her, as if she’d be able to do anything against a trained guard.

What are you?” Lucine asks, through gritted teeth. She backs up again and finally hits the wall of the cave. “Are you going to kill me?”
 

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