The Lonely Ones

Chapter Ten: Incredibly Selfish

The seasons change. Summer to fall, to winter, to spring, until a full year passed.

Once, the lonely prince didn't know time, only darkness. Eternal night without stars to keep him company. The future wasn't bleak because there was no future. But then his lonely knight began to visit, first rarely, then regularly, and now daily, or so he claims.

Every day the prince waits, eager for the light, the single star in the evening sky. What story does Artemis have to tell today? Sometimes it is a story read from a book, others told from imagination. The prince enjoys Artemis' tales woven from his own imagination the most though, the ones of a lonely knight rescuing a lovely lonely prince with hair of twilight. Those stories say so much, even when they are so short. And they prove Artemis is the best of the bunch of mortals since he has such excellent taste!

But then there are stories that are true, ones about a boy shunned. The prince knows that feeling all too well. He listens to a broken voice, words sometimes spoken between hiccups and sorrowful sighs. Once there was a story of a boy who lost his father, then of a boy who lost his mother. Another of a boy watching friends die or losing them for being unique. Then he even loses himself, unsure of whom to be or who he wants to be.

When those stories end and Artemis cries, the prince never knows what overtakes him. A taste of anger, a pinch of sorrow, a dash of irritation in a bubbling pot, or perhaps the pot is empty and he feels nothing at all. Does he want to say something? Does he have anything to say?

Fae are not known for pleasant company, even among their own kind. Tales of troubles are their favorite stories. Tell them horrors of the long past to invoke a devilish laugh, or show sorrowful tears to prove a weakling among the masses who they can twist and turn until they no longer resemble what once was. Fae certainly do not listen to the troubles of mortals unless the information may be used to ensnare them in a terrible deal.

The prince knew not what to do with Artemis' troubles or the strange sensations they evoked. Had the prince been free, he may have done everything to make him stop, or he would have done everything to make it much worse.

Over the year, the prince has come to know Artemis like a blacksmith knows iron. He knows when the iron is too hot, too rusted, too chipped. Artemis is the sword he's made a thousand times. That is why, when Artemis' heavy steps grow near, the prince knows what is to come. Complaints from one who traps every emotion into a jar until it shatters. The prince knows when that jar is broken, when the shards of glass have dug too deep. Strange how the prince cannot see, and yet, he knows more than ever. A loud step, a sad sigh, a lonely tone, they speak more than eyes see.

Your steps say you are angry today, the prince observes.

Artemis sits in the snow wordlessly. The white tree has become a safe haven, a cavern that holds secrets. Beneath the tree, he's safe from creatures above and the village that both adores and shuns him. There's a comfort, a charm of this winter wonderland meant to chill, but only leaves warmth. As strange as it may be, Artemis feels at ease speaking to his lonely prince, and speaking he does, so much sometimes that it makes his throat sore.

"Daryl Jennings is an atrocious dull-head," Artemis declares whilst building a castle of snow among the poppies. "Do you know what he said to me yesterday?"

Obviously not, but I can take a guess.

"His child has been replaced with a changeling. Last night, he stormed into my shop, accusing me of being the cause. I've angered the fae by trespassing in their lands, and now his child is gone. How ridiculous is that?" Artemis huffs, kicking his legs about childishly. "His child is gone because a fae played a nasty prank and he was too pompous to make sure his doorways and windowsills were salted! Calling the tales of the Grim Woods absolute poppycock, regardless of the proof."