Morons and Monarchs

Chapter Twenty-Five: Branwen🖌

𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖙 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖞; 𝖘𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖘 𝖆𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖉.

She should be. We are all fugitives out for blood, out for revenge... sorry, 'peace'. That damnable, impossible word. That is what we aspire.

In a blinding light, I transpire into my half-Fae form. "So this is the girl who has joined our little peace-palace?" I eye her red hair and pitch black cloak, her one mushroom horn. "Our first Bwardipuginin, interesting."

"Branwen," Ahmya cautions. "Did you ever bring the cleaning supplies?"

The recruit stills, "To clean what?"

I smile. "Any graffiti we mess up on."

Bayou shakes his head, "Viviendel, we just cause trouble, we don't enlist in it."

"How about that lord?" The redhead- Viviendel- replies. The lord we tasked Bayou to take care of... the lady I was tasked with...

"That was an exception-"

"No, it wasn't." Araceli interrupts. "Once in a while, they will include murder in one of the many crimes they commit to grab the Queen's attention. But only when they don't heed them enough attention."

"So... are you guys the ones who drew the mountains of graffiti on the walls." The walls bordering the clans... Between the Laritione and Tomairsitkiz villages... in front of the castles.

"Yes, and we have an even more spectacular plan for today." I reply.

-*-

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝖎𝖘 𝖉𝖔𝖓𝖊.

Viviendel's room is painted in dramatic swirls and names of ancients no one believes in anymore. Like Araceli. Ancients caged in cells for so long people forgot they existed. But they do, and we have united with them.

Planets surround Araceli's name, each one even more dramatic and descriptive of the last.

Ahmya and I are usually the ones cast to do the graffiti, we are more creative... and we both like art.

We are both good at it.

But Ahmya just does not understand my logistics of every picture... Every drawing has to have a story. Yet she just... draws.

It drives me insane.

Our plan is simple, yet complex. It lands on the heir's shoulders, and if she even messes up one little detail... we all go down. If one tiny picture smudges... everything we have been wishing for will tumble down with the absence of hope.

"We did a good job," Ahmya interrupts my thoughts of destruction... of failure.

"We did." I agree. "Only, I think we could have done better with Bastian's photo." I nod at the image we drew of him.

Bastian... well, he is the only 'ancient yet not ancient' in our group. He rules over the ancients, guards them, but he is also with them. Trapped in that dungeon of ancient menacing monsters. And Arcelie.

The Queens' banished him there, although he never told us why.

I don't care either way. He is lonely, oh no, that sucks for him. He is banished from Imbolc Island, too bad. It is not my problem. At all.

I don't even care about him. Even if we did date for a while, and I had splinters on my lips for days after. Stupid bark-made Fae. At least you can say he is always hard.