Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 6 + The Sixth Choice (NEF)

MAYBE, MAYBE NOT - 6

Reality was starting to mix with the fantasies a boy built from old tales once thought to be nothing but ragged truth. Such things were thought unfit by older minds.

Morning fog curled around his ankles, swishing ahead of him as he pushed on, and though no daylight gave proof of a beginning, he could smell it in the dew on the grass. Perhaps the day was still there - just hidden behind all of that night.

Nefyn had never been a fan of the dark: that was when a child's imagination ran rampant, and though he no longer sucked his thumb, it gave him discomfort he was quick to cover. The facade was shaky, like a cardboard cutout that'd been placed in front of him was starting to curl and crumble at the edges. Every now and then he'd gasp, hop, pick up his pace, stay at bay behind Mara, all of those things. It was embarrassing, to say the least, but she never commented on it.

How nice.

His thoughts parted at the sound of a distinct crunch. Panic fluttered against the confines of his chest and he sucked in a breath; they're coming to take us and bury us. But a hand landed on his shoulder, familiar, and the tension fell away as he realized it was, again, only Mara - this time crunching happily on an apple.

She beamed at him, holding the half-eaten fruit out for him. "You're impossibly jumpy. Take a bite."

A stiff laugh spilled over his lips, and he took it warily, examining the ruby surface. Unbruised, unblemished, and as he sunk his teeth through the skin of it, he felt as though he was wronging such perfection. Maybe the story was all wrong - maybe it wasn't the queen or the princess that was the fairest of them all, but the fruit they shared.

He was almost disappointed when he saw the missing chunk in the fruit. Almost.

You poor, abused piece of fruit.

Mara cleared her throat beside him, tapping his shoulder - a signal they agreed upon when they needed to stop moving. "I was thinking we go ahead and open these boxes. Y'know, to lighten the load, see what's actually in them."

Nefyn furrowed his brows and spoke around chewed-up apple. "I thought you said not to because a tiny chicken beast could spring up at us and end life as we know it."

"Okay, well, I revoke that statement." She sat upon the grass and pointed to a place opposite her. "Pop a squat."

Nefyn did as he was told, swinging his constellation box in front of him much like Mara. He sincerely doubted there was a tiny chicken awaiting them, but other things could've been - maybe the spindle of a spinning wheel, laced in poison, or maybe a magic mirror to tell him what he wished to hear.

Dainty fingers landed atop the lid of his box, halting his eager advances. Nefyn glanced up to vivid blues, narrowed in motherly scorn. "Hold your horses, you impatient swine. We'll do it at the same time."

Nefyn could only manage an eye-roll, placing his fingers firmly on the latch, but never lifting. He raised a brow. "Ready?"

Mara nodded, and the both of them flicked at the lock, easing the boxes open. For some reason, Nefyn chose to place his focus on what Mara found within hers rather than his own; he felt a thrum of concern just in case she was correct in her guess as to what lay at the bottom.

The answer: nothing, for it refused to sit and instead drifted. A pinkish cloud colored her cheeks, caressing her lids and yanking them down by the lashes. For a little while, she simply looked at peace, breathing in the rosy fog, but soon that peace fell to pieces, as did she, a heap against the ground.