flicker: a fragmentary passage

Promises Were Never Meant to be One-sided

" The king is dead; long live the king!"

The church-tower bells clamor with sonorous sound, appearing more than ever to echo the masses shrouded in shadows - mourning cloaked in black. The clouds call to mind ashes scattered on a bitter wind - a gentle, stirring breeze evoking a weighted sigh of bitter lamentation. Given the fact that Dirham was a country almost synonymous with precipitation, rain was an unsurprising forecast, ranging from a steady drizzle to a sudden downpour. The rain was an inescapable; it was an inevitability the locals knew all too well. With the same relentlessness it always possessed, the rain called for the end of a royal's reign.

Despite the fact that they were steadily becoming increasingly soaked by onslaught, the royal family did not move. They did not look at each other. They did not pay any mind to the scent of asphodel and lily, like burgeoning sorrow, laid in remembrance at a cold memorial. They could not bear to think of an empty throne and a hollow absence, leaving a household bereft. Oh, the people grieve for their king, but a Queen Astoria II weeps for her husband; Princess Amelia and Prince Corrin mourn in memory of a father who had made them into the people they were now.

It is then that Amelia wonders how things had come to this; in that moment, she came to remember the promise she had made so long ago, linking pinkies in the childish faith of a sacred vow.

"No matter what, I'll protect you!" her little brother, Corrin, had proclaimed, ash-grey eyes wide with all the confidence and sincerity of a child – but conveyed far less eloquently.

"Bold words for a little boy not tall enough to look me in the eyes," Amelia had teased, not taking him seriously – especially when he pouted in response. 

Corrin had grown, Amelia realized – but so had the rift that divided them. Widening further and further, the cracks spread until their bond as brother and sister threatened to shatter.

She didn't know what to do – not anymore. 

-

"Hey. Hey. Hey."

Several weeks later and surrounded by a cocoon of crinkling parchment, the crown prince did not even deign the speaker with a response, instead picking up his furious scrawl with increased fervor – excluding the several pauses to dip his quill in ink. 

For a student in Dirham's shining capital, the schools were no less than prestigious – hence, students were expected to achieve high standards and uphold a stellar academic career; even the prince was not exempt to the rule. Dirham's epicenter was a brilliant star of enlightenment, named for the late queen Asteria – may her soul preside in peace! - a bustling city that hardly ever slept.

"Esor? You attend Esor? What's this, huh?" 

At this hour, it was fortunate that only a few shopkeepers – who would remain silent for fear of the young prince's wrath - would bear witness to the capital's self-appointed sentinel, the Fox. The Fox was a flighty figure around town; he (the general populace was split in assuming the masked figure's gender – the betting pool was split half and half) was only found when he wanted to be. 

"The Arcanist Purge, huh? What class – oh! Advanced Contemporary History, huh? Didn't think they'd actually teach it." How long had the Fox been standing there? 

Corrin could hear the ripple of cloth in the wind, dyed a red he knew that was as rich as wine. The Fox's cloak fluttered behind him – he could tell without even looking up. He knew, with experience and exasperated certainty, that the Fox's mask – in the shape of its namesake, glinting in the slightly past-dawn light and crafted so that it was perpetually smiling – was peering right over his shoulder. He wished he was allowed that feeling of freedom – to speak as freely as he pleased. He wanted to be out of this stiffly-pressed black suit jacket, solemn as he had been several weeks ago.