The castle, mansion, estate or whatever the king wishes it to be that day, is always cold. Odile does not know if the lack of warmth finds its origin within this desolate place or the person inhabiting it. That is not to say that her life has always been cold. She has never faced the king’s wrath like other fae, like the swans. Odette is not the first he has turned and she certainly would not be the last. He will never stop as long as there is a someone so low as a human dares to defy him. If she herself were brave enough, she would have asked him if mother has been a swan as well. Odile does not know how she looked, does not know if she was kind or cruel. There are no painting of her to decorate the walls and there are no tales of her to be told. There is only Rothbart, the king stop the hill with his magic and deception.
Her home is stifling when he is there, dead when he is not. Like the life he carries is tainted and when he leaves, there is none left of it to purify. It is for that reason, that Odile finds herself within the forest more often than not. Sometimes she will fell herself drawn in by the swan maidens and their queen. She will watch them dance when the moon begins his climb, mesmerized, but she also takes pity in them. They are trapped, never to leave for long and even if they did, to only live as a human when the sun has gone down is no life at all. Every so often she has tried to lift their curse to no avail. Odile is too weak, too little of a fae and too much of a human to help. It is a taunting curse, the cure before them, but just out of reach it seems. The fae do not often love with the same capacity that humans do and even if one where to love one of the swan maidens just so, none would dare go against the will of the king atop the hill. They do love living in their own luxury far too much to even consider doing so. Even she herself can only hope to be of help from within the shadows.
The setting sun paints the forest in hues of red and orange and Odile watches as with the dying light, the swan maidens and their queen begin to shed their feathery dresses.It is another taunt perhaps, that Rothbart only allows them to be human with only the moon and stars to witness it. Their queen is the first to move, dancing across the lake with such ease it would make the wind jealous. The water will always reach out to provide ground for her, to steady her.She, the queen, Odette is slender in so may ways that one would almost assume her to be frail, fragile even. Her skin has been blessed by the sun itself, strong muscles shifting just underneath. Freckles dust her cheeks and shoulder like constellations that have been lost to the sky and the wavy locks framing a gentle face seem to have been woven from the moonlight itself. Odette’s eyes are the warmest thing she has ever gazed upon and she thinks that they must be polar opposites. Odile with her pale skin of a sickly nature. Odile with her tangled black hair. Odile with her too thin frame and too cold eyes. She does not look exactly fae, nor does she look human and to be both might be like being none at all. Dead and lifeless.
The cool night air seeps into her bones, causes the pale white scars across her body itch and ache. Some come from her wanderings, where thorns and branches will nick the skin. Others come from the feathers that will sprout from beneath her skin if she is not careful enough.
She thinks about being trapped, thinks she would rather be trapped like the swan maidens than be trapped in a dead house. Odile suspects the king must know. He request her presence whenever he happens to be within his own kingdom once more, asks for her to entertain the guests with song and dance. She is not particularly gifted in both. Woe will seep into her voice no matter the song and her movements are always clipped and stagnant. The guests always seem to find it amusing, though it must be the oddity that is her and not the portrayal of her ‘gifts’ that does hold their interest. It is not often that they witness someone so obviously not like them.
Something close to her hiding place moves, startling the underbrush and for a moment she fears that she has been discovered. Her heart races, pounding against its cage. To be discovered mow surely would turn out to be disastrous. Odile has never introduced herself to the swan maidens, has never gotten around to being anyone but Rothbart’s faithful daughter. They must surely hate, even if she were to reveal herself as an ally. Her father is the king of lies. Who would choose to belief her?
To herself it is jarringly obvious that she cannot help, not in person at least, but if she were to lure a human to the lake it might change things for them. The human would certainly fall for one of the swan maidens, if not for their queen. Although her searches along the forest’s border have born no fruit as of late. It is possible that the humans never think to stray into this far corner of the kingdom, fearful of the fae and all their games. Odile guesses that she will have travel further from the forest’s confines if she wishes to find a individual curious enough to be lured in by her. However, the chances of doing so without being noticed are rare to occur. Rothbart prefers to keep her within his sight when he is around and even if he is not one fae or the other will take note of her sudden absence within the forest and surely report it. She would have to be quick, slipping out when a celebration would mask who came and went. She knows that upon the king’s return, he will undoubtedly celebrate himself, parading around his narcissism for anyone to see. He might have her perform. Her faults have always been displayed for the guests to draw entertainment from. She tenses at the thought, would rather sit by the swan maidens than be put on display. Though she is too much of a coward to even do that.
They must hate her like they hate him. Odile does not allow herself to think that it might be different. Half of him is her, slithers through her veins. It grasps at her like a coiling snake. She will never escape him, but if others do everything will have been worth it. She swallows, throat dry and tongue heavy. It is knowledge that still weights her down, to never be able to leave the side of her father. She is trapped like everyone else, bound by blood that she does not want.
Odile regards the swan maidens a moment longer, thinks them strong for being able to find some sort of solace in dancing. It is their own rebellion, to find joy in the face of their desperation. Rays of light begin twisting down, cutting through branches and leaves. She turns away from the lake, gives the maidens privacy as they undoubtedly shift back into swans. She rises, stretching to chase the stiffness from her bones. She will have to return, return to a dead house and its king. She tries to keep the memory of the forest with her, tries to memorize the smell, the feeling of shifting earth beneath her feet. It is far too soon that she finds herself within the looming shadows of the house. when she enters, she immediately feels feels the king’s smothering presence, feels his magic stealing the air from all the rooms. Odile clenches her jaw, torn between hiding away and facing him at last.
It is fairly easy to find him. The living room is empty aside from the large portraits of him and the few pieces of lush furniture he so often lounges in when the king does return home. There she finds him draped over a chaise, arm covering his eyes. Blue silvery hair pools around him in dark swirls. The pale morning light illuminates even paler skin. He does not look like a man who is a father, seems more like one of those princes who toy with their kingdom and riches without a care for others.
“My darling daughter has finally deigned my presence important enough to come greet me upon my return.” He himself does not move to greet her, does not even move a muscle to at least meet her eyes. Still, Odile lowers her head in shame.
“Apologies, father. I must have forgotten the time during my walks.” She keeps her voice low, placating. Arguments with him have never ended well.
“Had you been here, waiting as you should, then you would have taken note of it.”
She clenches her fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms until she almost draws blood. She tries to swallow her rising anger. He is expecting an apology, but she refuses to apologize for being her own person. The silence between them stretches, twists until Rothbart lazily lifts his upper body.
“Not that it matters now. A great ball will be held in my honor later. I expect to see you there as well, to entertain the guests of course.” He watches her expectantly. It is a show of power on his side. He must know that she would not dare to oppose him so openly.
The scars across her skin itch uncomfortably, yet she refuses to move to alleviate the feeling somehow. “Yes, father.”
He smirks as he settles back. She despises how certain he is, with his power, with his control over everyone within this forest. Odile is dismissed, the king’s focus having already shifted towards something he deems less bland in topic. She returns to her room. Its walls are empty, no paintings of him bringing more shadows to this space. Without them it is without a doubt her own. Empty and cold, but one of the few places Rothbart has yet to invade with his presence.
Her thoughts turn towards the festivities. She will have to be seen by both party goers as well as her father before she can even think about leaving to will her plan into reality. It seems possible to leave after a performance, when the spirits are high and the ale has loosened the tongues and minds of many. It will be easy, it will be easy, it will be easy. It has to be. Odile repeats those words until doubt has stopped clinging to them, until it merely an afterthought. She will sleep and will not dream. She will wake up once more and still be there, chained by a bloodline that is only half hers.
Odile wakes by herself., soft music slipping into her room through the cracks within the walls. The celebrations must have already started, although she has yet to hear the loud, excited chattering of the guests. She knows what will be expected of her, to be the black swan the people know her to be. The dress is constraining, never allowing her to draw in a proper breath. Her shoulders and collarbones are covered in sleek, black feathers that climb up her neck, constantly reminding her to keep her head held high, to be just like her father. She looks smaller, more pale in it. The scars seem more prominent than ever and for a moment she wishes to cover them underneath a wrapping of cloth. Though it would not become for a lady like herself. She will have to hide away her discomfort, lest people find another weakness capable of pulling her apart at the seams.
She takes one last breath to steady herself before she pushes forward and out of her room. Odile follows the music to the main hall where some of the guests already mingle among each other in colorful costumes. She does not expect to spot the king immediately, did not even think that he would be celebrating this early. His suit is adorned with the feathers of a black peacock, the tailored suit shimmering with their iridescence. Amber eyes meet hers, crinkling with amusement before he seems to disappear within the crowd once more. Odile knows that he will certainly watch her now, at least for some time. She sees herself forced to entertain the guests for longer than she has anticipated. It feels like a small eternity until nobody seems all too interested anymore, until she can finally slip back into the shadows once more. It takes even longer for her to disappear from the festivities seemingly unnoticed.
The forest is drenched with the colors of the setting summer sun. The air is warm. The world around her hums with life. She passes the lake in the distance, smiles to herself. Today she will finally be able to help the maidens. Although, the closer she seems to get the borders of the fae kingdom, the colder it appears to got. The colors are almost dulled to hues of grey. She steels herself, does not like the next part all too much, but it is a step that need to be taken. Luring a human to their possible demise almost feels wrong if she were not doing it for Odette. So she listens closely, tries to find a shift in the air.
Odile does not spot the hunting party at first. They blend in well, though once she takes note of them she thinks it will be easy enough to lure at least one of them past the border. She swallows, bites down the sudden wave of nausea. This is a necessity. The remnants of the curse slither within her veins, feels it push against her skin until she does not feel human anymore. The feathers sprout from the thin scars, hiding what she is and what she could be. Her curse is broken in a way, but she does not believe anyone powerful enough to wipe its remnants from her soul. It is one of the few magical things that remains with her upon crossing the border to another realm. She lurks within the trees, hopes to make enough noise to draw the attention of the hunters. Their heads snap up, gazes trailing across the treeline. They do not seem all too interested when they fail to spot her. Odile dares to step out further, allows the sunlight to catch on her feathers. A single hunter appears to notice. He breaks from the group with a quick gesture to his companions, she herself hushes through the trees. She lures him with careful movements, revealing just enough of herself to keep him curious and hopeful of bounty. As she leads him on, she cannot help but watch him closely. The forest will often shift around humans, will always spit them right out if they do not fall prey to the fairfolk.
Odile finds this young man peculiar. Soft, round features are framed by uneven, auburn hair. She thinks she spots a fair braids within it as well. His eyes, one blue one rosé, seem kinder than most. A hunting bow rests against his thigh. He seems more curious to find what he is chasing rather than follow the desire to kill it. He is strange, even for a human. He might be befitting for the queen of swans, that is if Odette came to like him.
She reaches the lake, hears the human just a few paces behind. She hides well, cannot risk him seeing anyone but the swan maidens and their queen. Odile bears witness as he reaches the clearing, eyes widening with barely concealed wonder as swans turn to humans before his very eyes. She sees the maidens stiffen in panic, before they are drawn in. He bows, introduces himself. She makes sure to not listen, does not wish to hold such power in her hands. Some of the maidens seem elated. They push and pull at Odette, urging both of them on to dance. Odile catches the words ‘royalty’, ‘fated meeting’. She smiles despite the odd, twisting sensation in her chest. It is not her duty to dance among them, it is her duty to wait and guide him. Odette and the human dance until dusk, lights reaching and grasping at the swan queen to change her once more. Odile quickly takes to the trees to guide him safely. The human turns to where she has just disappeared, his eyes searching for something within the growing shadows. For a moment she fears that he has spotted her, though he rides om home without another word.
The royal returns every so often and every time she will faithfully play his guide through these treacherous lands. She thinks herself lucky for the absence of her father. He cannot grow suspicious of her comings and goings if he is not there to take not of it himself. Her quiet rebellion sends a small, pleasant thrill through her, one that is dampened every time she watches the royal dance with Odette. She tells herself that this odd feeling is merely because of her wish to be able to join them. She tries to convince herself that it is just that, just the want to belong and nothing else. It cannot be anything else. It would be unfair to Odette, to all the other swan maidens to allow her own selfishness to play a part in this.. She swallows down her desires, tries to smile to herself within the shadows.
And every time the sun begins to peak over the horizon, she leads the kind royal out of this forest once more. It is how things are, how they always will be in the stories told. It is the dashing prince who saves the princes in the end, never the dragon, the witch or the wolf. What does it make her? Maybe nothing or something that lurks just in between. Her thoughts linger, the present blurs until there is a hand upon her shoulder. It does not hod her there, but it petrifies her all the same. She cannot move, does not dare to look. If it is the king atop the hill it better to never look, never speak or openly defy. Yet, the presence by her side remains gentle, warm. Odile slowly lifts her head, the feathers along her neck rustling with the movement. Her eyes meet mismatched ones. It is the royal and the fear settles in the pit of her stomach, having shifted into its own special blend of dread. She expects a blow and vicious words for having dared to lure him into this wretched place. She is riddled with nothing but guilt, guilt, guilt.
Still, the royal only looks at her with relief rather than contempt.
“I have caught you finally, madame. I was afraid I would never find out who is so kind as to help me find my way.”
There is a small, pleases smile upon his lips as he says it. For a moment she thinks it predatory. He does not seem bothered by her silence, or maybe he does not notice it at all.
“Are you one of them? A swan?”, he asks curiously, eyeing her feathery dress.
Odile shakes her head, no.
“A fae then?”
She shrugs, searches for the right words. “Perhaps I am, or maybe the damsel or the witch. There are not just the two within the shifting place and certainly not all of them are as kind as the swan maidens and their queen.”
She watches him cocking his head to the side, the smile never slipping. It does not appear strained at all.
“Are you a kind one then? I cannot imagine anyone unkind desiring to help me.” He seems naive to engage her so easily, to believe her words this quickly. As if he does not think her to be one of the dangers lurking within the forest. It is undeniably a foolish trait of humans, to trust when there should be none to give.
“Other might call it kind, whereas some might see it as rude or foolish. You will have to decide for yourself how you will view my actions.”
“I will do just that then, madame… Pardon me, i do not seem to have caught your name.”
She thinks about it, thinks about giving him a wrong name, but his words hold no power over her and it has been a long time that her name has been spoken by any other. She yearns to hear it again, to be addressed as herself.
“Odile.”
The royal grins, offers her his hand.
“Sieg-”
Odile scrambles forward in a flurry of feathers, pressing a hand to his mouth.
“Not your entire name. It holds so much more power within these part of the world than you think.”
His grin widens at that, a twinkle in his eyes. “A kind madame, then.”
The words ring out in the space between them and then the royal has stepped over the border, already on his way to return home once more. It will turn out to be dangerous, it has to be. She should not have been seen, should not make it possible for herself to get even more involved than she already is. She can only help, that is the role given to herself. The role that will help her atone for the sins of her blood. Odile sighs, shakes of the feathers and returns to a cold home. These days she feels more swan than fae. She does not know it this should worry her, maybe she should be delighted instead. Being less of a fae means the human within her is winning, though she is possibly losing all the same. It is not the worst end that could be written for her, although perhaps she should strive for something less crushing.
Nothing much changes after Sieg’s first capture of Odile. He now speaks to her during their walks and sometimes she will answer him. It often turn out to be a warning.
Do not enter the fae kingdom without someone to guide you.
Never reveal your true name to anyone within this forest.
Never step away from the path, lest you trample something that will draw a creature’s ire.
He does not seem to mind. In fact he gives off the impression that he is all too happy whenever she does speak to him. Sometimes while he dances, his eyes will meet hers where she hides in the underbrush and beckon her forward. Every time she declines with a small shake of her head, his smile will slip into a small frown. He lets it slides for weeks, almost months before he grows impatient. She does not expect it when Sieg grasps her hand and tugs her out of her hiding place. Odile stumbles out in a flurry of feathers, almost squawking at the royal in betrayal. She wants to hide again, or maybe push Sieg into the lake. Her hands shake, pressure is building behind her eyes. This is a mistake, an error on her part. Odile almost expects her father to appear, to drag her away and end this cruel joke. The world around her quiets. Sieg glances between her and Odette, like something must change now that she is revealed.
She cannot meet his eyes, not when the queen of swans is searching her gaze for something. If it is found or not, she does not know. Odette is lovely, but Odile has never been close enough to learn her tells. That had been a distant wish too. It makes something in her heart twist, makes her realize how desperately she yearns to know someone that may never be hers to know.
The royal smiles, clasps a hand over her shoulder for support.
“She is a good one, this one. Without Odile I would have never been able to find my way around this strange place.”
He is looking at Odette as he says it. She narrows her eyes, steps closer to Odile. Her own mouth opens, closes again. What can she truly say when facing the queen? She shrinks back, makes herself small. She does not want to hear the words, things that might tear her apart at the seams.Something softens about the blonde then.
“He is terrible to you as well, is he not?”, she sounds far more devastated at Odile’s fate than she should. It feels wrong.
Odile shakes her head, fearful of how her words might be used against her. Too often has she felt them twisted into something they were not.
The queen’s eyes harden at that, a bitter laugh tearing loose from her lips.
“Of course you are not. You surely wanted to be trapped like this, a girl and half a curse.”
She flinches at the harshness of the other’s words. Only when Sieg steps in between does Odette seem to realize how much weight they hold. Some of that bitterness, that anger vanish, leaving behind only a girl and its curse.
“I must apologize. It is easier to reach others than him, when he hides away from the consequences of his actions.”
Odile shrugs, easily accepts the apology and bites her tongue. ‘At least you can leave, if only for a little while.’, she wants to say. Odette is not trapped like the fae are, trapped under a rule of a king who will not let them leave. Their curses differ oh so greatly and comparing their burdens will lead to nothing.
All of them seem to feel more at ease once the situation has cleared. Idle chatter fills the quiet in the clearing and the dancing begins once more. Sieg tries to lure her several times, but she never raises to the bait. Dancing along Odette as the black swan would feel alien and silly. Still, he grins at her like she belongs, like he will make her believe it if she only lets him try. Odette on the other hand regards her with a certain degree of wariness. It stings, but she understands. She is the child of the wretched king. Her blood carries his faults. It is the only bloodline the people know of.
It ends just so. With each of his visits, Sieg will try to include her in the dances and always one thing or the other will hold her back. She still watches from the sidelines in the end, like she always has and always with. She has to be content with that, cannot wish for more than this. Odette will always watch her in the pauses in between the dances. They do not talk often, but when they do the other woman is never as harsh as she had been on that very first day. She is not soft either, but Odile suspects that ones only way of survival within the kingdom of fae is to discard anything soft about yourself. To be soft is to be stolen away again and again.
Of course her life cannot stay as tranquil as it is now. The king will always return to his throne at one point or another, and he will always expect her to be by his side like an obedient pet. She is with Sieg and the maidens when she feels him return. The presence of his magic is beginning to fill every crevice of the kingdom, choking her. This far from safety with no way of distracting the wretched king she will surely be struck down if she does not return as quickly as possible. They all regard her with certain sadness, as if for a moment they too believed she did belong more to them than him. Yet they understand that while they can run from him, she cannot. Odile turns towards the royal with desperate eyes, begs him without words to leave now. He does not hesitate, says his goodbyes and then takes his leave. If they hurry, Rothbart might only be annoyed with her.
At the border, she stops him.
“Do not enter the forest when I am not there to guide you. Do not let him find you.” She does not feel ashamed when the desperation seeps into her voice. Odile feels utterly powerless at the thought of Rothbart realizing what game they have been playing.
Sieg stares at her, unmoving like he does not want to leave her just yet. After a deep breath he steps forward, arms engulfing her. The warm embrace feels alien. It makes her tense, but there is a certain feeling of security to it as well.
“Take care of yourself out there.” He says it like she is the human trapped in a world that is not hers.
He cares, but a small part of her thinks it is only because she is the only one who knows the safe paths of the forest.Still, she nods, tired and unsure, then forces a smile. He lets her go then, more nervous than he was before. He does not believe her and that is dangerous for people with hearts like his. Those people are too soft, they give too willingly. In the end, Odile is glad when he finally leaves. At least that way she cannot take more from him than she already has.
The house turned palace feels even more so deprived of life than it does in the absence of its king. The air, saturated with his twisted magic though remains stifling. Her limbs feel heavy as she drags herself to the audience chamber. There, the forest morphs and mixes with stone in high, imposing arches.Atop his throne lounges the king, a glass of wine in his raised hand.
“Come to finally grace me with your arrival?”
Odile remains quiet, back ramrod straight. He rises to his feet.
“Tried to fly away, haven’t you?” This time it is a sneer.
She realizes too late that she has not changed form, that the feathers still stick from her skin in all their messy glory. A shiver runs through her when she feels his hand grip her jaw, nails digging into pale skin until they draw blood. She thinks of warm eyes, refuses to flinch away even when she does not dare to meet his gaze.
“You would do well to remember that you are nothing without me. Out there, without my protection, they would tear you to shreds in seconds.” His grip on her loosens, but she does not move to leave. She knows she is not dismissed yet.
“I will have to keep a closer eye on you for now. You are not to leave without me accompanying you. We cannot have the peasants think that you despise your own creator. It would give them silly ideas.”
He shoves her away, dismisses her presence with the flick of his wrist. It is a mild punishment, Odile thinks. He could have taken what little magic she has to watch her squirm for control like he had done once before. Having her privacy invaded is far more easier to endure than the loss of her own humanity. Shaking, she retreats into the shadows of her own home. With enough luck, Rothbart will tire of her after a week, if not, time will merely stretch around until the memory of herself is a mere afterthought.
She takes care of herself, tries to at least, because Sieg had asked her to. Sleep eludes her often enough. She has never been able to force herself to sleep when her thoughts are running wild.She forgets to eat as well, given that she rarely feels hungry. It is her heritages cancelling each other out. One eats for indulgence, the other out of necessity. Between her audiences with the king and the parties he throws, she finds that cannot be wasted by him. Odile searches for ways to weaken Odette’s curse, even though she has failed so many times before. Her magic is only a fraction of the king’s capabilities and he had seen to it that it could not even pose a minor threat to his reign. Still, she tries. She owes the swan maidens and their queen at least as much. It is the sin of her kind she wishes to truly atone for. So she pulls up all the theories that will stick in her mind, tries to weave her magic into what little knowledge she has. There is never a solution beyond the curse’s original conditions or an even more powerful caster nullifying its effects. Odile stares at her hands. She watches the barely alive sparks that spring forth. Maybe she will be able to draw a summoning circle someday, do something with what little she has. She breathes deeply, centers herself. It is one failure among the many, one thing more upon her shoulders like a heavy cloak. It is the only thing truly hers.
She sleeps, eats when she can, follows her father’s orders for the time being. It continues on and on, like a small eternity is passing before Rothbart finally takes his leave once more. He announces his imminent departure with a great ball, so he max be within their memories even while he is away. She suspects he fears death and the erasure of existence as much as the humans do. It is a small pleasure, a small delight to see the wretched king afraid of his own, stretched out immortality. One well place piece of iron and he would be burning, would be forgotten. Though the thought of killing her father, feels too drastic, too sinister for her to even think about it much longer
That night she dons the black swan costume with something akin to pride. Rothbart will toy with mortals and she will be here, gloriously defying him. She slips from the festivities when the king is gone, with the moon high within the skies. Her feet carry her through the forest, light and careless as if she were dancing.Her heart thumps, thumps, thumps away in her rib cage, a restless bird in its cage. Odile finds herself filled with childish glee at the prospect of meeting her companions, perhaps she can even dare to call them friends.
The clearing by the lake is lulled in hushed silence. It appears, though upon closer inspection she finds the maidens, Odette and Sieg huddled together close by the treeline. Their heads snap up, gazes fixed upon Odile as she arrives. She sees nothing but relief on their faces, as if they had worried she might never return. A quiet voice in the back of her mind snarls that they are afraid that she will reveal them to Rothbart. They only worry about a possible betrayal, not her well-being.
Before the thought manages to bury deep, her companions are already upon her. Their hands grasp and hold in search for injury. Their eyes flit across her face in order to gauge if she is otherwise unwell. Odile smiles, tired but genuine, and hopes it is enough to placate them. It seems enough for now, all of them drawing back once their realize their intrusion into her personal space. Odette immediately hardens as the worry bleeds. Sieg is fidgeting by her side. The silence stretches, fills the space between them until she feels compelled to fill it.
“He has left again. The throne atop the hill is empty.”
It seems to trigger something. The swan queen’s jaw clenches. The royal seems determined.
“We need him gone. We need to have him defeated so you may leave.” Sieg’s voice shakes as he says it, whether be it determination or something else she cannot name.
“We cannot.” The words tumble out, unbidden. It feels impossible to dethrone a man who has clutched at power for so long.
“We have to, but it will never stop him. Either we slay a tyrant or never even find ourselves capable of subduing him.” Odette is harsh, blunt with her words.
It causes cold dread to climb up her spine. Rothbart is a wretched king indeed, but he is still her father, still the man who loved her once.
“Please, do not say that. It is his blood in my veins. After everything, I do not wish him dead still.” Odile trembles with each word, despising despite all that has happened she would never wish him dead. Subdued and human, yes, but not gone.
The swan queen looks furious. Barely contained anger flashes in her gaze, her teeth exposed in a snarl. “What then?! How do you possibly hope to end his reign without sacrifice? Are you truly so much of him that you refuse to look beyond your own comforts?”
The words cut and tear, drive knives of guilt into Odile’s heart. They cannot be true. She cannot be him and a life shadowed by his cannot be of any comfort. She tries to stand taller, defiant. Odile refuses to be judged by someone who does not know how it feels like. Sieg moves forward, perhaps to diffuse the situation with kind words and soft eyes.
The words slip from her lips before his can. “And what were you to do if one would suggest the murder of your father? Would you welcome it, delight in the fact that people would see him dead than judged by a high court?”
“This is different.”
“To me it is not. You wish to murder the man who raised me, the man who once cared for me like a father would for his daughter. I do not ask you to do nothing, I merely ask for time to think and adapt.”
Odette watches her, arms crossed over her chest. Sieg reaches for the blonde, but she shrugs him off before he can offer any sort of comfort.
“Fine, but if our times runs it will be your fault.”
Odile nods nods, accepts the blame and the possibility of failure resting upon her shoulders anew. She knows she cannot fail in this, refuses to fail Odette after carefully laying out this plan of hers. If she fails herself along the way, then that will be an entirely different story.
The silence stretches once more, awkward and all compassing. The swan maidens do not dance, are almost too wary to speak amongst themselves. Sieg looks like he does not know what to do. It feels heavy to have all their expectations on her, the burden of decision. Odile leaves, she cannot think here with too many noises in the silence, with her gaze straying to Odette ever so often. She gives herself exactly three days to think it through. She thinks over the possibilities, the outcomes and only finds so few that are of a less gruesome kind. So she chooses, decides to live with whatever comes afterwards. She will have done her deed then, she will have helped to set the swans free. She hopes that her mother will be proud of her, wherever she might be. Rothbart surely never will. When Odile returns to the lake this time, she finds everyone waiting with bated breath. She grasps at her dress, sinks her fingers into the worn fabric and steadies herself.
She speaks and never lets her eyes stray. “ We have to drive him out when he is not there to stop it.” She turns towards the royal. “If you wish to invade you will have to bring iron, a lot of it. The forest will spit you out if you don’t. It will shift to protect the throne. It will have to be claimed with iron too, and your own blood as well. Drive out his magic and he will have no sway over the people anymore.”
Both stare at her, unsure. Odette does not seem to be outright displeased by the plan. The frown upon her face is light, barely there and the warmth in her eyes overshadows the fury dancing within them. It is something at least. Odile is so wrapped in her observation, wrapped up in the need to breathe. She does not notice when Sieg moves in for a hug. She tenses, hates the feeling of being held in place at the moment.
“Don’t… please…” It is quiet, wavering. He hears it nonetheless and steps away, gifting her with a toothy smile instead. It eases the anxiety and she finds herself reaching out to squeeze his hand.
“We will defeat him. You will be free.” It sounds final.
They will march against Rothbart, the king atop the hill on his throne of moss and thicket and a crown of gilded bones. She doubts that it will save her, but it will save the rest of them and she thinks it will be enough for her. It seems a low price as she watches Sieg leave with nearly found purpose, when she spots the hint of a hopeful smile on Odette’s face.
It should be worth it, should't it?
ns 15.158.61.20da2
