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Literature Text
Everyone had heard him scream, of course, as he sometimes did when it was all a little too much to take. Sometimes all he could do was let a dying roar knell out of his throat. Such was the anthem of his caged soul, and its pitiful attempt to be freed from this prison of glass.
He sat in a glass room, in a glass house, in a glass city, in a glass world. Despite the fragility, no one here walked with baby steps or crept around on tip-toes. Everyone stormed, stomped, pushed, shoved, screamed, and the glass stood as still as a statue, unbroken, smiling. They took it for granted, he knew. Once upon a time, in a land that he knew he used to live in, glass wasn't some monolith of a substance – it was weak and laughably breakable, never something to build a world out of. This world – no, this city especially – could take the blows and punches, it could still stand after the hustle and bustle of everyday life. And somehow, this city could even play an uneasy rhythm, loud, obnoxious and blaring, but freeing, much like the notes he used to strum from this goddamned glass guitar.
Cursed blue eyes looked down at the guitar he held now in his hands, and he felt his stomach churn, as it sometimes did whenever he felt that smooth, cold glass underneath his fingertips. How could such a fragile material be strong enough to hold an instrument together and withstand riffs, solos, strides? How could the glass roof above his head not shatter and break under the most powerful doses of heavy rain, showing him with millions of small daggers, piercing his skin, making him bleed a bright ruby red? It didn't make sense, but somehow, these damn glass walls could keep out the elements and keep in his hushed song at the same time. Perhaps he was a nightingale, singing for an audience who could never hear him, no matter how badly he ached for it.
These days, his heart would sometimes beat out of control, as if these four walls were closing in on him and pressing glass shards into his soul. He'd be tuning his guitar and suddenly a thundering pain would split apart his insides, forcing him to his knees, stealing away all of his previous thoughts, holding his head and driving it into the floor so he could barely breathe. His heart would pulsate and stagger, as that invisible glass shard pushed deeper and deeper into his core, stealing his voice away, silencing any cry of pain that would've escaped from his mouth. Maybe that was for the best – there was no amplitude that even he could turn his voice up to that would've expressed this sudden sensation anyway.
And then, without missing a beat, the pain would vanish.
Was it imaginary, or something more complex? Or did he really have a piece of glass stuck in his heart? This was karma, he knew, Pridea's pompous punishment for unleashing his siren's voice upon their "peaceful" world, promptly breaking any sense of sanctuary that the people in this district had managed to grasp and cling onto. For the rest of his life, he would always remember the Smokehouse cracking, falling to pieces, raining silver glass knives down upon the masses – or rather, his fans. All of them had come to see him sing, and all of them had been placed in a fatal situation. Yes, it was his song, the siren's voice that ripped from his bloody throat that caused the Smokehouse, a glass house, to crack like an opera house mirror.
Sometimes he liked to stop and think about all the people that had been there – sisters, brothers, cousins, people with brown eyes, green eyes, and scattered specks of blue… Some escaped, and some made it out unscathed, living to tell the tale of what was easily Pridea's biggest "accident" – they were the lucky ones. Trent's feed had shown him the ones who were crushed under the weight of the glass, those who died due to suffocation, trampling, blood loss; they were still the lucky ones.
No, he wasn't haunted by those who had died, but by those who would always bear the scars of that day, the ones who he'd sometimes seem crawling about this district, Genonea. Blindness, hysterical dumbness, paralysis from trampling or being pushed or shoved or beaten out of the way, innumerable scars, cuts, and flesh wounds that would maybe heal but never truly go away – those were the true ghosts that haunted him when he allowed his mind to wander. Perhaps they were still classified as alive, but they were as good as dead inside. Maybe it was their spirits that planted the glass shard in his heart. Was it to remind him of what he had done? Was their plan to make him remember their faces every time his heart spluttered and fluttered out of control?
So what the hell was he supposed to do but scream?
He gripped the guitar in both hands, holding it with both hands, like a baseball bat, and slammed it against the hard glass wall, letting another scream rip from his throat. Even when he screamed his voice was hushed, as if he had just returned from a concert, when really, he had trained his voice to be lower and softer, like the humming of a nightingale. He couldn't even scream like a normal person, lest he crack the walls of the Asylum. Couldn't even sing, lest he blow their cover. Couldn't even let his music reach its full potential, or even touch a fifth of his potential, because it was all too risky. They clipped his wings – no, they ripped his wings right off – and stuffed him in this cage. In his eagerness to show how much it meant to him for them to hide him like this, he let his voice soften and grow rusty, like a brass watering can left out in the rain.
"Break!" he urged, and with another swift swing, he slammed the guitar into the wall once more, not even putting a dent in the room or in the guitar. "I know you can do it, you've done it before!" The guitar flew into the wall once again, and still, there wasn't any sign of progress. He could hack away at this thing for the rest of his life, and it wouldn't break. He would never break their goddamn glass again.
"Hey!"
Like a top, spun around on his heels, straightening up, dropping the guitar and holding both of his hands up, as if he had just been caught by the Elite. He'd confess right away – he did it goddamnit, he did it and he wouldn't do it again but what the hell, who builds a world out of glass and then gets mad when it breaks? – but no, it wasn't the authorities, wasn't a Cop Bot, and honestly, who else would he expect to barge into his room like this? He smiled a little, that ghost of a grin hesitantly sketching itself onto his features.
The intruder crossed her arms across her chest, tilting her head at him curiously, letting her blond hair fall into her face as she did so. As usual, she was a rainbow of colors – multicolored barrettes kept her ill-behaved hair in place, standing out amongst these ghostly white walls. Her blue eyes traveled toward the neglected guitar, and he realized that this must be the second time now that she caught him trying to break the thing. And honestly, he didn't really have any excuse to give. What was he supposed to say?
She had went through the trouble of making it too – he'd watched her pester Trent for blueprints for a guitar (an instrument she hadn't even seen until the day she watched his concert) and sat around sculpting glass in every bit of spare time she had, before finally presenting it to him, ever so proud. He had smiled then, but there was something strange about playing an instrument that was supposed to be so delicate. Keyword there was that it was "supposed" to be, but it wasn't – he knew that and she knew that and Pridea knew that, but after watching the Smokehouse fall, how was he supposed to put faith in this glass? How could anyone expect him to?
"Selena." He groped for words. None came, but that was no surprise; he could rarely articulate properly nowadays.
"I heard you scream, so I came to check up on you," she explained, bouncing on her tiptoes. "Are you okay? You've been doing that a lot lately. And… Well, I used to think it was part of a song you were working on, or something, but I'm not so sure that's the case anymore." Her voice was peppered with concern, but for some reason, it only made him feel all the more indignant.
He scoffed, avoiding eye contact. "We haven't gone on a mission in weeks." No, that was wrong. "Months." He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep anger from overpowering his tone. "I'm beginning to think you don't need me around anymore."
No, contrary to popular belief (re: the truth) he did not sign up for this. Somehow, he got roped into this whole mess – of political corruption, of messy back alley fights with strange shape-shifting creatures, of being one of the government's most wanted criminals (despite them not knowing his face). There were days when Selena would take his hand in hers and their fingers would lace together and fit so snugly, like puzzle pieces, and he'd think, This is my life now, and I'm fine with that. But there were weeks upon weeks when she mysteriously disappeared and left him here, the bird in his cage, singing and crying out his ballad to an invisible, unfeeling audience.
How long was he going to keep wandering in the dark?
"Orpheus…" She was silent for a moment, and without looking at her, he could tell she was doing that thing where her lip would tremble, where so many words would build up on her tongue and she'd have to stop and sort them out, thought by thought, until she worked out what she wanted to say. It was a side effect of being the Truthseeker – the urge to correct and clarify was what literally powered her core. He figured maybe she'd leave again, off on another mission that Trent's feeds would document but he would never be let in on, off to go hunt down more of the shape-shifters with Mikki who treated her and everyone around her like dirt, afraid to let in any speck of kindness, afraid of the consequences of being important to someone. They were her friends, weren't they? They were more important than him, weren't they?
Instead, she took hold of his arms, and looked up at him with those goddamn optimistic blue eyes. "I have an idea," she whispered, suppressing her childish glee. "Wanna something stupid with me?"
Every day Orpheus learned a little more about Selena. Today, he learned that she was a master of disguise. He had assumed whenever she went outside she took her chances with being found by the Elite and Cop Bots, and while that was true for missions, for leisurely strolls she had an assortment of different hats, accessories and outfits that completely changed her from being a wanted criminal (or "anarchist," as the Council was calling her now) to a normal, Pridean girl – not that she didn't look normal already, but it was easy to spot Selena from a crowd. While she was in one of her ridiculous get ups, however, the Elite would pass her by without even a single glance.
She pulled her hair back and somehow managed to tame it with naught but a black headband – once upon a time, she said that this had been the normal hairstyle for her, back at her coterie. The rest of her coterie uniform was dug out of her closet as well – a pleated black skirt, a white polo shirt and a black button up jacket. Buttoned on her jacket was a small, silver pendant in the shape of a shield, with three letters emblazoned on it – CPH.
It wasn't public knowledge that she had attended the Coterie of Pridean Historians, hell, the public didn't know she had been a coterie girl at all – no, that sort of knowledge was reserved for the shapeshifters, and they could find her no matter what she wore anyway – so in her eyes, it was the perfect camouflage. Even her shoes were different – they were thin flats, which she revealed were the prototype for her current hoverboard technology – the ones that currently lived within her usual hightops. It was a vastly different sight than Orpheus was used to – to see her look so tame, so harmless, when underneath all of that falsified elegance was a girl who could take down this world.
Despite her hoverboard being a lot slower than it usually was, before he could realize it, they were already out of Genonea. Ahead of them laid a world peppered with color and bright lights, busy people bustling to and fro on the streets, and, upon closer inspection, all of them had a variety of different eye colors – and there tons of blues speckled in amongst the crowd! A lot more than back at Genonea, when the color blue was an uninvited shade to be shunned – but here, they thrived. He stole a sideways glance at Selena and wondered what the hell she was thinking. Didn't blue mean danger? Isn't that what they taught him, ever since he'd stepped foot in this glass fortress?
As they landed, Selena kicked her hoverboard away, and the icy material seeped back within her shoes. She looked at him with profound glee, whereas he groped for words, trying to find the correct way to respond to this situation. Blues – they were surrounded by goddamn blues, the very people who would turn her in if they knew it was her within a heartbeat. It wouldn't take much to find her either – perhaps they'd just need to have a suspicion and ask, "Are you the Truthseeker?" And she'd have to say yes, and that was that. They were equipped with a slower hoverboard and he personally had none of Trent's little self-defense gadgets that could fight off any threat to her existence. Unless you counted the glass guitar he had strapped to his back, he was weaponless in enemy territory.
But how could one call this place enemy territory? Never before, in his time here in Pridea, had he seen a district with so much color and intrigue. Despite them being surrounded by blues, the other eye colors here didn't seem to be hostile with them. Could they be, daresay, living in some sort of harmony? The thought was more than absurd. Back at Genonea, glass had been all shades of grey – baby's breath, calla, paperwhites – but here, the colors seemed to blend together in a collective symphony. Iris, aster, gerbera, and hydrangea – he could even name all the shades that painted these buildings, which were made of this glass. He didn't even notice Selena grinning up at him.
"Well? What do you think?" she asked him, placing her hands on her hips in triumph. "This is Florysana – plaza of flowers. Quite a change from dreary ol' Genonea, right?"
Was it bad if he agreed? He placed a hand to his heart, frowning slightly. Genonea was the only home he ever knew in Pridea, and to betray its trust, its confidence, its unsteady beat – damnit, but it didn't matter, right. It wasn't his fault, if he actually liked another part of Pridea, too, right? He didn't even notice that he was grinning back down at her as well.
"It's amazing," he admitted, because that was the truth, wasn't it? This place was amazing. Imagine – if you lived here, would you ever think to question the secrets that lay beneath Pridea's glass? Imagine – if you lived here, wouldn't you be lulled to a dreamless sleep by Florysana's rhythmic song?
"But… isn't this dangerous? Look at all the Blues lurking around here. They're bound to notice –"
"Aw, you worry too much, Mr. Rockstar!" She laughed good-naturedly, shaking her head. "Listen! You've been worrying way too much lately. This is a mini-vacation, just for me and you, okay?" She extended her hand up to him, with a smile so fearless, he could believe, maybe for a second, that there would be nothing to worry about. "I'll take care of you."
Wasn't this all backwards? Wasn't he supposed to be saying that he would take care of her? He rolled his eyes sarcastically and couldn't help but laugh again, and she was laughing too, shaking his hand with so much vigor that it turned him into a believer. They'd be fine, wouldn't they? They could take a vacation, couldn't they? And they had earned this, didn't they?
All buildings in Florysana lit up with a sort of commercial boldness that seemed to force customers to wander into tempting shops, flashing their neon glass with almost coquettish fearlessness that drained the pockets of these poor Prideans. Despite being the Truthseeker, not even Selena was immune to the charms of shopping in this district – she dragged him into more stores than he could count on two hands and feet, but he didn't mind it, even if most of them time they left and bought nothing.
He hadn't taken Selena for the sort of girl who liked these sorts of things – shopping, that is, fawning over pretty necklaces that is – but then he realized that was because she was in the Asylum, sorry, the Sanctuary for most of her life. You couldn't exactly be a normal girl under these conditions, and the more he thought about that, the more he wished he had a bit of money to spend on her, to hang one of these frickin' expensive necklaces around her neck just for the hell of it, just so he could see her light up as he tossed a handful of Crowns at the clerk, and he'd say, "No, we don't need a bag for it. This one's for my girl."
My girl? Where did that come from?
He pondered over the phrase as Selena dragged him into a shoe shop, leaving his side to try on these daffodil colored high heels and walking around in the shop with them on as if she was a clown on stilts. My girl, he had thought. He watched her almost trip and fall on the high heels, only to stand up straight again and wave at him, as if she had done something marvelous. He waved back, distracted, disoriented.
My girl. That wasn't really what he thought, was it?
Sometimes Selena felt so far away, and the only thing he could do was reach a hand out to her while she continuously stepped into the fray, time and time again. And sometimes, like right now, she felt so close that his heart would tighten, and he'd just pray that the glass shard in his heart wouldn't cause him to have a heart attack. He wasn't sure what that meant, though. Wasn't sure Selena didn't have someone else that she held close to her heart besides him, and wasn't sure she even thought about things like that. She was the Truthseeker, wasn't she? She didn't have time for…
"Nice shoes! Do you want 'em?"
He jumped, clutching at his heart like an old man would after seeing a car crash. "Selena!" she yelled, looking back at her to the shoes he had been unconsciously examining, regaining his composure. "…Sorry, you know I scare easily." More like, his heart couldn't take being surprised so often. Of course, she didn't know about the glass in his heart, nor did he want her to. After all, what if he was just imagining things? Or what if she thought he was trying to copy her situation – after all, wasn't her whole heart made of glass? He had to wonder if that hurt her or not – hell, he wouldn't know, she never talked about it.
Orpheus glanced back at the shoes, laughing a little. "They're obnoxious, aren't they? In the best of ways, of course. They're yellow as all hell, these bright yellow bastards… they easily stand out in this store."
"What, like you?" She laughed, and he looked up and around, only to notice that everyone was sneaking these small side glances at him, as if they'd never seen a … well, he did stand out, somehow, didn't he? From the gauges in his ears to the crazy mermaid tattoo he had splatted on his arm, he definitely wasn't from around here, definitely wasn't from this world. God, he was such a sore thumb in this damned glass world! What, was he too rough for their goddamn delicate sensibilities?
Back to the shoes. Selena pointed at them, patting her jacket pocket. "I can buy 'em for you, if you want." She was still wobbling on those glass high heels.
She had money, this entire time? After all the things she had squealed over and hugged and exclaimed, "I wish this was mine!" she had money, all along? Selena seemed to read his thoughts and could only laugh a little, struggling to stand upright in those two inch high heels.
"Relax, Mr. Rockstar, I'm just a window shopper. So you want 'em or not?" He groped for words, but two seconds, apparently, was far too long for her to wait. In the process of perhaps twenty seconds or so, the shoes were his, these ridiculous bright yellow shoes that were apparently, the last pair, and the only pair, in the whole store.
They weren't planning to restock any time soon – in fact, he was the only one who had bought the wretched things. Technically you could call them a one of kind, Selena had laughed, but he put them on as soon as the sale was complete, told the clerk to keep his old duds – they weren't from here, after all, maybe some crazy glasshole would pay big bucks for their foreign quality. He had been joking, of course, but the clerk lit up and thought it was a great idea.
The two of them laughed together, right on out of the store.
Seeing Selena so animated made him wonder if there was a time when she had always been this way. Not that Selena was ever the type to mope and moan around the Asylum, sorry, the Sanctuary, whenever she was around, but there were definitely times when he'd catch her alone and there'd be this pensive frown etched across her trembling features. He suspected that she built herself up to be as big and bad as she could, but when she was alone, did she crash and burn, like he did, like he suspected all of them did? Here, he knew that she was carefree and without worry, dragging him from store to store, stall to stall… Had her life been something like this before she was the Truthseeker?
A couple months ago, the first time Jayke came to the base, he and him had hit it off great after Orpheus had shown him where Trent kept the booze. Jayke drake his fill – tipping up the bottle to his lips and drowning himself in alcohol's sweet salvation – and it had unlocked his tongue, told him things that Selena had never even touched upon. He told him about Elysia, Selena's home, Jayke's home, and their broken paradise.
"You can't imagine Elysia," Jayke had said, shaking his head, fiddling with the silver piercing in his right ear. "You can't. I can't even do it, and I used to live there. It's paradise – heaven on earth, Orphy, you've gotta see it to believe it. We saw it daily, but we took it for granted, 'cause now, me and her, we can't ever go back there again. The two of us…" He leaned forward in his chair, and for a second, Orpheus thought he was going to hurl, but Jayke merely clutched the bottle in both of his hands and held his head down, as if the weight of all those memories was enough to make him sick. "The two of us thought of making our own paradise there, someday."
He laughed, which morphed into a drunken hiccup. "But we thought a lot of things back then, you know? We were young, stupid. Our Eden cracked back there, ever since… Ever since Blake…" He shook his head, and Orpheus cursed – so close he had been, to figuring out who this 'Blake' was to them. "But I think… she's made some sort of makeshift paradise here with you, instead." Jayke had smiled up at him then, and through all the alcohol, Orpheus saw it was sincere. "It ain't perfect, sure. But nothing's perfect here. And you're the closest thing to Eden that she's got."
In a strange way, it was almost like he had received Jayke's blessing that day. Selena had been close to him when they were younger, and was still close to him now – she made visits to see him weekly, would sometimes make some of Jayke's more unruly clients mysteriously "disappear" – but there was something that Jayke felt about her that was unreturned, as far as he knew. Or at least, maybe that's what he wanted to believe – maybe there was something there that Orpheus couldn't see, and even if there was…
He clenched his teeth a little, pushing that out of his head. Thinking about this and examining the facts so closely was something Trent might do. He wasn't Trent. He just wanted her to be happy. Or maybe he just wanted to know the truth?
"Alright, we're here!"
She stopped suddenly in the street, making his brand new yellow shoes skid across the glass. In front of them was a small shop made of orchid purple glass, with musical notes carved into the store's front. Without much more introduction, she dragged him inside – as was her custom now – and it was then that he realized that he had just walked into heaven.
A music store – no, a guitar store, with guitars not only made of glass, but of, dare he say it, wood, glorious wood, a substance that he thought he'd never see again. For so long, Orpheus had believed that losing his guitar was penance for bringing the Smokehouse down, but now, did this mean that his time had come? That he was finally going to be freed from all the guilt that still hung over his head? He wasn't sure what to do, what to say, when Selena took him by the arm and dragged him over to the counter, still was lost in a daze.
"Nope, don't even think about looking at those guitars," she told him, pulling on his sleeves. "None of them are even of your caliber, Mr. Rockstar."
She slammed her hand down on the counter once, twice, and a burly looking store clerk appeared. He had a square face with a curly mustache, and every inch of his arms were covered in tattoos. Despite how intimidating he might've looked, Selena exchanged a few words with him, and he went in the back, apparently looking for something. Meanwhile, the cat had stolen his tongue, and all he could think was: Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…
Clearly, his mind was unable to comprehend the fact that a store like this would exist in Pridea. He didn't notice that everyone around him was a Blue, but he did notice Selena give up all of the Crowns she had in her jacket pocket to the clerk when he returned. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he could talk, the clerk presented to him a guitar, a wooden guitar, and it… It looked just like…
"Does it look the same?" she asked, and she was grinning again, and he was speechless again, thinking: This must be some kind of goddamned miracle. It looked like his old guitar. Maybe it was his old guitar. All of the crazy grooves and designs, the same feel of the wood, and when he plucked at a cord, goddamnit, it was the same sound!
"Selena…" He couldn't say anything more. What else could he say? The clerk handed him a guitar pick, and he plucked at a few more cords, playing a long forgotten tune that had went up in a sea of glass – and hell, it played the same as well. How had she done it? How could she just stand there and grin at him and work miracles the way she did?
"How did you…"
"You shouldn't question a miracle, Mr. Rockstar," she huffed playfully, sharing a secret smile with him. "I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to give you back a piece of your world. It probably isn't as similar as you might think, but… It's the least I could do. You've done so much for me, after all."
The clerk took the guitar back from him, said it would be sent via Hover Mail in a week or so – said that he couldn't just take something as "fragile" as a wooden guitar home with him. "After all," Selena joked as they left the store. "It could burst into flames, or maybe you'd get a… splinter!" She gasped dramatically. "The horrors! We can't trust you with something as fragile as wood, after all!" Her sarcasm knew no boundaries.
"Ha hah," he laughed sarcastically. "If this world got any more ass-backwards, we'd all be walking on the ceiling…"
Despite everything, he couldn't thank her enough, and despite all that she'd already done, there was still one more thing she wanted to show him. Damnit, he had to repay her for all of these things someday – maybe one day, take her to his world, somehow, and show her…
And show her what, a world he couldn't even remember? A world that, for some strange reason, chucked him out and forced him here, for no purpose whatsoever? Was there even a hope for him to return, someday? He wasn't sure, and somehow, in that moment, that didn't really matter. He was still a lost little foreigner in this world, he realized, despite all the time he had spent in Genonea, because there was still more to see, more to experience, more that he'd never dreamed of, all of it waiting behind Pridea's glass. It was flawed, this whole world, and the revolution against the faceless enemies she fought against day by day wouldn't happen soon, but they could enjoy this place, couldn't they? If not for long, just for a day?
Although, he realized, she still had not given him any of the answers he sought. But how could he ask those questions again now, when she seemed so jovial, so happy and carefree?
She stopped by the side of the street by a botanical bed – a spread of glass flowers – robotic in their core, made to act and "grow" like real flowers, and exclaimed that she would have to pick them all, to wait just a second for her. He agreed, leaning against the side of a building, looking down at his ridiculous yellow shoes, wondering when would ever be a good time to ask again. In the back of his head was a niggling doubt that this whole daycation was an excuse to postpone her telling the truth to him, but as soon as he thought it, he hated himself for it. Like she would really find a way to order a wooden guitar that looked just like his old one for him, just to distract him from the truth. Unlikely, and plus, she wasn't like that. Whatever the truth was – about the shapeshifters, about this government – it would be told eventually… wouldn't it?
He looked back up near the botanical bed, only to find Selena wasn't there. He furrowed his brows, walking back over to the bed, looking around – alas, she wasn't there. "Selena?" he called, but realized that wasn't the smartest of ideas. He might as well scream out to the streets, "Truthseeker? Where are you?" But goddamnit, where did she go? She was just there a second ago… How could she run off and leave him so quickly?
"Oh, Orphion, there you are!"
As if she was never gone, Selena was suddenly by his side, looking flustered, as if she had just run a marathon. He raised an eyebrow at her – did she just call him 'Orphion' or was his hearing going bad? (That wasn't as farfetched of an assumption as he thought – after all, couldn't someone with the siren's scream potentially go deaf after subjecting himself to such loud frequencies?)
"Orphion?" he questioned. "Is that a new nickname or something?"
She bit her lip, looking angry with herself, as if she had just answered a twenty point question wrong on a final exam. "Yeah, it's a new nickname. Orphion! Don't you like it?"
Why were the streets suddenly silent – hadn't they been crowded with people a while ago? Why was she looking so flustered? Why was she looking so angry? Where the hell had she been two seconds ago? Why was her CPH badge on the wrong side of her chest?
"You're not …!"
"Ugh, fuck this!"
From "Selena's" hand outstretched claws sculpted of glass, aiming straight for his chest. She was slower than he was, and in these new sneakers, maybe he could dodge just about anything. He sprinted away from her grasp, realizing that, oh shit, he was defenseless, and holy shit, where had the real Selena gone? He clutched a hand to his chest – watching "Selena" morph out of her disguise – and now she was the long, black haired girl, with blunt bangs and icy amethyst eyes. He had seen her before, he had heard Selena talk about her before, but goddamnit, and he couldn't remember her name. The more he realized how little he knew about the shapeshifters, the angrier with his situation he became. How was he supposed to keep fighting these guys if he didn't know anything about them?
"Where's Selena?!"
"Your girlfriend? I don't know. I sent Adlai to get her – perhaps you remember him? He's not the most merciful of our kind."
No, he didn't remember any of their goddamn names; he had more important shit to do than that. But he did know who she was talking about – Adlai, the tallest shapeshifter, to whom everything was a game.
She lunged at him again, which he dodged easily, but realized he couldn't do that forever. Thinking quickly, he unlatched the glass guitar he still had strapped to his back, held it like a baseball bat, and swung it straight into her abdomen. The force was enough to send her tumbling backwards and off her feet, slowing down her reaction time. He couldn't fight her, not defenseless – no, he had to find Selena.
He took off into the streets, realizing that the shapeshifter was on his toes, but he didn't care – he could hear Selena struggling, fighting, somewhere far away. He zigzagged through the alleyways, stopping to deflect blows from the dark-haired shape shifter with his guitar once or twice, finally coming across Selena fighting with another shapeshifter, a dark-skinned man with a red bindi on his forehead.
"Selena!"
The Truthseeker had molded a large glass lance with her hands and was using it to parry Adlai's attacks – she was playing with him, keeping him busy, because she, too, was moderately defenseless. They had been stupid to walk into any area of Pridea at night without thinking of the consequences, and now, if something happened to her, wasn't it technically his fault? He rushed in, guitar at the ready, but Adlai was a lot quicker than the dark haired girl was. He dodged it easily, brandishing a dagger of his own, coming in for a stab that he wasn't sure he was going to be able to dodge…
Selena pulled him out of the way in time, materializing her hoverboard beneath her feet. "Orpheus, don't fight!" she was yelling over and over again, and meanwhile the dark haired one was rushing towards them, a sort of murderous intent in her eyes that Orpheus doubted he would ever forget. Thankfully, the hoverboard got in the air in time, leaving the strange shapeshifters on the ground, making them nothing but a memory – for today anyway. They'd be back.
And when they did come back, would he still be as clueless as ever?
"This is the War Room," she explained.
This was where she had wanted to take him – the last stop on their daycation. They were in the tallest tower in Florysana, in a small glass dome that overlooked the whole district. He could see the little shoe shop they'd visited from here. He could see that guitar store they'd visited from here. But he couldn't see the answers to all his questions – who were the shapeshifters, why were they after her, and how could she just stand there and act as if nothing had happened?
"It's beautiful, isn't it? Made from honeysuckle and kaleidoscope glass. You can't break this stuff. No, not even you. Maybe this is the last safe place for us, up here amongst the clouds."
Amongst the artificial clouds, right? Amongst glass that not even he should be able to break, right? He looked at her, who was still trying to smile after what had happened, still trying to keep up that optimistic front. It was too painful, to watch her smile amongst the strife. And it made him rage to think that, even after this, she still wouldn't come clean. Wasn't it obvious, that they needed to face and fight this threat together? Wasn't it obvious, that in order for him to be with her, she needed to be with him too?
"They used to hold Council meetings here, to discuss wars and where the Elite would be deployed. Now, they have the Elder Tower – all their meetings are held there instead. To do anything in Florysana would be… beneath them. And besides, I doubt they talk about wars anymore, right?" A ghost of a smile painted itself on her lips. "This world is a utopia, after all."
"That's bullshit and you know it, Selena."
She turned to him abruptly, her lips trembling ever so slightly. "I know it is," she swallowed, closing her eyes, still trying to feed the lie to herself anyway. "I know it is, Orpheus…"
"Who are those people, Selena? The shapeshifters? Who is the dark-haired one that wants to kill you so badly? Why is it that we can't ever leave the Sanctuary without our weapons, or we'll regret it?"
"Why do you want to know?" was her dodgy answer. "They're just… they're just enemies, that's what enemies do."
He stood up, holding Selena by the shoulders, looking down in her eyes. "Selena, I'm here for you," he pleaded, trying to keep eye contact while she desperately tried to look away. "But I need to know Selena – what are we fighting against? And why? Why do they want to kill you so badly?"
"I'm an anarchist, remember?" she asked, looking down at his ridiculous yellow shoes. She seemed so fragile in his grasp, like a twig ready to break, but he could not let up – the truth would come out eventually. She was not built to hold in the truth for so long. "I'm an anarchist, Chex, I'm an anarchist…"
"The truth, Selena!" he demanded. "I want to help you, Selena – you have no idea how much I want to help you. But I need the truth!"
His grip on her grew tighter, her back pressed against the kaleidoscope glass, and she was flinching now, not so much from his touch, but from his words. "The truth," he repeated, pleading, trying to be demanding but cracking on every word, because this was hurting him too – because he wished she could live in a world where she did not have to live in this way, but she did. He did. Everyone did. They needed to hear it, didn't they? Her hands tried to push him away, her mouth opening and closing, trying to keep the truth inside, but for her sake, for everyone's sake, he would not let it! "The truth!"
"She was my friend!"
Her voice died a little, squeaking on the words. Her eyes were still closed, as if to keep tears from running down her eyes. Slowly, she opened her eyes, which were drowning in her own tears. "She was my best friend," she whispered, shaking her head, and Orpheus' grip was released on her, ashamed at himself for going so far. She was shaking a little – as if speaking such a truth was enough to bruise her psyche.
"Her name is Holly Freya. Once upon a time, she was my best friend… We braided each other's hair and ate fruit cookies while watching stupid movies on the VT every Saturday. We used to pretend we were two princesses, and one day we would unite these worlds – Pridea and Naraciss – under our strong friendship. But when I became the Truthseeker, she realized that I was now her prey. And she was not conflicted over this at all. In fact, she was angered – angry that she had let me walk free under her nose for all this time."
Her eyes seemed far away now, a storm of tears brewing in her eyes. "The Truthseeker – the one who has the glass heart… it is said that the light that emits from such a pure heart would be enough to purify her old world, Naraciss. She would rip out my heart for her world. She would kill my friends to obtain my heart. She and her team – the Paracissians, the shapeshifters, they will stop at nothing to do this. All they want to do is rip out my heart. That's all…" Her voice was cracking… "That's… all…"
He embraced her, unable to see her shaking and shivering, wanting to just keep her in his safe embrace for as long as he could, as long as time allowed. "I'm sorry," he muttered, but Selena was not done – he had unlocked a fountain of truth to pour from her system, she would not stop until she was done.
"I didn't want to tell you, Orpheus, because you're the… you're the closest thing to being normal that I have." Her arms were still shivering, as if the truth was freezing her limbs. "I wish I could be around you all the time. You don't treat me like I'm sort of experiment or weirdo… You've never asked what I truly think of you. You've always been looking out for me. But, you've also made me realize that I don't have to fight this alone.
"I would've kept the truth from you forever, if I could. And I wouldn't regret it, because if I could, I would keep you forever with me, in my heart, unchanged by Pridea's walls, unmarred by the evil that lurks within the glass. I don't want you to think of me as some… as some target, like everyone else does. As some savior, like everyone else does. The truth is… I… sometimes I don't know what I'm doing anymore. The truth is, sometimes I'll come home and I think, 'As long as Chex is there, it'll be okay. I don't have to worry about anything, because he's there, waiting for me.'"
He could only hug her tighter, because all of his words, they were lost to him, because Selena was more delicate than he could have ever imagined. Because he wasn't sure what to say – because, ultimately, he had no idea that he was that important to her. There were so many people who held Selena on this high pedestal, but to him, she was a mystery, someone he could never decipher, but could stand back and admire the enigma from afar.
"You're my only friend; don't you know that, Chex? That you are really my only, tangible friend in this world?" She buried her head in his chest, tears silently running down her face. "I am a tool to Mikki. I am an idol to Trent. I am a nuisance to Erika. I am a weapon to Holly. I am a memory of a broken childhood to Jayke. I am alone. And I used to walk this path alone. But I'm going to be selfish, and I'm not going to let you go. Every day I've put you in danger, every day, I've let you stay in the dark – because those that come in the light see me and judge me and suddenly I'm not human anymore, especially to Mikki Rocket!"
Her sadness was quickly turning into rage. She dug her fingernails unconsciously into his shoulder, grasping onto him for dear life. He was the last pillar of hope for her, he realized, he was the last chance at Eden she'd ever have.
"Who is Mikki Rocket to me? Ever since I've met her, life has gone downhill, hasn't it? Me learning the truth about Pridea, me becoming the Truthseeker, me being captured by Holly, me failing to hold the Smokehouse up and leaving all those innocent people there to die… Mikki Rocket pushed the first domino, didn't she? Isn't this all her fault? Isn't she the reason for all of this mess?"
She was shaking vehemently, as if she was about to explode.
"I hate her! I hate Mikki Rocket!"
All of a suddenly, Selena collapsed to the ground, shaking, on her knees, her hand clasped over her heart. "Selena!" he called, but to no avail – she was lost to him, in another world, the world sculpted inside her glass heart. She had told a lie – hadn't she? He knelt down beside her, holding her hand in his, calling her name over and over, trying to bring her back to the land of the living. Was it any use? Could she hear him? Or was she too distant – in a world so far away that he couldn't even reach out to her?
He had heard about this – from Jayke, who had been the only one to ever witness her telling a lie, who had told him what would happen, and how she'd pay for the consequences. But this was different. Truth overdrive did not kick in – she did not immediately start spluttering truths to cover up the lie. On her knees, head down, hand over her heart, she did not even scream, for perhaps, there was no amplitude she could amp her voice up to that would echo the sound of the pain she felt. "Reverse the lie!" he pleaded. "That's not true, is it? You don't hate Mikki, do you?"
"I… I can't…" she spluttered, and Orpheus realized that this situation was perhaps the worst they could've gotten into.
"Half-truths," Jayke had told him, once he had finally sobered up on that day that seemed so long ago. "… They're probably the worst thing that a person like Selena could ever say. Things that are sort of true, but sort of lies… How do you reverse something like that, huh?" He tossed the beer bottle from one hand to the other, shrugging. "Most Truthseekers who aren't automatically killed die from saying half-truths. Or, yanno, so they say in the history books and all that shit. Who knows if it's true? Who knows if any past Truthseekers have even died from it? It's just something to look out for, you know? And that's what I want you to do, Orphy." He laughed, giving Orpheus a quick salute. "Look out for her, won't you?"
A half-truth. A goddamn half-truth. How was she supposed to reverse that? He watched as her nails dug deeper into her chest, and he could tell just by looking at her that she didn't have much time left. Her heart would fail if she didn't reverse the lie, and fast – but how could she, if it was only half a lie? Goddamnit, now his heart was starting to pound, to hurt, to bleed – but how could he help Selena, if he couldn't even help himself?
He pressed that hand of his closer to his heart, and the pain they felt, this immense pain wracking through their bodies, it was almost the same. Almost the same intensity, almost the same ripping feeling, as if their pain was uniting, to kill them both. Or could he use this in some other way? He felt the urge to scream ripening in his throat – which was new, he never screamed through his pain before – but there was no other way to relieve this immense stress on both of their bodies. His hand over her heart, her chest, right where her heart was, it began to glow in a symphony of colors, before finally, he threw back his head and screamed.
Orpheus screamed – screamed for everything that he had been holding inside ever since he had arrived here. He screamed for the victims of the Smokehouse, dead and living. He screamed for Genonea, and for the people who lived there that were tormented, day to day, just because of the color of their eyes. He screamed for every time he had sat in that glass room like a goddamn nightingale and was kept in the dark, in his glass cage. He screamed for the memories of his past world, of a world he couldn't remember of a world that betrayed his trust. He screamed until his throat felt as if it would burst, screamed until all the tension that was sitting on his chest was gone, screamed until he couldn't scream anymore, until all that was left of his voice was naught but a hush whisper.
She was still alive.
Drained, of course, but she was still alive. Weakly, she patted her chest, probably surprised to see that her heart was still beating, even more surprised to see that kaleidoscope glass really was the one glass he couldn't break.
"How did you…"
"You shouldn't question a miracle, Selena."
She laughed, and he took her in his arms, and suddenly, he was kissing her, and every flaw that Pridea had might as well've been fixed, right at that very moment, because he finally realized what this "Eden" was that everyone was talking about. This was the paradise that Selena had wanted, the paradise he had wanted, to be with her in a way that was so natural that nothing else mattered anymore. He pulled her closer, wrapping his hands in her hair, feeling her cool fingers on his neck and knew, from there on out, that he loved her, and would never love anyone else like her for as long as he lived.
Perhaps she would think it selfish to not let him go, but then would that make him masochistic, to want to stay with her forever? He laughed, and he did not care – masochistic or no, tonight was the first night in ages where he felt as if he could finally spread his wings and unleash his voice. Tonight, he had finally dislodged the guilt that hung in his chest, and he realized – past sins or no, he was ready for this world now. He hadn't been before, but that was because he had been blind. His wings had been clipped before, and his mouth had been taped shut – but that was fine, that was all fine, because tonight, he had been freed.
He was the nightingale, finally released from his cage.
He sat in a glass room, in a glass house, in a glass city, in a glass world. Despite the fragility, no one here walked with baby steps or crept around on tip-toes. Everyone stormed, stomped, pushed, shoved, screamed, and the glass stood as still as a statue, unbroken, smiling. They took it for granted, he knew. Once upon a time, in a land that he knew he used to live in, glass wasn't some monolith of a substance – it was weak and laughably breakable, never something to build a world out of. This world – no, this city especially – could take the blows and punches, it could still stand after the hustle and bustle of everyday life. And somehow, this city could even play an uneasy rhythm, loud, obnoxious and blaring, but freeing, much like the notes he used to strum from this goddamned glass guitar.
Cursed blue eyes looked down at the guitar he held now in his hands, and he felt his stomach churn, as it sometimes did whenever he felt that smooth, cold glass underneath his fingertips. How could such a fragile material be strong enough to hold an instrument together and withstand riffs, solos, strides? How could the glass roof above his head not shatter and break under the most powerful doses of heavy rain, showing him with millions of small daggers, piercing his skin, making him bleed a bright ruby red? It didn't make sense, but somehow, these damn glass walls could keep out the elements and keep in his hushed song at the same time. Perhaps he was a nightingale, singing for an audience who could never hear him, no matter how badly he ached for it.
These days, his heart would sometimes beat out of control, as if these four walls were closing in on him and pressing glass shards into his soul. He'd be tuning his guitar and suddenly a thundering pain would split apart his insides, forcing him to his knees, stealing away all of his previous thoughts, holding his head and driving it into the floor so he could barely breathe. His heart would pulsate and stagger, as that invisible glass shard pushed deeper and deeper into his core, stealing his voice away, silencing any cry of pain that would've escaped from his mouth. Maybe that was for the best – there was no amplitude that even he could turn his voice up to that would've expressed this sudden sensation anyway.
And then, without missing a beat, the pain would vanish.
Was it imaginary, or something more complex? Or did he really have a piece of glass stuck in his heart? This was karma, he knew, Pridea's pompous punishment for unleashing his siren's voice upon their "peaceful" world, promptly breaking any sense of sanctuary that the people in this district had managed to grasp and cling onto. For the rest of his life, he would always remember the Smokehouse cracking, falling to pieces, raining silver glass knives down upon the masses – or rather, his fans. All of them had come to see him sing, and all of them had been placed in a fatal situation. Yes, it was his song, the siren's voice that ripped from his bloody throat that caused the Smokehouse, a glass house, to crack like an opera house mirror.
Sometimes he liked to stop and think about all the people that had been there – sisters, brothers, cousins, people with brown eyes, green eyes, and scattered specks of blue… Some escaped, and some made it out unscathed, living to tell the tale of what was easily Pridea's biggest "accident" – they were the lucky ones. Trent's feed had shown him the ones who were crushed under the weight of the glass, those who died due to suffocation, trampling, blood loss; they were still the lucky ones.
No, he wasn't haunted by those who had died, but by those who would always bear the scars of that day, the ones who he'd sometimes seem crawling about this district, Genonea. Blindness, hysterical dumbness, paralysis from trampling or being pushed or shoved or beaten out of the way, innumerable scars, cuts, and flesh wounds that would maybe heal but never truly go away – those were the true ghosts that haunted him when he allowed his mind to wander. Perhaps they were still classified as alive, but they were as good as dead inside. Maybe it was their spirits that planted the glass shard in his heart. Was it to remind him of what he had done? Was their plan to make him remember their faces every time his heart spluttered and fluttered out of control?
So what the hell was he supposed to do but scream?
He gripped the guitar in both hands, holding it with both hands, like a baseball bat, and slammed it against the hard glass wall, letting another scream rip from his throat. Even when he screamed his voice was hushed, as if he had just returned from a concert, when really, he had trained his voice to be lower and softer, like the humming of a nightingale. He couldn't even scream like a normal person, lest he crack the walls of the Asylum. Couldn't even sing, lest he blow their cover. Couldn't even let his music reach its full potential, or even touch a fifth of his potential, because it was all too risky. They clipped his wings – no, they ripped his wings right off – and stuffed him in this cage. In his eagerness to show how much it meant to him for them to hide him like this, he let his voice soften and grow rusty, like a brass watering can left out in the rain.
"Break!" he urged, and with another swift swing, he slammed the guitar into the wall once more, not even putting a dent in the room or in the guitar. "I know you can do it, you've done it before!" The guitar flew into the wall once again, and still, there wasn't any sign of progress. He could hack away at this thing for the rest of his life, and it wouldn't break. He would never break their goddamn glass again.
"Hey!"
Like a top, spun around on his heels, straightening up, dropping the guitar and holding both of his hands up, as if he had just been caught by the Elite. He'd confess right away – he did it goddamnit, he did it and he wouldn't do it again but what the hell, who builds a world out of glass and then gets mad when it breaks? – but no, it wasn't the authorities, wasn't a Cop Bot, and honestly, who else would he expect to barge into his room like this? He smiled a little, that ghost of a grin hesitantly sketching itself onto his features.
The intruder crossed her arms across her chest, tilting her head at him curiously, letting her blond hair fall into her face as she did so. As usual, she was a rainbow of colors – multicolored barrettes kept her ill-behaved hair in place, standing out amongst these ghostly white walls. Her blue eyes traveled toward the neglected guitar, and he realized that this must be the second time now that she caught him trying to break the thing. And honestly, he didn't really have any excuse to give. What was he supposed to say?
She had went through the trouble of making it too – he'd watched her pester Trent for blueprints for a guitar (an instrument she hadn't even seen until the day she watched his concert) and sat around sculpting glass in every bit of spare time she had, before finally presenting it to him, ever so proud. He had smiled then, but there was something strange about playing an instrument that was supposed to be so delicate. Keyword there was that it was "supposed" to be, but it wasn't – he knew that and she knew that and Pridea knew that, but after watching the Smokehouse fall, how was he supposed to put faith in this glass? How could anyone expect him to?
"Selena." He groped for words. None came, but that was no surprise; he could rarely articulate properly nowadays.
"I heard you scream, so I came to check up on you," she explained, bouncing on her tiptoes. "Are you okay? You've been doing that a lot lately. And… Well, I used to think it was part of a song you were working on, or something, but I'm not so sure that's the case anymore." Her voice was peppered with concern, but for some reason, it only made him feel all the more indignant.
He scoffed, avoiding eye contact. "We haven't gone on a mission in weeks." No, that was wrong. "Months." He raised an eyebrow, trying to keep anger from overpowering his tone. "I'm beginning to think you don't need me around anymore."
No, contrary to popular belief (re: the truth) he did not sign up for this. Somehow, he got roped into this whole mess – of political corruption, of messy back alley fights with strange shape-shifting creatures, of being one of the government's most wanted criminals (despite them not knowing his face). There were days when Selena would take his hand in hers and their fingers would lace together and fit so snugly, like puzzle pieces, and he'd think, This is my life now, and I'm fine with that. But there were weeks upon weeks when she mysteriously disappeared and left him here, the bird in his cage, singing and crying out his ballad to an invisible, unfeeling audience.
How long was he going to keep wandering in the dark?
"Orpheus…" She was silent for a moment, and without looking at her, he could tell she was doing that thing where her lip would tremble, where so many words would build up on her tongue and she'd have to stop and sort them out, thought by thought, until she worked out what she wanted to say. It was a side effect of being the Truthseeker – the urge to correct and clarify was what literally powered her core. He figured maybe she'd leave again, off on another mission that Trent's feeds would document but he would never be let in on, off to go hunt down more of the shape-shifters with Mikki who treated her and everyone around her like dirt, afraid to let in any speck of kindness, afraid of the consequences of being important to someone. They were her friends, weren't they? They were more important than him, weren't they?
Instead, she took hold of his arms, and looked up at him with those goddamn optimistic blue eyes. "I have an idea," she whispered, suppressing her childish glee. "Wanna something stupid with me?"
Every day Orpheus learned a little more about Selena. Today, he learned that she was a master of disguise. He had assumed whenever she went outside she took her chances with being found by the Elite and Cop Bots, and while that was true for missions, for leisurely strolls she had an assortment of different hats, accessories and outfits that completely changed her from being a wanted criminal (or "anarchist," as the Council was calling her now) to a normal, Pridean girl – not that she didn't look normal already, but it was easy to spot Selena from a crowd. While she was in one of her ridiculous get ups, however, the Elite would pass her by without even a single glance.
She pulled her hair back and somehow managed to tame it with naught but a black headband – once upon a time, she said that this had been the normal hairstyle for her, back at her coterie. The rest of her coterie uniform was dug out of her closet as well – a pleated black skirt, a white polo shirt and a black button up jacket. Buttoned on her jacket was a small, silver pendant in the shape of a shield, with three letters emblazoned on it – CPH.
It wasn't public knowledge that she had attended the Coterie of Pridean Historians, hell, the public didn't know she had been a coterie girl at all – no, that sort of knowledge was reserved for the shapeshifters, and they could find her no matter what she wore anyway – so in her eyes, it was the perfect camouflage. Even her shoes were different – they were thin flats, which she revealed were the prototype for her current hoverboard technology – the ones that currently lived within her usual hightops. It was a vastly different sight than Orpheus was used to – to see her look so tame, so harmless, when underneath all of that falsified elegance was a girl who could take down this world.
Despite her hoverboard being a lot slower than it usually was, before he could realize it, they were already out of Genonea. Ahead of them laid a world peppered with color and bright lights, busy people bustling to and fro on the streets, and, upon closer inspection, all of them had a variety of different eye colors – and there tons of blues speckled in amongst the crowd! A lot more than back at Genonea, when the color blue was an uninvited shade to be shunned – but here, they thrived. He stole a sideways glance at Selena and wondered what the hell she was thinking. Didn't blue mean danger? Isn't that what they taught him, ever since he'd stepped foot in this glass fortress?
As they landed, Selena kicked her hoverboard away, and the icy material seeped back within her shoes. She looked at him with profound glee, whereas he groped for words, trying to find the correct way to respond to this situation. Blues – they were surrounded by goddamn blues, the very people who would turn her in if they knew it was her within a heartbeat. It wouldn't take much to find her either – perhaps they'd just need to have a suspicion and ask, "Are you the Truthseeker?" And she'd have to say yes, and that was that. They were equipped with a slower hoverboard and he personally had none of Trent's little self-defense gadgets that could fight off any threat to her existence. Unless you counted the glass guitar he had strapped to his back, he was weaponless in enemy territory.
But how could one call this place enemy territory? Never before, in his time here in Pridea, had he seen a district with so much color and intrigue. Despite them being surrounded by blues, the other eye colors here didn't seem to be hostile with them. Could they be, daresay, living in some sort of harmony? The thought was more than absurd. Back at Genonea, glass had been all shades of grey – baby's breath, calla, paperwhites – but here, the colors seemed to blend together in a collective symphony. Iris, aster, gerbera, and hydrangea – he could even name all the shades that painted these buildings, which were made of this glass. He didn't even notice Selena grinning up at him.
"Well? What do you think?" she asked him, placing her hands on her hips in triumph. "This is Florysana – plaza of flowers. Quite a change from dreary ol' Genonea, right?"
Was it bad if he agreed? He placed a hand to his heart, frowning slightly. Genonea was the only home he ever knew in Pridea, and to betray its trust, its confidence, its unsteady beat – damnit, but it didn't matter, right. It wasn't his fault, if he actually liked another part of Pridea, too, right? He didn't even notice that he was grinning back down at her as well.
"It's amazing," he admitted, because that was the truth, wasn't it? This place was amazing. Imagine – if you lived here, would you ever think to question the secrets that lay beneath Pridea's glass? Imagine – if you lived here, wouldn't you be lulled to a dreamless sleep by Florysana's rhythmic song?
"But… isn't this dangerous? Look at all the Blues lurking around here. They're bound to notice –"
"Aw, you worry too much, Mr. Rockstar!" She laughed good-naturedly, shaking her head. "Listen! You've been worrying way too much lately. This is a mini-vacation, just for me and you, okay?" She extended her hand up to him, with a smile so fearless, he could believe, maybe for a second, that there would be nothing to worry about. "I'll take care of you."
Wasn't this all backwards? Wasn't he supposed to be saying that he would take care of her? He rolled his eyes sarcastically and couldn't help but laugh again, and she was laughing too, shaking his hand with so much vigor that it turned him into a believer. They'd be fine, wouldn't they? They could take a vacation, couldn't they? And they had earned this, didn't they?
All buildings in Florysana lit up with a sort of commercial boldness that seemed to force customers to wander into tempting shops, flashing their neon glass with almost coquettish fearlessness that drained the pockets of these poor Prideans. Despite being the Truthseeker, not even Selena was immune to the charms of shopping in this district – she dragged him into more stores than he could count on two hands and feet, but he didn't mind it, even if most of them time they left and bought nothing.
He hadn't taken Selena for the sort of girl who liked these sorts of things – shopping, that is, fawning over pretty necklaces that is – but then he realized that was because she was in the Asylum, sorry, the Sanctuary for most of her life. You couldn't exactly be a normal girl under these conditions, and the more he thought about that, the more he wished he had a bit of money to spend on her, to hang one of these frickin' expensive necklaces around her neck just for the hell of it, just so he could see her light up as he tossed a handful of Crowns at the clerk, and he'd say, "No, we don't need a bag for it. This one's for my girl."
My girl? Where did that come from?
He pondered over the phrase as Selena dragged him into a shoe shop, leaving his side to try on these daffodil colored high heels and walking around in the shop with them on as if she was a clown on stilts. My girl, he had thought. He watched her almost trip and fall on the high heels, only to stand up straight again and wave at him, as if she had done something marvelous. He waved back, distracted, disoriented.
My girl. That wasn't really what he thought, was it?
Sometimes Selena felt so far away, and the only thing he could do was reach a hand out to her while she continuously stepped into the fray, time and time again. And sometimes, like right now, she felt so close that his heart would tighten, and he'd just pray that the glass shard in his heart wouldn't cause him to have a heart attack. He wasn't sure what that meant, though. Wasn't sure Selena didn't have someone else that she held close to her heart besides him, and wasn't sure she even thought about things like that. She was the Truthseeker, wasn't she? She didn't have time for…
"Nice shoes! Do you want 'em?"
He jumped, clutching at his heart like an old man would after seeing a car crash. "Selena!" she yelled, looking back at her to the shoes he had been unconsciously examining, regaining his composure. "…Sorry, you know I scare easily." More like, his heart couldn't take being surprised so often. Of course, she didn't know about the glass in his heart, nor did he want her to. After all, what if he was just imagining things? Or what if she thought he was trying to copy her situation – after all, wasn't her whole heart made of glass? He had to wonder if that hurt her or not – hell, he wouldn't know, she never talked about it.
Orpheus glanced back at the shoes, laughing a little. "They're obnoxious, aren't they? In the best of ways, of course. They're yellow as all hell, these bright yellow bastards… they easily stand out in this store."
"What, like you?" She laughed, and he looked up and around, only to notice that everyone was sneaking these small side glances at him, as if they'd never seen a … well, he did stand out, somehow, didn't he? From the gauges in his ears to the crazy mermaid tattoo he had splatted on his arm, he definitely wasn't from around here, definitely wasn't from this world. God, he was such a sore thumb in this damned glass world! What, was he too rough for their goddamn delicate sensibilities?
Back to the shoes. Selena pointed at them, patting her jacket pocket. "I can buy 'em for you, if you want." She was still wobbling on those glass high heels.
She had money, this entire time? After all the things she had squealed over and hugged and exclaimed, "I wish this was mine!" she had money, all along? Selena seemed to read his thoughts and could only laugh a little, struggling to stand upright in those two inch high heels.
"Relax, Mr. Rockstar, I'm just a window shopper. So you want 'em or not?" He groped for words, but two seconds, apparently, was far too long for her to wait. In the process of perhaps twenty seconds or so, the shoes were his, these ridiculous bright yellow shoes that were apparently, the last pair, and the only pair, in the whole store.
They weren't planning to restock any time soon – in fact, he was the only one who had bought the wretched things. Technically you could call them a one of kind, Selena had laughed, but he put them on as soon as the sale was complete, told the clerk to keep his old duds – they weren't from here, after all, maybe some crazy glasshole would pay big bucks for their foreign quality. He had been joking, of course, but the clerk lit up and thought it was a great idea.
The two of them laughed together, right on out of the store.
Seeing Selena so animated made him wonder if there was a time when she had always been this way. Not that Selena was ever the type to mope and moan around the Asylum, sorry, the Sanctuary, whenever she was around, but there were definitely times when he'd catch her alone and there'd be this pensive frown etched across her trembling features. He suspected that she built herself up to be as big and bad as she could, but when she was alone, did she crash and burn, like he did, like he suspected all of them did? Here, he knew that she was carefree and without worry, dragging him from store to store, stall to stall… Had her life been something like this before she was the Truthseeker?
A couple months ago, the first time Jayke came to the base, he and him had hit it off great after Orpheus had shown him where Trent kept the booze. Jayke drake his fill – tipping up the bottle to his lips and drowning himself in alcohol's sweet salvation – and it had unlocked his tongue, told him things that Selena had never even touched upon. He told him about Elysia, Selena's home, Jayke's home, and their broken paradise.
"You can't imagine Elysia," Jayke had said, shaking his head, fiddling with the silver piercing in his right ear. "You can't. I can't even do it, and I used to live there. It's paradise – heaven on earth, Orphy, you've gotta see it to believe it. We saw it daily, but we took it for granted, 'cause now, me and her, we can't ever go back there again. The two of us…" He leaned forward in his chair, and for a second, Orpheus thought he was going to hurl, but Jayke merely clutched the bottle in both of his hands and held his head down, as if the weight of all those memories was enough to make him sick. "The two of us thought of making our own paradise there, someday."
He laughed, which morphed into a drunken hiccup. "But we thought a lot of things back then, you know? We were young, stupid. Our Eden cracked back there, ever since… Ever since Blake…" He shook his head, and Orpheus cursed – so close he had been, to figuring out who this 'Blake' was to them. "But I think… she's made some sort of makeshift paradise here with you, instead." Jayke had smiled up at him then, and through all the alcohol, Orpheus saw it was sincere. "It ain't perfect, sure. But nothing's perfect here. And you're the closest thing to Eden that she's got."
In a strange way, it was almost like he had received Jayke's blessing that day. Selena had been close to him when they were younger, and was still close to him now – she made visits to see him weekly, would sometimes make some of Jayke's more unruly clients mysteriously "disappear" – but there was something that Jayke felt about her that was unreturned, as far as he knew. Or at least, maybe that's what he wanted to believe – maybe there was something there that Orpheus couldn't see, and even if there was…
He clenched his teeth a little, pushing that out of his head. Thinking about this and examining the facts so closely was something Trent might do. He wasn't Trent. He just wanted her to be happy. Or maybe he just wanted to know the truth?
"Alright, we're here!"
She stopped suddenly in the street, making his brand new yellow shoes skid across the glass. In front of them was a small shop made of orchid purple glass, with musical notes carved into the store's front. Without much more introduction, she dragged him inside – as was her custom now – and it was then that he realized that he had just walked into heaven.
A music store – no, a guitar store, with guitars not only made of glass, but of, dare he say it, wood, glorious wood, a substance that he thought he'd never see again. For so long, Orpheus had believed that losing his guitar was penance for bringing the Smokehouse down, but now, did this mean that his time had come? That he was finally going to be freed from all the guilt that still hung over his head? He wasn't sure what to do, what to say, when Selena took him by the arm and dragged him over to the counter, still was lost in a daze.
"Nope, don't even think about looking at those guitars," she told him, pulling on his sleeves. "None of them are even of your caliber, Mr. Rockstar."
She slammed her hand down on the counter once, twice, and a burly looking store clerk appeared. He had a square face with a curly mustache, and every inch of his arms were covered in tattoos. Despite how intimidating he might've looked, Selena exchanged a few words with him, and he went in the back, apparently looking for something. Meanwhile, the cat had stolen his tongue, and all he could think was: Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…
Clearly, his mind was unable to comprehend the fact that a store like this would exist in Pridea. He didn't notice that everyone around him was a Blue, but he did notice Selena give up all of the Crowns she had in her jacket pocket to the clerk when he returned. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but before he could talk, the clerk presented to him a guitar, a wooden guitar, and it… It looked just like…
"Does it look the same?" she asked, and she was grinning again, and he was speechless again, thinking: This must be some kind of goddamned miracle. It looked like his old guitar. Maybe it was his old guitar. All of the crazy grooves and designs, the same feel of the wood, and when he plucked at a cord, goddamnit, it was the same sound!
"Selena…" He couldn't say anything more. What else could he say? The clerk handed him a guitar pick, and he plucked at a few more cords, playing a long forgotten tune that had went up in a sea of glass – and hell, it played the same as well. How had she done it? How could she just stand there and grin at him and work miracles the way she did?
"How did you…"
"You shouldn't question a miracle, Mr. Rockstar," she huffed playfully, sharing a secret smile with him. "I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to give you back a piece of your world. It probably isn't as similar as you might think, but… It's the least I could do. You've done so much for me, after all."
The clerk took the guitar back from him, said it would be sent via Hover Mail in a week or so – said that he couldn't just take something as "fragile" as a wooden guitar home with him. "After all," Selena joked as they left the store. "It could burst into flames, or maybe you'd get a… splinter!" She gasped dramatically. "The horrors! We can't trust you with something as fragile as wood, after all!" Her sarcasm knew no boundaries.
"Ha hah," he laughed sarcastically. "If this world got any more ass-backwards, we'd all be walking on the ceiling…"
Despite everything, he couldn't thank her enough, and despite all that she'd already done, there was still one more thing she wanted to show him. Damnit, he had to repay her for all of these things someday – maybe one day, take her to his world, somehow, and show her…
And show her what, a world he couldn't even remember? A world that, for some strange reason, chucked him out and forced him here, for no purpose whatsoever? Was there even a hope for him to return, someday? He wasn't sure, and somehow, in that moment, that didn't really matter. He was still a lost little foreigner in this world, he realized, despite all the time he had spent in Genonea, because there was still more to see, more to experience, more that he'd never dreamed of, all of it waiting behind Pridea's glass. It was flawed, this whole world, and the revolution against the faceless enemies she fought against day by day wouldn't happen soon, but they could enjoy this place, couldn't they? If not for long, just for a day?
Although, he realized, she still had not given him any of the answers he sought. But how could he ask those questions again now, when she seemed so jovial, so happy and carefree?
She stopped by the side of the street by a botanical bed – a spread of glass flowers – robotic in their core, made to act and "grow" like real flowers, and exclaimed that she would have to pick them all, to wait just a second for her. He agreed, leaning against the side of a building, looking down at his ridiculous yellow shoes, wondering when would ever be a good time to ask again. In the back of his head was a niggling doubt that this whole daycation was an excuse to postpone her telling the truth to him, but as soon as he thought it, he hated himself for it. Like she would really find a way to order a wooden guitar that looked just like his old one for him, just to distract him from the truth. Unlikely, and plus, she wasn't like that. Whatever the truth was – about the shapeshifters, about this government – it would be told eventually… wouldn't it?
He looked back up near the botanical bed, only to find Selena wasn't there. He furrowed his brows, walking back over to the bed, looking around – alas, she wasn't there. "Selena?" he called, but realized that wasn't the smartest of ideas. He might as well scream out to the streets, "Truthseeker? Where are you?" But goddamnit, where did she go? She was just there a second ago… How could she run off and leave him so quickly?
"Oh, Orphion, there you are!"
As if she was never gone, Selena was suddenly by his side, looking flustered, as if she had just run a marathon. He raised an eyebrow at her – did she just call him 'Orphion' or was his hearing going bad? (That wasn't as farfetched of an assumption as he thought – after all, couldn't someone with the siren's scream potentially go deaf after subjecting himself to such loud frequencies?)
"Orphion?" he questioned. "Is that a new nickname or something?"
She bit her lip, looking angry with herself, as if she had just answered a twenty point question wrong on a final exam. "Yeah, it's a new nickname. Orphion! Don't you like it?"
Why were the streets suddenly silent – hadn't they been crowded with people a while ago? Why was she looking so flustered? Why was she looking so angry? Where the hell had she been two seconds ago? Why was her CPH badge on the wrong side of her chest?
"You're not …!"
"Ugh, fuck this!"
From "Selena's" hand outstretched claws sculpted of glass, aiming straight for his chest. She was slower than he was, and in these new sneakers, maybe he could dodge just about anything. He sprinted away from her grasp, realizing that, oh shit, he was defenseless, and holy shit, where had the real Selena gone? He clutched a hand to his chest – watching "Selena" morph out of her disguise – and now she was the long, black haired girl, with blunt bangs and icy amethyst eyes. He had seen her before, he had heard Selena talk about her before, but goddamnit, and he couldn't remember her name. The more he realized how little he knew about the shapeshifters, the angrier with his situation he became. How was he supposed to keep fighting these guys if he didn't know anything about them?
"Where's Selena?!"
"Your girlfriend? I don't know. I sent Adlai to get her – perhaps you remember him? He's not the most merciful of our kind."
No, he didn't remember any of their goddamn names; he had more important shit to do than that. But he did know who she was talking about – Adlai, the tallest shapeshifter, to whom everything was a game.
She lunged at him again, which he dodged easily, but realized he couldn't do that forever. Thinking quickly, he unlatched the glass guitar he still had strapped to his back, held it like a baseball bat, and swung it straight into her abdomen. The force was enough to send her tumbling backwards and off her feet, slowing down her reaction time. He couldn't fight her, not defenseless – no, he had to find Selena.
He took off into the streets, realizing that the shapeshifter was on his toes, but he didn't care – he could hear Selena struggling, fighting, somewhere far away. He zigzagged through the alleyways, stopping to deflect blows from the dark-haired shape shifter with his guitar once or twice, finally coming across Selena fighting with another shapeshifter, a dark-skinned man with a red bindi on his forehead.
"Selena!"
The Truthseeker had molded a large glass lance with her hands and was using it to parry Adlai's attacks – she was playing with him, keeping him busy, because she, too, was moderately defenseless. They had been stupid to walk into any area of Pridea at night without thinking of the consequences, and now, if something happened to her, wasn't it technically his fault? He rushed in, guitar at the ready, but Adlai was a lot quicker than the dark haired girl was. He dodged it easily, brandishing a dagger of his own, coming in for a stab that he wasn't sure he was going to be able to dodge…
Selena pulled him out of the way in time, materializing her hoverboard beneath her feet. "Orpheus, don't fight!" she was yelling over and over again, and meanwhile the dark haired one was rushing towards them, a sort of murderous intent in her eyes that Orpheus doubted he would ever forget. Thankfully, the hoverboard got in the air in time, leaving the strange shapeshifters on the ground, making them nothing but a memory – for today anyway. They'd be back.
And when they did come back, would he still be as clueless as ever?
"This is the War Room," she explained.
This was where she had wanted to take him – the last stop on their daycation. They were in the tallest tower in Florysana, in a small glass dome that overlooked the whole district. He could see the little shoe shop they'd visited from here. He could see that guitar store they'd visited from here. But he couldn't see the answers to all his questions – who were the shapeshifters, why were they after her, and how could she just stand there and act as if nothing had happened?
"It's beautiful, isn't it? Made from honeysuckle and kaleidoscope glass. You can't break this stuff. No, not even you. Maybe this is the last safe place for us, up here amongst the clouds."
Amongst the artificial clouds, right? Amongst glass that not even he should be able to break, right? He looked at her, who was still trying to smile after what had happened, still trying to keep up that optimistic front. It was too painful, to watch her smile amongst the strife. And it made him rage to think that, even after this, she still wouldn't come clean. Wasn't it obvious, that they needed to face and fight this threat together? Wasn't it obvious, that in order for him to be with her, she needed to be with him too?
"They used to hold Council meetings here, to discuss wars and where the Elite would be deployed. Now, they have the Elder Tower – all their meetings are held there instead. To do anything in Florysana would be… beneath them. And besides, I doubt they talk about wars anymore, right?" A ghost of a smile painted itself on her lips. "This world is a utopia, after all."
"That's bullshit and you know it, Selena."
She turned to him abruptly, her lips trembling ever so slightly. "I know it is," she swallowed, closing her eyes, still trying to feed the lie to herself anyway. "I know it is, Orpheus…"
"Who are those people, Selena? The shapeshifters? Who is the dark-haired one that wants to kill you so badly? Why is it that we can't ever leave the Sanctuary without our weapons, or we'll regret it?"
"Why do you want to know?" was her dodgy answer. "They're just… they're just enemies, that's what enemies do."
He stood up, holding Selena by the shoulders, looking down in her eyes. "Selena, I'm here for you," he pleaded, trying to keep eye contact while she desperately tried to look away. "But I need to know Selena – what are we fighting against? And why? Why do they want to kill you so badly?"
"I'm an anarchist, remember?" she asked, looking down at his ridiculous yellow shoes. She seemed so fragile in his grasp, like a twig ready to break, but he could not let up – the truth would come out eventually. She was not built to hold in the truth for so long. "I'm an anarchist, Chex, I'm an anarchist…"
"The truth, Selena!" he demanded. "I want to help you, Selena – you have no idea how much I want to help you. But I need the truth!"
His grip on her grew tighter, her back pressed against the kaleidoscope glass, and she was flinching now, not so much from his touch, but from his words. "The truth," he repeated, pleading, trying to be demanding but cracking on every word, because this was hurting him too – because he wished she could live in a world where she did not have to live in this way, but she did. He did. Everyone did. They needed to hear it, didn't they? Her hands tried to push him away, her mouth opening and closing, trying to keep the truth inside, but for her sake, for everyone's sake, he would not let it! "The truth!"
"She was my friend!"
Her voice died a little, squeaking on the words. Her eyes were still closed, as if to keep tears from running down her eyes. Slowly, she opened her eyes, which were drowning in her own tears. "She was my best friend," she whispered, shaking her head, and Orpheus' grip was released on her, ashamed at himself for going so far. She was shaking a little – as if speaking such a truth was enough to bruise her psyche.
"Her name is Holly Freya. Once upon a time, she was my best friend… We braided each other's hair and ate fruit cookies while watching stupid movies on the VT every Saturday. We used to pretend we were two princesses, and one day we would unite these worlds – Pridea and Naraciss – under our strong friendship. But when I became the Truthseeker, she realized that I was now her prey. And she was not conflicted over this at all. In fact, she was angered – angry that she had let me walk free under her nose for all this time."
Her eyes seemed far away now, a storm of tears brewing in her eyes. "The Truthseeker – the one who has the glass heart… it is said that the light that emits from such a pure heart would be enough to purify her old world, Naraciss. She would rip out my heart for her world. She would kill my friends to obtain my heart. She and her team – the Paracissians, the shapeshifters, they will stop at nothing to do this. All they want to do is rip out my heart. That's all…" Her voice was cracking… "That's… all…"
He embraced her, unable to see her shaking and shivering, wanting to just keep her in his safe embrace for as long as he could, as long as time allowed. "I'm sorry," he muttered, but Selena was not done – he had unlocked a fountain of truth to pour from her system, she would not stop until she was done.
"I didn't want to tell you, Orpheus, because you're the… you're the closest thing to being normal that I have." Her arms were still shivering, as if the truth was freezing her limbs. "I wish I could be around you all the time. You don't treat me like I'm sort of experiment or weirdo… You've never asked what I truly think of you. You've always been looking out for me. But, you've also made me realize that I don't have to fight this alone.
"I would've kept the truth from you forever, if I could. And I wouldn't regret it, because if I could, I would keep you forever with me, in my heart, unchanged by Pridea's walls, unmarred by the evil that lurks within the glass. I don't want you to think of me as some… as some target, like everyone else does. As some savior, like everyone else does. The truth is… I… sometimes I don't know what I'm doing anymore. The truth is, sometimes I'll come home and I think, 'As long as Chex is there, it'll be okay. I don't have to worry about anything, because he's there, waiting for me.'"
He could only hug her tighter, because all of his words, they were lost to him, because Selena was more delicate than he could have ever imagined. Because he wasn't sure what to say – because, ultimately, he had no idea that he was that important to her. There were so many people who held Selena on this high pedestal, but to him, she was a mystery, someone he could never decipher, but could stand back and admire the enigma from afar.
"You're my only friend; don't you know that, Chex? That you are really my only, tangible friend in this world?" She buried her head in his chest, tears silently running down her face. "I am a tool to Mikki. I am an idol to Trent. I am a nuisance to Erika. I am a weapon to Holly. I am a memory of a broken childhood to Jayke. I am alone. And I used to walk this path alone. But I'm going to be selfish, and I'm not going to let you go. Every day I've put you in danger, every day, I've let you stay in the dark – because those that come in the light see me and judge me and suddenly I'm not human anymore, especially to Mikki Rocket!"
Her sadness was quickly turning into rage. She dug her fingernails unconsciously into his shoulder, grasping onto him for dear life. He was the last pillar of hope for her, he realized, he was the last chance at Eden she'd ever have.
"Who is Mikki Rocket to me? Ever since I've met her, life has gone downhill, hasn't it? Me learning the truth about Pridea, me becoming the Truthseeker, me being captured by Holly, me failing to hold the Smokehouse up and leaving all those innocent people there to die… Mikki Rocket pushed the first domino, didn't she? Isn't this all her fault? Isn't she the reason for all of this mess?"
She was shaking vehemently, as if she was about to explode.
"I hate her! I hate Mikki Rocket!"
All of a suddenly, Selena collapsed to the ground, shaking, on her knees, her hand clasped over her heart. "Selena!" he called, but to no avail – she was lost to him, in another world, the world sculpted inside her glass heart. She had told a lie – hadn't she? He knelt down beside her, holding her hand in his, calling her name over and over, trying to bring her back to the land of the living. Was it any use? Could she hear him? Or was she too distant – in a world so far away that he couldn't even reach out to her?
He had heard about this – from Jayke, who had been the only one to ever witness her telling a lie, who had told him what would happen, and how she'd pay for the consequences. But this was different. Truth overdrive did not kick in – she did not immediately start spluttering truths to cover up the lie. On her knees, head down, hand over her heart, she did not even scream, for perhaps, there was no amplitude she could amp her voice up to that would echo the sound of the pain she felt. "Reverse the lie!" he pleaded. "That's not true, is it? You don't hate Mikki, do you?"
"I… I can't…" she spluttered, and Orpheus realized that this situation was perhaps the worst they could've gotten into.
"Half-truths," Jayke had told him, once he had finally sobered up on that day that seemed so long ago. "… They're probably the worst thing that a person like Selena could ever say. Things that are sort of true, but sort of lies… How do you reverse something like that, huh?" He tossed the beer bottle from one hand to the other, shrugging. "Most Truthseekers who aren't automatically killed die from saying half-truths. Or, yanno, so they say in the history books and all that shit. Who knows if it's true? Who knows if any past Truthseekers have even died from it? It's just something to look out for, you know? And that's what I want you to do, Orphy." He laughed, giving Orpheus a quick salute. "Look out for her, won't you?"
A half-truth. A goddamn half-truth. How was she supposed to reverse that? He watched as her nails dug deeper into her chest, and he could tell just by looking at her that she didn't have much time left. Her heart would fail if she didn't reverse the lie, and fast – but how could she, if it was only half a lie? Goddamnit, now his heart was starting to pound, to hurt, to bleed – but how could he help Selena, if he couldn't even help himself?
He pressed that hand of his closer to his heart, and the pain they felt, this immense pain wracking through their bodies, it was almost the same. Almost the same intensity, almost the same ripping feeling, as if their pain was uniting, to kill them both. Or could he use this in some other way? He felt the urge to scream ripening in his throat – which was new, he never screamed through his pain before – but there was no other way to relieve this immense stress on both of their bodies. His hand over her heart, her chest, right where her heart was, it began to glow in a symphony of colors, before finally, he threw back his head and screamed.
Orpheus screamed – screamed for everything that he had been holding inside ever since he had arrived here. He screamed for the victims of the Smokehouse, dead and living. He screamed for Genonea, and for the people who lived there that were tormented, day to day, just because of the color of their eyes. He screamed for every time he had sat in that glass room like a goddamn nightingale and was kept in the dark, in his glass cage. He screamed for the memories of his past world, of a world he couldn't remember of a world that betrayed his trust. He screamed until his throat felt as if it would burst, screamed until all the tension that was sitting on his chest was gone, screamed until he couldn't scream anymore, until all that was left of his voice was naught but a hush whisper.
She was still alive.
Drained, of course, but she was still alive. Weakly, she patted her chest, probably surprised to see that her heart was still beating, even more surprised to see that kaleidoscope glass really was the one glass he couldn't break.
"How did you…"
"You shouldn't question a miracle, Selena."
She laughed, and he took her in his arms, and suddenly, he was kissing her, and every flaw that Pridea had might as well've been fixed, right at that very moment, because he finally realized what this "Eden" was that everyone was talking about. This was the paradise that Selena had wanted, the paradise he had wanted, to be with her in a way that was so natural that nothing else mattered anymore. He pulled her closer, wrapping his hands in her hair, feeling her cool fingers on his neck and knew, from there on out, that he loved her, and would never love anyone else like her for as long as he lived.
Perhaps she would think it selfish to not let him go, but then would that make him masochistic, to want to stay with her forever? He laughed, and he did not care – masochistic or no, tonight was the first night in ages where he felt as if he could finally spread his wings and unleash his voice. Tonight, he had finally dislodged the guilt that hung in his chest, and he realized – past sins or no, he was ready for this world now. He hadn't been before, but that was because he had been blind. His wings had been clipped before, and his mouth had been taped shut – but that was fine, that was all fine, because tonight, he had been freed.
He was the nightingale, finally released from his cage.
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“If this world got any more ass-backwards, we’d all be walking on the ceiling…"
Meet Orpheus "Chex" Monroe, foreigner to Pridea, referred to the Elite as "the criminal without a face or a name." He's the one who tore down the Smokehouse a couple months ago - the one that the Elite can't place a name or a face to. The invisible criminal, but he still lives with the knowledge of what he's done. Despite everything, how can he call this place a home, when he's kept in the dark, in a goddamn cage, about everything that's been going on? Who are these shapeshifters that want to kill Selena so vehemently? Why does it feel as if there's a piece of glass lodged in his heart? Why the hell is it so hard to learn the truth around here?
Sometimes the truth is too much to take. But for her, as long as it's for her... Chex is willing to get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter what he finds.
Yes, it's finally finished!
This is part of an art/lit trade between
and myself.
She asked for me to finally upload a piece involving her character, Orpheus "Chex" Monroe, so, here it is! This excerpt was supposed to be much shorter, but I ended up rewriting a whole damn chapter. I really went overboard, but hopefully she likes it! Obviously, Orpheus is not my character, so all the credit goes to her!
This is the fastest I've ever rewritten a whole chapter... and it still took me two weeks! Yeah, I'm slow, I know...
Meet Orpheus "Chex" Monroe, foreigner to Pridea, referred to the Elite as "the criminal without a face or a name." He's the one who tore down the Smokehouse a couple months ago - the one that the Elite can't place a name or a face to. The invisible criminal, but he still lives with the knowledge of what he's done. Despite everything, how can he call this place a home, when he's kept in the dark, in a goddamn cage, about everything that's been going on? Who are these shapeshifters that want to kill Selena so vehemently? Why does it feel as if there's a piece of glass lodged in his heart? Why the hell is it so hard to learn the truth around here?
Sometimes the truth is too much to take. But for her, as long as it's for her... Chex is willing to get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter what he finds.
Yes, it's finally finished!
This is part of an art/lit trade between
and myself. She asked for me to finally upload a piece involving her character, Orpheus "Chex" Monroe, so, here it is! This excerpt was supposed to be much shorter, but I ended up rewriting a whole damn chapter. I really went overboard, but hopefully she likes it! Obviously, Orpheus is not my character, so all the credit goes to her!
This is the fastest I've ever rewritten a whole chapter... and it still took me two weeks! Yeah, I'm slow, I know...
© 2010 - 2024 kiri-catastrophe
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