For a dream, this sure is taking quite a while for it to end.

How many days has it been? Generally, dreams end relatively quickly after regaining lucidity, but this one has lasted for an impressive amount of time. At this point, Yves is beginning to consider the possibility that this truly is reality, as impossible as it seems. 

Then, how does one know for certain whether or not this was a dream?

He’s stared at the mirror enough times, and while the reflection isn’t distorted like one would expect, it’s also undeniably wrong. 

Is this some form of an afterlife? How funny would it be, if the scriptures were all wrong about it. If death did not bring with it paradise or hell, or even some form of oblivion. Instead of eternal peace or damnation, it’s…this.

Has he finally lost his mind?

…What if all that he remembers, all those years of fruitless searching is the dream, and he has simply woken up from it now? Surely he didn’t struggle for so long just for his efforts to be meaningless. Surely not.

 Yves studies the book he is currently reading with even greater intensity. 

It’s solid weight in his hands, the words legible instead of the incomprehensible mess one would usually expect in a dream. Everything so far seems to point to this being reality.  Except, his hands were small and unmarked, and if he were to look into the mirror again for the umpteenth time, he would find a child staring back at him with soft cheeks and round eyes. Nothing of the man he should see, and yet still him somehow. Still unmistakably familiar.

“Your Highness?”

Yves finally slides his gaze over to the maid still bowed over with a breakfast tray in hand. She’s been standing there for quite a while, unable to move from her place without his say so. He’s used to this kind of behavior, though for entirely different reasons. None that have to do with the blood running through his veins and everything to do with the one staining his hands. 

Another point towards this being a dream. Why else would he be back in this wretched place?

He snaps the book closed, and the maid flinches at the sharp sound. Waving a hand towards the nearby table, he studies her every movement as she hurriedly places the tray down and waits to be dismissed. It’s a platter of fruit this time, with a bowl of porridge and sugar. 

More importantly, there is a small paring knife nestled among the cutlery, one he picks up with a considering look. The blade is sharp, and made of high quality silver that gleams in the light. More than keen enough for soft flesh to part easily beneath it. 

Should he kill her? Would anything even happen as a result? There are no consequences in a dream, after all. And even if this weren’t one, well. It’s not as if murder is something he is particularly opposed to. Or unfamiliar with.

“They say the most surefire way to wake up from a dream is to die.” Yves says idly, with no preamble at all, before tilting his head at her. “Do you think I should try it out?”

“N-No?”

Watching her tremble in front of him like a mouse is getting a little boring. One can only see the same sight a few dozen times before it gets monotonous. Perhaps he should end her life, if only to change things up a bit. Give them something to really be afraid about. 

“Right. I don’t particularly feel like dying again so soon anyways.” Yves watches the maid relax at his words, before he smiles unkindly. “So you’ll do.”

“...Pardon?”

“I still can’t rule out the possibility that this is all a dream. You don’t think I should be stuck in a dream forever, do you? I’ll even make it quick. Would you prefer your throat slit as well? Through your heart?” A product of his mind’s delusions it may be, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t at least offer the illusion of choice. Though Yves wouldn’t recommend either option, personally. So messy and it left one so cold afterwards, the kind of chill that sunk so deep, it takes permanent residence into one's bones. Yves has always run cooler than average, but now? He doesn’t think he’ll ever be warm again. “So choose. Unless you mean I should die instead?”

Even if this wasn’t a dream, he could have her killed with little to no consequences, just from the differences in their positions alone. There is nothing she could truly do to stop him, not when he holds all of the power here. This, they are both well aware of, made obvious by the way she pales. 

“Your Highness, this isn’t a dream. There is no need for such drastic measures. Would you like me to call for the physician instead if you are feeling unwell?”

Your Highness. How many times has he been called that? He’s heard that damn term of address countless times at this point, far more in the past few days than he has in the past decade. Yet another piece of evidence showing just how wrong this situation is. How grating. 

“Are you calling me crazy?” Yves asks softly. He hopes she is. He hopes she gives him even the slightest excuse to test out his theory and end this farce once and for all. His hands itch to twirl the knife around, but they are small and unused to the movement, liable to nick themselves if he were to attempt to do so now. Not that it’d matter if he were cut. Instead, he balances the thing on a finger, letting it rest just so. Inspecting it with a close eye as if it were a scale, he weighs his options.

“No!” The maid jerks up desperately, before flinching at his expression and lowering her head again. “That’s not what I meant. I wouldn’t dare—”

“Then what, exactly, do you mean? Choose your next words carefully. I might take the decision into my own hands.”

There is no right answer, none that will spare her from her fate. It’s an impossibly cruel and unfair situation, that much is clear to the both of them. Still, he does not retract his words. It’s not as if her death would mean anything, in the end. She could always settle the score in her next life anyways. He could almost pity her, if he were sure that this is truly reality and not some ridiculous attempt at his life flashing before his eyes.

“I…I…” She stammers before falling to her knees, pressing her forehead to the ground sobbing. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please spare my life.”

…How pathetic. Only a few words and she lies prostrate sniveling before him. Power imbalance aside, were all of the servants truly this weak willed? Is there not a single person who will not flinch at the slightest glance? He knows his behavior is unsettling, to say the least, but he still currently has the appearance of a child. All scrawny limbs and cheeks still rounded with childhood. Did none of them have any shame?

He’s lost interest in the entire thing again. Weakness was never something he could tolerate. Not back then, and certainly not now.

Yves waves a hand dismissively with a sigh. “Nevermind. Just go.”

When she doesn’t move fast enough for his liking, he snaps. “Leave. Unless you actually do want to test out my theory.”

This one will probably quit as well, he thinks, as the maid scrambles to her feet and escapes. Good. The less people he has hovering around his shoulder, the better. 

Though… he genuinely is still not sure if this is a dream or not.

Yves looks back at the small paring knife still in hand, and idly presses his palm to the edge. His skin splits immediately, beads of blood welling up when he squeezes it.

“...Ow.”

Despite the stinging pain, Yves continues to clench his fist, watching the blood well up and slide down his hand. 

It feels real enough. 

With a sigh, Yves lets the cut fade away, watching as the skin knits itself back together, and wipes off the blood. On impulse, he presses a few red drops to his lips, tongue darting out to lick. Metallic and salty, as expected. 

So far, things have tasted and felt the same as reality. Besides the setting and his body, there hasn’t been anything else out of the ordinary either. Yves is simply…younger than he’s supposed to be, in a place that he hasn’t stepped foot in for over a decade. It’s been a few days of this odd experience, so he supposes he should accept the possibility of this being reality.

All right then. By some divine will, Yves has woken up years and years younger, choking on blood that is no longer there. The palace still stands as pristine as ever, with no flames licking at the walls. He assumes this is the part when he is supposed to redeem himself, to take this second chance to turn a new leaf, do as whatever god has hoped for him. 

…Ha.

Their mistake.