A note, before you begin:

As you are about to see, Hawthorn has a rather unorthodox format. There’s a long story behind this format, but, in short, what began as a small, simple drabble to entertain two friends quickly escalated into something much bigger, and much more special, than either of us could have anticipated. C.D and I have poured all of our love (and much of our sanity) into these characters and their story, and we are so excited to share them — and all the works we’ve developed around them — with you. We only hope that you will come to love Elias and Noras, and their family (C.D: except for Albert. Fuck that guy), as much as we have. With that said, enjoy the prologue~

- Insomnia

~*~

Elias sits at his desk, a pile of finished work to his right, and a much smaller pile of unfinished work to his left. He stretches for a bit, then places the paper he was working on onto the finished pile, taking out a new piece of paper.

Valainya, from the door: Elias.

Elias startles slightly, and schools his features, turning to look at her: Yes?

Valainya, sighing and stepping inside, taking care to avoid stepping on the rabbits sleeping by the door: It’s only been a month, you shouldn’t be working so hard.

Elias looks away from her, picking up his quill again: I need to catch up with my work.

Valainya scowls and walks up to him: And you will, but you don’t have to rush it. I heard from the servants that you’ve barely slept, and when you do, it’s because you force yourself with that po-

Elias: I need to catch up… and I… sleeping brings them back.

Valainya frowns, looking at his work: ... Being sleep deprived will affect the quality of your work, Elias… In any case, Giana’s been wondering how you’ve been doing, Otis hasn’t let her out of his sight in case she tries to go visit you.

Elias doesn’t reply, still working.

Valainya lets out a frustrated sigh: Elias, it’s already been a year… maybe not for you but, if you want to get better, you need to talk about it! With me, or Bethan, but you need to speak with someone.

Elias shrinks down, but doesn’t say anything still, quill scratching against paper.

Valainya: … You’ve been going to the orphanage as well lately… I heard you’ve given a large portion of your funds to them.

Elias continues to write: Lord Hubert is a gannet, I feel it is necessary to support them while they remain in his clutches.

Valainya: And becoming attached to the children? That is asking for more heartbreak, Elias.

Elias frowns slightly, but he doesn’t reply.

Valainya lets out a frustrated huff, and runs her hand through her hair, before dropping it and turning: I’ll send Bethan to see you tomorrow, and I’ll come check on you personally after tomorrow, get some sleep. [With that, she walks back out of the room]

Elias straightens, and stretches again, standing and going over to his alchemy table. He sifts through it and pulls out his vial pendants, noting that they are empty. Frowning, he grabs another quill on this table and writes: Note to self, remake pendant potions.

He then straightens and freezes when two shadows seem to materialise behind him. He closes his eyes as they near: [whispering] They’re not real. They’re not real.

The two shadows grab onto his shoulders; his eyes snap open and he spins to find — no one there. With a shuddering breath, he falls back onto his desk, gulping and squeezing his eyes shut, hands shaking.

. . .

Meanwhile, just over a week’s journey from where Elias sits, there is a small hut on a grimy street. Outside it is a particularly large horse - a brown shire with a dirty, scarred coat. Inside the hut, a dim torch flickers. Two shadows appear in the window; then, after a moment, one disappears from view, materializing in the hut’s doorway a few seconds later.

Noras walks out of the hut with a frown, casting a look of distaste at the window before swinging up into the horse’s saddle.

In one hand, Noras bounces a small pouch of coins. He counts them, huffs in displeasure, and then puts the pouch in his pocket. From the pocket, he draws out a small, faded painting of Prince Elias de Perez, of Astarus, likely from a few years ago. The prince has dark blue hair falling loosely to his chest, and differently-coloured eyes — one blue, one orange — that are stark against his dark skin. Noras thinks he can make out freckles, though it might just be dirt on the paper. There’s a cold air to his portrait, but he is a prince, so that’s hardly surprising.

Noras gives the art an appraising look, and then shoves the paper back into his pocket. Taking the reins, he nudges his horse towards the road. The horse nickers in protest, one heavy hoof tapping the ground.

Noras sighs: I know, but it’s not like we can afford to refuse him.

The horse tosses his head in an almost human-like gesture of dissent.

Noras: [defensively] Come on, Jeade, this one’s a prince - and he’s worth a lot. [placatingly, patting Jeade’s neck] With this job’s pay, we can afford to stop working for Orville forever, okay? Just bear with me, will you?

Jeade remains still, but when Noras nudges him again, he starts to walk. Noras sighs softly, one hand rubbing absently at Jeade’s neck as they go. And the journey to Astarus begins.