“Your Highness, look! You were right— it is like the color of falling snow!”  

“Ha, well, I was surprised when you told me that you didn’t know anything about the Starchasing Festival. Well, not until today, at least,” the boyish prince hummed contemplatively, rhythmically rapping his finger against the edge of the ornate balustrade; his arms heaved on top as he harked the star-fall. Colonies of crashing nebulae chasing each other across the sea of stars in a cosmic oeuvre of bursting, lustrous silvers, descending like flurries of argent snow. He monitored the exuberance plastered across his friend’s expression from the corner of his eye and smiled fondly to himself, then extended his palm as if he was hoping to net a souvenir for himself, burning, vagrant stardust deterred from its intended flightpath to pocket like a rare jewel.  

“... Here in Yatyre, in lieu of falling leaves, these silver stars are what foretell the approach of winter. Beyond the subtle chill in the air, of course,” the young prince shuddered and recalled his arm to cuddle into his fleecy, violet shawl that was draped around his shoulders. “... I don’t suppose that it’s like this in the Far Reaches where you and your ancestors hail from, no, Seraphina?”  

“Nope! This is the first time I’ve ever seen anything like this. It’s incredible,” the young elf said as she released the rail where she had been gripping it in a vice, the initial astoundment beginning to ebb. Peacefully, she intercrossed her arms to perch on the head of the rail as transfixed, forest-green eyes continued to follow their faithful, stellar azimuth like the dials of a compass ever seeking the stars. “... Originally, I was a little scared when we first came here... I’ve lived in the Far Reaches my entire life and I didn’t know anything about human customs... I was worried about whether I’d ever be able to find my place here, but... you’ve taught me a lot, Your Highness. I’m grateful,” the prince felt his chest burn when his arcane friend rewarded him with an excruciatingly radiant smile, and he fisted his shirtfront and coughed distractedly, looking to the side with red-inundated ears.  

“... You’re welcome, I mean... it was the least that I could do... given that it was my family who ripped you away from your people in the first place. I,” the prince hugged his shawl protectively as he worried his lip between his teeth, uncertainty nursing a proliferating poison in his heart. “Ah, never mind. Let me tell you more,” he rehearsed his urbanity and refocused his attention on the star-shower. “... In accordance with our local legends, these silver stars are meant to represent the souls of our departed loved ones... vignettes of wayward dreams finding their way back to the earth at the end of each year to reunite with their families and friends, conveying their lasting regrets. Tonight, if you make a wish to Samael the Ascendant, the Slumbering Pleroma... who stirs only once every thousand years, there is a chance that they might harken your prayer. But the pureblooded elves don’t worship Samael though, right?”  

Seraphina absentmindedly finagled with the hem of her shirt-cuff. “No, my people worship the Eld Witch, Lilith. She is our great ancestor and the first mortal who learned how to wield magic... Even though she died a long time ago, when I was born, the elders were convinced that I was her incarnation— that my potential was unrivaled... and extremely dangerous. I presume that that was why they separated me from my parents,” she arched to bury her chin in her arms, scouting the middle-distance as melancholy fell over her expression— choking out the sun. “... And why I was eventually taken here.” 

“Seraphina...”  

“... At first, mother and father would write to me nearly every single week to check in on my progress... we had made plans to tour the world once the researchers could help me get my powers under control, but... lately, I... I don’t want to accept that they might have already forgotten about me,” the prince felt his heart physically ache when he noticed the corners of her mouth tremble, betokening a long-repressed sob that he often caught in the night when she presumed that he had already fallen asleep, smothered in their shared blanket. He could cradle her hand and ensconce her body with his own to ward off the villainous cold or serenade her until her trembling finally ceased and sleep rewarded her suffering with a soundless dream— but it would never be enough. He could conceal the crack in the wall with a gorgeous tapestry, but he could never restore it to its original sanctity. “... I don’t know if the Ascendant will listen to an outsider like me, but... I... do you think that they would be willing to let me see them again? Just... once?”  

“... Seraphina.” 

“Sorry. Sorry,” Seraphina subconsciously itched the fresh, pure white bandages that were snaked around her wrist, which the prince knew pervaded the entirety of her forearm, indiscreetly cloaking the consequences of their injections and extractions: mind-numbing, continuous tortures, harsh howls that blasted through the corridors, nails pinched bloody at they scrabbled at the cold stone ground, damaged now as they assault their hidden target. Scars masked as invention and necessity: a lamb of promise to validate their treason, for what was ever questioned when the gods asked for our sons and livestock— the lives of the innocent in exchange for prosperity and protection? 

And who were the common people to deny their gods?  

He had no intention to, at least. Or that is to say, he has tried. He has tried, and he has failed. It was his mistake for overstepping his bounds and nurturing the illusion of friendship with their captive. It was his materialistic bloodline who had violated their terms. And it was he who would pay the ultimate price when their treachery slips through the cracks and heralds their due reckoning. When the Consortium’s silver spears puncture wide his breast when he valiantly stands between them and their promised Judgment Day—  

Will he finally be able to save her?  

“... Come here, Phina. I have something I want to show you.”  

He softly joined their hands as he redirected the elven girl back into their bedchamber. After the prince relatched the door to the terrace, leaving the drapes outspread, falling stars illuminating the perimeters of their vision; he turned to approach his wardrobe, taking a second to rummage through it. Wan candlelight from an oil lamp that was seated on his nightstand chased across her puzzled expression as she watched the violet-haired prince extract an exquisite, lacy dress with a pleated petticoat.  “You mentioned it before,” he continued when he returned to the girl to deposit the delicate material in her hands. “How you have wanted to try on a dress. I’m not sure if this is exactly what you had in mind per se, but...”  

“Oh... oh! This... Your Highness, it’s absolutely stunning! Are you sure?” The prince decided that he would easily see the seas fall ablaze if it meant that he could preserve that brilliant grin on her face. With a sickeningly tender smile, the prince nodded and shooed his friend along with a wave of his hand. Seraphina crushed the expensive fabric against her chest as she squealed and excitedly bounced in place— albeit before she had the sense to make away like a thief in the night, she paused and reached for his wrist. “I have a great idea— let’s swap! You should wear my clothes!”  

The prince blinked rapidly, taken aback by her spontaneity. “... Huh?”  

“Come on, just go along with it!”  

The prince has long since discovered that he had an unspeakably hard time rejecting his oracular friend. When she unsubtly demanded the slice of lemon pie that the chefs had served with supper earlier that evening with a thick gob of drool attached to the corner of her mouth— or those egregious puppy-dog eyes when she had practically begged him to forgo his magic lesson for the day so they could chase dragon beetles in the courtyard instead. Or when she had begun inviting herself into his room late at night, sneaking since she was afraid of being alone even after the senior witches had attempted to bolt her to her cell— beseeching the prince to retell anecdotes from across his childhood, from dramatic spell mishaps to chance encounters with fae and the other mystic creatures who occasionally browsed the White Rose Garden. There was something about that innocent twinkle in her eyes that was nearly impossible to resist— like a decadent promise from an alluring temptress.  

“... All right, all right. Whatever my lady desires.”  

“Ta-dah!” Once they were finished changing, Seraphina performed a graceful twirl as the flouncy underskirt billowed in an eddying cloud of soft ivory-white fleece, and she raised her arms, fingers closed as she checked her bearings front and back, doubtless drinking in the finer points of the detailing, pearlescent beadery shimmering like fallen stardust glistening at the bottom of the seabed. When she noticed the young boy staring, she jolted in embarrassment and awkwardly tugged down the skirt, though he thought that it suited her perfectly. “I... what do you think? Hopefully, it doesn’t look too strange on me... even where I come from, this sort of thing isn’t necessarily that common... but I guess it’s not like they ever really considered me to be much of a person to begin with, right?”  

“Nonsense,” the prince padded forward and took to his knee before the girl, extending his hand— which Seraphina accepted after a hesitant second, a sense of uncertainty clouding her face. “... You look unfathomably beautiful, my lady— just as I had always envisioned,” and without further preamble, he leaned down to plant a genteel kiss on the back of her hand, and he watched as the candleflame enlightened her blush, which had since crawled to the pointed edges of her large, droopy ears. And when her face split into an earth-shattering smile thereafter, his lungs momentarily clambered for air. Seraphina yanked him to his feet and pummeled him into a tight hug.  

“And you look like a bona fide Prince Charming now, Your Highness! I’ve always dreamt of what it would be like to get swept off my feet. I’m a fan of that sort of thing, you know,” the elf elucidated as she pulled back to anchor herself on his shoulders despite being the taller of the two. Once his initial shyness subsided, the prince cocked into a wide grin and rode the moment, coiling his hands around her waist and ushering her into the start of a light waltz. Seraphina laughed melodiously. “Yeah, like this! Alongside a biiiig marble castle, afternoon teatime, and dashing, vampiric attendants vying for a lick of my succulent blood.” 

The prince snorted airily, swinging to the side as he fluently pulled her along. “Vampiric attendants? You haven’t gotten into my brother’s erotica again, have you?”  

“Don’t tell Zale, please.”  

The younger prince zipped his lips and tossed away the key. “Your secret is safe with me— but I should remind you that that wasn’t really written with our... age demographic in mind.”  

“Oh, but I’m basically already an adult, aren’t I?”  

“I wouldn’t say that...” 

“What? Your Highness, you’re such a meanie!”  

“And my statement stands.”  

The prince followed her viridescent gaze as it chased the vibrant starstorm while she was swirled and guided across the width of the room by smooth, practiced footwork. He watched the makings of a brilliant idea flash across her brain as she refaced him with a blindingly coarse smile, their dance naturally slowing as the invisible track crescendoed, then dipped. ”Your Highness, I know what I want to wish for, now.” 

“Oh, what is it?”  

“Witches are the natural enemy of the Holy Consortium, so... I’m not sure if their god will listen. But... if they do, I hope that they’ll help me... stay friends with you. Forever, if I’m allowed to be even greedier than I am now,” the nonexistent melody descended, superseded by a tense silence as she released his shoulders to stubbornly grasp both of his hands instead, her expression indecisive, enmeshed in an awkward middle space between hopefulness and— grief. Like she had already acknowledged the futility of her wish, acknowledged the coming cannon fire when the starry heavens arm their soldiers to cut out the paradisaic tumor before it could unnerve their tentative era of peace— but craved his validation, nevertheless, before she succumbed to her own despair. The prince felt vaguely breathless as shadowy fingers clawed at his ribcage, cracking through bone to strangle his heart. Fear. Determination.  

He swooped her into a bone-crushing embrace— clinging like she was all there was in the airless, vast vacuum of space. Pitch-black pages sequestered in the drawer with succulent, forbidden temptations and auspicious prophecy stained between its doomed margins promising salvation. And he knows that, for the monsters packed within whose demonic purrs allure him day after day to suspend reason and claw his way to his wish through the dense riverways of gore that herald the loss of his sanity— that until he relinquishes, their hoarse, deceitful praises will grate down on his fraying psyche as the darkness continues to strengthen like an untiring cancer. But— 

“... I will save you, Seraphina,” he reiterated, finality and insanity hardening his timbre.  

“Even if I have to destroy this world in the process.”