A Most Uncertain Farewell

The days Akari had spent in Salaeus’ manor had been anything but uneventful. He was often called to his chambers for a fitting every afternoon by the seamstress who travelled back and forth from the nearby town just to finish his uniform, and today it was finished.

The doll’s dress was done, and Ain looked lovely in it.

Lovely as a porcelain doll, the one that people had as collectibles, not for any functional use, just something to make the shelf look pretty. But Ain was for anything but a shelf. He stood before the mirror, all proper and prim, and to finish off the look, Salaeus came up from behind him and handed the knight his blade. A silver-steel longsword that sat in a black and blue leather sheath.

The uniform itself was ceremonial in every sense. It was meant for the occasion, nothing more, nothing less. A sharp white coat-blazer sat above the hidden blouse beneath, the lapel crossing over the knight’s chest. The right side-front fell further than the left, dipping down in folded fabric, like a drape, where the inner lining was a prominent black. The only colour that sat across the attire was a lovely blue-ish purple sash that crossed over his torso and folded over one of his shoulders, connecting to the matching shoulder-cape that fell behind him.

He would absentmindedly lift a hand to pull at the high collar of the overjacket garment, as the edge tickled sharply against his jaw.

Beneath the drapery and cape, the prominent indicators that shouted ‘I’m a Knight’ were the iron greaves and sabatons of his actual armour. The silver pieces crawled up his legs, hidden barely under all the heavy layers. They were anchored to him somewhat, the weight a wonderfully grounding feeling as he eyed the armour for a little longer.

“The prince will be pleased with you, definitely,”

“If he is not?”

“Aha… Didn’t I tell you? He won’t refuse you in front of a crowd,”

“And what if there was no crowd?” Ain snapped back in response, lacking any aggression, but it could’ve certainly been taken as such.

“... Why? Worried he may not like you?”

No, that wasn’t his worry at all. Akari knew the prince would accept Ain—almost—without a second thought; the prince was drawn to his looks first, but eventually became fond of the knight’s loyalty. Ain’s loyalty was his most attractive characteristic at face value. Loyalty, after all, was a consistent lure for reliability.

“If he doesn’t, what will you do with me?” Ain asks lightly, as he lifts his arm, allowing the seamstress nearby to fix his side sash.

He knew these questions meant little to the plot at hand; they weren’t part of the manuscript at all since Ain was a mindless fool who didn’t question much in the first place. For Akari, it was almost like regaining a sense of consciousness, but not all of it. He, at least, wasn’t scared to question Salaeus, aware that there were no real negative consequences for his curiosity up until now.

“Well… I suppose you’ll have to go back to being a statue.”

A beat—Ain isn’t faced, neither is Akari, so Salaeus ends the silence with a hearty laugh.

“Fortunately, I’m entirely positive he’ll accept you!” His fabricated reassurance does no wonders; it’s only for the mage himself.

Being referred to as an object was a rough sort of comprehension for Akari. The dehumanisation faced so far by the mage was questionable and tolerable up to this point, but he wondered how he would face it in the palace. Magic, although widely accepted in Ethyrlys, was considered secondary to all. After all, it’s not a need of human life, and since Ain wasn’t human, he was secondary overall. Surely he’d have to come to get familiar with such treatment.

Soon after, the seamstress was pleased with her work, and Salaeus was equally satisfied; they had moved on to his hair. Like a child being prepared for their first day of school, Ain was met with a fierce tug at the back of his scalp, as Marianne stood behind him, her small frame hidden behind Ain as he hadn’t even realised she was the one brushing until she told him—

“Please keep your head still, sir.”

He could never forget such a polite and quaint voice.

He did his best to stay still, countering the drag by pulling his head forward to fight the maid’s grip. With long hair like his, it was impossible to keep it one-hundred-per-cent untangled at all times. The best he could do himself without someone helping him would’ve been to tie it up.

“Perhaps we should tie it up,” And perhaps, Marianne was a mind reader. “Maybe in a bun…”

“It doesn’t matter, just make him…” Salaeus stands there for a moment, arms crossed, before letting out a heavy sigh and turning to leave the room. “Make him look presentable, handsome, pretty—Just get it done!”

What followed was the door slamming shut as Ain finally turned around, looking back to ensure that Salaeus was gone. Content with his absence, he and Marianne looked at one another and shared subtle smiles. Akari wouldn’t have been wrong to say that he and the maid had gotten a little closer over the previous days, since they spent so much time together under Salaeus’ orders.

With that, the seamstress had bid Ain farewell, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek and wishing him luck in the ceremony. She was a lovely lady, and for the small time she spent catering to Ain’s uniform, she was motherly to the lost-looking man. It was as if when she looked into the knight’s eyes, she could tell how fractured he was. After all, Ain wasn’t whole—Akari had never written Ain as a full person. He was almost taken aback by how easy it was for her to see through him.

Back to the task at hand, he turned back to the mirror, eyeing himself and taking in how stunning he was. Surely, there were better words to use, but they hadn’t come to mind so easily. Now that the thought was getting to him, that Akari was quite literally Ain, he had become slightly disappointed.

It was a shame that such a lovely man would have such a tragic end.

What could I do?

“So, a bun then?” Again, Marianne’s voice lures him back to reality, and he slowly turns his head to face her.

He nods slowly, not that he was fussy about what his hair looked like; certainly, there was a lot one could do with the length he had, so he placed his faith into Marianne’s capable hands. He’d learnt in an afternoon stroll that the maid tied her hair herself, into this braided bun that was neatly pinned back with a single bobby-pin. Which, to Akari, was impressive on its own. But Ain’s hair was an entirely different challenge.

The knight’s silver hair was his most predominant feature, allocating every ounce of ethereal being into those snowy strands, which glowed almost beneath the sun, illuminating all that he was. The gentle grace in his violet eyes remained melancholic, alone. The thawing solitude was slowing in his gaze, and he embraced the isolation of his unidentified person. His individuality had been toyed with, and the person he looked up to see in the mirror was no longer just Ain, but another part of him.

In the manuscript, his hair was left down. Most of the time, Ain’s hair was barely touched, being uncannily and unrealistically perfect at all times; it was supposedly another story now that Akari was occupying him.

When Marianne’s grip on his hair slowly began to lessen and subside into softer brushes, Ain had properly concentrated on his reflection, taking in his iron-plated greaves to the thin waist he claimed from the corset beneath all the layered fittings, and from the sash to the cape, his eyes flickered over his face.

Still lightly, yet daintily, covered by his waved bangs and longer strands that fell to frame the sides of his face, he had tilted his head off to the side and slowly started turning. Spotting the bun, it was almost a direct replica of Marianne’s style, except it sat lower behind his head, probably since anything higher would weigh it down unevenly. But regardless, Ain couldn’t help but stare at himself for just a little longer, admiring the wonderful handiwork done on such thick and challenging locks.

“Is it uncomfortable? Too tight? Should I put it higher?”

Abruptly, Ain spun on his heels to face Marianne, staring her down with an unreadable expression as she jumped back from the knight’s sudden movements. He hadn’t intended to scare her, but in that moment, he was so enthralled by how good it looked, he did his best to hold back a tooth-bearing grin and fawn over it. Instead, he gave a soft but deep nod, reaching out to take her hand and bringing it up to his lips to rest a soft kiss against her knuckles, which smelt of lavender, honey and salted butter.

“Thank you, Marianne,” he spoke softly against her skin before moving her hand from his face and fluttering his eyes open to look up and meet her brown gaze, casting over him with an amicable warmth akin to how friends looked at one another. Could they consider each other friends?

Akari was certain this may be the last time he’d ever see Marianne, at least, face to face. It was sad to think so, that such a kind-hearted person would have to be so quickly discarded in the story.

“I’m glad we met, you were so lovely to me…” He spoke more, even when his last lines were meant to be that simple ‘thank you’. He couldn’t help it; the human in him that the real Ain would never have been able to achieve just slipped out.

“It was nice to meet you too, Ain…”