Valley of Crags and Rubble

Almost out of breath, Aelem was forced to take a seat upon a large stone, and so the butterfly knight sat parallel to her, staring at her with bright blue eyes as if he were a still, unmoving doll. They had made their way to a valley past the clockwork city, where crags burst up into the sky, sharp towers of rock and slate. Rubble which had fell from the rocky hilltops surrounding them settled in large mounds, and bright emerald canopies shrouded the valley in shade. The flowers in turn ran away from the dark ground of the valley, and grew atop the trees themselves, like staircases towards the sunny heaven.

“They’re quite beautiful, this time of year.” Omen smiled softly as his gaze fell upon the canopy of blossoms.

“Do you like flowers that much, Omen?

“Yes. I tend to the cathedral’s gardens.” Omen spoke in passing, as if it was a matter of fact.

“Do you really?”

Aelem had asked in a questioning tone, so Omen turned his head and looked at her with a humoured expression.

“Did you think we have the attendants tend to them? Well, we couldn’t leave such an important thing to them.”

“How important could flowers be? Despite their beauty, what other purpose could they have?”“All beautiful things have purpose. But the flowers aren’t just beautiful- they are a necessity to the Paragons. Do you know why we came to be?”

Aelem looked towards Omen with a puzzled expression, so Omen smiled a little maniacally, his lips curling up his cheeks, before he spoke curtly.

“We’re all ‘grand’ experiments. We are the beautifully horrific amalgamations of God and mortal- of human and Nephilim, two forces that desperately want to tear away from each other. Of course, as little lab creatures, we’re not so resistant to the outside world, with all of its stresses. We’re just first drafts of horror, so we’re prone to madness. The flowers- they keep us from going truly mad. If ever our emotions get a little bit out of hand, they’re our lifeline to humanity.”

The golden-haired doll reached into the pocket of his golden-etched cloak and pulled out an opague glass tube which had been stuffed to the brim with light purple-coloured flowers.

“If I were to feel strange at any moment- as if my emotions were to take over my lucidity, then I would uncork this tube and allow the flower’s scent to bathe me. The reminiscence of that garden where I make wonderful memories with the people I admire… it’s the lifeline- my chain to ‘humanity’.”

Sitting atop a stone, to Aelem, the doll looked almost magnificent- like a painting. Although, she had never had the chance to admire paintings. So, she didn’t sit still and walked up to him, placing a hand against his chest before pushing him back. She knelt on her knee beside his torso and leaned over, her face positioned right above his as he smiled.

“So, a ‘protector’ and a ‘ward’ are present even like this? The garden is your protector, and you are its ward.” Aelem spoke admirably.

A warm smile curved up Omen’s face, and his eyes shimmered with an unmistakable softness.

“Yes. It’s just like you and I.”

He grabbed her free hand and held it up with his own.

“I’ll be your garden of flowers, so if you ever feel as if you can’t hold up your burden on your own, I’ll fix it all for you.”

Aelem was stunned for a moment, but she quickly parsed his declaration and nodded softly with a smile.

“But what if you aren’t there?”

“I will be.”

“But you can’t always be right beside me. Even I know that’s impossible. Will you really watch me as I bathe? It’s not as if I mind, but you seemed quite averse to the idea before.” Aelem shrugged slightly. She had thought about the happenings of their travels frequently, and it was a habit of hers to assess future dangers, despite how foolhardy and careless she could be.

“Well, I suppose you’re right about that.” Omen chuckled nervously. His face had turned a pale shade of red. He reached into his coat pocket to place the glass tube of flowers back and exchanged it with a bright blue coloured sheathe. Sticking out of the sheath was an ornate leather-bound handle with a silver guard. He handed it over to Aelem, and she accepted it with two careful hands.

“When you were talking with the witch in the clockwork city, I went over to the shop next door to pick something out for you. It is the city of witchcraft as well as sword-forging.” He smiled softly.

With bright eyes, Aelem unsheathed the silver-glowing object. The blade was long, and had the hue of a bright silver morning under the reflection of the sun rays. There was a bright gem embedded on the guard, a red ruby that was the colour of her hair. Aelem looked up Omen with a confused expression.

“Do I need something so pretty just to defend myself?”

“For someone as beautiful as you, this was the only choice.” He shrugged with a coy smile.

“Do you really want nothing from me? Am I really just a ‘ward’ to you? If you say so many confusing and differing things like you’re a double-sided coin, no one will like you very much.” Aelem narrowed her eyes in an annoyed fashion.

“Does me messing with you make you like me any less?” He winked in response.

Aelem let out an exasperated huff and turned away, placing the knife back in his hands.

“I don’t want it.”

“Eh? Why not?” He asked, puzzled.

“If I can ‘protect’ myself, then what reason is there for my protector to keep standing by my side? If you won’t be my husband as I am a woman, then I can only be a ‘ward’ so that you will always be my protector. In such a way, as long as I wish to keep you, I only need to be helpless.” She smiled mischievously.

Omen let out a sigh and shook his hand dismissively."

“You’ve got it all wrong.” He spoke quietly as his gaze fell to the ground. “I don’t hate the idea of being that someone to you… I just can’t call it that.”

“Why not?”

“Because husbands hurt their wives, and I’ve no desire to do that to you.” He smiled painfully.

In the same way that Aelem’s idealised perspective of marriage had been warped by her fantasies, Omen’s perception of it had been warped by his own reality. In every facet of his life where he had come to realise that he was too alike to the Harbinger of the Paragons, his father. So, he was too afraid to cross the final line and become his mirror image, harming the one he admired. He could be a ‘protector’ in the same way that a ‘husband’ would act, but if he were to call it by that name, he would have crossed the line he had drawn. A ‘butcher’ and an ‘executioner’ did the same things- slicing meat apart, but one fed the hungry, and one ended lives. To Omen, the difference in his experiences of a ‘protector’ and a ‘husband’ was that they both cared, but only one would bring harm.

“So I can really be okay with how we are now? It’s what I desire, even if not called by the same name?” Aelem asked as if to ease her worries.

“It is. If you think calling it by a different name makes you less of a woman, then I’ll ease all your worries somehow. Just give me some time.” Omen smiled softly as his gaze moved back towards the blossoming canopy.

“Alright. Then, if its a promise, I’ll call you whatever you desire. If you don’t want the title of my ‘protector’ anymore, then we can change it to something else, as long as it makes you feel comfortable.” Aelem nodded in agreement.

So, Omen reached back out with the dagger coyly, and Aelem let out a sigh.

“I’ll be by your side as long as you wish, so just take this with you to ease my worries.”

Aelem took the dagger from his hands once more, and hesitantly pinned it to the belt of her outfit. Her breath fell hot against the cold air, releasing small clouds of smog, but it wasn’t any form of sigh. She felt quite satisfied with how her heart felt- warm, airy, and pleasant. It felt as if in some way, she had gotten closer to the life she wished for herself. A small hope in the sky had either descended to the ground, or she had climbed a mountain high enough to nearly grasp it. Gazing at the doll knight once more, she felt her heart stir, and knew that everything would be fine.

Although, in unison, the mark on her neck too began to stir. Slowly, the etched ink unraveled, and a small black tendril crept down her neck like liquid scales.