The seasons change. Summer to fall, to winter, to spring, until a full year passed.

Once, the lonely prince didn't know time, only darkness. Eternal night without stars to keep him company. The future wasn't bleak because there was no future. But then his lonely knight began to visit, first rarely, then regularly, and now daily, or so he claims.

Every day the prince waits, eager for the light, the single star in the evening sky. What story does Artemis have to tell today? Sometimes it is a story read from a book, others told from imagination. The prince enjoys Artemis' tales woven from his own imagination the most though, the ones of a lonely knight rescuing a lovely lonely prince with hair of twilight. Those stories say so much, even when they are so short. And they prove Artemis is the best of the bunch of mortals since he has such excellent taste!

But then there are stories that are true, ones about a boy shunned. The prince knows that feeling all too well. He listens to a broken voice, words sometimes spoken between hiccups and sorrowful sighs. Once there was a story of a boy who lost his father, then of a boy who lost his mother. Another of a boy watching friends die or losing them for being unique. Then he even loses himself, unsure of whom to be or who he wants to be.

When those stories end and Artemis cries, the prince never knows what overtakes him. A taste of anger, a pinch of sorrow, a dash of irritation in a bubbling pot, or perhaps the pot is empty and he feels nothing at all. Does he want to say something? Does he have anything to say?

Fae are not known for pleasant company, even among their own kind. Tales of troubles are their favorite stories. Tell them horrors of the long past to invoke a devilish laugh, or show sorrowful tears to prove a weakling among the masses who they can twist and turn until they no longer resemble what once was. Fae certainly do not listen to the troubles of mortals unless the information may be used to ensnare them in a terrible deal.

The prince knew not what to do with Artemis' troubles or the strange sensations they evoked. Had the prince been free, he may have done everything to make him stop, or he would have done everything to make it much worse.

Over the year, the prince has come to know Artemis like a blacksmith knows iron. He knows when the iron is too hot, too rusted, too chipped. Artemis is the sword he's made a thousand times. That is why, when Artemis' heavy steps grow near, the prince knows what is to come. Complaints from one who traps every emotion into a jar until it shatters. The prince knows when that jar is broken, when the shards of glass have dug too deep. Strange how the prince cannot see, and yet, he knows more than ever. A loud step, a sad sigh, a lonely tone, they speak more than eyes see.

Your steps say you are angry today, the prince observes.

Artemis sits in the snow wordlessly. The white tree has become a safe haven, a cavern that holds secrets. Beneath the tree, he's safe from creatures above and the village that both adores and shuns him. There's a comfort, a charm of this winter wonderland meant to chill, but only leaves warmth. As strange as it may be, Artemis feels at ease speaking to his lonely prince, and speaking he does, so much sometimes that it makes his throat sore.

"Daryl Jennings is an atrocious dull-head," Artemis declares whilst building a castle of snow among the poppies. "Do you know what he said to me yesterday?"

Obviously not, but I can take a guess.

"His child has been replaced with a changeling. Last night, he stormed into my shop, accusing me of being the cause. I've angered the fae by trespassing in their lands, and now his child is gone. How ridiculous is that?" Artemis huffs, kicking his legs about childishly. "His child is gone because a fae played a nasty prank and he was too pompous to make sure his doorways and windowsills were salted! Calling the tales of the Grim Woods absolute poppycock, regardless of the proof."

But you didn't say that to him, did you? You let him speak his piece and walked away without a word. Then you came here to me. When will you learn? If he wishes to tell lies, then you should make it so he can never speak.

Artemis slumps in the snow that does nothing to cool his anger or warm his aching heart. With a swipe of his hand, he destroys the castle, watching the puff of white filter in the air.

"Just last week he was thanking me for feeding the village," Artemis mutters under his breath. "One moment, I'm everything. The next, I am nothing. I am always to blame."

Because there must always be an enemy, and the enemy is the one who stands out. Such is the folly of mortal beliefs.

Artemis goes quiet. The prince listens attentively to every breath, to every infinitesimal movement that speaks volumes. When Artemis sighs, there's sorrow and confusion stitched into every hum. Each day the prince learns a little more until Artemis is better known than himself.

"To top it all off, Maggie asked to meet this evening," Artemis declares.

Maggie? The girl you're too harebrained to realize is infatuated with you?

"She has something to say, apparently," he mumbles, nails picking at the end of his damp sleeves. Rising, he approaches the coffin, sitting among the roots with his side pressed against the ice. "I've been wondering since yesterday what it could be about, fearing it even. Will she turn me away like the rest?"

Quite the opposite, I imagine. She would court you, if she could. When she comes in for the kiss, you better throw her off or I will be quite—the prince halts. You just better throw her off.

"She's the last friend I have. Save for you, of course." Artemis snorts, shaking his head when peering at the prince. "If I can count you as a friend."

Considering how much I know about you, you better hope I'm a friend.

"We wouldn't be friends if you were to awake, though, would we?"

The prince thinks nothing, but he certainly feels something; a light, like a shooting star in a midnight sky.

Artemis stays a while longer, as he usually does, but says nothing. The prince senses his presence, occasionally hears a sigh or the ruffle of book pages. Once the silence aggravated him. If Artemis is going to disturb his sleep, then at least be entertaining. Now, he yearns to know what book Artemis is reading. Won't he read it aloud today? And when Artemis says goodbye, the prince wants nothing more than for Artemis to change his mind.

Turn around. Take a seat. Speak to me or say nothing at all, but don't leave. Not yet. Give me a moment more.

"Goodnight, my prince," Artemis says, as he always does, and the prince feels that light again. Something twisting within, entangling his heart and mind.

Goodnight, my knight. Come again tomorrow.

Then Artemis leaves and the prince sleeps.

After leaving the prince, Artemis always feels lighter. A weight grows every day, then disappears when looking upon a boy in ice. How did Artemis go so long before without him? He can no longer fathom, and he doesn't wish to remember. He thinks more of the prince now, as he walks anxiously to meet with Maggie.

It was yesterday morning when Maggie approached him. She shivered in the shop, eyes dark and arms straight at her side. Something overtook her that Artemis couldn't explain. She wouldn't meet his eyes, yet couldn't turn away.

"T-Tomorrow!" Maggie squeaked, voice an octave higher than usual. "C-Come to Broken Creek tomorrow before the s-sun sets. I have something to say."

Now Artemis walks to Broken Creek along the edge of town. He hesitates occasionally, frozen in the grass. Excuses form, reasons to delay. There's more work to be done at the shop. Only a few days from now the traveling circus from across the Brimalto mountains comes to town. They travel the world all year round, passing once through Eidenswill to work their way south for the last three years. Their visit is of great importance because there are so many with so much to spend. It's a promising excuse to give, but Maggie's silhouette stands along the edge of the creek, alone and so close to the woods. Artemis picks up the pace until he's almost running, then standing, unbreathing behind her.

"Maggie?" he whispers, puzzled by her appearance.

The folk in town rarely dress up. They wear old, worn clothes to go about their daily business. Dressing up is reserved for special occasions; a wedding, a funeral, or a unique event. But today Maggie stands in her best sun woven dress and hair braided to rest gracefully over a thin shoulder. She has worn that dress to the annual bonfire in town the last two years in a row. The boys tripped over themselves to dance with her, enraptured by her sunny disposition, dress and all. Maggie was very pretty, like a lonely sunflower in a field.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" Artemis asks, fear swelling in his gut.

It has been a long time since he felt fear in a conversation. The distrust and brewing hatred within town made him accustomed to awkward and forced exchanges. But that has never been an issue with Maggie. He worries it may become one.

Maggie lowers her gaze. Shifts her weight. Twiddles her thumbs. Brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then meets Artemis' eyes with trembling determination.

"Artie, we've b-been friends since we were kids," she says, a voice that shivers and holds strong all at once. "You've always treated me kindly, gone out of your way to treat me kindly. Once here, in fact, you saved my life, remember?"

The bog witch and the marble.

"Yes, I remember," he declares.

"I can't thank you enough for that day and all the days after."

"Is something wrong?" Artemis asks, growing more restless as the sun sets. The woods grow dark. He should walk Maggie home before it gets too late. Especially now, remembering the bog witch, how a hungry or bored fae could appear at any time. Artemis' fingers twitch, aching to grasp his bow or the handle of a blade, a weapon in case of an attack.

"No, no, nothing's wrong!" Maggie scrambles, stepping closer, then once more until she's near enough to take Artemis' hand. Her touch is soft and his is coarse. But Maggie smiles and her fingers close around his.

"I... I like you, Artie," Maggie whispers, peering into his wide eye. She holds his hand tighter. "I've liked you for a long, long time and... and I'm telling you now because I can't stand not knowing anymore. You treat me kindly and I take it to heart. You care for me and I never know if it's the care I hope for. My parents—they want me to see someone. We're seventeen. Many of our age are starting families. I understand my parent's concern, but I wanted to wait, wait for you and-and see if-if maybe we... if..."

She stops, much like Artemis' own thoughts ceased.

I like you. They're words he never thought he'd hear, let alone from Maggie. But as he watches her, he cannot deny the truth of those words. Her cheeks are stained red, vibrant against her yellow dress. Her hand trembles. She searches Artemis for an answer he hasn't decided yet.

Maggie closes her eyes. An invitation.

Artemis' lips hover over hers, a single push forward and he can reciprocate those feelings, but only on the surface. I can do it, he tells himself. He could spend the rest of his life with Maggie. She'll bake pies and bread rolls and he'll hunt the Grim Woods. They'll marry and have children, who Artemis will keep away from the same horrors that befell him. He'll kiss her goodnight and tell her he loves her, even if it's a lie. But there's a part of him that craves a lie rather than the truth.

The truth being he doesn't like her and he could never love her in that way. His interest has always lied elsewhere, and he hates himself for it. Hates that he likes what hurt him in ways he'll never forget. But is he not bringing such pain upon Maggie as well? If he kisses her, if he lies, will the truth not one day come to light? Will she look at him with hatred in her eyes like all the rest? Will he lose her?

Artemis wondered once if he considered Maggie a close friend. Now he realizes the answer; yes, absolutely yes. Arguably his only real friend and he does love her, but not the way she wants. And he doesn't want to hurt her, although he knows he will, no matter the answer. He hates that, too.

"I'm sorry," Artemis whispers, wincing the moment Maggie whimpers. He retreats. Her hand slips from his. "I'm sorry, Maggie," he repeats like he has done something horribly wrong.

When her tears start, he wishes to hug her and apologize more. He hates himself for not returning the feelings. He wants to take it back.

"Mag—"

"I-It's ok," she stutters, heaving a painful sounding breath.. She shields her tears behind a trembling arm that wipes at her wet cheeks. "I-I t-thought this would happen. Y-You never seemed v-very interested in me."

"Sorry..."

"Don't apologize, silly." She hiccups, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. "You d-don't have to like me, but... i-is it too selfish to ask for you t-to walk me home?"

"Not selfish at all."

"W-What if I ask you t-to hold my hand?"

Artemis takes her hand without hesitation. She giggles. At least he can do this much.

Maggie cries all the way home. Artemis remains silent. He isn't sure if he's meant to speak or what to say. He's already bad at talking, so how could anyone expect him to speak now?

When they get to the porch, Maggie steps into the light filtering through the open window. Her tear-stained cheeks shimmer like starlight.

"Maggie," Artemis calls, startling both of them, because his normally monotone voice shivered. Maggie faces him, head tilted, somehow worried.

"Is it too selfish to ask that we remain friends?" Artemis tries not to whimper. He isn't sure it worked.

Maggie smiles sorrowfully. "Not selfish at all... but I-I need a few days."

Artemis nods in understanding. He doesn't leave until Maggie closes the door behind her.

Tomorrow, he'll have a lot to tell his prince.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾