The next morning, a burden like no other smothers Artemis. He wakes feeling heavy as iron blocks. Rather than eat breakfast, he dresses swiftly to head for the woods. The sled creaks behind him, jostling from the unforgiving speed. Artemis moves faster and faster through the trees until he reaches the chilly breeze of the white tree. The cavern below awaits and, with it, his lonely prince.

Artemis hops into the snow that kicks up in spurts around his shoes. The poppies sway when he struts by to relax among the roots, then rest upon them.

"Maggie said she likes me. I turned her down," he whispers.

Why does it sound like that unsettles you? the prince wonders irritably.

"I asked if we could remain friends, but she needs time," Artemis mumbles, admiring the crystals overhead. He tilts his head, puzzled by the ice he knows so well. Are some missing?

"I wish I could have returned her feelings," he adds, confusing the prince. And perhaps there's another feeling, one the prince can't reasonably explain. It's odd, like scorching needles prodding his chest, threatening to pierce skin and burn within.

"If I had, life would be easier," Artemis claims, thinking of Maggie's confession and the life they could have led.

While Artemis' childhood has been less than ideal, that has never stopped him from desiring marriage or children. Both almost felt like fairy tales, something he could never achieve, especially considering his brewing hatred towards his own interests. And it made him want a family even more; people to come home to after a long, horrid day. Someone to kiss away his fears and worries. Children to love so fiercely they'd never question their father's affections. He could have had that with Maggie, couldn't he? Even if it was a little fake, a tiny lie for a wonderful life.

"Maybe we could have been happy," he mumbles.

Happy lies lead to horrible truths. I'll never comprehend mortals and their obsession for easier. Does this pertain to your brief lives? You wish for easy, for complacent, for laziness to make up for minimal years. But does that not waste away your years? the prince wonders, and perhaps conjures a spell to cast upon this Maggie, who dared to approach his knight. Had he been awake, he may have paid her a nightly visit to haunt her dreams until death.

"Maybe not happy... she does not realize it now, but this is the best-case scenario for her," Artemis claims, sitting up. He sighs. "The villagers would shun her, the girl dim-witted enough to court the cursed hunter. She'd live her life as an outcast and our children would too, if we had any."

He looks upon the prince, marveling at the somber light cascading from the frozen coffin. Tracing his finger along the edge, he whispers, "It seems we are both destined to be alone, but we have each other, which is an odd thought."

Very odd, indeed.

Artemis changes the subject; "The circus returns soon. All the ruckus will keep Maggie occupied, and me for that matter."

The prince does not like the circus, although he has never seen it. But when it comes to town, Artemis' visits lessen. The prince grows restless and petulant when there is no one to drag him from the infinite dark.

As expected, Artemis doesn't stay much longer, to the immense indignation and slight vexation of the prince. There is work to be done for the incoming circus. They will purchase a hefty amount of meat and furs for the journey along the Jolly Road. Artemis has been working for months already to prepare, but every year the circus gets bigger. There's no telling how many will saunter into his shop with requests for boxes upon boxes of food and furs.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

Three days after Maggie's confession, the circus arrives. They enter Eidenswill in a blurry of color and song. Thin ladies on nimble feet, swathed in gauzy pink and purple garments, dance atop thin bars hoisted in the air by burly men. A stranger colored in radiant gold balances on a rolling ball, beaming and waving to children, who follow him and trip over their own feet. A woman tosses knives high into the air, catching each before setting them aflame with a breath. The crowd following gasps in wonder. Even Artemis observes the eccentricity from the window of his shop.

Strange music with even stranger people, they're otherworldly and familiar all at once. They speak in foreign tongues that tickle the ear and wear gaudy clothes of vivid red's, gold's, and oranges, like fall leaves or a pleasant sunrise. They travel the world, from one continent to the next, bearing tales of sandy seas and sinking cities. The Jolly Road, in all its unforgiving terror, also produces opportunities to the folk of Eidenswill. Very few leave the nest to see the world, so most learn of what's out there through travelers. They speak of temples made of glass atop snowy mountaintops and domed huts of stone along islands out at sea. People dressed in sheer silk or decorated in bizarre patterns, nothing like the world they know or will ever see.

And along with tales they bring ferocious and exotic beasts of giant mass, covered in fur that roar within iron cages decorated with red and gold wooden trim. Atop the cage a woman, hardly covered in gleaming black leather, cracks a whip and the beasts howl like the tunes of death. These actors, magicians, and oddities parade through Eidenswill to an open field where they will set up for two long weeks.

Those traveling the Jolly Road, who usually so often rush home after such a perilous journey, will remain in Eidenswill to witness the acts. The show changes every year to appease the royals to the south. They're gluttonous bastards, Artemis once heard a circus worker say. He always assumed the worker meant literally, that they ate and ate, but he realized gluttony could have many meanings. The royals wanted different and fascinating, otherwise they were bored. Artemis couldn't fathom how when he would gladly watch the acts from all the years before again and again.

Tents erupt among the fields, undulating in the wind. The Grim Woods are their backdrop, a sinister threat. Workers always go missing. Though the circus workers know of fae, as they are found throughout the world in other kingdoms, they are strangers. Strangers are more likely to fall prey to fae tricks. The fair ones enjoy an entertaining sight and roaring music, although their shows usually end in a red dance of shrill screams. But fae give humans a chance to charm them. Should they be satisfied, sometimes they offer a gift that turns out to be more of a curse. And sometimes they simply sneak into town to witness the acts, snickering among themselves about the poor soul they'll whisk away when day breaks. Everyone chooses not to speak of the disappearances, as if not speaking of it will make it a lie. But those of Eidenswill can't lecture when they, too, choose to do the same.

"Excuse me?" a voice calls.

Artemis shifts away from his enrapture to notice a boy, around his age, standing in the shop. He smiles crooked, a single dimple in his right cheek. Hair of golden sunlight brushes above his eyebrows and curls out over his ears, but it's his eyes that make Artemis short of breath. They're clear blue, breathtaking, like ice atop a frozen lake or...

Artemis swallows the lump in his throat.

"Is the shop still open? The door was unlocked," the boy speaks with a heavy accident, speaking slowly and rolling the R's.

"The shop is open. What do you need?" Artemis replies, averting his gaze, fearful he may stare should he not.

"Five cuts of that deer meat, if you'd be so kind," the boy replies, gesturing to the cured meat on the wall. Artemis retrieves them, setting the heavy stacks atop the counter.

"You look quite young to have your own shop," says the boy.

"I get that a lot," Artemis replies, tying up the meat with a knot of string.

"My name's Dovin. I've come with the circus, but that must be obvious." Dovin looks at his own clothes, an intense blue doublet with puffy shoulders and strange pointed shoes of gold. The attire is almost comical, perhaps it would be to some, but Artemis finds Dovin dashing in blue.

"Yes, it is," Artemis replies as dryly as earlier.

Dovin quietly watches, smiling cordially when Artemis catches his gaze. Once the meat is in a burlap sack, Artemis tells the price and Dovin hands over the coin. Dovin's fingers brush the palm of his hand. He feigns not noticing the shiver rippling down his spine.

"Thank you," Dovin says, taking the purchase. "I do hope you'll come to see the show."

Artemis shifts his weight from one foot to the next. "Maybe."

Then Dovin's gone and he can finally breathe again.

More follow Dovin, to Artemis' immense relief. Had he been left to his own devices, painful thoughts would have intruded. He preferred speaking to an elderly woman in black, bent so far over she couldn't look up from the ground. A man with a long beard that wrapped around his neck three times had such a heavy accent Artemis waited for another to come and translate. Then he stopped noticing the oddities, for there were too many coming and going. By the end of the night, he had two coin purses thick enough they may beat an iron mace in a fight. But before he leaves, the shop door opens one last time.

Mr. Orshawl, a gaunt man, limps through the door. His bony hand clutches a dark cane, bottom tipped silver and the handle a grotesque screaming skeleton head with ruby eyes. The tip of his hat brushes the door, standing tall and casting a lengthy shadow across the floor. When he smiles, his yellow teeth sit crooked and spaced oddly in his thin mouth.

"Mr. Redbrook, business is good, I see," says Mr. Orshall, his sharp eyes drifting to the coin purses at Artemis' waist.

"It is, Sir," Artemis mutters, reaching for one purse.

Mr. Orshawl stretches a withered hand. The hem of his jacket stops above the wrist, always too short for his lanky figure. "I'm sure you know why I'm here. Mr. Hellsman is owed his due."

That name pierces Artemis' gut, churning more than his stomach. Memories resurface of the house on the hill, the scent of cigars, the taste of burning liquor, monsters in the candlelight and misery.

With skills crafted through the years, Artemis carefully counts the pieces from the purse. He doesn't shake, even when Mr. Orshawl grabs his hand, gripping his fingers and the coins painfully tight.

"Ah, I forgot to mention, the price has doubled," Mr. Orshawl says, grinning.

"Since when?" Artemis huffs.

"Since today." Mr. Orshawl points to the open window with his cane. "With the circus in town, business is booming. Our lands are more desirable so a raise in price is only fitting. You have two properties, don't you, Mr. Redbrook? Pay up." Mr. Orshawl's cold gray gaze comes to life like bubbling river rapids. His thin lips twist into a smile. "Or would you like to visit Mr. Hellsman?"

Artemis shoves a full coin purse into Mr. Orshawl's hands, then stomps out the door.

"I will see you again next month," Mr. Orshawl calls, laughing. The sound gurgles in the back of his throat like a drowning cat.

The townspeople flood towards the circus. The folk have washed the grime from their faces, spruced up their shoes, and put on their best to see a show. They'll forget about their woes in a tent of bloody red, choosing not to think of those beneath the fire light with features so sharp and breathtaking they clearly don't belong. Ordinarily, Artemis would be among them. He'd feign ignorance, if only to abandon discomfort for a single evening. But no show can quell the rising bile in his stomach or fend off the haunting memories.

Only Artemis runs in the opposite direction of the merry tunes and bubbling laughter. Neighbors stare quizzically at the boy. He skids to a halt along the fields towards home to vomit, dropping to his knees and emptying his stomach.

Upon the horizon, the Grim Woods seemingly rests in the dark, but there are whispers in the wind, chattering of fae among the trees. Gold, burning embers, icy blue, gray like quartz, and more sparkle among the bushes that sway. Then they vanish.

There will be no visiting the prince, even if Artemis yearns for the cool sensation of snow, calming light, and a boy sparkling like a falling star. The fae are too restless tonight, and even Artemis' gift may not save him from the waking woods.

He stands on shaking legs, trudging to Ima's empty cabin instead. There's nothing here, but that's what Artemis wants. He doesn't want to see his mother or think of the house on the hill. Closing the door, Artemis curls up on the floor. He wishes the floor to be made of cool snow and blue poppies. He wishes to look up to find his prince sleeping soundly, but he's alone in the dark where the nightmares gnaw at his conscience until he fears ever telling fake from real.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾