Sunshine isn’t hard to find amongst the clothes. Ikimono supposes the only good thing about his height is that he’s a constant beacon. Whatever shadows cast their ways about, whatever darkness befalls the circus, whatever cavern of trouble they find themselves in, Sunshine always leads them back out.
Not that that was ever a good thing.
For once, Ikimono decides to indulge a little in the surplus of the closet. It’s been quite a while since they’ve been left to run amuck inside of it. For good reason, probably. Desmond once told them that they were a crow with rights and anxiety, and he was right. If a sewing needle isn’t safe from Ikimono’s watchful eyes and grubby hands, then perhaps leaving them unattended with jewelry is a fool’s decision. Which is exactly why Ikimono is staying as far away from Sunshine as possible.
They carefully investigate every drawer in every bureau, ducking into wardrobes and empty frames at even the slightest indication of Sunshine looking in their direction. They aren’t even sure what they’re looking for at this point, but still they search. The rings don’t look appealing with their peeling hands, and earrings are off the table without piercings to stick them through. Maybe a bracelet, but Sunshine would notice too easily. A necklace? No, that would mess with the noose. The thought of having to pull two wires from their neck instead of just one sends shivers down their back.
Maybe Peony would know about this.
The thought rings in their head, then slowly drives their feet. Peony seems rather fashionable, after all. The only issue would of course be the looming threat of being seen. They duck into empty wardrobes whenever they come across them and hide for a minute or two in each one just to be safe. Wood is a good conductor, sure, but the ceramic bases on their legs can keep any thought from being heard. They dart in and out of the wardrobes like clockwork.
That is, of course, until they open the door and hit Fuego.
Fuego knows it’s a bad time to go running around in the closet, especially after Sunshine’s little lecture a while back. But ve’s got vens costume now, and surely once Sunshine sees it he won’t be mad at ven. At least, he shouldn’t be mad. But now ve’s got something else to worry about, and it’s whether or not vens nose is bleeding.
Ikimono falls over themselves apologizing. The mix of shock and the spiral of words not entirely in common doesn’t lend itself to ven listening to them.
“Yeah, no, you’re good,” Fuego replies, hoping ve’s guessed correctly on how to reply.
Ikimono looks relieved. “Do you know where Peony is?”
Fuego recalls seeing Sebastian work his way back to the door, but ve didn’t see Peony with him. “I know where Sebastian is, if that helps.”
“I’m looking for Peony.”
“What do you need her for?” Fuego asks, starting to lean on the wardrobe beside ven.
“I was looking for her advice on jewelry. I want to find something for myself, something that maybe Sunshine won’t notice if I have.”
“Well, you’ve hit the right fae in the face! I know a good bit about jewelry. Matter of fact, when I’m back home at the castle, I make the stuff myself.”
“Really?”
“Of course! How else do you think I get these runes? You don’t find stones like these in any old stream.”
“Can you help me, then?”
“Yeah. What are you looking for?”
“Something discreet. I don’t want Sunshine suspecting anything.”
“Alright, so nothing visible. Do you have any piercings?”
“No.”
“Do you want any piercings?”
“What?”
“I know how to do them. I did most of mine myself, actually. You just take a needle and-”
“No, it’s fine. Not now, anyway.”
“Alright. Do you maybe want to try an anklet or an armlet?”
“An anklet goes around your ankle, right?”
“Yes, yes it does.”
“Then no on that.”
“Alright, so an armlet?”
“Yes. That one goes around your arm?”
“Yep. Right around the tricep on your upper arm.”
“Then let’s do that.”
Fuego starts ahead back into the horde of boxes, and Ikimono tails behind ven. At first, Fuego doesn’t notice, but after a minute, ve turns back around to see them.
“Hey, uh,” ve begins, “You don’t have to walk behind me, you know. There’s room next to me.”
Wordlessly, Ikimono catches up to Fuego.
The two start to rummage through the boxes once they find themselves completely surrounded by them. Fuego tells Ikimono what to keep their eye out for: a rigid band with a stone in the center. Fuego assures them they’ll know when they’ve found one. The two stand with their backs to each other and quietly begin their hunt. Occasionally, though, Ikimono looks up to see where Sunshine is. They don’t want to get Fuego in this mess. Ve doesn’t need any more trouble than just being here.
“Say, Ikimono?” Fuego asks.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a favorite crystal?”
“Favorite crystal?”
“Yeah. Like, quartz, garnet, amethyst, that sort of thing.”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen many crystals.”
“Alright. Do you have a color that calls out to you?”
“That calls out to me?”
“Yeah. Not your favorite color, but one you can’t help being drawn to. Like, something that most of your stuff ends up being, but you don’t even notice it.”
“I don’t know. What do you think I’d be?”
Fuego turns around to face Ikimono. Ve notices for the first time the Sparks of Life in their eyes. Their upside-down crosses by their pupils cast little bits of light in the shadows of the boxes around them.
“You know, I bet you like purple. But I think you’re more of an amber guy. Or girl, or neither.”
“Alright. Amber’s the tree sap, right?”
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“Yeah. You’ve seen Jurassic Park, right?”
Ikimono cocks their head to the side.
“It’s this movie about this guy who makes dinosaurs at a lab. He used some DNA in the blood of a mosquito preserved in amber to do it.”
“Oh. A movie, you said?”
“Yeah. Is there a movie theater here?”
“There’s the nickelodeon. It shows cartoons.”
“Ah, that’s not a cartoon. Say, maybe if I can scrounge up a bootleg DVD and something to watch it on, do you wanna watch it together?”
“I’d like it if you’d have me.”
“Perfect! I’ll keep that in the back of my head, then.”
Fuego turns back around and continues looking. Ikimono stares for a moment at ven.
Why is ve so calm? they think, What might ve be hiding?
Ikimono turns back around and keeps digging through the trinkets.
Minutes pass by before either one says anything to each other again. When at last the two feel like they’ve each found enough, they both turn back to each other. Fuego carries half an arm’s load of armlets, and Ikimono has a smaller handful alongside a shining gold chain.
“I found a couple I think you’d like,” Fuego says, starting to spread his armload out on his free arm, “What did you find?”
Ikimono holds out the armlets. “Same as you.”
“And the chain?”
“For you. As thanks for helping.”
Fuego smiles. “That’s awful nice of you. Hold onto it for a minute, though. I’m taking care of you first.”
Ikimono looks around at the armlets on Fuego’s arm. Their eyes pass by the silver flowers and golden bands with relative disinterest. A bronze spiral catches their eye, but only for a moment. Finally, their eye comes to rest on a thick, brass band with an amber bound with copper wire.
Fuego notices Ikimono’s intrigue. “I figured you’d like that one.”
“Can I try it on?” Ikimono asks.
“Of course! Roll up your sleeve real quick for me.”
Ikimono balances the armlets and chain on his right hand, then pulls the cardigan sleeve off of their left arm. Fuego sets the other armlets atop a stack of metallurgy, then turns to put the band on Ikimono’s arm.
“I love the patterns you’ve got going on here,” Fuego says, admiring a patch of cloth sewn into Ikimono’s skin, “I don’t think I’ve seen tattoos like these before. Where’d you get ‘em?”
Ikimono nervously laughs. “They’re not tattoos.”
Fuego rubs his finger on the paisley-patterned velvet. “Oh. That’s not skin.”
Ikimono grins with even more anxiety. “Yeah.”
Fuego pauses for a minute. “Well, uh, that’s not important right now. You’re here to try this thing on, and that’s what you’re gonna do.”
Ikimono nods. Fuego takes that as ven’s sign to go ahead. WIth a swift, careful motion, ve puts the band on Ikimono’s arm and clips it around the back.
Ikimono admires the band with no small wonder in their eyes. It fits so perfectly around their arm, neither too loose nor too snug. The metal is cold against their flesh, and their arm slightly tingles from the newfound sensation. They run their fingers along the copper, surprised at how sleek the finish is atop it. The amber within it, too, is shockingly sleek and even more so beautiful. They hold their arm as close to their face as they can to try and see what figure is contained within it.
Fuego pulls vens hands away from Ikimono’s arm. “I think there’s a praying mantis in there. They’re symbols of courage in the old world. I think that suits you.”
Ikimono looks up from the armlet. “Yeah. I like it.”
“Do you want to try a different one?”
“If that’s alright, but let’s keep this one nearby in case it ends up being the best one.”
“Sounds good to me. You get your armlet, I’ll find the other bands. Is there one you want first?”
“The bronze one, if you don’t mind.”
“You got it.”
Ikimono tosses the chain over their shoulder and drops the other armlets as they reach for the brass band. They try to twist the band around, but it won’t budge. They try to at least stick their finger between the band and their skin, but to no avail. They try following the band around to the back of their arm, but it seems as though the clasp has disappeared into nothingness.
“Hey, Fuego?” They say, their voice starting to shake, “I can’t get this off.”
“Oh, that happens sometimes,” Fuego replies, “Let me help you.”
Fuego tugs on the band, finding it tightly adhered to Ikimono. He tries pulling on the sides of the band around the amber, but it remains stuck.
“Could you hold up your arm for a minute?”
Ikimono holds up their left arm, bending their elbow so Sunshine doesn’t see them.
“Huh. Looks like the armlet fused into some sort of ring around your arm.”
“Is that supposed to happen?”
“Uh, no.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. We’ll get it off. Here, I’ve got a plan. Lower your arm.”
Ikimono lowers their arm.
“You put your hand around your arm and push down, and I’ll try pulling it off,” Fuego explains, putting his hand around the amber.
Ikimono puts their free hand above the top of the armlet. “Alright. I’m ready when you are.”
“Alright. 1, 2, 3, push!”
Ikimono pushes with all the strength in their hand, and Fuego tries pulling with the same force. The armlet won’t budge. Now, though, a sharp pain starts to stab its way up into Ikimono’s arm, into their chest, and into their neck. They keep pushing, though, hopeful that the two of them will at least slide it down a little. But the band remains steadfast, and soon the scalding heat of liquid metal starts to ebb and flow through Ikimono’s core. The burning, viscous slime trickles down to his stomach, then settles into a molten puddle at their hips. The hot smoke of burning cotton and herbs rises up into a torn part of their throat, and the taste burns bitter on their tongue. They go for a breath, but find the air will not come. Soon, the pain becomes unbearable.
“Please stop,” Ikimono whimpers.
At once, Fuego lets go of the band. Ikimono cradles their arm as if they are a wounded animal. They do not bleed, though. Even as the fiery metallic heat churns around in their chest, not a single nib of blood forms in the corners of their eyes.
Now, though, Fuego notices something venself. A sting is growing on the palm of vens hand. Too little to hurt, of course, but enough to be uncomfortable. Ve turns over vens hand to look at vens palm, only to find vens hand has started to corrode. Pox marks of rust slowly disintegrate away into waxy strings of skin, dripping down from vens hand onto the ground. The acidic stench of burning keratin wafts into the air. Blood emerging from newly vaporized blood vessels rusts rings around the open wounds, stopping the decay only when vens palm has completely given way into open, leaking muscle.
Ikimono sucks their breath through their teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Fuego can’t muster up panic fast enough. “No, no. You’re ok. You didn’t mean it. I’ll get a band-aid or something.”
“I don’t care. I did it anyway.”
“You didn’t do it, that armlet did. And now it’s stuck on you. If anything, I ought to tell you sorry for putting it on.”
“Don’t.”
“Alright. We ought to find the others.”
“You go.”
“Why?”
“It hurts.”
“What hurts?”
“Everything.”
Ikimono collapses to the floor, clutching their stomach. Fuego never would have thought they could scream that loud.
…
Sometimes I have this dream about the lamb and the church. It's always the same lamb, you see, it's always the same sweet, docile, innocent little thing. It doesn't move when they put the rope around its neck to lead it along, it doesn't bleat in protest when it walks along the temple halls. It just trots along so merrily, like it doesn't fear the priest at all. Sometimes I get the feeling it loves the priest, but the line between love and fear is a razor that cuts when you try walking along it. When they finally get to the altar, the priest doesn't even tie down the poor thing, it just lays there. The priest puts his hand on its wet little nose, and maybe it bleats in its little lamb voice, but that's all. They cut into the poor creature, and its blood flows like rivers and its guts stream out like fine ribbon, and it doesn't even so much as twitch in pain. All the red inside is staining all over its soft, white fleece, and it doesn't even move. And the priest leaves indifferent and comes back with the same lamb again, ever obedient, to be put down for slaughter.
It's odd, isn't it? You pray, now I lay me down to sleep, and there's never any mention of your dreams. You beg for something else to put you down, and you never expect a dream. You ask to wake up, but do you, ever? Why do you ask what holds the knife to be gentle when they cut?
They built the chapel in an old barn. (Isn't it ironic?) They made the pews from old scrap wood, and the cushions are stuffed with hay. (The whole place would catch fire if they knocked over the candles.) The books are yellowed from age (but the ink doesn't even look like words anymore). They sing hymns you don't even know the words to, and you cry when you sing them (and you don't know why). You try to scrub your brain free of the thoughts (but you can't). You imagine eyes in every shadow and corner (because that's how they taught you to fear). You wonder when they'll finally put down the knife. (They already did. They will again).
They tell you the chapel is the holy space. They'll tell you it's sacred. But when you're sitting in the front pew, you'll notice the glimmer of the lamb's eyes in the candlelight were tears the whole time.