67 | escape; their eternal rest

A banquet eaten in silence, with much food left on the plates as the children poked at the scrapes under the delighted, rich green gaze from Maleficent. Unlike before, they couldn't muster up laughter or jokes to pretend otherwise.

The missing seats along the table weren't filled and painfully void of presence. A stark reminder of loss.

They nibbled and swallowed, padding their stomachs to keep them satiated, and nothing more. It was a miserable sight, pain and sorrow painted by dried tears and red eyes that had spent a night sobbing.

The Teller, happily chewing her food with no tricks to play, raked her stare over.

Death, death, and more death!

Revenge against the children, the same as those who'd made her miserable, condemned and killed her! A story that nobody knew, her history that made her burn with anger.

Knives floated and twirled in the air as the eerie woman sliced through the meat, juicy and red liquids pooling at the bottom of the plate.

Wren flicked her gaze up from where she sat and said without minding the Teller beside, "Lucas. You've given up on discovering the True Story?"

Lucas swallowed a piece of food, his eyes dull and glazed over. "It's not one worth discovering."

The words surprised Wren a little, considering the man often sought hidden details to discover the feelings and emotions weaved into the Stories. He found interest in learning of those he'd never known.

Of course, had he said that he wouldn't seek the True Ending because of the children, she would've understood.

But his words were too cold, too indifferent.

As if seeing the question in her wondering eyes, he responded quietly. "Cinderella was by chance. The Hunter, because of our deal. And they were the True Endings, the stories of humans."

"And do you not believe the True Ending of Sleeping Beauty is human?"

A question posed under the Teller's wide stare, blood-stained lips still curled in a permanent smile. However, something flickered in the green whirls.

Lucas didn't bother to look up. "No, I don't. There can be no True Ending for this story. Because whoever that Teller pretends to be, whatever memories tie her to her past, has been abandoned. She's forsaken her humanity."

To put it simply, he didn't want to learn the past of somebody who fell into such depravity, a cruel and hideous sort that murdered innocent lives for nothing but old anger.

Cinderella was a girl that longed for her mother. The Hunter was a boy who wanted to protect his sister, his sister who suffered a thousand misgivings. No matter their form, even as Tellers, though they didn't prevent death, they didn't force it either.

Not like this. In the end, even if their names were stripped, and their own histories twisted into some obscure game, they were still human.

Humans who Lucas determined he wanted to understand.

But Maleficent? She was nothing more than an animal, seeking for pleasure and games, seeking temporary satisfaction by taking out her past hatred on those unrelated. To Lucas, the human who may have had regrets was dead.

The Teller was nothing more than the End Delusion's puppet.

Wren nodded slowly, laughing mockingly as she glanced sideways, noticing how the floating knives fell back to the table in silence. "Well. That's that, then."

A hum danced into their ears, making everybody twist in discomfort as all remaining heads turned to the Teller, still with a smile sewn onto her face.

There was a seething bite to her scraping voice.

Lucas sneered, placing his fork on the table. "There's nothing for me to understand. Do you want somebody to feel sorry for you, to empathize? To pity whatever past you had? You're nothing more than a damn fool, a broken puppet in this apocalypse."

Blood rushed to his head, the red still vivid in his eyes, tinting his vision in death. The death of children, too helpless to even call for help before being slaughtered.

The Teller moved as if to speak, but the time was up. She was forced to stand by the rules of the Story—the banquet was over. However, she remained standing with sharp, black nails plunged deep into her palms.

Lucas barely spared her a glance as he slid out of his seat fearlessly, standing up. Nothing happened to him—nothing could. He broke no rules and walked over to the open doors.

"Congratulations," said the man calmly, walking out with arrogance in his stride, but a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. "Whatever innocence you had, whatever you once were worth, you're nothing now."

He turned back once, tilting his head with disgust written in his expression. "You've become exactly what the apocalypse wants. Pathetic."

A Teller was the victim of the apocalypse, somebody who made a wish as a human, and woke as a monster.

But not all Tellers remained mere victims, and Lucas thought bitterly that the ones who lost sight of what they once hoped to protect were nothing more than mindless dolls of the apocalypse.

The evening passed quickly, and soon, dark green flames rushed up the candlelight's wick, signaling the deadly hour of waking.

Most of the children quietly curled under their covers obediently, put to sleep with the help of Wren's temporary influence. There was no way to ensure they remained asleep during the night.

However, not all remained asleep despite their closed eyes.

Rome trembled under his bedsheets, lying down beside Will, who remained a perfect image of a corpse. A barrier shimmered over the pair.

Will's barrier could defend against anything. Only to a certain extent. But what Lucas wanted wasn't something that needed to remain standing after being attacked—he needed something to mask the presence of an awake child.

Even if the barrier only stalled Maleficent's attention for a few seconds.

Simultaneously, Rome would use his ability to misdirect attention, to throw any slight misgivings over to Lucas' bed. Yet the idea made him swallow harshly.

If it failed, Lucas would die. And it would be all his fault.

Everything would be over.

Will's gloomy gaze cracked open a slit, coolly watching the nervousness spread to every strand of Rome's hair. He sighed, raising a bony finger to his pale lips.

"There's only... a few more minutes." he whispered.

"I know." whispered Rome back, curling further into himself before straightening, smothering false confidence over his skin. He gripped the knife more tightly. "I know."

"It will be... fine. If you... panic now... better chance of failure."

"I know." said Rome.

Will highly doubted that Rome actually knew, considering the other was simply repeating himself without making eye contact. Regardless, the teenager could do nothing more.

The door would soon creak open, and thinking would no longer be an option. Only action. Sweat lined Will's eyebrows, but he chose not to be scared, because the person most at risk wasn't him.

What did Lucas feel, alone in his bed, waiting to risk his life?

In fact, oblivious to the worries of the teenager, Lucas lied down comfortably in his bed. His anger was fuel to excitement, to finally move and act, to put an end to it all.

In the first banquet, he'd snapped out of the Teller's trance through pain. He wasn't sure what would happen, what followed being found awake in the beds.

Judging by the lack of resistance by the previous boy, a soaked bed of urine but no clear signs of fighting back, he considered the possibility of being put under a mental block.

Rome's job would be to wake him up from that.

"Do not hesitate. You'll have to strike deeply for it to be enough to wake me up." Lucas had warned and commanded through the boy's agreement.

He closed his eyes, listening to the stifling silence around him. He enjoyed the quiet, truly. Though in the back lingerings, he thought that a good distraction would be that bothersome, flirtatious voice that often teased and annoyed him.

The weed's presence, odd and infuriating as it was, had something comforting. In the way Elias desired nothing in return but company, and sometimes not even that.

Elias who moved to the beat of his own drum, who watched and listened, acting when he pleased. Without regard to being kind or caring.

Or perhaps, after being alone for so long, having a clinging weed was something different. A company that he couldn't despise, when the only other company was loneliness.

A man who expected and wanted nothing of him.

Lucas didn't think much longer about such thoughts, when the door slowly creaked open and a dragging fabric brushed along the creaking floor.

The sound of a spinning wheel, going round and round.

A green hue that crept along the frayed walls, reaching out to the ceiling.

And a woman's hum, gleefully catching sight of movement in the silent room.

The wheel arrived beside Lucas, stopping as he breathed slowly. He felt nails ghost across his shuttered eyes, threatening to plunge down. They tingled with anger.

And wasn't that perfect? Since he'd gone out of the way to anger the Teller earlier, to guarantee her focus would be on him, and only him. For a creature blinded with anger to the point of losing themselves, it was an effortless task.

He felt his body like led, pressed down on the blankets, sinking into the blankets as his mind drifted and floated further away. Rising, he slowly stepped out and met the twisted smile of the woman, her white gown pale and otherworldly.

The green flame in her eyes pulsed to the rhythm of his beating heart. He felt calm—to an unsettling extent. It was a calmness made by the woman, not his own.

She sang delightedly, as his body drifted closer and closer to the spindle, and he raised a finger against his will.

However, her smile faltered when his expression of indifference didn't change, in a way that told he didn't care whether he died. There was no fear or anxiety, no overwhelming doom knowing he was fated for death.

The Teller thought of all the ways to let out her anger at the man's provocations, to slowly kill this miserable fool before her and have him suffer as she once did.

Suffer and suffer, feel the pain and the misery that once clouded her entire soul.

Her life had been a cycle of betrayal and hurt, and even after she'd made a wish for it all to end, here she was again! But this time, she had the power to inflict pain on others!

Lucas' stare warped into pity, and the Teller felt fury tiding in her chest, blooming and threatening to erupt.

Under that man's gaze, even trapped in her spell, he still seemed to look down on her. Even if she was powerful and had the right to control his life.

How dare he?

Then she heard a muffle that had gone unheard in her distraction, fueled by anger and some strange force that made her focus on Lucas' impassive face. She spun her head, long, black hair coiling around her in a frenzy.

Rome rushed out from under the blankets, and the barrier slipped away from Will, wrapping around the other boy instead.

He couldn't hesitate, not even for a moment.

Rome slashed the knife across Lucas' back that faced away from him, a brilliant rush of red rapidly seeping. He felt the knife sink into the flesh, cutting deep and unrelenting.

Lucas jolted once, snapping his eyes open before a smile twisted on his lips.

He gave Rome a single glance of praise. "Good work, kid."

Then, he ran forward and, with a heavy weight on his legs, kicked the spindle so that it flung off. The Teller widened her stare and swung her clawed hands down, cutting through his arm to reveal white bone.

However, Lucas tumbled down and snatched the broken spindle into his arms. Pain became adrenaline, and his blurring vision became determination.

The woman screamed in terror and angry, a shrill mix of growing determination. Even if she died, she would kill that man!

He who wanted to steal everything she'd gained!

Responding to her screech, bloodied hands with shriveled skin clinging to their bones burst from the walls, and bubbled out of the ceiling. Bodies, mutilated and bursting with flowers swung down from the ceiling.

The children were waking from their sleep, terror quickly filling their confused expressions as bodies continued to fall to the ground, or reach out from the walls.

Thud, thud, thud.

They scrambled away from the waving grasps, hearing the sickening crack of bones squeezing through the gaps in the walls.

A chilling hand grabbed Lucas' ankle from under the bed, and as he tried to pull it, another pair of hands joined in. He tripped, spinning to look at the creatures underneath, empty sockets sorrowfully peering at him from the darkness.

He kicked them away harshly, wincing at the wretched cry that wrestled from their throats. Pushing himself forward, he scrambled for the still screaming woman, her hair flying around her like a shield.

He didn't hesitate—he plunged the spindle through her chest, and when he felt resistance, he pushed it harder, through her flesh and organs.

Yanking it out, he slammed it down again as her body crumpled to the ground with her wails. Tangled, black hair prodded at him like sharp needles, stabbing all over his body, but he didn't stop.

Like a madman, he stabbed over and over again, blood splattering over his face.

Long after the body had become completely limp, he staggered to a stand. The hands that had been scrambling to break free from the walls slumped over, some still half trapped, others thudding to the ground.

Shroud in shadows, Lucas stumbled as red continued to spill from his body, crouching beside one of the bodies. In a swift tug of his wrist, he slashed the body's neck.

And then another, and another.

As if a reaper dripping with blood, of his own and of countless others.

Then, in blank horror and confusion that blended with relief, Will watched as Lucas lifted two of the corpses—now nothing more than dead children—and walked out of the room.

Ten minutes later, he returned and lifted two more.

The children, bewildered, cautiously crept out of the room, trying to avoid meeting the open stares of the dead bodies on the ground. They followed Lucas as he walked down the hall alone, and then passed the shuttered doors that had opened.

Outside, several bodies laid peacefully on the ground, neatly and carefully placed. The man continued moving without saying a word, and in some ways, was more terrifying that the shocking ordeal they'd just witnessed.

"Is it... really over? We won?" muttered a child in disbelief.

Wren, hearing the commotion, leaned against the wall after understanding the scene. She smiled wryly. "Sure looks like it, brat. It's over. You're still alive."

Will staggered out of his head, splashed of blood splattered onto his white shirt, and shook his head quietly. Without waiting for anybody to question him, he walked over and struggled to pick up one of the bodies, following Lucas outside.

Rome stared, licking his lips twice nervously, before he copied the other two.

Wren stared in surprise, before sighing and laughing to herself. She joined in, helping them transport all the bodies outside.

No matter how long it took—nobody was eager to run into freedom, as if still bound to the castle. They weren't sure how much longer it was when all bodies laid outside the walls.

Rows and rows of dead children and adults, corpses mutilated beyond repair.

The remaining children and two adults raised their heads, squinting at the gleam of sunlight that broke from the gloomy clouds, lighting up the entire building in a brightness that had hidden away for so long.

They narrowed their eyes at the sudden rush of light that lingered over the rows of corpses, as if granting a final warmth.

[A conclusion has met the requirements!]

The building begun crumbling into a thousand particles of words, and paper unfurled at their feet, breaking around both living and dead.

[The story of 'Sleeping Beauty' is closing...]

Lucas closed his eyes. "You've all successfully escaped."

In their eternal rest, they would remain free under the false skies.

[The story of 'Sleeping Beauty' has closed!]