Chanyeol

 

By the end of the night, Chanyeol was exhausted. He could not imagine why he would be. He had been fine the night before.

 

Perhaps he was coming down with something.

 

Luna, however, looked as fresh as she had when they first began their dances. Her brows were creased with concern as she watched Chanyeol gulp down iced water as if he had not drunk for days.

 

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” She frowned and Chanyeol set down his glass, reaching over to hook a loose strand of her hair around her ear. It successfully made her blush and she flicked open her fan, fluttering it about her face bashfully.

 

“I’m fine,” he smiled, keeping his eyes level with hers. He had found that looking down at the floor, at her shoes were what made him nauseous.

 

They had to be enchanted. He could not imagine that glass shoes would be that comfortable to wear but she had not complained of them pinching or hurting her.

 

The clock struck twelve and he pursued his lips as Luna snapped her fan shut.

 

“Must you go?” He asked reluctantly releasing her hand. She had left at precisely midnight the night before too, with no explanation, only with the promise that they would meet the next night.

 

She nodded, looking just as reluctant as he. That made him feel a little better as he watched her run, her glass shoes glinting in the light.

 

They curved with her foot as if formed with it and it was oddly mesmerising, though it made a horrible feeling spool in his stomach.

 

Chanyeol pressed a hand to his forehead, wiping at the sweat that had beaded there. He needed to see a healer, and quickly.

 

Baekhyun

 

The man who had rescued him did not talk much. He answered questions when Baekhyun phrased them, but otherwise, he stayed pretty silent, as if deep in thought.

 

Baekhyun was not at all knowledgeable about the outside world but he was sure the man, Jongdae was of some status.

 

When he wrapped his arms around his waist to keep his balance as the horse galloped, he could feel just how nice the quality of the clothes were, silky soft beneath his fingers.

 

And the horse too seemed well-bred and trained.

 

But Jongdae said nothing of his past, only occasionally asking Baekhyun for his, such that they could set their course.

 

Baekhyun could remember very little before living in the tower. The bits and pieces he could remember were so fragmented, like the pieces of a broken vase.

 

He could see long lashes, red lips, that he always assumed belonged to his mother. But he also remembered a gentle voice singing to him, a man’s voice. It felt like velvet to his ears, deep and soft, the lullaby a tune that carried him throughout his life.

 

“Where are we headed?” He asked quietly, breaking the silence and Jongdae turned to look at him. His lips were curled slightly at the end and reminded Baekhyun very much of a cat. Or perhaps he had already forgotten what a cat looked like.

 

“Wherever the forest takes us, I suppose,” he replied, his tone unsure. “There’s no navigating this forest.”

 

Their conversation stopped when they passed what seemed like an ordinary tree line and the temperature in the air dropped immediately.

 

Baekhyun frowned when white flakes drifted through the air, the trees darkening. The road before them had turned white, caked with snow.

 

“Wha- What’s happening?” he asked and Jongdae tensed against his fingertips, his eyes flitting around them warily.

 

“This forest changes. It brings us to where we should be, not where we want to go,” he murmured. The snow was falling harder now, the landscape turning to white as Su Eun trotted on, snorting at the falling snow.

 

A shadow loomed over them suddenly and Baekhyun could not help the shriek that ripped out of his mouth when the horse reared, screaming in terror.

 

Jongdae however, was an excellent rider, keeping them both on board as he calmed his horse. His jaw was set determinedly as he called out.

 

“Who goes there?”

 

“You are in my lands. Why have you come?” the shadow growled, its voice deep and low and Baekhyun could just barely make out curled horns atop its head.

 

He shuddered, clinging tighter onto Jongdae as the man straightened, his voice calm as he replied.

 

“We did not mean to trespass, kind sir. The forest brought us here.”

 

The shadow scoffed, extending a long arm. It was covered with thick fur, golden as the sun and Baekhyun swallowed a whimper at the curved claw at its fingertip.

 

It pointed away from the path they were travelling on, towards a dark patch in the forest, that looked even more ominous.

 

“Go that way. If you travel down this path you will only arrive at my castle.”

 

Jongdae dipped his head and Baekhyun followed his lead, fingers digging into the man’s hips as he steered the horse in the direction the beast-man pointed in.

 

“Thank you-,” he raised his eyebrows and the beast-man growled back, stiff and curt.

 

“Yifan.”

 

They had to ride past the beast-man to get to the path and Baekhyun was half expecting him to snarl or leap at them. He could recall his mother’s comments about how the outside world was dangerous and he should not want to live in it and this beast-man seemed like the epitome of danger.

 

But the beast-man merely glared, amber eyes glowing in the dark as they passed, and Baekhyun could hear his footsteps crunching on the path as they rode further and further away.

 

“Who is that?” He asked when they were out of earshot.

 

Jongdae shook his head, pursing his lips as he urged Su Eun into a canter, the horse obliging gladly, relieved to get out of the beast man’s land.

 

“A prince, likely,” he replied, his grip on the reins tightening. His voice was strained when he continued, “one that is under a curse.”

 

Yifan 

 

Yifan growled, annoyed by the knock on his bedroom door. He had been nose deep in a thrilling adventure story about a pirate discovering buried treasure and the knock had pulled him right out of the imaginary world. 

 

“Here’s another courting gift, darling.” His mother’s silky voice reached his ears as the door was pushed open and a servant stepped in, bearing a large box covered in outrageously pink paper. Yifan squeezed his eyes shut and reached up to pinch his nose as his mother’s fragrance floated into the room along with her.  

 

“For the last time Mother, I do not wish to be courted. These ladies have no idea what I like and their gifts only clutter…” 

 

“What about princes then, my dear? There are several courting requests from princes. There’s even one from Agrabah. Isn’t that exciting?” His mother’s voice was light and airy, cutting him off. Yifan winced and turned back to his book.  

 

“I don’t want to get married, Mother. Love isn’t real. Look what Father did to you. Do you really want me to go through that heartbreak?” It was a low blow, he knew, but it was the only way he knew to get her to stop pushing him.  

 

His mother’s smile faltered and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, the scent of waterlilies overwhelming Yifan.

 

Yifan swallowed and kept his eyes on his books resolutely, knowing full well what he would find if he looked up, into his mother’s eyes.  

 

“Your father loved you very much, little Fan.” His mother began and Yifan could feel his blood pressure rise. He hated hearing that.  

 

“If he truly loved me, he wouldn’t have left! He wouldn’t have chosen another woman over our family! Snap out of your fantasies, Mother! He never truly loved you!” He snapped and his mother recoiled, tears filling her eyes. Full of fury and guilt at having made his mother cry, Yifan threw down his book, uncaring that the spine had cracked and fled from his room to his mother’s rose garden. 

 

The fragrance of roses hit him full force the moment he stepped into the garden and shut the wooden door behind him. It was his mother’s favourite because his father had it built and planted for her as a wedding present.

 

The garden was surrounded by high stone walls covered with New Dawn and Golden Showers. Both were roses that his mother adored but Yifan secretly preferred the Golden Showers over the New Dawn varieties simply because he adored the creamy white colour that the breed could produce.  

 

Inside the garden, his father had given his mother free rein over how she wanted it to look and the place looked like a fairytale forest with tall sturdy trees perfect for reading in and rose vines climbing all over them. There was only one key to the garden and Yifan’s mother had given it to him after his father had run off with another woman, refusing to ever set foot into the garden again despite her firm insistence that she still loved his father.  

 

Yifan spent a lot of time inside the garden, mostly reading in his favourite tree, oak with a massive trunk that he had trained Don Juan roses against. He grasped the closest bough and pulled himself up, tears already gathering in the corners of his eyes. He flopped down into a thick branch and slumped against the neighbouring limb, letting the tears low silently over the planes of his face.

 

---

 

 

His mother’s passing was possibly the worst thing that could have happened to him. When his father left them both, at least he had her, no matter how much he scorned her approval, there had been some love left in his heart.

 

Even on the brink of death, she was still smiling as she wiped the tears from his cheeks.

 

“I love you, Yifan,” she said faintly, so soft that Yifan could barely hear her, “please never forget that.”

 

“You can’t go,” the prince said stubbornly, even as more tears coursed down his face, dampening the pillow and dripping silver drops on his mother’s skin.

 

“I have to, Fan fan,” her smile was sad, ripping Yifan’s already broken heart from his chest, “I’m so tired, love.”

 

“If you die, I’ll never love someone else again,” he declared, fury and sorrow coating his voice and his mother’s eyes widened.

 

“Do not say such things,” she admonished, shaking her golden head. The motion caused her pain, it seemed as her eyes squeezed shut and her lips released a pained exclamation.

 

“Love is natural and possibly the only good thing in this godforsaken world.”

 

Yifan did not comment further, but his heart was resolute. Love was for the weak, for the ones who were foolish enough to believe in it. What good was love if his love for his mother could not keep her from the clutches of death?

 

He foreswore it, burning the courting gifts the moment his mother passed from the living world to the spirit one, leaving him all alone.

 

But his mother was right of course.

 

That very next night, they had a visitor at the castle, while everything was drowning in black and mourning.

 

A woman draped in gold stood at their door, her lips pressed in a displeased expression and for a moment, Yifan’s heart nearly stopped.

 

Though he knew it was impossible, for the briefest moment he had thought she was his mother, come back to life, for she looked so much like her.

 

“Mother?” he breathed, while the servants shrank from the glowing woman. They could sense the unnatural air that hung about her and she was ethereal in her beauty.

 

The woman stepped into the house, one hand curling around Yifan’s chin. He gazed at her for a moment before her words snapped him from his reverie.

 

“You are the prince who has renounced love.”

 

It was a statement, not a question and the way she said it made Yifan bristle as if it were something to be ashamed of.

 

He stiffened immediately.

 

This was not Mother. Mother was dead and she would never have taken that tone with him.

 

“Yes, and you are?” He raised his chin arrogantly, his body tense. The servants behind him tittered in fear, cowering as the woman replied.

 

“No one important.”

 

 Her hand fell from his chin, warmth lingering on his skin.

 

“I will aid you then, in your act,” she said decisively and Yifan frowned. He had no acts planned.

 

“For your desire to never love, you will be a beast, until the last rose in your garden dies. When it has, you will be transformed forever and lose all humanity.”

 

The servants in the room shrieked and fled when Yifan began to scream, the pain that permeated his body the worst thing he had ever felt in his life.

 

When he awoke, not even remembering when he had out, he was alone, lying in the middle of his great hall.

 

The servants were no more and the castle no longer held any of its usual grandeur. Instead, the chandeliers popped and sparked, the paintings of him and his parents were broken. The tapestries were ripped and torn and everything was covered in a fine layer of dust as if several years had passed.

 

Yifan looked down, bile rising to his throat as he took in the disfigured, clawed hands that enchantress had given him.

 

The nearest mirror was cracked, but it was good enough to show him what he feared; his face was no longer smooth and flawless but covered with shaggy golden fur the colour of his hair.

 

The crown of his head was throbbing and when he raised his eyes, he could see the reason why.

 

A set of horns curved and razor-sharp at the tip sat upon his head.

 

His heart was in his mouth when he raised his clawed hand to touch his face, a shuddering roar ripping from his throat.

 

There was no one to hear him scream, the sounds almost animalistic as he tore through the castle, nearly ripping doors from their hinges.

 

The door to the garden slammed violently and Yifan stood frozen at the sight of his garden.

 

Every rose was in perfect condition, creamy white coloured and perfect in every way. But there was one.

 

Its petals were turning grey, its leaves browning and withering.

 

Yifan touched the rose with a trembling hand.

 

He had no idea how the curse could be broken, the enchantress had left no clue.

 

Perhaps it was never meant to be broken.

 

A broken sob tore from his throat and he collapsed onto his knees, the sky suddenly unbelievably grey.

 

Jongdae

 

They emerged into a glade, illuminated only by soft glowing wisps that floated in the air, blue in colour.

 

Jongdae caught his breath. He recognized these things.

 

They were wil’o wisps, beautiful things that lit and guided your way.  Joonmyun used to be obsessed with them, and Jongdae had painted tiny blot dots on his walls one time, just to cheer him up. He had been scolded of course for getting blue paint all over himself, but Joonmyun had been happy.

 

He had kept those blue dots, refusing to let the servants paint over it.

 

The memory made Jongdae’s heart ache even as they followed the trail, the wil’o wisps lighting their way.

 

“They’re so beautiful,” Baekhyun breathed form behind him and Jongdae nodded, a little choked up when he spoke.

 

“My brother loved these things. My father brought some home once, in a jar and he set them free.”

 

Baekhyun seemed to take note of the tone of his voice and asked no questions.

 

With the wil’o wisps, the forest did not seem so terrifying with its unknown, illuminated by the soft blue lights. They seemed to grow thicker as they travelled, gathering about them so much that the path was clearly lit.

 

Jongdae could spy a simple little cottage at the end of the path and the wisps seemed to be directing them in that direction as well.

 

“Hello?” He called out, leaning forward in the saddle to peer at the cottage. The wisps skittered into the air as the door to the cottage opened, a clear invitation.

 

Baekhyun swung off first, large eyes curious. Jongdae put a hand on the hilt of his sword as he dropped the reins before So Eun’s nose, the signal for him to stay. It was always good to be prepared.

 

The cottage was lit with the soft blue of the wisps as they walked in, seemingly empty.

 

Jongdae in a sharp inhale. He had clearly seen the door to the cottage swing open for them but there was nothing inside the cottage but a cauldron, with soft orange flames flickering merrily beneath it.

 

There was a bubble floating above the cauldron, and as they drew closer, they could see images playing within it as if it were a crystal ball.

 

Jogndae’s breath caught when he recognized the figure in the bubble. It seemed that Baekhyun had recognized him as well as he gasped.

It was him and Joonmyun, on the night that he had fled from their home. He watched with aching pain in his chest as his brother turned away, the guards crowding around him to ask his wellbeing.

 

Fear pooled in his stomach as he watched Joonmyun run from them, cradling a red fletched arrow in his hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

 

“No, no!” He cried out when Joonmyun burst into the tower, a single crimson drop of blood beading to the surface of his finger.

 

The colour drained from his brother’s face and he swooned, collapsing onto the bed. Their parents were crying, fretting but Joonmyun looked so at peace.

 

“Is that- Was that your brother?” Baekhyun gaped at him when the image vanished into smoke.

 

“The curse took him early,” a voice spoke from deep within the cottage and Jogndae spun around, pushing Baekhyun behind him, his sword sliding easily out of its sheath.

 

“Who goes there?” He growled, holding up his weapon.

 

A face emerged from the darkness, a woman, with hair the colour of gold, cascading in ringlets about her face.

 

She gazed upon him with motherly disapproval and somehow, Jongdae knew in his heart who this was. He sheathed his sword, dropping to one knee before her.

 

“Enchantress,” he murmured. He had heard many things about her, stories passed down.

 

“You’ve left him alone, you who should have been there for him, the brother he loved so dearly.”

 

The enchantress’ tone was accusing and it was enough to pierce Jongdae’s heart like an arrow.

 

“I didn’t know,” he said lowly, squeezing his eyes shut. The guilt congealed in his throat like a rock and he could not imagine what Baekhyun thought of him now.

 

“How do I make things right?” He asked, already afraid of the answer.