deercountry | july catch-all (open + closed prompts in comments)

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july catch-all (open + closed prompts in comments)

Who: falco w/ friends, old and new (you)!
What: an open log with a few closed prompts here and there for the duration of july; falco will be going through some changes that have to do with this player plot! i have my plans here and here for reference! feel free to reach out on the plotting comments,

liberos or owlie#3609 if you'd like to plot something specific! i can definitely do personalized tls!
When: july
Where: corners of trench!

Content Warnings: this will be updated accordingly! check out the headers for their appropriate cws! here you will find: rituals, possession, body horror, mentions of self harm, child death.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Paul submits pliantly to Falco's coaxing, following his guidance with the utmost of care, so that Falco remains in control for the entirety of the journey. He wraps his arms around as much of Falco's titanic head as he can reach, turning his face to press a cheek against the feathers at the base of his beak. He knows about handling fragile things; it's not so difficult to invert that understanding to allow himself to be so handled. Sophia does the same, offering herself up fearlessly to a beak that could, under any natural circumstances, so easily swallow her.]

I've been worried about you, too. I saw your message to Anna.

[The one that he only witnessed after a day had passed, too caught up in the unfolding chaos and evacuation - too sure that Falco was safe - to see it as it came in. Then came the following silence, the empty air at the other end of the Omni, and Falco being in none of his regular haunts.

There are things he can infer from Falco being here. That something has gone wrong with his shifting that Falco can't put right, that it may have to do with the storm and the magic-breaking wave that came with it, that Falco, being himself, went out in search of his 'Miss Anna' to try to intervene. But he doesn't commit himself to an ordering of those facts yet, no matter what sour apprehension coats the back of his mouth.]

I'm all right. Almost everyone is all right. [Because Falco-through-Perle will ask, he knows.] And everyone who isn't is going to get better.

Edited 2022-07-19 18:34 (UTC)

[ falco wishes that the reassurance could ease him as much as the melt in his heart kept warm with the different sort of hug they can make do with (there was something heavy and strained about what he's pieced together on his own; it's an optimistic view, but falco can visualize a hurt that is beyond physical). tables have turned, now falco is the one who cradles and dips, and protects the other's back— whether he wanted to keep on his legs or rest in his palm, either was fine. he was just glad to still be able to feel and smell, even above the absent scent of feather dust, mineral and the absent wave of seasalt. ]

. . . I tried to help. [ the try wasn't good enough— poorly timed. too much distortion that he had been a little too late to hold her back from more, as well as unwanted company. ] I'm the only one that could get big enough to stand a chance. [ and, after the very tip of a finger settles so light over paul's head to stroke his mess of curls back, he adds: ] People died, I know that from her reaction. I didn't want her to die, too. Or anyone else.

[ even if he had added to the death count, himself. ]

[Paul chooses to settle into the curve of Falco's palm, surrendering even that distance readily. He smells of cinnamon, as he almost always does, and a very faint, chalky residue not unlike a gymnasium.]

Falco.

[His tone is quietly controlled, and he is glad that Falco won't be able to make out his expression, as drawn and pale as it is. The understanding of where this story is heading opens its jaws beneath him. He does not look down.]

If you tell me what happened, I promise I won't do anything to hurt anyone. No matter what it is.

[He looks inwards. He searches out a memory of them in a sunlight kitchen, both dusted with flour, and a much smaller and less winged version of both Falco and Confetti together, red and blue shell cradled gently in his arms. He'd been so upset at the idea of Paul cracking the egg, even as a joke, and it's that flare of fright that Paul impresses on himself.

Falco is gentle. Paul can't keep letting him down.]

[ falco breathes out, first. breathes in, slow, steadying and expanding his flattened chest. the brows behind his mask are crunched, and the amber eyes padded with red flesh around the sockets twitched more, shined further under the cave’s bioluminescence (if one could call it that).

he trusts paul when he gives his word. it wouldn’t be now that he would deny that trust. ]

I tried to hold her back, but we were too high— the Sky Pthumerians were pulling pieces apart and making it harder. [ and it’s even harder to bring up the detail of what came after that. not because it had been painful, or traumatic— the only pain he’d felt was a slice to his true side. he saw the swing coming— and the chill that rises from his gut to his throat makes some feathers begin to stand. he’s more afraid of the pain it could cause paul, ] I just remember seeing her swing for the neck and telling her that it wasn’t her fault. And waking up on the beach . . . Still in this.

[ it makes him uneasy, to say, explicitly, that he lost both of his heads— which don’t grow back. he trusts paul with his words, as burning and awful as these truths were to even fathom. ]

It wasn’t her fault, Paul. But I’m sorry.

[Falco told her it wasn't her fault. Paul closes his eyes and turns his face to press fully against the fevered form of the Titan, taking a slow, measured breath that fans a mirroring fever of fury in his own chest.

He doesn't need the explicit. Paul knows what kind of beast Anna made of herself, what hideous wrath she'd unleashed. She knew what a Beast was, and asked for the form of one regardless. She donned a blindfold and picked up a torch to swing at anything that came near her - is she not responsible for the fire?

But Falco knew she'd chosen it, and still says it's not her fault.

Paul remembers the upturned face in Falco's restored memories, gentle, forgiving. The sacrifice made in love for someone else. Paul breathes out, as carefully as he breathed in.]

You don't have anything to be sorry for.

[Paul runs his hand down Falco's feathers lightly, shaking his head. Sophia squirms under Perle's attentions to bump her nose against her beak ]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I let this happen.

[He'd made this happen. The world has been harmed along a crucial axis, and Paul brought that about.]

We're going to make this right. We'll get you back to yourself.

Edited 2022-07-23 05:49 (UTC)

[ perle would only cease her gentle fussing to pay attention to what’s given, all now an evident squeak to sophia’s acknowledgment and puffing her feathers out enough to make the coziest of dens to feel safe in. falco extends this to paul. he only needs to dip his great head to show that he’s nodding, if full agreement and in full, unadulterated trust. he keeps his hands where they are to support him, prop him up comfortably— even tipping him back enough at an angle, enough where gravity would welcome him to lay, rest the strain that grew on his shoulders and tended his heart. ]

You didn’t . . . [ there was no way paul would have known, is what he imagines. not any of them. ] Paul— what did happen? I only know there was a boat, and a man and . . .

[ why would anna have gotten so angry at the lot of them, if it was only john? maybe anna had been simply explosive, but— he can see the weight beneath the eyes that look upon him. the silent fury and desperation for change.

he knew his brother was not well. paul had said we. we— he hopes that he knows he’s not alone, that it is only a strengthened nod to his presence as support. ]

You can tell me.

[Falco will find out. The truth of Paul's actions are scrawled across the network, confessed in his own hand, evidenced in the rifts he's torn between himself and nearly everyone who's ever cared about him here. But it's more than that which coaxes Paul to sink back in Falco's palm, readying himself to tell him a story as unlike the gentle myths and romances Falco adores as this form is unlike his heart.

The boy-titan knows what it's like to be a monster for the sake of the people he loves.]

My Teacher's ship.

[Not a boat, and Paul hadn't known, because if he had he would have stitched his mouth shut before he would have smiled like he did in that hollowed out memory.]

My Teacher. The one I lived with. [Not anymore. Sophia nestles deeper into Perle's downy breast.] We went to sea so that we could find out what was out there.

We sailed into pirates. [And now he knows it was no accident.] Fought them, captured them. Then he told us to kill them.

[He's kept his voice toneless and empty, but here it catches, a tremor of horrific guilt.]

I knew people would try to stop him. I knew he wouldn't let them. [Salt stings the corners of his eyes, the sea returning.] And I didn't want anyone to make the wrong choice. So I didn't let them make any choice. I stopped them with my power, and I-

I helped him.

That's why Mariana is angry. It's why Anna was angry. It's why you're caught like this, why everything is going wrong. It's our fault. His and mine.

[ falco mentally braces for the telling. he knew he wasn't asking about a story with a happy ending, and he was actually quite used to them. quite used to facing realistic outcomes and what to expect from them. the inside of him batters wildly, he can feel the pound beneath his ribs, in his ears. outwardly, he keeps calm, and he listens not only with the utmost care, but with neutral judgment.

he is not wrong in his silent preparation to feel his gut churn like a melting pot. his eyes build tenderness until he feels the hurt reflecting from them that could easily be mistaken for overwhelming disappointment (it wasn't— it was overwhelming empathy). further and further it went until it bared the weight of an anchor at the sea's floor. falco was prone to a natural, panoramic view in the midst of conflict. usually, it was hard to pinpoint a right or wrong side when all act with their best interest in mind, selfish or selfless. most think they are correct, until proven wrong (if they want to be proven wrong).

for a split second, he sees a mirror. he sees a boy huddled under the windows of an abandoned merchant's home, littered with empty bird cages. he was rattled and anticipating death. he wished to air everything that felt heavy on his heart. it's my fault. ]

Oh . . . Paul. [ there's a small, reverberating tremor in perle's borrowed voice. she buries sophia beneath her, but is comically too small to fit her in like a hen would her chicks. she tries her best, and still accepts her. ] Is that what they think?

Edited 2022-07-26 19:04 (UTC)

[Sophia curls up as much of herself as she can in Perle's feathers. Unlike her Sleeper, she doesn't flinch from kindness. On Falco's palm, Paul has his hands folded on his stomach, which twitches with ugly nausea as he shakes his head.]

It's true.

[It doesn't matter what people think. (It matters to him, immensely, deeply, even now. It's all he thinks about when he doesn't fill his mind with the slow, grinding steps he's set before himself to fix as much as he can of what he's ruined, one piece at a time.) It matters that it's what happened, and that Paul account for it. The world can't be put back into balance if he keeps lying about what has unbalanced it.]

House Atreides doesn't run. [He says, quiet and tight, the boy-duke with responsibility heavy on his head.] You didn't run from a fight that wasn't even yours, to try to stop it. I'm not running from this.

[He doesn't want to meet the Titan's eye to see what's in it, but still, he looks, and this time it's his own that bear a dangerous saltwater sheen.]

You shouldn't try to fix this for me. This isn't your responsibility. All right?

[ there is a limit to how much falco can help. he sees it, eye to eye, that line he can't, shouldn't and won't cross. it is a painful step to take, but one he knows is rooted in strength beneath the ache of disgrace. it is also a lonely pit, so dark that one may not see what's still around them. the assault unit with doe eyes half-complies, in silence. ]

. . . Right. I can't do that. [ not at this caliber— he's aware of that. he's aware that there will be time and time and time put into it until things are fixed between him and the others, until they feel fixed. maybe it'll stay contorted, and off, and crooked where things were once sleek, that is simply how trust is. he is saddened that it had to come to that— saddened that there was no time to think. just do— saddened by the repercussion he sees in paul's eyes, shimmering like a lost star. if there is one thing he could help, it is this: ] Paul? Please don't forget I'm on your side. You have to set things right— but you aren't alone while you do.

[ that cripples a man. breaks him apart. he's seen too many fall ill because of a choice they'd wish never happened. ]

[Paul sits up. It's an effort he wrests out of himself to match the one Falco extends towards him with his acknowledgement of that boundary. He doesn't know if the boy he first met all those months ago would have been able to rein himself in - or maybe he might have. Falco's always surprising him with his moments of grace, all his hard-earned maturity behind his still-childlike manner.]

I won't forget that.

I know you're there for me. You've never not been. That's why I have to keep trying to be better.

[He leans forward and presses his face against Falco's feathers again, his arms stretched as wide as he can manage to embrace him. He murmurs into them, the words stamped on his heart weeks - months - ago, a truth that is the reason he's stayed anchor to the trying at all, when it would be so much easier to stop.]

I love you.

[Because now that he's started saying it aloud, he's found it becoming a habit. I love you, so rarely spoken in his first home, not for lack of feeling but lack of need, but here a necessity; I love you meaning I know, meaning I trust you, meaning I'm here. I love you, meaning that his actions don't only belong to him.]

[ falco’s hand keeps steady with paul on it, to stand and move, he holds so still it might as well be a surface he can do with as he wishes— step down, walk across, it didn’t matter. it still manages to follow behind him, but when the elder boy’s arms barely barely enclose around a part of him with intent and soul to encircle all of him— falco’s heart leaps, and melts, and pools around a drawn thrum from his throat. a verbal response to powerful words, a coo that wanted to say so much with his actual mouth.

he listens carefully for any sign of going too far, squeezing too much— because he does press him close with the inside of his palm. the closest he can without turning him into crushed paul. there’s pressure, but there’s a heightened awareness of his bones beneath his armor, and how safe he was in a mass of down that felt like pillows he is most likely sinking in. ]

And I love you. [ whatever danger paul was in, he would be there. whatever mistakes he made, he would still be there, too. ] Nothing will change that. Especially when . . . You want to do better.

[ that is a catalyst for change. when the titan breathes inward, it’s thicker-sounding, trembling— it’s difficult to see tears beneath a mask, but they are building up in little pools around his jaws, leaking out from the saw-edges crevices in trickles. not only is his heart aching, but it is also swelling— he is home once again, when he had felt lost and afraid. he was strength now, a pillar. he was not alone. ]

You’re going to say you don’t deserve it— but that’s something I’m already proud of, Brother.

[ paul has felt enough stones pelting him for his wrongdoing, falco is certain. he did not need another judge, or more anger, or betrayal, or fear. there was no push greater than love still standing, completely unconditional. sometimes— that’s all you need to cause a paradigm shift. ]

[The pressure is just shy of painful, his bones ever so slightly compressed along their joints, and Paul welcomes it. It feels real, concrete, grounding, all things that he needs when Falco answers him in kind.

Falco is right. Paul doesn't deserve it. He's a recipient of so much he doesn't deserve, but as someone told him not so long ago, it may not be a matter of what you deserve. It's about what you're given, and what you make of it. He's beginning to think it might be true.]

Then I had better try even harder.

[He takes a long, deep breath in Falco's feathers, then one last squeezes before he reliquinshes his awkward grasp and pulls back, blinking cave-dust from his eyes with a wavering half-smile. He strokes along Falco's side soothingly, like he's an unsettled horse, touch reassuring and firm.]

I'm lucky to have you.

[He can't take that for granted ever again.]

[ a careful reminder that there is a time to let go comes in the faint slack that nearly could’ve gone unnoticed. the black scaled palms that collect paul suspend the pressure— but not without a gentle knock of the beak’s curve into the elder boy’s side. ]

We’re family. You’ve always had me and you always will.

[ whether in some distant tether set up by paths, a twist of fate or just chance— somewhere, anywhere, falco would find him, and he would find falco. i’ll always come back for you rings like a church’s bell, powerful and safeguarded. he would always. he knows he’s the little one, and he may have few chances to do this, but— he’s always wanted to try.

and that was: pressing the pad of a talon onto the top of paul’s head, and with a twisting sort of rub, leaves his hair in a mess that no human hand could manage alone. it also follows, despite what he’s just done, a more gentle, caring inquiry: ]

What will you do, now?

Edited 2022-08-02 02:00 (UTC)

[The knock of beak against his side, however gentle, reminds Paul of his vulnerability here that extends beyond his heart. It’s a curiously welcome reminder: that he is a flesh-and-blood thing, not a maelstrom of destruction or engine of fate alone.

The talon that leaves his hair an impossibly tousled mess only underscores that. He leans into it with hungry gratitude, half-lidding his eyes as a wave of emotion too complex to pull apart yet sweeps through him. He’s tried so hard to be strong enough for both of them, and snapped down the center in a jagged line. He can’t lean on Falco alone, can’t ask his child’s shoulders to take on his burden – but he can, he thinks, accept a nudge. Accept this, and make it the fuel for his fight against himself.]

I’m going to see about taking care of you.

[There will, at least, be no shortage of helpers. Falco is well-loved by far more people than just Paul.]

And I’ll talk to Anna. [He bumps his knee against Falco’s side, reciprocally.] Just talk.

[Even if his temper hisses like molten metal touching seawater at the thought of just talking, but if this was easy, he would have gotten it right the first time.]

She’s one of the people I have to face.

[He says it calmly, resignation a skein through his voice. He is capable of this. His tone melts for the next words, softening to warmth.]

But first, I was going to stay with you. Tell you a story, if you want to hear one. A better story.

[ falco opens the side of his wing into a semi-circle that doesn't allow paul to escape (not that he would). at the mention of a story, the intention behind it boils beneath falco's heart and makes it melt with a heat that's warm and inviting— enough that he absolutely must adjust himself to a flop against his side. he can't put his head on paul, but paul can do so to him, angled to the glowing walls of the strange rock caves and their mysterious writings, like a persuasive nightlight. ]

Always. It can even be a romance. [ do you see this? he's being a tricky, boyish boy and squeezing his tastes into the options. now, this other thing is on his mind, the bump of a knee still a gentle reminder and falco ends up adding: ] I think— she'd be relieved to talk, you know.

[ innocently said, but genuinely and generously meant. forgiveness and compassion over worse— hate begets hate. anna amarande was also wronged, but falco fully believes and trusts in paul's intentions. he wouldn't harm a soul in falco's name.

right? 🔪 ]

[In spite of everything, Falco's sly insinuation provokes a tiny laugh out of Paul, who obligingly rests his head against Falco in easy closeness. If he steps outside of the tragic ugliness of the circumstances to see them from another angle - Falco is unwell, and telling stories at a sickbed is a traditional comfort.

It shades another way when his thoughts turn back to Anna. Anna and her Kainé, who is even more brash and bruising than she is, and whatever lies between them. What would he have done, in that moment, if either of his -

He knows what he would have done. He almost did it. He lets out a breath he held only lightly.]

I think she would be. Will be.

[Or she'll try to rip his tongue out so that he bleeds to death at her feet. He doesn't know, and if he casts his eyes to the future, he cannot imagine it will show him anything that gives him more insight. There will always be a choice. He tips his head back and looks up at the glowing ceiling, filled with the light of living things.]

Do you want to hear Eros and Psyche?

[ with paul against him, falco can easily adjust his outer wing into a gentle swing inward enough to bury the elder boy's body beneath the blanket of flight feathers. he's mindful of where his head is, allowing that space room to breathe the fresh saltwater air from outside, all while keeping unbelievably warm by a fireplace that doesn't burn if you're too close.

falco's nod can be heard as a scrape against sand and mineral. somewhere on top of him, perle, sophia and confetti have made themselves a still comfortable roost. ]

I still need to tell you a story sometime.

[ a light and expectant jest that he would one day soon return the favor. and, he would (paul will get to know all about the titan lesbians—). ]

[ What a world this is, that Paul shelters under the wing of a boy returned from the sea as a monster, and finds a shred of comfort there he could not have expected. Sophia chirrups softly in the center of the nested creatures on Falco's back, her tail curled around as much of both her fellow not-quite-animals as she can reach. ]

You do.

[ There will still be a next time. It's a slim hope. Paul is getting better at grasping at those. He takes up a steady rhythm of stroking Falco's feathers, lightly and without ruffling, and comes up with where to start. ]

There once was a girl named Psyche, who lived long ago, on a planet called Earth, in a place called Greece. She was the youngest of her sisters, and the most beautiful. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman in her whole kingdom - so beautiful that the people neglected the shrines of the goddess of beauty herself, Aphrodite, to pay homage to Psyche instead.

Gods are jealous creatures. Aphrodite was no exception. When she saw her shrines untended and her sacrifices unmade, she was furious with Psyche, and went to her son, Eros, the god of love. She asked him to punish Psyche by cursing her to fall in love with a hideous beast, the most terrible he could find, and Eros, who loved his mother, agreed.

But when he went to see Psyche himself, to strike her with one of his love-arrows, he was overcome by her. He could not bring himself to raise his bow to strike her - not for a beast, or anyone else.

So it came to pass that Psyche, adored, was never loved. Young men would admire her beauty and pass her by to wed someone else, leaving Psyche alone. This went on for some time, until Psyche went to the oracle of Apollo, god of prophecy, and asked to know what she might do to gain a husband.

The oracle went to divine what the gods' will was, and returned with terrible tidings. Psyche did have a destined husband, a horrible monster, ordained for her by the wishes of Aphrodite. She was fated to go to the top of a mountain and to wait there for the winged serpent she would marry, who would bear her away in his coils to his lair and make her his bride.

[ He pauses there, hand stilling, and decides to add an assurance, all things considered: ] I still promise this is a love story.

[ oh, he could see it all playing out clearly in his head, before his eyes: the faceless frame of psyche so absolutely lonely, starved from genuine connection when most simply see what she bares in exterior. but what about psyche? he thinks— did no one have the curiosity to know her? falco’s breathing is warm and steady, possibly inflating and deflating behind paul and between his stroking fingers.

there’s a buildup. there’s hardship— he’s anticipating a twist, and says with a deep churr underlining perle’s voice: ]

I believe in Eros.

[ Paul doesn't exactly laugh. It doesn't have the right cadence, or enough force to even truly be a sound. But it is something, like the sweep of wind through bright fall leaves, or the whispering pour of hot, strong tea. ]

I believe in him too.

[ In spite of everything. He believed in him the first time he heard this story, peering avidly up at his father under a rare clear night sky full of stars. ]

Psyche knew that fates given by the gods could not be avoided without calamity, and her heart was as beautiful as her features. She would not risk bringing doom on her family or her people, so, to the sorrow of everyone who knew her, Psyche made herself ready to go to the destined place. Her sisters dressed her as a bride before she made the long, lonely climb, and there she waited, shivering and afraid, for the monster.

But no monster came. The softest wind did, curling around Psyche and lifting both her body and her spirits, soothing her fears and easing her chill as it carried her to a mountain top. There she found not a monsters' lair, but a splendid palace, attended by invisible servants who ushered her inside and set at once to tending her every need. She bathed in warm waters, her already lovely robes taken and exchanged for even finer ones, and led to a lavish feast in a hall that put her own father's to shame.

This did not put Psyche at ease. She knew that some monsters preferred their prey prepared for them, and when the servants led her to her downy bed she lay awake in fright for her promised husband - but when a weight settled on the other side of her bed without reaching for her, and a gentle voice bid her hello, her fears melted away like snow in the springtime.

Psyche and her monster-husband talked all night in the darkness, which concealed him from her completely - he told her that he was even more terrible to look upon than the oracle had said, and that he would only ever come to her at night, when every lamp was extinguished. During the day, he hunted even more terrible beasts than himself, and so he would leave her in the care of his servants. All he asked of her was that she be his companion, for he had grown lonely, and had asked the gods to find someone gentle and kind enough to care for even a creature like him. If she wished to leave, he would let her depart after a year and a day - but until then, she would come to no harm, and want for nothing.

Psyche, having known loneliness herself, was moved by his words and his promise. She took pity on the lonely creature, and resolved to help assuage his sorrow, despite the circumstances which brought them together.

And so it was as the monster had said. During the day, Psyche did as she pleased, enjoying the many wonderful diversions of the palace. The library of great works, the music of the servants, the vast and beautiful gardens, all of these and more were hers. All she had to do was think of a thing she desired, and it would be hers.

At night, she and the monster would speak, though she found that he spoke much less than she did. He wished to hear everything about Psyche herself. Her past, her wishes, her dreams - and her hardships. For his part, he spoke only seldom of his loneliness, his long days - and yet she could sense that he grew more at ease with her than he had been the start. Then they would sleep, side by side, and Psyche would wake the next morning alone.

But in time, halfway through the appointed year, Psyche began to feel lonely once more. She cared for her monster, but she wished to speak to her family, to assure them that she was well and happy, and not bones in some beast's lair. One night, she appealed to the monster, who was reluctant, but he could not refuse Psyche anything she desired.

So it was that a summons was sent on the wind, which bore back with it Psyche's sisters. They embraced one another in tears, and Psyche showed them the palace and its servants, and spoke of the gentleness of the maligned creature she shared her nights with. At first, her sisters were amazed, and grateful for her safety...but as they saw more of the palace, envy began to bloom in their hearts, and it took the guise of false worry.

Why would this creature forbid their sister from seeing him? They asked. Psyche was a tender-hearted woman, not one to shy away from something only bestial. There must be some greater secret he was keeping, one that would explain his great palace and its miraculous servants, his favoring by the gods. Her sisters implored Psyche to take only one look at her monster, to be certain he told the truth, and at first, Psyche resisted.

But she loved her sisters, and trusted their judgment - and truthfully, she had wondered the same. Had she not shown her faith to him? Had they not become each other's boon companions? And yet she knew so little of him, or who he truly was, not even his name.

That night, when her husband fell asleep, Psyche only pretended to do the same. She sat up in the darkness and reached for a candle she had concealed, and with shaking hands, she lit it, and she beheld her monster for the first time.

It was the most beautiful man she had even seen. It was if he was a statue carved by the finest artisan, life breathed into him by the gods themselves, undone by his glory. Psyche wanted to weep, in relief and in gratitude, and with frustration at her own foolishness. She leaned over her companion, wishing to press a kiss to his brow, so moved was she in her swell of feeling - and a drop of wax trickled from the candle to fall on his sleeping eye.

He looked at her with great sorrow, and said: Love cannot live without trust, in the voice she knew and cherished so dearly. Without another word, he flew from the bed, flying into the starless night as Psyche cried out after him - but Eros, as she now knew him to be in her heart, and perhaps had always known - was gone.

[ as paul's storytelling built an admirable base of information and painted the palace before his eyes. he could see the servants as the titan's eyes looked at nothing in particular, only reflecting the fluorescent hues on the cave's inner linings from their golden shine. he does not blink fully, too enamored, but allows the slide of a thin membrane to keep its surface wet as it would during flight. his breathing is steady, fluffing inward and out with every intake.

at one point, the boy-beast fluffs too much. it mostly happens at the talk of the couple speaking with one another, every night, which struck him as romantic, and he can't help the fuzzy ebullience that barrels the butterflies in his stomach throughout the rest. paul would be buried in the bird's down for quite some time— even through the closure of the tale's lesson that begets a bittersweet chirrup that sounds more like a tuned drumroll beginning at a high, and falling to a low. ]

He was testing her and she . . . Didn't have the most important thing for him. [ trust, and allowing the manipulation of ill-intended parties to curb her better judgment. the lesson was strong, and it was served for all sorts of relationships. falco heaves a sigh that seems to have been caught earlier in the suspense. ] Psyche was left alone, then?

[ The puffing of feathers into Paul's face does make him smile, tickled as he is by downy fronds in his nose. Sophia disappears even more completely into the cozy nest of all of Falco's loved creatures, sinking herself into the warm torpor of a midday rest.

Paul pats Falco's side consolingly, to bolster his spirits, and nods unseen at the question. He's taken Falco out of this cave and into another world, as he hoped he might, and now what's left is to bring the story home in a way that will keep him uplifted. The depths of the obstacles the heroes must overcome is part of catharsis, and so Paul is very solemn when he answers. ]

All alone. Even her sisters fled when they saw Eros streak across the night sky, terrified of the god's wrath, and when Psyche rose from her bed after a day and night of weeping she found that all the servants had departed from the palace, or perhaps had chosen to ignore her. Psyche wandered the empty halls in despair for days, not knowing what to do, but knowing that she must make amends to the one she had betrayed.

Everyone knew at this time that Aphrodite was Eros' mother. Psyche resolved to seek her help, and so she descended on the perilous journey down the mountain, and went to pray at the first temple of the goddess she came across on the road away from it.

Aphrodite had not overcome her jealousy of Psyche, and the young woman's confession revealed to her that even her own son had gone against her will, stoking her outrage only higher. Full of bitterness, the goddess saw an opportunity to torment Psyche further.

She told Psyche that if she could complete three tasks for the goddess that she would summon her son so that Psyche might apologize, with Aphrodite by her side to vouch for her contrition. Psyche, overjoyed, agreed at once, not knowing what the goddess had in mind.

For the first task, Aphrodite led Psyche to a hill at dawn, across which was strewn tiny seeds of a dozen kinds, wheat and millet and poppy. She instructed Psyche to separate each seed from the others by the setting of the sun, or she would never see Eros again. When she departed, Psyche burst into tears, seeing the task was impossible - but at this moment, a troop of ants was passing by. They saw her despair - ants being more perceptive then than they are today - and chose to take mercy on her, not being fond of Aphrodite's fickle nature, since ants are creatures of diligence. They set to work separating the seeds into piles, a task that came easily to them, and so when Aphrodite returned she saw that the work was done, and she was displeased.

Aphrodite told Psyche to sleep on the dirt while she returned to her own palace, where she had shut Eros up in his room to mourn his faithless companion, not knowing that Psyche even then sought his forgiveness. There, she devised an even crueller task, believing that if she were to force Psyche to endure enough it would wear away her beauty and her heart at last, as Aphrodite wished.

So for the second task, Aphrodite showed Psyche a terrible black river that crashed through jagged black stones, and handed her a glass bottle. She instructed Psyche to fill the bottle with water from the river, or she would never see Eros again. Psyche approached the river as she was bid, but she soon discovered the stones were slippery and unscalable, and that to attempt to reach the water's edge would surely lead to her being cut apart, drowned, or both. She began to weep again, and an eagle flying overhead saw her, and took pity for the girl's plight, since the eagle had seen much of the havoc Aphrodite wrecked on the world in her travels, and did not care for her cruelty, eagles being creatures of noble spirit. She swooped down and plucked the bottle from Psyche's hand, filling it from the river with ease, and returned it to the young woman.

This made Aphrodite even more angry when she returned to see the task complete. She commanded Psyche to sleep on the hard stone while she stormed back to her palace, where she plotted all night a task that would surely be impossible for a mere mortal woman. She ignored her own servants telling her of how Eros languished, his duties gone unseen to, as she schemed.

So it was the next day she set Psyche the third task. She instructed Psyche to descend to the underworld itself with a lacquered box to ask the queen of the dead to drain a drop of her beauty into, so that Aphrodite might admire it even when the queen was in attendance of her court, or she would never see Eros again.

As soon as the goddess departed, Psyche fell into despair. She was no hero or champion to brave the borders of the land of the dead, let alone to travel deep within it to seek audience with its queen. There were no creatures of the sky, land, or sea that could help her, and even if there had been, she could not have asked them to take such a risk.

But Psyche bore herself up. She had committed to her path, and she would not abandon it. So she went to the road to the underworld, which was known in that time, and descended among the throngs of the dead to the banks of the great river between their land and ours. There she approached the boatman, who collects all our souls, and offered him two meagre coins in payment for her passage, as custom demands of the dead.

No one knows the mind of the boatman, or why he chose to accept Psyche's payment. He is bound to older laws than even the gods themselves, and perhaps one of them moved his hand. One way or another, he transported her across the river, and in silence, pointed her towards a shadowed path that led ever deeper into those dread lands.

What Psyche saw in the underworld is not for us to know. It was a long, dangerous journey, but she stayed true to her path, and did not waver, until after what could have hours, days, or even weeks, she found herself at the gates of the court of the dead, where their wintertime queen had already heard of Psyche's arrival on the whispers of the unquiet ghosts that served her.

The queen of the dead was a fearsome goddess, but when she saw Psyche, worn and exhausted and yet still standing, her heart was stirred with memory. She pulled a pomegranate pin from her hair and drew forth a drop of her own dark beauty, which she dropped into Psyche's open box, and sealed shut with a drop of holy wax to protect the mortal woman from it - for the loveliness of the goddess of the dead was death itself to mortal life, as Aphrodite had known when she sent Psyche on her quest.

When Psyche left the court of the dead, trembling in unspeakable awe, the boatman was waiting for her. He conveyed her from the underworld to the far side of the river, and Psyche passed upwards through the crowds of spirits until she stood once more in the sun.

Aphrodite was brought news of this, and she flew to the earth in a rage, snatching the prize from Psyche's hand and berating her for her treachery. She swore that there was no task Psyche could ever complete that would free her from her bondage to the goddess, no act she could undergo to ever make right what she had done wrong, and the violence of her anger reverberated throughout all of her temples and all of her creatures - including, of course, her son.

Eros was drawn forth from his room as his mother's servants flew into disarray, and he soared down to the source of his mother's wrath in confusion, confusion that only grew when he saw Psyche cowering at his mother's feet.

This wicked girl, Aphrodite cried out, has sought to deceive us both, my darling. She has shattered your trust and taken advantage of mine, in her arrogance, thinking herself cleverer than the gods themselves. She prevailed on the ants to sort all the seeds of the world for her; she prevailed on an eagle to bring her water from the black river; she prevailed on even death's boatman to rob our dear cousin, the queen of the underworld, all to trick me into allowing her to do you more harm. This time, you must do as I say, and strike her with a love that will destroy her.

Eros beheld his mother and Psyche. He went to stand before her, then joined her on her knees, taking up her hands in his. I already have, Eros said, in wonder, and I did not even know I had done it.

Aphrodite saw at once her error, but it was too late. As the two lovers embraced one another she gnashed her teeth and tore at her hair, but even the gods must obey their laws, such as they are, and Aphrodite could not intervene once what had been broken had been mended.

So it was that Eros, Love, was reunited with Psyche, Soul, and he bore her back up to his true home among the gods, and there she was given the gift of immortality to stay always by his side - because love cannot live without trust, and trust cannot live without devotion. And that is the story of Psyche and Eros.

[ Paul lets the close of the story echo in the cave, so much like the underworld itself, and takes a deep, resting breath before he leans completely into Falco's side once more. ]

That was always one of my favorites.

[ it isn't an amazing story without a twist and turn, and falco was glad for that. psyche's determination raises distinct inspiration that keeps his feathers in a constant rise and fall of fluff that titillates and warms the very core. from start and finally, to finish, falco feels as if he's had a bowl of the warmest soup on a frigid day. his bones were snug and his heart kindled, wishing to spread it through the outlay of a wing that threatens to cover paul in full. he manages to find a midway and keeps the elder boy's head out in the open, at the very least.

he went so far away with the entire legend, falco was still riding the waves of bliss; it hardly feels like he's stuck in a cave, and it shows in how absolutely elated perle makes her voice sound to convey the twittering in his chest, the high pitched warbling behind two sets of jaws, and that buried snare drum strike at the apex of his throat. ]

That's so true . . . Psyche surprised me, even, but— Eros, to recognize it! Paul? [ brother, the monstrous sounds from within him seem to thunder for a split second, but so fluid, as a songbird's tune would at times sound like words— falco turns his head to bump and press the curve of bone to paul's arm. it clacks, as bone does. ] That was so beautiful.

[ Titan-Falco is soothingly warm, the pressure of his great wing a balm. Paul remembers how frightened he'd been to even have Paul come close, at first, and he nestles under the aegis of his wing with wistful satisfaction.

When he had been afraid or angry as a child, it was stories that helped calm him down. Stories and touch, his father's arm wrapped around him feeling as sweeping and protective as Falco's great wing even while Paul was taken away on journeys to this or that ancient place and time. Whenever he'd come back, the world would be manageable again, like a magic trick. ]

It is. [ He feels brother in his chest quite literally; he catches the ache in his heart like a lightning bug in a jar. ] Love and faith make anything possible, if people trust each other.

I think I forgot that. So thank you, Falco. And thank you, Psyche. [ Thank you, dad. ] And thank you, too, Perle.

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