There was a time when Nathan thought the concept of going to a fantastical world as a prince was exciting, opening up a whole realm of possibilities and adventures. That was before he spent three hours swiping the floor of a church.
To be fair to the church, it was pretty. The walls were adorned with shimmering crystals that could blind you if you looked at just the right angle. The floors, on the other hand, were a vibrant white, which would most certainly blind you if you looked at them under direct sunlight. Nathan was glad the roof protected them from any such colour-related accidents.
Honestly, Nathan wasn't even sure what he was cleaning anymore. He'd swept maybe twelve rooms by now and hadn't even come up with a handful of dirt.
Quite the adventure. Eight-year-old Nathan would have been so upset.
He'd caught glimpses of many people as he moved from one room to another— some of them walking around in delight, some sitting in one position for presumably hours, some tending to the gardens, some playing with the peculiar black-and-white butterflies, some adults, some adults, some in between, and some cleaning the floors, just like him. All of them had one thing in common— they were all wearing the same white worshipper's robes.
The robes were a bit uncanny of course, but Nathan had spent the past eleven years wearing a school uniform. What he was really concerned about was the decided lack of colour in the whole building. Aside from, say, the hair colours of the people, everything was either white or black. Nathan couldn't even really call it monotone. There was no gray.
Just as Nathan was about to pick up the dust of this room and move to the next, something bumped into his back.
"Oh, I'm sorry—" said Geraldine, carrying the entire stack of what Nathan now recognized as his detention assignment. The stack was far taller than her, and Nathan was surprised her arms hadn't simply fallen off.
"...Do you need help?"
Geraldine blinked. "I couldn't possibly ask that of you. I'll be fine."
"Can you even see around all that?"
"Of course I can!" Geraldine smiled at him. "They don't hinder my sight in the slightest."She then proceeded to almost ram into the nearest pillar.
Nathan sighed. "I insist. Please let me carry some of those."
Eventually, Geraldine relented, and after a few moments of shuffling they each had half a stack of badly-written religious scriptures in their hands. Nathan's broom lay forgotten on the floor. Geraldine began walking again and Nathan followed. Strangely enough, it felt wrong to walk by her side, like he should be falling behind. Ultimately, Nathan paced himself, and let himself walk two steps slower.
Geraldine smiled at everyone they crossed, and they smiled back, tapping her shoulder or pinching her cheek or patting her hair. It had to get tiring, but Geraldine didn't seem to mind.
"You must be getting tired," Geraldine called out.
It...wasn't quite true. Nathan wasn't sure if this body had lifted weights or something, but his arms didn't feel heavy yet. Although now that Geraldine had pointed it out, he was starting to notice the strain.
On second thought, maybe he just hadn't paid enough attention to the soreness to actually feel it. Now it was all he could think about.
Ah, wait, he was supposed to reply, wasn't he? But hadn't he been quiet for too long? Wouldn't it be too weird to suddenly speak now? Could he pretend like he just hadn't heard her the first time? Would she even ask again?
"Here," Geraldine said, stepping to the side and placing one hand on the wall next to her. Her hand briefly glowed, and a gap that previously had most definitely not been there opened up. Geraldine turned towards Nathan. "A shortcut," she said, smiling before she stepped forward and was swallowed by the darkness.
Nathan blinked, unsure if the display before him had been magic or just...a quirk of the church building. He wouldn't have been surprised by either. As he stepped into the passage, the wall behind him knit itself back into place, blocking out the only source of light. A few moments later, a soft light, emerging from seemingly nowhere, illuminated the hallway. Geraldine stood in front of him. She watched him blink to get used to the lighting and continued onward without a word.
Nathan followed.
The hallway looked deliberately crafted, each stone placed with utmost precision. The air inside was cold and hollow, each step echoing along the floors. Nathan kind of wished he had worn his pants; these robes did nothing to keep him warm.
"Damien," Geraldine said, her quiet voice bouncing off the walls, the resonance surrounding everything in its wake for several seconds.
Nathan opened his mouth to answer, but found his tongue dry. He cleared his throat, and that, too, rang out.
(Wrong, wrong, wrong. Something about this place was so wrong. Why did it feel like a crime to make a single stray noise in here?)
"Yes?" Nathan finally asked.
Geraldine turned around. "I'm glad to see you're no longer kicking up a fuss about us not using your royal title."
Had Damien done that? Dammit. Nathan let out an exhale. "Um. Yeah. I figured there wasn't really much of a point to that...stuff."
"Stuff," Geraldine repeated. "I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye, and that you have never been swayed by our ideals. And I hate to sound accusatory, but I can't help but wonder— Damien, are you here to cause us more trouble?"
More trouble. What the hell had this guy done?
Nathan sighed. "I'm here because I caused trouble, not to cause trouble."
"How very strange."
They had stopped walking at some point. Geraldine set her stack down. She motioned for Nathan to set his down, too.
(Wrong.)
Nathan did.
(Wrong.)
"There's something so very strange about you today," Geraldine said. "Those are not words I would have ever expected to hear from you."
A sick feeling formed in Nathan's gut, and despite himself, he took a step back. Why was he so scared? "People change."
"People change," Geraldine echoed. "They do, indeed. What a convenient excuse, isn't it?"
(Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.)
Sure, he hadn't been acting like the old Damien used to, but even the ones closest to him— Damien's sister, Damien's mentor, Damien's own mother— hadn't discovered him yet. How would this girl know?
Nathan willed himself to calm down. "I don't know what you mean."
Geraldine smiled. "You're not Damien."
(Run.)
Nathan did not run. That would be too suspicious. He could still talk his way out of this. "Why would you say that?"
"There is something to you— a presence..." Geraldine tilted her head, scrutinizing him. "It's a very classic case, really. Perhaps you wandered onto the grave of one who died too young. You don't seem malicious."
Geraldine stepped towards him. Nathan didn't move, the pit in his stomach deepening as the urge to run, fight, do anything other than what he was doing right now grew more frantic.
"It's okay to want to live a little longer," Geraldine said, soft. "But you can't do that at the expense of others, little soul. It's true you've made him docile, less of a nuisance to handle. But Damien is mine, troublemaker and all, so will you please let him go?"
Couldn't he? Couldn't he let it go? It wasn't as if Nathan wanted to be here. It wasn't as if anyone wanted him here. He could just...leave. Forget about that godforsaken mission and...
And what? What would happen if he were to let go? Would he be allowed to go back to where he came from? But hadn't he died? Would he...would he cease to exist?
(Would that be so bad?)
Geraldine took another step. "If you let me do this, it won't hurt in the slightest. I can't promise the same if you resist. You will leave either way, but I'd like to atleast offer to do it painlessly."
Nathan nodded.
Geraldine placed her fingers on Nathan's forehead. "I'm sorry you need to go. May you find peace."
Nathan shut his eyes as a white light threatened to consume him whole. His gut was no longer telling him to run. It wasn't saying anything at all.
And just like Geraldine had promised, it didn't hurt at all.
* * *
The biggest question Geraldine had was how had no one else noticed yet?
From the moment the boy had exited the carriage, it was abundantly clear he was a mere imitation of Damien. In hindsight, she should have guessed it long ago.
She'd been worried, at first, when the last letter she'd sent had been lost to time. Had someone else intercepted it? Had someone sniffed them out? Was Damien in trouble? Was she in trouble? But as the days carried on and no Church official burst into her room demanding an explanation, she cancelled that explanation out.
The only explanation left to her infatuated self was that he had grown bored of her— that he had moved on to other endeavours, left her to rot in this cage of her own making. She had shed many a tear in the privacy of the night, mourned what could have been and what would never be. She'd emerged from it stronger. A heartbreak, after all, was nothing. Much greater things awaited.
And when the Academy had asked the Church to choose a suitable punishment, when the authority had been put into her hand, she had given him the most tiresome task she could think of. A prince reduced to menial labour, she'd mused to herself then, knowing he would have hated it, and hated her for it— but that it would have served him right.
And then...he'd arrived. And immediately, she had known something was amiss.
(He was never so quiet. Never so compliant. Never so uncomplaining. He'd been full of life. He'd been the first to offer her a hug, a dance, a kiss to the back of her hand, a kiss elsewhere. He would have protested like a little child. He would have offered to help her to her office, closed the door behind him and pressed her against the desk, mouth on hers. And she would have forgotten her own name.)
He'd felt different from the very first moment she saw him, in more ways than one.
Geraldine had always been sensitive to spiritual changes. She hadn't developed the technique for it the way the Elders had after training for years, but even so she could sense these things, more accurately than anyone else. It seemed to her the affliction that possessed Damien was a child, perhaps no older than Damien himself, holding onto life long past its time.
(It was scared. So scared. She'd almost felt sorry.)
She'd offered to let it go. It hadn't needed much convincing. Perhaps the desire for life was only a passing fancy.
And, like many times she had done before, she had released the spirit, and Damien had fallen to her arms, safe and sound.
(Why had she ever thought he'd forsaken her? He wouldn't do that. Of course he wouldn't.)
* * *
That he would wake up was not something Nathan had anticipated. That he'd wake up in a well-lit bedroom instead of the dark secret hallway he had passed out in was something he had anticipated even less. Someone must have brought him here.
As soon as his eyes opened, Geraldine loomed over him, looking concerned.
"...Damien?"
Nathan's mouth had glued shut and would not utter a word no matter how hard he willed himself to, so he could only shake his head.
Geraldine frowned. "That should have worked. Are you malicious after all?"
Nathan attempted to sit up, joints aching, and his whole body once again misplaced— all those weeks of getting acclimated to it lost to whatever Geraldine had done to him. He felt her eyes on him as he tried to unlock his mouth, tried to make a sound, and was overcome with a desire to just scream.
(He didn't scream.)
His voice was hoarse as he squeezed out the words, "I'm not."
Geraldine frowned. "Not what?"
"Not malicious."
"Then why did it not work?" Geraldine demanded, as if she expected Nathan to answer.
...To be fair, he did have a few theories. He wasn't sure if it was because he technically didn't count as soul of this world, and unless random Earth people were possessing those in here regularly, he doubted they had developed any rituals against it. Or maybe it was something related to Cantis' stupid Guide Agency thing. Either way, Nathan wasn't too surprised that the exorcism failed.
He'd come to a point in his life where he was being exorcized. Just delightful.
Geraldine sighed. "I thought I'd be able to tackle this problem myself, but it seems...it seems we'll have to rely on the Elders."
Oh, he didn't like the sound of that. "The Elders?"
Geraldine stood up. "Experienced members of the Church who are far more knowledgeable on these matters than myself. I should never have allowed myself to be deceived by your innocent appearance. The Elders will know how to take care of you. It will be painful, of course, but you should have thought of that before you lied to me about not being a malicious spirit."
Nathan scoffed. "I never lied to you. You just went ahead and made assumptions and somehow I'm was the one responsible for them being wrong? Grow up."
"...You will not be so smug once the Elders have determined how to evict you from his body."
"Right," Nathan said dryly. "Look, sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm not going to your elderly party."
Geraldine narrowed her eyes. "And why not?"
Because if he was right, they wouldn't be able to exorcize him, either. And if that were the case, Nathan wasn't just going to stick around and let himself get tortured for no reason.
"Because you can't stop me if I just decide to leave."
Geraldine's eyes darkened. "I need only chant to harness the power of Unity. You do not want to make an enemy out of me."
A little too late for that, wasn't it?
Nathan met her eyes— a striking blue amidst all the black-and-white she was draped in— and said, "Then how about this? If you take another step towards me, I will hurt Damien."
Geraldine's eyes widened. "You will not."
"I will, too." Nathan's eyes flicked to the table next to the bed where a knife was placed. It was the same one Geraldine had been carrying when they first met. Geraldine's eyes followed his just a moment to late, and by the time she thought to react, he had already grabbed the knife and set it against his throat.
Although it wasn't made of metal, it was sharp. Nathan could feel the blade, cold on his skin. He stared at Geraldine, who had stepped a few steps forward, her hands hovering in the air and her eyes frantically darting from the blade to his face.
"...Drop the knife," she said slowly.
"Back off," Nathan replied.
Geraldine's eyebrow twitched, but she stepped back. "I can use magic to trap you, evil spirit, so you'd best—"
"Yeah, sure. Let's see what's faster, your stupid chanting or my knife." Nathan got out of the bed slowly. He was still wearing that godforsaken worshipper's robe. After a moment of finding his footing, he walked towards the door, shoving it open. Before walking out, he turned back to look at Geraldine.
"Don't bring the...the what? The Elders? Those guys. Don't bring them into this," he said, "unless you want me to slit his throat."
Geraldine gritted her teeth. "Give me back my ceremonial dagger."
And lose his only advantage? He didn't think so.
"Come get it from me someday," Nathan said, and shut the door behind himself.