009 ["voice"/action] forward-dated to nighttime

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[It's been a little over a week now since Sigmund accidentally deafened part of Luceti. Tonight isn't a good night to talk about it; part of him suspects that he never will be

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[He has a song to finish, and that's more important than everything else in the world right now. But she may be glad that she has a few moments to think, because tonight, Sigmund is different.

Or rather, his echoes are.

The echo overlays him, not entirely, but like a ghost or shade. It -- or rather, he -- is taller than Sigmund, and broader in the chest; a grown man in the prime of his life instead of a young one with lingering signs of boyhood. He wears robes of deep indigo and blue, edged in gold; and an intricate gold circlet. Hovering at his back is bright crescent halo, much like Svala's, though the ends point up like horns over his shoulders; and when Sigmund tilts his head as though he's heard her, she'll be able to see that the echo's ears are subtly pointed. Aristo. Have they taught her that word yet?

But the most peculiar thing is how the image seems to ripple, ebb, and flow over Sigmund himself. Not the echo, but the transparency of it. What were ripples in a pond a week ago are now like ocean waves. First it eclipses him completely, then recedes almost entirely. But if she watches long enough, she may see that there's a rhythm to it all. Like... like the tide. Like scales that are trying to bring themselves into balance.

And then, after that stretch of silence, flat but unaccusatory-]

You should be in bed.

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Oh, I slept all afternoon. [And she sounds ...preoccupied, because the echo most definitely has her attention.

There could be many reasons for an echo like that. A dream of what Sigmund wants to be, or a resentment that he isn't like Svala, or maybe a father figure-- it's the way it flickers and attempts to balance itself with Sigmund that makes her think of other, far more familiar things from home.

Changeling. Bearing characteristics of her own nobles. Which she knows he is not. But the similarity is there, and she asks without even thinking.]

You're not just one person, are you?

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[There's a tense pause while Sigmund processes that thought, and then he whips around quickly to face her.

His expression is stunned and confused, while the echo's is a knowing little smile. The smile is somewhat tempered by the eyes, which manage to be so many things all at once. Kind but calculating, gentle but wild, bright but ancient... and red. Vivid red, even more than Sigmund's.

He almost stands, but appears to think better of it and settles himself back down.]

What would make you ask such a thing? [The echo tilts his head a bit. 'What, indeed?']

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[Brilliant job, Katie. She blinks at him a moment, then at the echo, before shifting her gaze to the side nervously. The knowing little smile tells her she's right. But how on earth does she answer that question? She certainly can't tell him the truth. Not in light of what she's already done this week.

So Katie shifts from one foot to the other-- and says nothing at all, lip caught between her teeth. It's child logic. If she doesn't give him an answer, he'll drop the subject. Right?]

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[He'll drop the question, at least, and tuck the flute between the pillows before it also gets dropped in all this confusion. He smooths down the blankets, and the echo smooths down the edge of his robes over top of it. Come sit down, child. It's alright.]

I am... many things, to many people. [It's a strange half-answer, to a strange question; but then, Katie is a strange little girl. He almost thinks he shouldn't be surprised by anything she does.]

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[And after a long hesitation, Katie comes forward to sit on the blankets, nervousness giving way to curiosity. A strange half-answer, but it gives rise to a question she asks often; she's far more interested in the answer this time.]

What kind of things?

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[If Katie ever stops asking questions, that's when he'll know something is seriously wrong. He doesn't know what he should tell her, or if he should tell her anything at all. It's a secret, only those who must know should be told. But it's a secret that's driving him mad. ...It isn't as though she could pass it on, anyway. She can barely explain where she's been all day, let alone something like this. He can only hope he doesn't come to regret this later.

He gives her a look that's equal parts stern and fond -- please hold your interrogation until the end of this story -- and begins in a hushed voice.]

The nobility of my world are created by the moon god, and draw their power from him. Not so long ago, there was a king who lost his family because he followed the rules the god gave the people. Grief-stricken, the king swore that he would abandon the god entirely. He left his kingdom and traveled to the court of his oldest and dearest friend, where he begged her to help him remove the god's blessing so that he would be as the lowliest of commoners. She agreed, but the rite did not go as expected.

The king was... undone, and his body returned to that of a newborn child. The child grew up with no idea of his origins, although he was a very odd boy. One day, in a kingdom far from home, he was told that he would receive a great honor: a gift from the moon god. The 'gift' the god gave to him was the awareness of the old king.

[It's far from the whole story, with all the ugly, hateful parts removed. Katie doesn't need to hear that. He's still not sure about the wisdom of telling her any of this. It could go spectacularly bad. But hopefully, it will be enough.]

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[For her part, Katie listens attentively, which is often a rarity where she's concerned. Sigmund's story is a little hard for her to understand - but she'll take a little bit to go over it again in her head and sound it out, until she understands. Or at least thinks she does. And she'll shift her gaze to the echo for a moment, looking for confirmation, before she glances back.]

What was the old king's name?

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[The echo blinks, and then tucks his chin towards the shoulder nearest to her. 'Yes. All true.' Sigmund stares straight ahead for a moment, and then exhales and closes his eyes.]

I am Volsung.

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[...blinking. That would make sense to her, if he was one of the fae. Which he isn't. Bear with her, Sigmund.]

Did you forget everything that happened before you remembered you were Volsung?

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[That's one of the least strange questions she's asked tonight. She makes sense, and he makes none. The world is now upside down.]

Before the second rite, I had no recollection of Volsung. I was merely Sigmund.

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[Upside down makes things interesting. He should try it more often.]

Are you still Sigmund?

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[...Aaaaand, hand on the head. It's amazing that she avoided it for this long, really.]

Of course I am; but... [And here's the point that's been giving him trouble for months. The echo looks somewhat guilty.] I am Volsung too.

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Oh.

All right, then.

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[...That's it? 'All right, then'? No thousand and one questions? No hurt feelings? No disapproving sniffles? That's... a little odd. But then again, Katie.]

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[...and now he's staring at her. Was she meant to say something else? Hunting through her memory of the conversation uncertainly. Uh. Hmm.]

What do I call you, then?