MIRRORMASK fic: Underwater
Title: Underwater
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean created these wonderful characters and the universe they inhabit. I merely borrow and play with their toys, and own nothing.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: I think these Mirrormask ficlets are building on each other. So the first is Shadow of a Doubt, and the second is Telling Tales. As with the other two, it's all aliaspiral's fault. Just saying.
Summary: I'm underwater, I feel the flight begin.
Underwater
something fearless in your eyes
something careless about your smile
something fragile when you hold your breath
and when you move
you move right through me
James Valentine supposed that the dreams were all Helena's fault. They spent a lot of time together, poring over his old college texts and her drawings. There was the Queen of Light and the Queen of Darkness, and the Princess. It was curious that the Queen of Light didn't have a daughter, but she did have a champion in Mr. Valentine. The Dark Queen didn't have a champion, just a sullen daughter that wanted to escape. It seemed very unfair, but stories didn't always have to be fair. They just had to be told well, or else they would return themselves to the nearest Public Library.
Interesting notion, that. James rather liked it.
"Do you think, perhaps, that I'm too old for stories?" Helena had murmured one day, his battered Shakespeare volume in her hands. She sounded almost scared of his answer. "I've turned sixteen now. Do you think I should be thinking of college and classes and things?"
James wanted to yell at her, tell her that she had everything she could ever need. He understood the feeling that sparked her words. He hadn't left adolescence that far behind. He had stroked her hair gently, then traced the curve of her lower lip. "Helena, you're a smart girl. You don't need college to teach you how to think."
"I'm afraid sometimes I'm not clever enough to make it all work," she admitted, clutching at his hand tightly. "What if these stories I tell myself and these drawings is all I've got? I do these things to feel better, but what if it's all I'm good for? What if I really can't do anything else?" she asked, her voice trembling.
He hadn't ever known her to be anything but strong, and the fragility was almost frightening. He squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead. His lips were cool and dry, a constant and comforting presence for her. "You're plenty clever, Helena. It takes skill to invent a whole world the way you do with ease."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell me about when you notice there is something more to a person than you'd thought. The exact point where you begin to think of someone in ways you'd never considered. And then your answer would be a story, and it would have meaning, and it would be right." His fingers trailed down her arm, wandering almost into dangerous territory. James shuddered to think what Joanna would think if she caught them like this.
Helena's smile was enigmatic and almost sad. "We are what we know and tell. Maybe I'm the one that lives inside my mind. Maybe there's someone else here, the other me that knows more than what I'm saying."
James kissed her deeply. She responded to him, rolling beneath him. She felt absolutely perfect, and James had to will his body to stillness. "Helena, there's nothing to worry about. You're the bravest girl I know, the best and brightest. I'm proud to know you, proud to be the one to kiss you when your Mum isn't looking."
She laughed then, as boisterous as ever. She kissed him back, with an indeterminate longing and leaving a subtle ache behind.
And that night, James began to dream.
fingertips so gently on my skin
i'm underwater
i feel the flood begin
fingertips so gently on my skin
you're taking over and over again
He is Valentine in this world, the Queen of Light's champion. He is dressed in purple and black, a mask upon his face. He laughs and juggles. But he knows he cannot remain for long, because there is another purpose for his presence now. The Queen knows this, and extends from her hand a silver key that looks nothing like the key to the mirrormask.
"What's this?" Valentine asks, curious. "A neverending store of foodstuffs? A trinket to sell?"
"No, my dear Valentine," the Queen replies, amused by his antics. "It is a very special key, and you will know what to do with it when the time comes. But don't use it too soon or too late. And never fear, for you will be well."
Valentine tucks it away within the robe he wears. "As it is, my lady. I'm not exactly sure why I would need such a key, but I accept it with glad thanks and much merriment." He juggles again, but the Queen frowns. "Your Highness?"
"You should begin now, Valentine, before it is too late. The Princess was shut away too tightly, and even she must breathe."
And so Valentine finds himself walking the path to the borderlands. He begs an audience from the Dark Queen, who glares at him. He holds his head high and does not tremble in fear. "And you are? You seem almost familiar somehow."
"I am Valentine," he replies, bowing deeply. "I have come to amuse the Princess and to keep her company for a short time."
"I suppose you think you are brave, Valentine," the Queen remarks, fingers steepling.
"Only compared to some," Valentine answers with a smile as he remembers Helena.
"If she runs away again, your life is forfeit."
"I understand," Valentine says, his bow deepening again. He knows the ways of Queens, how to flatter and answer. He has had much time observing the Queen of Light, but it's all the same kind of thing. They all want to be loved and admired, and Valentine does so easily.
The Princess has been locked away in her room ever since her return. It's a sad thing, the wild girl bent and broken. She looks up, eyes dark and inky black. She looks like Helena, and it almost seems as if she is but isn't Helena. Her dress is full of black ruffles that are hard to see against the silky black fabric, and her gauntlets are black leather this time. Her boots are across the room, as if kicked off in a fit of pique.
"Princess," Valentine says, and bows again. "I am Valentine."
She smiles at him, enigmatic and sad, and he returns the smile in almost the same way. "Are you a spirit?" she asks, her voice tumbling down like broken glass.
He shakes his head, but the Princess can't tell if he's confirming or denying her question.
"Why are you here? Come to revel in the fact that I am finally caged for good?"
Valentine sits across from her on her bed. He remembers being here before, though he can't remember when that might have been. It was a dream ago, far away and nowhere at once. "I should like to speak with you," he says formally. He takes her cold hand in his, the ball of his thumb stroking the back gently. "Would you like this?"
"I don't like anything my mother disapproves of," the Princess says carefully. She doesn't take her hand away, and Valentine feels heat curling in his gut. The Princess watches him, and her eyes are wide and almost afraid. "I learned this with much difficulty, but she was sure to make sure I learned the lesson well."
"I would not upset the Queen," Valentine says slowly, leaning in. "I would do nothing of the kind. I merely wish to be your friend."
"Is that all?" the Princess asks, voice trembling. "It's a small thing."
"Small things are still important things," Valentine says, and he leans in for a kiss. The Princess is not as worldly as she thinks she is, and is startled. The boy she had kissed in the Other World hadn't known how to make her toes curl in or flood her belly with a languid heat that promised better things. That boy hadn't known how to make her breath flutter or her heart stop for a moment. He hadn't known how to promise her without words that she was good enough and smart enough for anything.
Oh, she had much to learn indeed.
shed your armor
spin your web
hypnotize me with the longest stare
make your promise
or maybe it's a threat
'cause when you look
you look right through me
"I don't believe you," she says, voice suddenly hard. "The only real things in life are power and responsibility. It's what she respects. It's what she knows."
"Move slowly, Princess," Valentine says, voice hushed in the stillness of the room. The drapes don't flutter; the Dark Queen isn't watching through the peep holes. For the moment, all they have is each other. For the moment, it's safe to speak.
"There's only fast and faster."
"No," he replies, voice barely above a whisper. He catches her in his arms, bodies pressing together in the same small measure of space. She is lying on her back, limbs tangled around him, hair spilling all about her. Valentine tries to keep his riotous body still for her sake. "Take your time to wake, Princess. Move in steps she can tolerate. This is where I used to be, beside you. I won't go anywhere. Move slowly, Princess."
Their eyes lock, inky black and tiny holes in a flesh colored mask. "I'm just a shadow now, Mr. Valentine. I'm falling from a distant star, caught between two different worlds." She sighs, a mournful sound that threatens to break Valentine's heart if he lets it. "The world will end before she lets me go. It's already happened."
"Yes. But if you move slowly, it won't have to end again." He kisses her again, a slight pressure of lips together. She doesn't complain when he deepens it, when he strokes her tongue with his. She molds herself to him, and he can feel every curve of her flesh. "Princess... Angel... You don't have to stay caged. But it will take time for her to unlock the key. It is a cumbersome process, long and laborious. But it's worth it, Princess. You won't disappoint her if you go slow and steady. You'll both get used to the process."
"I'm scared, Valentine," she whispers against his lips. "Sometimes I hate her so much."
"As much as you've hated yourself?" he asks. She pulls back, almost frightened, almost angry. "I see the way you look at yourself." He follows her as she pulls away, trying to shrink into a tiny ball. "Don't hide, Princess. I know this. I know how it ends."
"Then how does it end?"
"You both hate each other. You both hate yourselves. And you both lose."
She curls against him, forehead resting against his shoulder. "I don't want it to happen. I want something more, but I don't know what it is."
"Let me show you," Valentine whispers. "I'll be gentle."
we're flesh and bone
together and alone
and we're looking for a home
The Princess is burning angel wings to dust.
Valentine has her in his lap, his arms around her middle. She fits him very well, and it's a startling thing to realize. She smiles at him, a real smile, and he sees that she is beautiful. Her inky black eyes protect her, and tears never pool. She is soft and silky in his arms, her smile a soft and fragile thing. She looks shy suddenly, as if afraid of saying the wrong thing. Valentine suddenly realizes that the Princess only really wanted to be loved.
Love is all a matter of timing. It's no good meeting the right person too soon or too late.
He kisses her on the neck and breathes in the scent of her. She smells like a real girl, full of curves and hip and graceless wonder. She was only playing at being more than that, and being locked away in the dark had only made her realize it.
Valentine thinks that perhaps she is only starting to wake up for real this time. When she wakes to herself, she'll break hearts. If he's not careful, she'll break his without even knowing it. He gathers her close, hoping to stave off the inevitable. She's soft and sinuous, youth at the cusp of adulthood. She doesn't know the power she will have when she wakes.
Her thighs are smooth above her stockings, the garters wound with black ribbon and rosettes. She gasps when his fingertips trace her bared skin, and the dust falls from her outstretched hands. His fingers pull the hem of her dress up higher. She twists in his grasp, breast rubbing against his arm through the thin fabric. Her breath catches, and suddenly she's aware of him in a way she had never been before. "Valentine?" she whispers, uncertain. "Is this all right?"
He nuzzles her neck and presses his lips to her skin. "Yes, love, it's all right."
And then he wakes.
silver moonlight fills the sky
calling gently to the evening tide
you're unfolding right before my eyes
and when you move
you move right through me
"We should tell your mother," James told Helena the next day. They were reading Shakespeare again, The Tempest.
Helena looked up sharply. "I thought you said it wasn't wise."
"She'll understand if we say we're going slow."
Helena flushed slightly and looked down at her hands. "I... I feel like I should grow up, like I should be able to do all these things..."
James pulled her into his lap and threaded his arms around her. She settled into his embrace, comfortable, her head falling back onto his shoulder. "I won't rush you, Helena. You're too precious, too wonderful. I won't muck this up for something like that."
"What I would give to be lost in your embrace," she murmured. "But it's scary, too, like nothing will be the same if it happens."
"Maybe. But maybe something wonderful will happen."
"Like a butterfly."
"Like a mermaid underwater," James added playfully, tightening his arms around her. "I want this to be something as wonderful and special as you are."
Helena turned and straddled him, eyes covered by her hair. They suddenly appeared dark and inky black. "Maybe I think you're special, too. Maybe I think I've found my Mr. Valentine, the hero of the city, the one to save the Princess from her sad fate." She kissed his surprised mouth gently, slowly. "Maybe I think I don't want to share you." Her body was pressed tight to his, and he could feel every curve beneath her clothes.
"Helena..."
"James," she whispered. Her head tilted, sunlight falling across her face. Her eyes were her own again, and she looked a touch unsure of herself. She was changing, she was becoming something different and wonderful. "I love you."
He cradled her face in his hands. He kissed her hard, almost desperately. "I love you, Helena. It's why I don't want this to go wrong."
"It won't. Not if you love me. Not if we're willing to do what needs to be done. If I decide to go to college... I'll wait for you."
That was what it was about. Understanding now, James grinned at her. "Ah, Helena. There's nothing to worry about. I'd go to the ends of the earth for you. I'll wait until the heavens rain down and the earth cracks open."
Comforted, Helena curled up around him. "I love you," she repeated. She was more sure, more forceful in her tone. Her arms wound tightly around him, and he reveled in the feel of her. She surrounded him completely, just as he wished her to.
He hadn't used the key in his dream, and Valentine still had it tucked away somewhere. It was bound to do something absolutely fantastic.
He couldn't wait to find out.
The End.
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean created these wonderful characters and the universe they inhabit. I merely borrow and play with their toys, and own nothing.
Rating: PG-13
Notes: I think these Mirrormask ficlets are building on each other. So the first is Shadow of a Doubt, and the second is Telling Tales. As with the other two, it's all aliaspiral's fault. Just saying.
Summary: I'm underwater, I feel the flight begin.
Underwater
something fearless in your eyes
something careless about your smile
something fragile when you hold your breath
and when you move
you move right through me
James Valentine supposed that the dreams were all Helena's fault. They spent a lot of time together, poring over his old college texts and her drawings. There was the Queen of Light and the Queen of Darkness, and the Princess. It was curious that the Queen of Light didn't have a daughter, but she did have a champion in Mr. Valentine. The Dark Queen didn't have a champion, just a sullen daughter that wanted to escape. It seemed very unfair, but stories didn't always have to be fair. They just had to be told well, or else they would return themselves to the nearest Public Library.
Interesting notion, that. James rather liked it.
"Do you think, perhaps, that I'm too old for stories?" Helena had murmured one day, his battered Shakespeare volume in her hands. She sounded almost scared of his answer. "I've turned sixteen now. Do you think I should be thinking of college and classes and things?"
James wanted to yell at her, tell her that she had everything she could ever need. He understood the feeling that sparked her words. He hadn't left adolescence that far behind. He had stroked her hair gently, then traced the curve of her lower lip. "Helena, you're a smart girl. You don't need college to teach you how to think."
"I'm afraid sometimes I'm not clever enough to make it all work," she admitted, clutching at his hand tightly. "What if these stories I tell myself and these drawings is all I've got? I do these things to feel better, but what if it's all I'm good for? What if I really can't do anything else?" she asked, her voice trembling.
He hadn't ever known her to be anything but strong, and the fragility was almost frightening. He squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead. His lips were cool and dry, a constant and comforting presence for her. "You're plenty clever, Helena. It takes skill to invent a whole world the way you do with ease."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell me about when you notice there is something more to a person than you'd thought. The exact point where you begin to think of someone in ways you'd never considered. And then your answer would be a story, and it would have meaning, and it would be right." His fingers trailed down her arm, wandering almost into dangerous territory. James shuddered to think what Joanna would think if she caught them like this.
Helena's smile was enigmatic and almost sad. "We are what we know and tell. Maybe I'm the one that lives inside my mind. Maybe there's someone else here, the other me that knows more than what I'm saying."
James kissed her deeply. She responded to him, rolling beneath him. She felt absolutely perfect, and James had to will his body to stillness. "Helena, there's nothing to worry about. You're the bravest girl I know, the best and brightest. I'm proud to know you, proud to be the one to kiss you when your Mum isn't looking."
She laughed then, as boisterous as ever. She kissed him back, with an indeterminate longing and leaving a subtle ache behind.
And that night, James began to dream.
fingertips so gently on my skin
i'm underwater
i feel the flood begin
fingertips so gently on my skin
you're taking over and over again
He is Valentine in this world, the Queen of Light's champion. He is dressed in purple and black, a mask upon his face. He laughs and juggles. But he knows he cannot remain for long, because there is another purpose for his presence now. The Queen knows this, and extends from her hand a silver key that looks nothing like the key to the mirrormask.
"What's this?" Valentine asks, curious. "A neverending store of foodstuffs? A trinket to sell?"
"No, my dear Valentine," the Queen replies, amused by his antics. "It is a very special key, and you will know what to do with it when the time comes. But don't use it too soon or too late. And never fear, for you will be well."
Valentine tucks it away within the robe he wears. "As it is, my lady. I'm not exactly sure why I would need such a key, but I accept it with glad thanks and much merriment." He juggles again, but the Queen frowns. "Your Highness?"
"You should begin now, Valentine, before it is too late. The Princess was shut away too tightly, and even she must breathe."
And so Valentine finds himself walking the path to the borderlands. He begs an audience from the Dark Queen, who glares at him. He holds his head high and does not tremble in fear. "And you are? You seem almost familiar somehow."
"I am Valentine," he replies, bowing deeply. "I have come to amuse the Princess and to keep her company for a short time."
"I suppose you think you are brave, Valentine," the Queen remarks, fingers steepling.
"Only compared to some," Valentine answers with a smile as he remembers Helena.
"If she runs away again, your life is forfeit."
"I understand," Valentine says, his bow deepening again. He knows the ways of Queens, how to flatter and answer. He has had much time observing the Queen of Light, but it's all the same kind of thing. They all want to be loved and admired, and Valentine does so easily.
The Princess has been locked away in her room ever since her return. It's a sad thing, the wild girl bent and broken. She looks up, eyes dark and inky black. She looks like Helena, and it almost seems as if she is but isn't Helena. Her dress is full of black ruffles that are hard to see against the silky black fabric, and her gauntlets are black leather this time. Her boots are across the room, as if kicked off in a fit of pique.
"Princess," Valentine says, and bows again. "I am Valentine."
She smiles at him, enigmatic and sad, and he returns the smile in almost the same way. "Are you a spirit?" she asks, her voice tumbling down like broken glass.
He shakes his head, but the Princess can't tell if he's confirming or denying her question.
"Why are you here? Come to revel in the fact that I am finally caged for good?"
Valentine sits across from her on her bed. He remembers being here before, though he can't remember when that might have been. It was a dream ago, far away and nowhere at once. "I should like to speak with you," he says formally. He takes her cold hand in his, the ball of his thumb stroking the back gently. "Would you like this?"
"I don't like anything my mother disapproves of," the Princess says carefully. She doesn't take her hand away, and Valentine feels heat curling in his gut. The Princess watches him, and her eyes are wide and almost afraid. "I learned this with much difficulty, but she was sure to make sure I learned the lesson well."
"I would not upset the Queen," Valentine says slowly, leaning in. "I would do nothing of the kind. I merely wish to be your friend."
"Is that all?" the Princess asks, voice trembling. "It's a small thing."
"Small things are still important things," Valentine says, and he leans in for a kiss. The Princess is not as worldly as she thinks she is, and is startled. The boy she had kissed in the Other World hadn't known how to make her toes curl in or flood her belly with a languid heat that promised better things. That boy hadn't known how to make her breath flutter or her heart stop for a moment. He hadn't known how to promise her without words that she was good enough and smart enough for anything.
Oh, she had much to learn indeed.
shed your armor
spin your web
hypnotize me with the longest stare
make your promise
or maybe it's a threat
'cause when you look
you look right through me
"I don't believe you," she says, voice suddenly hard. "The only real things in life are power and responsibility. It's what she respects. It's what she knows."
"Move slowly, Princess," Valentine says, voice hushed in the stillness of the room. The drapes don't flutter; the Dark Queen isn't watching through the peep holes. For the moment, all they have is each other. For the moment, it's safe to speak.
"There's only fast and faster."
"No," he replies, voice barely above a whisper. He catches her in his arms, bodies pressing together in the same small measure of space. She is lying on her back, limbs tangled around him, hair spilling all about her. Valentine tries to keep his riotous body still for her sake. "Take your time to wake, Princess. Move in steps she can tolerate. This is where I used to be, beside you. I won't go anywhere. Move slowly, Princess."
Their eyes lock, inky black and tiny holes in a flesh colored mask. "I'm just a shadow now, Mr. Valentine. I'm falling from a distant star, caught between two different worlds." She sighs, a mournful sound that threatens to break Valentine's heart if he lets it. "The world will end before she lets me go. It's already happened."
"Yes. But if you move slowly, it won't have to end again." He kisses her again, a slight pressure of lips together. She doesn't complain when he deepens it, when he strokes her tongue with his. She molds herself to him, and he can feel every curve of her flesh. "Princess... Angel... You don't have to stay caged. But it will take time for her to unlock the key. It is a cumbersome process, long and laborious. But it's worth it, Princess. You won't disappoint her if you go slow and steady. You'll both get used to the process."
"I'm scared, Valentine," she whispers against his lips. "Sometimes I hate her so much."
"As much as you've hated yourself?" he asks. She pulls back, almost frightened, almost angry. "I see the way you look at yourself." He follows her as she pulls away, trying to shrink into a tiny ball. "Don't hide, Princess. I know this. I know how it ends."
"Then how does it end?"
"You both hate each other. You both hate yourselves. And you both lose."
She curls against him, forehead resting against his shoulder. "I don't want it to happen. I want something more, but I don't know what it is."
"Let me show you," Valentine whispers. "I'll be gentle."
we're flesh and bone
together and alone
and we're looking for a home
The Princess is burning angel wings to dust.
Valentine has her in his lap, his arms around her middle. She fits him very well, and it's a startling thing to realize. She smiles at him, a real smile, and he sees that she is beautiful. Her inky black eyes protect her, and tears never pool. She is soft and silky in his arms, her smile a soft and fragile thing. She looks shy suddenly, as if afraid of saying the wrong thing. Valentine suddenly realizes that the Princess only really wanted to be loved.
Love is all a matter of timing. It's no good meeting the right person too soon or too late.
He kisses her on the neck and breathes in the scent of her. She smells like a real girl, full of curves and hip and graceless wonder. She was only playing at being more than that, and being locked away in the dark had only made her realize it.
Valentine thinks that perhaps she is only starting to wake up for real this time. When she wakes to herself, she'll break hearts. If he's not careful, she'll break his without even knowing it. He gathers her close, hoping to stave off the inevitable. She's soft and sinuous, youth at the cusp of adulthood. She doesn't know the power she will have when she wakes.
Her thighs are smooth above her stockings, the garters wound with black ribbon and rosettes. She gasps when his fingertips trace her bared skin, and the dust falls from her outstretched hands. His fingers pull the hem of her dress up higher. She twists in his grasp, breast rubbing against his arm through the thin fabric. Her breath catches, and suddenly she's aware of him in a way she had never been before. "Valentine?" she whispers, uncertain. "Is this all right?"
He nuzzles her neck and presses his lips to her skin. "Yes, love, it's all right."
And then he wakes.
silver moonlight fills the sky
calling gently to the evening tide
you're unfolding right before my eyes
and when you move
you move right through me
"We should tell your mother," James told Helena the next day. They were reading Shakespeare again, The Tempest.
Helena looked up sharply. "I thought you said it wasn't wise."
"She'll understand if we say we're going slow."
Helena flushed slightly and looked down at her hands. "I... I feel like I should grow up, like I should be able to do all these things..."
James pulled her into his lap and threaded his arms around her. She settled into his embrace, comfortable, her head falling back onto his shoulder. "I won't rush you, Helena. You're too precious, too wonderful. I won't muck this up for something like that."
"What I would give to be lost in your embrace," she murmured. "But it's scary, too, like nothing will be the same if it happens."
"Maybe. But maybe something wonderful will happen."
"Like a butterfly."
"Like a mermaid underwater," James added playfully, tightening his arms around her. "I want this to be something as wonderful and special as you are."
Helena turned and straddled him, eyes covered by her hair. They suddenly appeared dark and inky black. "Maybe I think you're special, too. Maybe I think I've found my Mr. Valentine, the hero of the city, the one to save the Princess from her sad fate." She kissed his surprised mouth gently, slowly. "Maybe I think I don't want to share you." Her body was pressed tight to his, and he could feel every curve beneath her clothes.
"Helena..."
"James," she whispered. Her head tilted, sunlight falling across her face. Her eyes were her own again, and she looked a touch unsure of herself. She was changing, she was becoming something different and wonderful. "I love you."
He cradled her face in his hands. He kissed her hard, almost desperately. "I love you, Helena. It's why I don't want this to go wrong."
"It won't. Not if you love me. Not if we're willing to do what needs to be done. If I decide to go to college... I'll wait for you."
That was what it was about. Understanding now, James grinned at her. "Ah, Helena. There's nothing to worry about. I'd go to the ends of the earth for you. I'll wait until the heavens rain down and the earth cracks open."
Comforted, Helena curled up around him. "I love you," she repeated. She was more sure, more forceful in her tone. Her arms wound tightly around him, and he reveled in the feel of her. She surrounded him completely, just as he wished her to.
He hadn't used the key in his dream, and Valentine still had it tucked away somewhere. It was bound to do something absolutely fantastic.
He couldn't wait to find out.
The End.