KingHeartFelt

Muni had a desire to reinforce, or perhaps even stop, his feelings from last night. A drain on a monsoon of emotion, a tumultuous storm on decline but no less present. Who else, to put a stopper on the drain and calm the storm, than Solace? A man he believed had the power to leech your stress and anxiety with nothing more than a touch? An old head, ready to answer his newest questions, questions tempered by the steel and fire of time and his revelations of who he is, who he was meant to be.

On the way, however, Muni had discovered an opulent and grand mansion standing directly next to the path on the way to the tavern-like building he knew solace to frequent when he had the chance. From one glance in the window, it was chock full of things he’d known to be owned by other people, knick knacks and furniture he’d seen in other’s houses when he had visited them. A facsimile of an art piece, furniture placed in such a way that was almost trying to mimic the people they were taken from.

Muni, determined to find the source, knocked on the door, a grand and hedonistic relief carved into the face of the dark stone of which it was made. The man who answered the door, a brightly smiling man with peppercorn hair and beard, opened it with a flourish expected from someone born rich, a silver spoon glued to the roof of their mouth on conception. Muni couldn’t be certain, but he distinctly recalled the outfit the man was wearing as the one he saw Solace in, the last time they had a conversation.

The conversation, a simple one more akin to an interrogation than any conversation you’d have with a friend, was enlightening. The man, who he’d come to know as Envie, had explained that he had gotten them from the residents in town. Copied, or taken he’d said suggestively in a whisper, from the people nearby.

“They don’t care if you take them, do they?” He said, fangs glinting like gold in the bright sun. “No one’s ever said anything to me about it, at least. Ya go in, take what you want, or copy it if ya like, and then bring it home.” Envie punctuated his statement with a pot bellied laugh, as if he were the funniest man he knew.

Envie, as he’d later explained, had arrived shortly before Muni had. No one bothered him, so he was free to do as he liked until someone sought to stop him. Needing no more than a single cursory view, Muni could tell the people weren’t pleased, especially the ones closest to Envie’s home, which Envie frequently took glances at, even during the conversation they were having, having difficulty maintaining eye contact at even the more serious questions.

Muni, desperate to move on, made his leave as soon as Envie stopped talking, uncharacteristically rude yet, in his opinion, quite justified. Who did he think he was? And why was King letting him get away with it? He’d seen the memory, seen him deal with Make, yet whoever this was hadn’t earned it? Hadn’t earned being removed, making people miserable? Pompous little-

“Somethin botherin ya?”

Muni started, realizing he wasn’t alone. He had let his thoughts get away from him, but he never used to- Muni’s head was split with a headache, and he opted to focus on Solace, who had just rounded the corner as Muni was walking.

“Ah, Solace! Just the man I was looking for!”

Solace smiled, seemingly pleased that someone wanted to talk to him with such enthusiasm, “What’s on your mind? Happy to answer all the questions you’ve come up with since last time.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong,” Muni paused as Solace chuckled fondly, “but I think they should wait.” Muni motioned to the mansion, “Who is Envie? What is he really doing to people? Why is he allowed to get away with it?”

Solace’s face took on an uncomfortable quality, twisted in displeasure, but not quite a frown or a scowl.

“Envie, huh. He showed up about two weeks before you did. He’s a bit oily, not someone I choose to spend time with.” Solace sniffed, turning his head upwards just slightly, “He takes from people. Sees something you got, wants it, so he gets one. His hands,” Solace made grabbing motions with his hands, “they’re like cutting and pasting on computers, but for objects.” Solace coughed. “Or at least that’s how I think it works. Been a while since I asked my grandkids. As for why he gets away with it? No one complains, really. Not like we can’t get it replaced pretty easily.” Solace shrugged. “The people who build here like the company.”

Muni’s eyes scrunched in displeasure, but his natural penchant for curiosity won over his righteous indignation.

“You’ve got kids? Grandkids?”

Solace smiled, but it was a sad thing. All teeth, with eyes pulled wide like it could strain the cheer out of the tears building up in the corners. A mask, hastily constructed and worn only because it felt like the last resort, tattered at the edges and discolored.

“Used to.”

Muni opted to ask no more questions. As he turned to leave, giving the peace of solitude to the newly grieving man, Solace stopped him.

“Chosen a name yet?”

Muni chuckled softly, unwilling to disturb the vulnerable quality the air held. “Muni. Pretty sure I’ve always had it.” Muni frowned, but interceptably, “If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you use your power on yourself, when you think of them?”

Solace’s face broke then, though the look vanished so immediately he was certain he imagined it.

“Some memories are worth cryin over, son.”

Normally, Muni would never approach the center again, a black hole he had learned to skirt the edges of since his last conversation with him, since seeing living construction consume the lord of the land.

This situation, unjust as it was combined with the rawness of his talk with Solace, had warranted an approach to the King.

He found him alone, staring out a large stained glass window at the end of his home, a relief of a sun sitting above a man’s hands, as around him the world faded into nothingness at the end of the window. No light shone through, in the shadows as the house was, but Muni could swear it was as bright as any window he’d seen.

The King barely moved as he entered, his head barely turning to acknowledge that he knew Muni was in the room, though his eyes never left the window.

Muni took the unspoken invitation, and told him about what he’d seen. He explained everything about Envie, what he thought and how it wasn’t right. The King didn’t move or speak the whole time, though Muni could tell, somehow, that he was still listening. The only movement Muni could see was a flash of red out of the corner of his eye as he finished his story.

As Muni waited in the following silence, his thoughts swam with confusion. King had always been a talkative sort, or at least a very polite and attentive man, but he was acting like this conversation was a distraction.

“You have done well.”

The King’s proffered response was emotionless and flat. Muni would have called it cold, had it not had such an artificial feel to it.

Muni’s eyes narrowed, now determined to have an actual conversation with him. He opted to switch tactics.

“What’s with the window?”

The King’s shoulders tensed sharply, so sudden it made Muni jump. Either because of the suddenness of the change in topic, or due to his flippant tone, King had not appreciated the question.

“It depicts the beginning,” King began regardless, his tone still flat, but with the somberness only time could bring. “Abandoned as I was by my family and friends, with the world we had built crumbling beneath my feet, I asked for help.”

The silence stretched on for several minutes.

“It is difficult to let go of the bitterness, of the loneliness I still sometimes feel.”

A warm blanket seemed to settle on the room, and King relaxed, his entire body sagging as if someone had just taken something off his shoulders. It was here that the conversation seemed forgotten, and King started to mumble to himself.

“Did you get the help you asked for?” Muni asked abruptly.

The King’s mumbling stopped, and for the first time he turned to face Muni, his face warm, and his smile bright for the topic of such a conversation.

“I see you are becoming more like yourself. Very good.” The King paused, then, thinking how best to word his answer, maybe. “I am its home and it is mine.”

“That is all that matters and all that will matter.” Muni responded, almost unbidden, like a script he had written 100 times and practiced in the mirror.

The King smiled even bigger, stretching across his entire face, and turned back to the window. Muni took his silent dismissal, and left the home to return to his lodgings.

On his way, he saw Solace heading to the tavern. He saw Hugi walking quickly, ever busy and bustling from one place to another. Impossibly, he saw King speaking to someone in the de-facto shopping area. A carpenter, by the looks of his garb and tools. Muni could even swear he felt the voice say well done as he passed by them.

Muni almost didn’t even notice, as he finally got closer to home, that Envie’s house was gone. An empty blot looking through to the sky, a faint green fog surrounding the cavity where it used to be.

Muni did not know how he knew, but he knew the fog would be gone by sunrise the next day.

Where do I know her from?

Hugi is an anomaly for me. Though she strikes no chord of familiarity, she remembers me, and seems to expect that I remember her as well. But that is not my only question, my only source of confusion and strike, How did she return? I saw, and I know I saw, her, in the past, having been here. How did she leave? How did she get to come back, when others do not get this choice?

I don’t even get the choice to leave in the FIRST PLACE

The end of the E left a tear in the end of the page, his anger and confusion being wrought upon this poor abused journal.

The Newcomer sighed, brushed away the ink stains on his hand, and wrote again.

I am frazzled, and I am coming undone like yarn torn by a cat. I didn’t even have a body, a look. Was I like that for the entire conversation, did my form not know where to sit when confronted with someone who can read me so well, or did the memories, her memories and aggression, force it off? Was I feeling so vulnerable that I became vulnerable? Thoughts made manifest, body undone so easily, because I felt bad?

In the end, I am unsure. Luckily, writing has always calmed me down. With the calm comes logic, perhaps it is her father that allowed her to come back. Clearly, whoever he is, he has some power over this place, and the similarity in their words makes me think it must be King.

The idea of King having a kid, or even kids, does not make sense to me. With who? I have never seen him with anyone else, spouse or otherwise, though clearly I have gaps in my memory Hugi expects me to fill in. She seemed to expect me to know who her father was, who she was, what her motivations were. She believed her motivations were our motivations, but why?

At the very least, this conversation has been enlightening, even if it only seemed to confirm my already held suspicions. I can see peoples’ memories, view them like I’m a part of them, though for now this seems to be subconscious. The way Hugi and King both spoke, this will eventually become something I can turn off and on at will, though the only ones who seem aware of my intrusion are King and Hugi themselves.

To document, I saw Hugi following trails and clues. If my theories are correct, I viewed them in reverse, so she started from this place. The question of how she left is still forefront in my mind, but it is something to consider later, after I have compartmentalized. Her adventures took her to Paris, under the ocean, and then to a forest filled with garbage with a trail of ink. In hindsight, the garbage all looked to be furniture and empty luggage. All faded, like ink on parchment, yet clearly well made to have survived where they were. The door she eventually entered looked drawn, but in a hurry. Like a child had needed an escape, and quickly scrawled a crayon door to enter through. Has it disappeared, like she believed in the memory? Will I be able to find it here? Hiding in some corner no one else has thought to look for.

I wonder if this is how people find this place, random doors in forests? But no, this must be unique, as the others I talked to describe falling asleep and waking up here. Some in hospitals, some in their car, some at home, some in fights but they could never remember the resolution.

If only I could remember how I got here.

A thought came to the Newcomer’s mind like it was placed there, a stamp upon his memories, and he flipped several pages back to the passage the Voice had written.

The page had remained untouched. As interested as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to alter anything on the page or even make annotations to figure it out. It had remained something of a shrine, locked in his journal like a trophy.

Observed
Huginn and Muninn
Created here
Born here
Said no to the question
What else I am
Shadows, crawl
Clouds pulse
Signed
Voice

With eyes locked to the passage, the newcomer wrote next to the passage, where Created here and Born here nearly intersected.

Perhaps we belong to this place, not to the outside world. Is that why she can move so freely, and I cannot leave? When I was created-

A wind blew, and the page flipped. When he flipped back to continue and rectify his sentence, the word created was smudged and written over in white.

BORN

The Newcomer chose to take it in stride.

When I was born here, did I perhaps have something wrong with me? Some kind of genetic mistake that no one foresaw, keeping me trapped here?

The Newcomer sighed and stood, laying his pen down while we walked to the mirror. He stared at himself for a while, watching the wisps of inky cloud that made him up float into the air and dissipate into nothing. Was this lack of solidity a contributor? Maybe, with his body in this state of dynamic movement, the other side would not accept him.

The Newcomer turned, once again, back to his writing desk, but started when he saw a tear in his journal. The entire last passage he had written had been torn out of the book, crumpled up and seemingly stomped on with prejudice into the ground. When he unfolded the page, undid its creases and damages, he noticed two additions. In deep, grooved gouges, the words Wrong and Mistake were marked out, as if someone had hated the very idea that he had written those words.

The Newcomer could feel tears come to his eyes, though he could never explain why, and as he turned back to his journal, to close it for the night and get some much needed rest, something else had appeared next to the Voice’s message. Two ravens, one black, and one red, bordering on orange, flew around the page. The red one occasionally landed on the words Huginn and Muninn, but the black one always spitefully refused to land, always flying, never side by side with the red one, as if avoiding the other.

The Newcomer reached forward to write a final thing for the night, as he ended all of his journal entries.

Signed,
Muni

Muni slowly pushed the journal closed as his tears flowed down his face, evermore after the display. His memories may have yet to return, but this was a strong piece of the puzzle. Maybe, with a name, he could begin to learn who he was, who he was meant to be. Why he was not whole, and why he was missing such an important piece of himself.

He opened his journal, flipped to a new page, and wrote in clear, bold lines,

I am Muni, and I belong here.

Muni went to sleep that night with that page still exposed to the air, bright and fresh still, even when he woke in the morning and he noticed a small red heart drawn next to the word belong.

Someone new had arrived today.

The Newcomer didn’t know how to feel, after all that had transpired. None of his questions had been answered, and it had only been a few short hours since confronting the voice once again. He did not have the faculties to deal with a voice that could feel sorrow, something so built up in his own mind as Other feeling emotions. Yet time did not stop because he desired it, and so someone new made their way to this place between places.

He had seen her when she arrived. A flash of green in the sky, and she seemingly awoke from her sleep, standing in front of the town. From his viewpoint, she had simply appeared. It had been nice for the Newcomer to experience being welcomed from the outsider’s viewpoint, or it would have been, had not so much been different. While the Newcomer had been left to make the rounds, to roam and meet who he pleased as he pleased, people came out of their homes to welcome her personally.

By lunchtime, she had been welcomed by every person there but King, who customarily apparently waited until everyone had had their turns to say hello, though it seems King had read his intent not to welcome her, as he did not wait until the Newcomer himself had done so. The King had welcomed her heartily, said to make herself at home, to stay as long as she liked, and that the exit was just down the road. Rules were explained, a house was assigned, the system here explained, and King departed, to return to the corner home he called home.

This house is alive.

The Newcomer’s thoughts immediately shifted away at the memory, his mind refusing the implications, as he approached the newest newcomer. He had shaken her hand, welcomed her, but had not introduced himself. What was there to introduce, when you did not know your own name, what you were, where you were from, and so he let the awkward silence linger before he asked his questions, but he didn’t have the chance to speak even one, as she spoke first.

“My name is Hugi.”

The newcomer, briefly perturbed, continued to-

“It is my chosen name, yes.” She smirked slightly at her own answer, as if enjoying his discomfort.

Hugi struck an odd picture, fiery red hair and almost glowing yellow eyes with orange tinted rims surrounding her cornea. Funnily enough, the newcomer noticed, she was just as pale as he tended to be.

As if picking up on his growing frustration, she grew silent after this answer, seemingly content to allow himself to speak the questions he meant to ask.

“Do you know how you got here?”

Her eyebrows furrowed for a second, as if that were a stupid question, “Of course I do. I wanted to come here.”

His own eyebrows furrowed in response, if his question were stupid, that response was idiotic. “Who would want to come here?”

Her eyebrows shot up, “We would. What the heck is that meant to mean?”

The newcomer’s face was becoming less expressive by the moment, his face hardening the longer she talked.

“We? I never asked for this. I didn’t want to come here!”

Hugi grew silent at this response, her eyes flickering back and forth across his face, as if searching for something, before she shook her head, and just muttered.

“I guess you didn’t.” She looked away from him, as if disappointed.

The Newcomer could feel his emotions getting the better of him, boiling water in a too small pot, ripples nearing the edge. Who was this person, this Hugi, to tell him his feelings, to act as if she knew him so well? What gave her the right to-

He could feel it coming again quite suddenly, the zoom, the kaleidoscope, as intense as it had been last he had talked to King, and he could see it, the path she took to get here, the trail of what looked like ink, the pile of what looked like discarded junk she had to sift through to find the door she took, a door she knew had disappeared when she entered it, as if it were created just for her and whoever used it before her.

For a few seconds, like a stereoscope reel flashing in front of him, he can see flashes of something else. Her in a submarine, thousands of feet below the ocean’s surface, her roaming Paris, and just before he snapped back out, talking to King.

As he came back to reality, panting, he brushed aside the strange feeling of familiarity, and focused on the brief image of King that was now seared into his mind. King hadn’t had his crown, hadn’t seemed nearly as scary as the Newcomer now knew him to be, and King had been asking for a favor of some kind.

The Newcomer was wrenched from his musings by the sour look Hugi was now giving him, flushing out his anger like pinching the wick of a candle, leaving him feeling vulnerable and quite awkward. The feeling of familiarity that accompanied this combination was also brushed aside, he didn’t have the time to unpack any of this right now.

Hugi’s eyes once again seemed to search his face, and he distinctly got the impression that his mind was nothing more than a book she had brushed the spine of and opted to read that day, lines and curves of ink she perused for fun. It must not have been fun anymore, as she eventually averted her gaze and sighed, her sour look fading to one more entrenched in despair, a hopelessness born out of not knowing what would come next, and expecting the worst.

A few moments passed in that moment, her sorrow palpable, before her eyes soured once again and she turned to him sharply.

“For future reference, since you seem to have forgotten, I do not appreciate it when you peer into my memories. Father may let it slide when you slip up, but I do not. You should know better.”

Distinctly, he remembered before when King had said the same thing, though this was delivered in a much harsher, colder way, through clenched teeth and snarling jaws. What had he done, to deserve such hostility, to have earned the ire of someone he barely knew so strongly.

As if his thoughts were broadcasted, she turned on her heel and seemed to march away, her height disadvantage seeming to vanish as she straightened her back officially and clasped her hands behind her back, and as he averted his eyes in a shame he wasn’t sure he truly felt, he could see his body was made of inky clouds and shadowy darkness.

Left to unpack everything that happened, it was just now he had processed her parting words.

Father?

Excerpt 25, Location: The King’s storeroom, locked, Gate #4, underneath a submarine perched in a bottle.

Title: The Legend of the Child

Reason for storage:

Some things, people don’t need to know.

King

Reason: Approved
Authorization: The King
Length of time: Permanent

Once, there was a couple. They weren’t prepared to be parents, but the time had come. The father needed someone to help him run the day to day, and the mother was always desperate for more people to love, even beyond the people she constantly cared for.

So, one day, the father took a drop of ink from his right arm, and combined it with the cloud the mother summoned from her skies. They swirled together, hypnosis in action, until a child dripped from its form. The ink cloud faded, and the newly born family was happy.

The child grew quickly, slowing down when it reached its teens, and was infinitely curious. It had endless questions to ask, endless things to discover, and constantly wanted endless things to do. The parents obliged when able, what better thing to feed than a desire to learn?

But eventually, the child grew discontent. It wanted to leave, to go to a different land, but its parents said no. The father was concerned for his safety, and the mother was concerned he would never come back and forget about her.

For a time, the child was sated with this answer. Even longer when his powers developed, the power to observe, to see what other people saw and examine their deepest memories.

This satiation was not permanent. As he grew older, so did his dissatisfaction, tiring of seeing both the world he was in and the memories of the people that were also here. He had been able to see uncles and aunts he had never met this way, but what good did that do when he could not leave to meet them when he pleased?

When boy became man, the child refused to take no for an answer. He demanded to leave, and would not accept any excuse or reason they gave him.

And what parent could say no, when this was what he clearly wanted?

They tried to convince him, to tell him what could happen, but he did not hear it.

So, the mother moved a glowing finger and let him leave.

The parents remained.

And the child would forget his parents, and never return.