Chapter Text
When you believe in things | That you don't understand | Then you suffer | Superstition ain't the way
The party continued their journey in silence. Who-med had flown ahead in search of the bridge the crone mentioned. King Samuel slept soundly in the baby carrier on Charles’ back, while he and Sam were lost in their own thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” Sam broke the silence, “For causing you so much trouble. We’re not even halfway through the quest, and you’ve already lost two of your lives.”
“I appreciate your concern, Samara. I’m sure you didn’t mean for me to be trampled by sheep. Or shot through the heart with an arrow, even if I do look like the person you’re angry with.” Charles teased lightly, despite his apprehension if he was in mortal peril. Again.
“N-no, of course not!” The brunette insisted vehemently before recognizing the amused smile on Charles’ face. The same one her Charles had whenever he poked fun at her inexperience.
Sam had her suspicions of the man walking alongside her. There were just too many coincidences that this digital version of Charles shared with his IRL counterpart. From the moment he called her ‘Bunty,’ Brad’s taunts, and the crone’s observations, hinting at the deep scars Charles carried within.
Even the way he responded when she almost threw herself at him last night was reminiscent of the first night she spent at his place. This recollection only served to bring up now painful memories of the time they spent together, up until his decision to leave for the UK.
To leave her.
Even if this were the real Charles, that somehow, they were both trapped inside Ruminate, what then? Would she lash out? Curse his existence? Or give in to weakness and plead for him to stay?
“Honestly, I don’t know if I’m still mad at him.” Sam sighed, “It’s very confusing. I’m angry at what he did, but I kind of understand his reasons for it. Even though they’re completely stupid and he’s being a total idiot.” She furrowed her brow. “Is it possible to be mad at someone and love them at the same time?”
“Yes.” Sam looked at him in surprise. After reflecting on the events thus far, Charles found himself wavering between the possibility that the princess could actually be Samara, or if he was simply plagued with guilt for hurting the one person he cared for most. Would that explain his need to protect the woman beside him? To ensure her safety and wellbeing above his own, despite the warnings of ‘ dire consequences ’ should he lose his third and final life?
Even if this Samara was only a programmed reflection of the woman he loved, Charles wondered, what if he could go back and undo his choices? What if he never initiated that kiss in his office? What if he could forget the sweetness of her smile, the way her body burned beneath his touch, her warmth and goodness that seemed to cast out the shadows within his heart? What if he-
“If this person...if he said he was sorry for being a stupid git, begged your forgiveness, and asked for a second chance,” Charles was unable to stop the words from spilling forth, wanting to know the answer to the question he’d been too cowardly to ask, “Would you?”
“I,” Sam sensed the now-familiar ache in her chest, the faint sadness in Charles’ voice, too similar to his living counterpart. After everything that had happened between them, would she give him a second chance? Would she accept his failures and imperfections? Would she forgive him after he cruelly rejected her and broke her heart? Despite her pain and fury, Sam knew she would. And it terrified her. “I-”
“I found it!” Who-med interrupted the growing tension. “The bridge is right up ahead, but it looks like it’s guarded by a scary troll.” He perched on Charles’ shoulder, “What did I miss?”
“Nothing!” Sam shouted, waking King Samuel from his nap. “Let’s go defeat this troll and find the second item!”
They reached the suspended rope bridge stretched across a large canyon. Sam was certain no matter how much magic she and Charles had, it wouldn’t be enough to safely cross the divide and inevitably fall to their deaths. Sam walked towards the troll who was standing guard, but then-
“ Oh fy nuw ,” Charles muttered.
“YOU.” Samuel bellowed, struggling against his baby harness.
“Surprise,” the troll grinned, instantly transforming into a witch clad in black satin robes, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Marshall’s sister. “Now is that King Consort Samuel in a baby harness?” Eva cooed. “Have you finally learned your lesson about not stealing from other people’s gardens?”
“Please tell me you didn’t.” Charles frowned.
“I just wanted flowers befitting my queen’s beauty.” The puppy pouted. “I had heard tales of enchanted roses that would never wilt or perish.”
“Enchanted roses from MY garden that I had spent YEARS cultivating.” Eva snapped, unsheathing her saber from her hip scabbard. “You’re lucky I didn’t skewer you right then and there, your majesty .” She gestured with the weapon. “But I guess I can undo the curse after you help these dummies on their quest.” Eva sighed at the skeptical faces, “I made a bet with Rosewood that you’d defeat the Wicked Witch of the Welsh. About time someone knocked her off her high horse, er, woolmouth.”
Charles pressed his fingers to his temples. How did his exes, or rather former bedmates, end up in this game? He had a sneaking suspicion that it really was out to torture him. At least they didn’t seem to recognize him.
Charles immediately withdrew that thought, seeing Eva glare at him. “Is there something wrong, Miss?” He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying, Ms. Lawson .
“I’m not sure, but I just have this incredible urge to strangle you. Or tie you down.” Eva cocked her hip. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing, then I’m more than happy to-”
“Anyways!” Sam declared loudly, directly placing herself between Charles and Eva. “We need to cross the bridge to find our next, er, item?”
“Did Vikki send you?”
“Sorta? She didn’t give the best directions.”
“Typical.” Eva rolled her eyes at the mention of the rather spacey sorceress. “I have no clue what my brother sees in her.” Eva lowered her saber and wrote several characters into the dirt before re-sheathing it. She clapped her hands together and a stone arch embossed with a clear gem hovered above the halfway point of the bridge. “My task for you is pretty simple. I will ask each of you one question and you must answer truthfully. Fail to do so, and there will be dire consequences .
“Owl, you’re up.” Who-med flew over to the stone doorway, awaiting his question. “What’s 6 x 7?”
“42, the answer to life, the universe, and everything.” Who-med flew through the archway, causing the clear gem to turn green.
“Miracle baby,” Eva summoned Sam forward. “What’s your favorite food?”
Sam looked at Eva suspiciously, “Hawaiian pizza.” She walked through the doorway, again the clear gem changed to green.
“Well that’s just sus, what kind of monster are you?” Eva shook her head. “I don’t have all day so you two go through together,” she motioned for Charles and King Samuel to walk through the arch of truth. “King Samuel, who is the person you desire to see the most?”
“My queen!” Samuel voiced without hesitation.
“And Charles,” it unnerved him how she sounded exactly like Eva Lawson, “What did you dream of last night? I sense some...unresolved tension in you.”
Charles immediately balked, flooded with images of Samara knelt before him, rocking into him. Her moans surrounding him in the clearing, the morning light streaming through the trees as she arched against him, pleading, wanting- “That’s none of your concern.”
Samuel scowled at Charles. “Will you just tell her what it is so we can pass? It’s not like you had a-” the dog-king gaped, “Nevermind, I don’t want to know, I don’t want to hear it!”
“It’s not like that!” It totally was. “I...” was he prepared to tell the actual truth? “I dreamt-”
“Loud enough for everyone to hear, including our dear Princess,” Eva grinned wickedly. “Or else you shall not pass.”
“I dreamt of when I first met Samara at the start of our journey!” The Welshman stormed through the archway. The clear gem glowed green. It was the truth. It’s not like he had to say the words, ‘I had a sex dream-’ Then the gem turned crimson red.
“Whoops.” Eva drawled. “I think you of all people should know better Charles,” she aimed her saber point at his back. “Even a withheld truth is still a lie.”
Charles had barely made it across the bridge when he was engulfed in green light. Opening his eyes, he felt disoriented. He saw Sam and Who-med rush towards him, but why did they seem so much...bigger? Did he fall? Charles looked down and screeched loudly on seeing four paws and a small, furry belly in place of his usual hairless, 6’3 self.
Eva floated across the bridge and landed in front of Charles and his companions. “Oh dear, cat got your tongue?”
Charles hissed at Eva, “Turn me back!
“Oh no,” Eva tutted, “You know exactly what you have to do if you want to be restored to your original form. And who you need to say it to. But you won't do it. Will you?” She tilted her head and smirked at Charles’ helpless, newly feline figure, “Because honesty and vulnerability are for weaker, lesser people.” She caught Sam approaching in her peripheral vision, “Unlike you and me.”
“What did you do?” Sam saw a white cat sitting in a pile of Charles’ clothes, and King Samuel tangled in his baby harness a few steps away.
“Nothing you can help him with.” Eva tossed her head back. “He got himself into this mess and only he can get out of it.” She laughed, hiding a mischievous look behind her hand. “Now, I’m not completely heartless,”
“More like sadistic,” Charles muttered.
“But since I want you to defeat Gwen, follow this path.” She pointed down the dirt road ahead, no longer obscured by swirling mist. “And you might find something that’ll help you on your quest. And Charles,” the sorceress turned her attention to the white cat, “Since I’m feeling generous, you have until the next full moon to undo the curse, or else the change will be permanent.”
Eva tapped her chin thoughtfully, “Unless you find some magical item that can undo curses, but I wouldn’t bet on it! Good luck, you’ll need it!” The sorceress vanished in a surge of smoke and shadow, leaving the adventurers alone once more.
“Don’t say a word.” Charles’ eyes narrowed sharply at Samuel who had been freed from his restraints by Who-med.
“At least you have the means to change back right away,” Samuel huffed, “I’m stuck with like this until you complete your quest.” He lowered his voice as Sam approached, “Besides, are you really unwilling to tell her the truth?”
Charles stared at his paws. “There are some things that shouldn’t be said aloud.”
“Something tells me that’s what got you into this mess in the first place.” Samuel turned to Sam as she knelt before them. “It looks like we are down a knight.”
“Is there anything we can do to change him back?” Sam asked.
“A curse can be undone by fulfilling the terms set by the caster. But since fluffy here is unable to do so at the moment,” Samuel scowled at Charles, “Blessed artifacts may have enough power to break curses, but it’s not like one would just magically appear-”
A sign magically appeared, etched with the words, In search of blessed artifacts? Need a curse reversed? Stop by the Temple of Verity to cure what ails you! Another sign appeared with an arrow pointing in the direction of the temple.
Samuel growled, “Some cats have all the luck.”
---
They continued their journey down the winding road leading them to the Temple of Verity, with Who-med leading the way. Sam had taken over carrying King Samuel in the baby harness now strapped to her back, while Charles insisted on walking on his hind legs beside her. Although his physical stats were significantly decreased, save for agility, he still retained some magic reserves and cast a spell to shrink his clothes to suit his new feline form.
“I can carry you too,” Sam slowed down so Charles could keep up with her pace.
“I am fine Samara, you’re already carrying a heavy load.”
“I heard that,” Samuel grumbled, peeking over Sam’s shoulder.
“Now, now,” Who-med swept back to their group, “No need to fight like cats and dogs.”
Sam sighed as literal sparks flew between Samuel and Charles. “Hey, can we keep the animal puns and in-fighting to a minimum? If this Temple of Verity really has a blessed artifact that can reverse curses, maybe the both of you can return to your original forms.”
“Unlike this shifty character,” Samuel glared at Charles, “I am willing to fulfill the terms of my curse without cheating.”
“Did Eva tell you how to undo the curse?” Sam asked Charles, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No,” Charles insisted, despite knowing Sam was both curse and cure, “It is something I have to do for myself. How many days until the full moon rises?” He looked up at Who-med.
“Three nights from now.”
Charles pressed a paw to his chin. He hoped the temple had what they needed, both for their quest and to undo his furry transformation. But it wasn’t fair to Sam or his companions if he remained in his current state because he was...afraid. He was afraid if he revealed his innermost thoughts and desires to the princess, she would only look at him with disgust and disappointment. That he wasn’t a knight or a hero. Only a fool and a coward who had abandoned the woman he loved.
Time wasn’t an issue, yet. If Charles had to, he would tell Sam. But he wanted to explore all possible avenues before resorting to that option.
They arrived in front of another rundown building, this one bearing the sign, Temple of Verity in faded gilded letters. Sam went to knock on the double doors, but stopped when she saw one left ajar. “Hello?” She pushed the doors open. “We followed the signs to see if we could reverse a curse?”
The space was dimly lit and not very tidy. It was also completely empty. Sam thought it strange the game would lead them to an empty temple but then again, nothing was going according to code. She and her companions walked further into the building, passing rows and statues.
“Could it be booby-trapped?” Samuel’s gaze wandered around the seemingly abandoned temple.
“Doesn’t seem like there’s anything worth stealing,” Who-med hooted.
Had they been tricked into a dead end? Charles wondered. Then his ears pricked, hearing muffled cries emanating from down a dark corridor. He motioned for the others to follow him. The wails grew louder and deeper as they moved along the passageway towards the only lit room at the rearmost end of the hall.
Sam took the lead. Just in case it was a trap set by the wicked witch, she at least could spare an extra life. Summoning her bow and quiver from her inventory, she nocked an arrow and kicked open the door.
Much to her surprise, she and her teammates entered a massive kitchen filled with warm and inviting smells. Is that bread? Sam saw several loaves baking in the oven. And just a few feet away sat a large blonde troll wiping his tears with a dirty rag. Sam lowered her bow, her tender heart superseding caution, “Are you okay?”
The troll sniffed before blowing his nose loudly. “My tiger, she’s not feeling well.” He pointed to the creature lying next to him, “I keep trying to get her to eat, but she keeps turning away everything I try to feed her.”
Sam’s animal companions looked apprehensively at the large feline beside the troll. It certainly wasn’t a tiger by any normal definition. She had dark red fur with black stripes yes, but with enormous paws and large tusks. This was no house cat, she was almost as big as a house!
“Have you asked her what’s wrong?” Who-med inquired gently.
“S-she doesn’t speak English,” the troll frowned. “But I’m teaching her. Angel, say ‘Dallas!’” The gigantic tiger let out a caterwaul that didn’t sound anything remotely close to ‘Dallas.’ But the troll appeared to be rather pleased, giving Angel a toothy and teary smile. “Oh, that’s me. I’m Dallas.” Sam and the others introduced themselves to the watery-eyed troll.
“Can you talk to her, Who-med?” Sam asked.
“Wait,” Who-med cocked his head, “Do you assume I can because I’m an owl and I know everything?”
“Yes,” his companions chorused.
He perched on the edge of the massive kitchen table. “I don’t appreciate stereotypes,” he puffed out his chest, “And in any other circumstance you would be correct, however, I don’t speak feline.” He preened his feathers, “Why don’t you give it a go, Charles?”
“Why? Just because I turned into a cat, I can suddenly understand her?” Who-med hooted in agreement. Before he could object, Charles saw the earnestness in Sam’s face, silently pleading for his help. It seemed that he was helpless in saying no to any Sam, in any reality. “Fine,” Charles turned his focus to the forlorn tiger resting beside Dallas.
Charles was unsure what would happen as he walked closer, stopping just several steps in front of the larger cat’s massive tusks. “Miss?” he inquired, “Are you alright?”
“ Does it look like I’m alright? ” an accented, but clearly female voice responded. Magnificent green eyes looked at Charles in annoyance.
“Right,” Charles apologized, “Of course not.” Whether out of nervousness or feline habit, he licked his paws and smoothed back his hair, or rather, fur. “Your friend,” he gestured to Dallas, “Is worried about you, are you sick?”
To Charles, it seemed like he was carrying on a usual conversation in unusual circumstances, the tiger able to communicate her complaints clearly. But to the rest of the group, it sounded like a series of caterwauls, mews, purrs, and other kitteh sounds (kitteh, according to Who-med, was the official language of feline folk, to include katkins, panthers, lions, and tigers, “Oh my,” Sam replied). After several minutes, Charles turned to Dallas, “She’s vegetarian and lactose-intolerant, the milk and meat upset her stomach,” he stared pointedly at the large saucer of milk and pile of meat. “But she will eat fish if she has to.”
Dallas scratched his forehead. “Brother Abe will be upset if we waste food.”
‘Brother Abe?’ Sam thought perplexedly, “Isn’t Abe a ranger?” That was how she had programmed his character originally. She shrugged and added it to her ongoing list of game glitches.
“Yes,” the troll nodded, “But he serves as a warrior monk for the realm. He and the other monks are away on a mission but should return within a fortnight.” Dallas tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If you’re hungry, I can make a stew for everyone here, and roasted fish and vegetables for Angel. Please consider it as thanks for helping me today.”
“Do you need any assistance?” Who-med quickly snatched Samuel from his harness and deposited the transformed king onto a nearby counter. “We’re more than happy to lend a paw or claw,” he hooted loudly over Samuel’s protests.
Everyone was soon occupied with an assigned task with Dallas overseeing their progress. Charles was filleting several pounds of fish with his sharp claws. Who-med was turning meat on a spit while Samuel emitted a steady flame, cooking the meat evenly. Sam was assisting Dallas wash, peel, and prep vegetable trays, some to go into the stew and others to be roasted for Angel.
Within the hour, their combined efforts produced a decent meal. Who-med and Samuel ate heartily, quickly requesting seconds and thirds of the stew. Charles had a small portion of the fish and vegetables intended for Angel. Sam watched her vitality points increase after finishing her stew.
She looked over at Dallas, who was humming contentedly while heating the last of the cream to make hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows. He appeared to be in much brighter spirits since Angel’s appetite returned, after drinking an antidote Sam had concocted for her indigestion. Much to Sam’s surprise, her virtual avatar had basic potion-making skills in addition to healing arts.
“How did you end up here?” Sam inquired. This world continued to surprise her, as if it had taken on a life of its own, expanding beyond her initial programming. Her character, originally an NPC, had assigned strengths, weaknesses, and skill sets. Abe was somehow a warrior monk-class, and Dallas no longer displayed the obnoxious behaviors Sam originally based his design upon.
“Brother Abe took me in,” Dallas replied, “He was supposed to vanquish me for eating a bunch of townsfolk who went missing. Completely untrue, by the way, humans are gross. All fat and gristle.” He shuddered. “But instead of skewering me with his broadsword, he took the time to listen to my side of the story and find out what actually happened to the missing townsfolk.”
“What did happen to them?” Sam asked curiously.
“They were captured by the Wicked Witch of the Welsh.” Both Sam and Charles faltered at the mention of their nemesis, Charles nearly choked on a fishbone. “That’s where the brothers are, following a lead on the witch’s whereabouts, but her location is hidden by some pretty heavy-duty enchantments.”
“Is she that dangerous?”
“She’s been causing plenty of mayhem throughout the kingdom, and more people have gone missing with each passing day.” Dallas tossed several chunks of dark chocolate into the saucepan of cream bubbling away atop the cast iron stove. “Even when Brother Abe proved my innocence, the villagers were still convinced I was at fault. They burned down my house and my catnip garden.” His shoulders sagged slightly. “But then Brother Abe said I could join him here at the Brotherhood. And I’ve been here ever since, doing training of sorts.”
“So that makes you a novice troll,” Who-med commented as he flew overhead, retrieving and emptying the bag of marshmallows into the simmering saucepan at Dallas’ earlier request.
Dallas’ face deadpanned. “I suppose.” He stirred the hot cocoa thoroughly. “Brother Abe asked if I could stay behind and take care of things here while they were gone, maintain the grounds, welcome visitors, keep an eye on Angel.” He frowned while ladling the liquid chocolate into several mugs. “Screwed that up right away. I only cause trouble wherever I go. I dunno why Brother Abe keeps helping me.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Sam offered as she passed the mugs to her companions. “He wouldn’t have left you in charge if he didn’t trust you. He believes in you, Dallas,” she handed the last mug to Charles, “So you should believe in him, even if you don’t think you’re worthy of it.”
Charles’ eyes locked with Sam’s momentarily, slightly taken aback by her words. Were they meant for him? ‘ Absurd ,’ he thought, fixing his gaze downward while sipping from the warm mug of cocoa and oddly enough, cat-shaped marshmallows. And yet he found himself reflecting on those exact words. How Sam believed in him, trusted him. How he couldn’t share that same faith in himself because he didn’t think he was worthy of it.
“Thanks Sam.” Dallas gave a toothsome smile. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“No problem.” Sam clinked her mug with Dallas’ before taking a large gulp of her hot chocolate with a mouthful of marshmallows. Then proceeded to choke.
The room burst into a frenzy as Sam vanished into a flash of golden light, her cup smashing against the stone tiles where she once stood. With a snarl, Samuel began accusing Dallas of foul play as the troll repeatedly apologized, swearing he didn’t add anything to the hot chocolate. Who-med tried to reason with his canine compatriot while cautiously eying the tigress, who was emitting a low growl and revealing large incisors.
Charles leaped onto the kitchen counter and drew his rapier. He struck it against a metal pot. The loud clanging noise reverberated throughout the room, drawing everyone’s attention. “Calm down!” He clenched the hilt tightly, barely suppressing his own panic over the princess’ disappearance. A dozen scenarios must have passed through his mind before he heard a loud chime, indicating Sam’s return to the game as she materialized before him.
‘ So that’s how it works .’ Charles mentally noted, remembering the previous times he’d ‘died’ in-game. He hadn’t shared the details with his companions but the only thing he could recall was instant darkness and then being brought back as if forcefully waking from a bad dream. He wondered if it was the same for Sam, seeing the distressed look on her face.
“I’m fine,” Sam reassured Samuel and Who-med before pulling up the status menu for her profile. Scanning through, her eyes stopped at a series of highlighted words, newly written over previously blank space, Weaknesses: Severely allergic to marshmallows; may cause instant fatality!
Well. Death by marshmallow was something she never anticipated. Sam found herself both amused and annoyed. She glanced up at the kitchen counter where Charles stood. She wanted to ask if he had the same experience when he ‘died.’ It was too similar to the times she’d been put under for her many hospital procedures, then waking up abruptly as if she had a nightmare.
It disturbed her, the fleeting memories of days spent in white rooms, being connected to assorted tubes, leads, and devices tracking her vitals, infusing her with medications, or delivering oxygen to ensure her survival. Out of habit, Sam’s fingertips brushed against her throat. But only felt smooth skin where the faint outline of a tracheostomy scar would have been.
“Apparently, I’m deathly allergic to marshmallows.” Sam smiled weakly at her friends. “Which would’ve been nice to know before I died.” She muttered in annoyance to whoever, whatever force (power, deity, programming system) had taken over her game.
“I told you she wasn’t poisoned.” Who-med chastised Samuel who mumbled an apology to Dallas. “You really need to stop judging creatures by their appearance.”
Seeing the disheartened expression on Dallas’ face, Sam wanted to give the troll a hug and assure him that it wasn’t his fault she died. She began walking towards him when she suddenly felt lightheaded, her knees nearly giving out. Then Charles was at her side, a surprisingly firm paw against her lower back, helping her stay upright. Even in his current form, Sam was impressed by his lightning reflexes.
“Are you unwell, Princess?” Noticing her wan complexion, Charles wondered if there were any lingering side effects after Sam’s revival. Although the gaping wounds in his chest had disappeared each time he was revived, there were still phantom pains that took longer to recover from.
“I-” Sam tried to take another step then immediately stopped when the world began to tilt, “I’m not sure.” She looked downward, settling her gaze on Charles, his eyes almost luminous in the setting sunlight. Sam remembered her brother’s words during an ill-fated whale-watching cruise in Hawaii; how the best cure for seasickness was to find a fixed point on the horizon (Even if it only delayed her puking until they returned to shore). It wasn’t the open sea, but she felt a little steadier focusing on those cerulean orbs.
“You should lie down and rest.” Charles insisted, his voice gentle yet firm, “There may be some after-effects.”
“I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble.”
Charles rested his other paw on Samara’s fingertips. “You are worth the trouble, Samara.”
Who-med and Samuel quickly glanced at each other, somewhat wary of the almost tender scene between their human (well one former human) companions. “Umm,” Who-med interrupted before their surroundings took on a rosy hue with floating glowing hearts the way Sam and Charles were looking at each other, “Do you guys need a room?”
“There’s an empty chamber across the hall Sam can use,” Dallas added helpfully, wanting to make up for his earlier mistake.
“Thanks, bro,” Who-med chirped, “Charles you go take care of the princess while me and kingy here can help with kitchen cleanup.” Who-med volunteered before Samuel could object.
---
Taking their cue to leave, Charles escorted Sam out of the kitchen and into the unoccupied monks’ quarters. Charles helped Sam onto the single cot, covering her with a blanket before returning to the kitchen. Sam managed to get somewhat comfortable on the thin mattress when Charles re-entered with a tray of tea and toast balanced atop his head. “Dallas insisted,” he gestured to the tray he held aloft, “In hopes of speeding your recovery. He promised no marshmallows.” Charles set the tray on an adjacent bedside table. He immediately stilled when he felt Sam’s knuckles brush against his cheek and whiskers.
“You’re always taking care of me.” Sam smiled faintly as Charles bunted her hand, marveling at the softness of his fur. “I really am sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
Charles was quickly brought to his senses else he began purring at Sam’s touch. “And I assure you again, Princess. You are worth the trouble.” He busied himself with the tea and smeared some honey onto the toast. “So please, stop apologizing.”
Sam sat upright and took the offered cup of tea and honey toast, taking a few tentative bites. Again, she was reminded of the man who broke her heart with the exact words that won her over time and time again. Could this man, er cat , really be Charles? Her Charles? When she looked into his eyes, Sam felt that no programming could perfectly replicate the exact shade of blue, the warmth and gentleness she felt whenever she’d try to sneak a peek at him, only to find him already looking back at her. The same warmth she felt now. Then she remembered the same eyes, cold and empty, devoid of emotion, of love when he’d set her aside.
Again, if this was her Charles (if she could even call him hers), what would she do? Would it make a difference? Sam sipped from her mug. “I hope Dallas doesn’t blame himself for what happened, I doubt anyone could’ve predicted marshmallows as a potential threat.”
“It certainly caught me by surprise.” Charles quickly unwound the string from the frayed edge of his cloak that had entangled itself around his claws, unsure whether it was from nervousness or- “I should let you rest,” he was about to leave when he felt something tug on his cloak.
“Please,” before she could stop herself, Sam had reached out and caught the black fabric between her fingers, “Will you stay with me? I could use the company.”
Charles gave a half smirk, “I’m sure Who-med or even Samuel would be better suited than me.”
“Well, you are more adorable in this form.” Sam teased, released his cloak to stroke his cheek once more. “Almost charming.”
“Ah,” Charles’ protests ceased while Sam continued, finding a particular spot under his chin, “Just, um,” it was taking all of his willpower not to purr in delight, “Until you fall asleep.” Unlike the previous night, he figured it would be easier to slip away in this form. But right now, he was having difficulty finding reasons to do so.
“I almost prefer you this way.” Sam giggled as she continued to pet Charles, feeling him arch against her palm while running her hand along his spine.
“Things are...simpler,” Charles confessed while climbing onto the bed. He meant to sit beside Sam until she fell asleep, but somehow found himself practically belly up in her lap. “But, ah,” he leaned against her when she returned to that spot between his chin and his shoulder. The simple pleasure of her fingertips in his fur, her nails gently raking against his skin. “I’m really not much use to you in this form.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help reverse the curse?” Amidst the excitement of the evening, Sam had neglected to ask Dallas if there were any curse-breaking artifacts within the temple.
“There is,” Charles nearly confessed, drowsily content in Sam’s arms, “But it can wait.” It could all wait if she continued like this, feeling her hand wander lower. “I’ll ask Dallas as soon as you...” Charles yawned widely, “You fall asleep.”
“You might get there before me.” It was soothing, almost addicting as Sam smoothened Charles’ fur, her knuckles brushing against his furred chest. She wondered if this was what people felt like when taming a stray cat that finally let its guard down. “I want to make it up to you, please let me help.”
“I have to tell you something,” the last of Charles’ defenses were eroding away, yet he still clung to the last bit of restraint that remained in his consciousness, “But you,” his ears flicked as he nuzzled against Sam, ample and cozy , “You won’t like it.”
Sam continued her ministrations, she could sense she was getting closer to the truth. “Tell me,” she insisted. “I’m sure it can’t be worse than coughing hairballs and chasing mice.”
“I would never.” Charles was all but purring in Sam’s lap. Would it be so terrible to remain as a soft, warm, little ball of fur? But as much as he enjoyed being a happy, sleepy kitty, they couldn’t be trapped here forever. Charles had to get the princess back to her castle. And he couldn’t protect her like this. He couldn’t hold her like this. “I had a dream.”
“Was it a bad dream?”
“No,” Charles was now nestled against Sam’s shoulder, his whiskers flicked forward with another yawn, “We were together.”
“Like now?”
“Yes. And no.” He blinked sleepily. “It was when we first met.”
“When I punched you?”
“Except you didn’t.” Charles managed to look up at Sam, her amber eyes patient and kind. He felt something rising in his chest. Guilt? Regret? “You kissed me.” He had to get the words out. “And then,” something was coming out, it was in the back of his throat, “We-” Charles jolted out of Sam’s lap and got on all fours, hacking and sputtering until he spat out a slimy, white ball at Sam’s feet.
Oh fy nuw , this was the last straw.
Charles huffed and turned towards Sam, teeth clenched and eyes shut, “W-we had sex! I had a sex dream about you!” He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he swore he heard raucous, high-pitched laughter at the complete humiliation he felt in this moment.
He reluctantly opened his eyes, expecting to see Sam looking down on him in disgust. Except she wasn’t looking down. She was looking up. Her eyes widened in shock as she lay pinned against the bed between his forearms. Wait, his forearms? Charles glanced down only to discover the shredded remnants of his tunic, cloak, and-
Samuel and Who-med suddenly flew into the room, carrying in the shield Dallas had previously used as an oversized cream saucer. “We discovered the location of the Wicked Witch of the Welsh’s castle! This shield has the coordinates and the incantation needed to break her outer enchantments, but it was only visible with dragonfire! It appeared after I used my flames to dry the dishes while cleaning up-”
“We still haven’t found the artifact that can break your curse,” Who-med interrupted, “But it looks like you already broke it.”
Charles had managed to return to his human form. And was now lying on top of Sam.
Completely naked.
The room soon exploded into shouts, cries and flames.
“I WARNED YOU!”
“Wait, stop!”
“He’s only got one life left!”
“Why are you shouting?”
“Why are you naked?”
“What’s going on?” Dallas had entered the room. And quickly covered his eyes when he saw the blonde naked man struggling to cover himself with a thin bedsheet while Sam was trying to use a water spell to douse the curtains that had been set on fire by Samuel when he’d angrily spewed jets of flame and smoke. Which resulted in everyone getting completely soaked and a little singed.
Through splayed fingertips, Dallas sighed, his boots uncomfortably damp as water seeped down his legs. “Let me find some blankets.”
"We'll help," added Who-med, ushering the still spluttering Samuel out after the troll.
"So... you're back," Sam smiled awkwardly, unsuccessful in her attempts to avert her gaze.
"So it would seem," Charles replied, cheeks tinged pink.
"Once you're... covered," she cleared her throat, "We'll see about getting you some clothes."
"I think that would be the best course of action," he pulled the sheet tighter.
Dallas returned with a bundle of garments in hand, "I found some of Brother Abe's extra slacks and shirts, I'm sure he'd offer them to you himself if he were here."
"Thank you," Charles smiled gratefully, taking the proffered clothing.
Sam hadn't realized she was still staring at the blond until he said, "I'll, um, I'm going to change now."
"Oh yes, of course!" she squeaked, hurrying out of the room, embarrassment rampant on her features.
"You're red as a strawberry," commented Who-med when she entered the kitchen, "Did you see something you shouldn't have?"
"I-"
"LA LA LA LA NOT LISTENING!" Samuel yelled over of both of them, paws firmly clamped over his ears.
Sam leaned on the counter and buried her face in her hands, trying to calm her breathing.
"So... how did he change back?" Who-med asked curiously, gliding over to land on the chair behind her.
"He, uh," she cleared her throat, "He told me about the dream he had."
"Hooo what was it? Did he murder you? Murder innocent babies? Murder-"
"What's with you and murder?" questioned Sam, "There was no killing."
"...So it was something else then," he said suggestively.
Sam was saved from having to answer when Charles joined them, practically swimming in the borrowed clothes that obviously belonged to a taller, larger man.
"They're a bit big for you," commented Samuel, having unblocked his ears, "Maybe something in a kid's size."
The blond ignored the barb and concentrated, using some of his magic to shrink the garments enough that they fit a bit better, and wouldn't be constantly tripping him up.
"Right, you lot," he assumed a commanding tone, having had enough nonsense for one day, "It's dark out now, and we need to find a place to sleep for the night."
"You're more than welcome to stay here," interjected Dallas, "There are plenty of rooms."
"Thank you, Dallas," smiled Sam.
"Much appreciated," nodded Charles, "We shall sleep here, and at first light, we'll follow the shield's directions to the 'Wicked Witch of the Welsh's' castle."
"Who died and made you chief?" asked Samuel.
"Can you not , just for five minutes?" said Charles exasperatedly.
"I'm in," declared Who-med.
"Me too," grinned Sam.
They all stared pointedly at Samuel.
"Yeah whatever," grumbled the little king.
"Then it's settled," Charles nodded, "Now, let's pick some rooms and finally get some rest. It's been a very long day for some of us."
Dallas led them back to the monks’ quarters, a corridor of chambers relatively similar in appearance, each with a small closet, a chair, a bedside table, and a bed. Who-med flew into the first one, landing gracefully on the bedspread before flopping face-first onto the pillow. They very quickly heard little hooty snores and let him be. Samuel chose the room across the hall, burrowing beneath the covers before he, too, fell fast asleep. Sam and Charles chuckled as they chose their sleeping quarters, ones right next to each other. As Sam settled into bed, Charles lingered at her door. She desperately wanted to ask him to stay again, but she was certain he would say no, and she was too weary to handle rejection at the moment.
"S-sleep well," she said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Sweet dreams," he'd said so quietly, she almost didn't hear him.
Sam glanced upward and saw Charles had left, he'd barely stayed ten seconds. 'Did you really think you could replace the Charles that left you?' her self-doubt rang prominently in her mind and she couldn't help but wonder if she had been trying to do just that. The brunette closed her eyes and waited for slumber to come... but it never did. No matter what position, or how many deep breathing exercises she tried, it seemed she wasn't destined to sleep this night.
Or at least, not in this bed.
Sam quietly stood and tiptoed over to the door, peering down the hall toward her companions' rooms. The light sounds of snorts and odd barks of a dreaming puppy, and lofty sighs of a snoring owl were all that floated back. She silently moved to Charles' doorway, suddenly unsure of why she'd thought anything could happen when she bumped into something solid. A large, warm hand splayed across her lower back, and she tilted her head upward until she was met with a piercing blue gaze.
"I couldn't sleep," she murmured.
"Neither could I," he replied, voice hushed.
She gently grasped his hand and led him over to his bed, "Maybe we can 'not sleep' together?"
"I'm finding I can't say no," he gestured for her to crawl under the covers.
She did so, curling up on her side as she settled. The bed dipped with his weight as he lowered himself down beside her, though she was disappointed when he made no further moves. 'Just do it,' she thought to herself, 'It's not like it matters in the real world anyway.' Sam reached over and wrapped her fingers around his far wrist, pulling him with her as she rolled back onto her side of the bed. Charles lay stiffly for a moment, his mind railing against every acquiescence, 'You pushed away the real Samara so you're using this one to fill the void. She's not even real.' But another part of him knew that wasn't entirely true. He'd had his suspicions, and intended to act on them come daylight. For now, he blocked out the shadows of his usual insecurities, and wrapped his arm firmly around Sam's waist, pulling her against his chest.
His warmth at her back had Sam instantly feeling comforted, safe . She smiled to herself when she felt Charles' breathing even out into a slow, steady rhythm. It was the same with her Charles - who she was relatively certain this man was - and how he would always fall asleep only moments after she crawled into bed beside him, or vice versa. She soon joined him in slumber, the only sound in the room their synchronized breaths.
---
Sam woke first, the light of dawn beginning to stream in through the window. The familiar weight of Charles' arm still around her gave her a feeling of contentment, and she snuggled against him.
"S'too early, Bunty," he mumbled sleepily.
Sam froze. Any lingering doubts she'd had about this man were instantly dispelled. It was him. She turned in his embrace and lightly kissed his nose, watching patiently as his eyes fluttered open and he oriented himself.
"Good morning," he rumbled, still a bit dazed.
"Morning," she smiled, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair.
"How did you sleep?"
"Soundly," she replied, tracing a finger along his jawline, "I wonder... would you mind going on a walk with me? There's something I need to ask you."
"I can do that," he was immensely curious but held out on the inquest until she was ready to talk.
Once they'd successfully snuck out of the temple and were well out of earshot - particularly of a certain dog-eared king - Sam turned to him. Her teeth worried at her lower lip as she met his gaze, attempting to seek out the truth.
"Charles Rhys Jones, I know it's you," his eyes flashed, though his expression remained neutral, "And I don't know how it happened, but we were both sucked into this game by some weird, impossible magical design, and... I need you, the real you, to be here with me."
She gazed at him imploringly, able to see a plethora of emotions stirring up tempests in his ocean blues. He'd known it was truly her the moment they'd woken up, how she'd molded so perfectly to him and how their breathing had been so in tandem. He was considering further perpetuating the lie, sparing her from the hurt she'd feel knowing he was right in front of her this entire time, especially after leaving her last with only the words 'I can't '. Or perhaps it was his own pain he was trying to run from.
"Samara Hannah Young, I surmised it was you as well. And I... I'm so sorry that I-" he was cut off when Sam launched into his arms, her lips seeking his like that of a long-lost lover.
The Welshman fervently returned her embrace, an oddly familiar feeling of not wanting to spurn a gift from the universe overcoming him.
He pulled back, searching her features, "Are you not still mad? You were absolutely livid when we first landed here."
"Yeah, well, I've punched you in the face several times, and more or less gotten you killed twice since then," she grinned sheepishly, "I think I can let it go now."
He broke out into his first genuine smile since landing inside of Ruminate and pulled her into another kiss. Her arms looped around his neck and his hands pulled her close, needing the nearness he so often craved in her absence.
"I've been such a fool," he whispered against her skin.
"Shh," she pressed a finger to his lips, "We'll talk about that later. For now, since we have some alone time..." her devious grin inspired stirrings of both apprehension and arousal within him, "Why don't you tell me about that dream you had the other night, in more detail."
"If you insist," he smirked, tracing a thumb over her lips, "It started with a kiss much like the ones we just shared."
"Well here's another one, for good measure," Sam's tongue brushed his lower lip, meeting his own when he opened his mouth to her.
"You were also far less dressed," he kissed a trail along her jawline.
Sam raised her arms up over her head and gave him a coy look, "Then maybe you should fix that, for accuracy's sake."
He arched a brow but didn't hesitate in tugging her loose peasant shirt up over her head. He inhaled sharply when he saw she wore nothing underneath, hands instantly drawn to teasing her nipples into taut peaks before his mouth followed suit.
"What came next?" she asked breathily, fingers carding through his loose tresses.
Slowly, his lips and tongue blazed a path down the centre of her abdomen until he reached the hem of her leggings. He hooked his fingers into them and tugged downward, once again pleasantly surprised to see nothing but Sam beneath them. He lightly kissed her clit before following the same route back up to her mouth.
"You were rather enthusiastic about falling to your knees."
Sam deftly undid the fastenings of his shirt, pulling it with her down to the ground, kneeling in the grass at Charles' feet. Before he could protest, she'd undone his trousers and was already freeing his cock, hand stroking along its pulsing length.
"I think I can guess what happened next," she smirked up at him, holding his gaze as she took him between her lips, tongue swirling over his tip.
Charles had to brace a hand against a nearby tree for support, trying to hide the way his legs shook simply from the feel of her. She swallowed him back, laving her tongue over his aching flesh. She repeated the motion several times, increasing her pressure until she'd built a heady rhythm. Sam met his gaze when she swallowed around him again, and the Welshman groaned deeply, a sound that rumbled through him to the brunette's lips. It was clear that Dream Samara didn't hold a candle to the real-life one, seeing how rapidly he'd found himself barrelling toward climax so soon. His fingers flexed in her hair and he exhaled, "Wait."
Sam flattened her tongue and licked firmly along his shaft as she pulled her head back, releasing him with a loud 'pop'.
"Were you this quick in the dream too?" she smirked, gently stroking him with her hand.
"Not quite," he growled.
He gripped her fingers and pulled them from his cock, pulling her up to standing. He tugged her to him, her back flush against him, and moved to massage her clit with one hand while the other turned her head toward his, capturing her lips in a firm embrace.
"What happened next?" she murmured against him.
He bent so his lips were next to her ear, silky baritone smoothing over her, "You dragged me over to a rocky outcrop, mounted me, and told me to finish inside of you."
Sam whimpered, thighs instinctively clenching at the onslaught of sensations combined with the evocative picture he was painting.
"T-too bad there's no rock-" she cut herself off when a large, smooth, flat-topped boulder suddenly appeared in front of them.
"Was that...?" she looked at him over her shoulder.
"I’m not sure who’s a better wingman, my magic or Who-med," Charles chuckled.
She led him over to the rock, but before she could guide him to sit, she felt herself being spun around and lifted, then laid down across the stone top.
Charles kissed her softly, stormy blues meeting sparking amber, "In my dream, you went straight to riding me, quite skillfully I might add," Sam felt a flush spread over her skin, "But knowing it's truly you now, I need to show you how much you mean to me. How much I played the idiot the other day. Because in truth," he slid down her body, kissing and nipping as he went, until he knelt on the grass with his head between her thighs, " I should be the one kneeling to you, Princess ," his voice deepened on his last word.
Sam propped herself on her elbows, her eyes glazed with need as she watched him lean forward and blow a puff of warm air over her centre.
"That's not quite right though, is it?" he continued, his palms splaying across her inner thighs and parting them gently, "I think I prefer my Queen ."
"Hah!" Sam gasped when he licked a firm line along her folds, ending it with a swirl around her clit.
Her hands scrabbled for purchase on the smooth rock when he sucked the small bundle of nerves between his lips. The brunette was torn between wanting to bury her hands in his hair, and watching him pleasure her; she ended up choosing the latter, unable to tear her eyes away. His tongue traced sinuous patterns over her clit just before plunging deeply into her, eliciting a sharp moan from Sam. He alternated between the two movements, smirking when he felt her muscles begin tensing. He languidly slid his hand up toward her entrance, then swiftly slid two fingers inside of her while his mouth continued plying her supple, rosy pearl.
"Fuck, Charles!" she cried, hips bucking involuntarily.
His digits pistoned with an unforgiving meter, his tongue matching the beat. Sam soon gave in to the overwhelming sensation and arched her back, hands gripping his blond locks. The more he increased his tempo, the more she rocked her hips against his face, her twitching fingers pulling him closer. Then a twist of his wrist, a flick of his tongue, and she was gone; launched into the freefall of a powerful climax. It took her a few moments to register his tongue gently coaxing her down, evoking shivers rippling outward from her hypersensitized epicentre. She reached for him as she sat up, then pulled him to sit down beside her.
"I believe you said something about me riding you," her voice still trembled with aftershocks, but the look on his face was enough to have her aching for more.
She swung her leg over his lap to straddle him, perched atop his thighs.
"I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve you," he said softly, taking in the sight of her: Flushed and wanting him.
"You didn't have to do anything," she kissed his forehead, then his cheeks, "You just are who I want, who I need."
Before she could accidentally delve further into that admission, Sam crushed her lips to his in a fiery kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck. Charles felt an almost overbearing warmth at her words and found he needed her to be so much closer. Pushing against the stone surface, Sam raised her hips until she was hovering over the tip of his weeping cock, drawing things out for a moment. Then she pressed her forehead to his and sank down onto him, dropping until her rear cheeks pillowed against his legs. They groaned in unison, Sam swirling her hips as she nipped at his neck. Charles gripped her ass and lifted her up then lowered her back down onto him.
"Mmm," she hummed raggedly, "Is this a-assss good as the dream?"
"So much better," he rasped, sinking his teeth into the curve of her shoulder.
She started riding him in earnest, and this time when he was overcome with elation that she was in his arms, he let himself truly feel it. The real Samara was here with him, and that was all that mattered. In that moment he needed more, needed to make her his as he suddenly couldn't bear the thought of her being anything but. He deftly wrapped her legs around his waist and gave no warning before standing, holding her against him.
He'd barely taken a step before his magic kicked in again, and a thick-trunked, soft-barked tree appeared directly in front of him. He wasted no time in pressing Sam against it, lips roving over her skin, his fingers digging into her flesh.
"Fuck me, Charles, please," the bare, unabashed desire in her voice drove him to immediately oblige her, as he felt he would do for the rest of their lives.
The air around them echoed with moans and gasps as Charles thrust up into her, falling into a pounding cadence with wild abandon. Sam squeezed her thighs around him, feeling her peak rapidly approaching. She reached between them to stroke herself, noting the way his eyes darkened when he watched her. She needed to see him fall apart, wanted to see him losing himself first for once. She brought herself near the edge, then caught his eye as she said, "Charles come with me, inside of me, please."
She knew it was all he needed when he drove once, twice, thrice up into her and his body spasmed, jaw slackening as he found his release inside of her. Bearing witness to his pleasure pushed her clear from the precipice she'd held herself on, flinging her off into a state of bliss.
As she reconnected with the present, Sam could feel herself struggling to hold back a certain set of words that could either set them free. Or damn them both. She kept these at bay until Charles lowered her gingerly to the ground and kissed her in a way that seemed to mirror exactly how she felt for him. She caught herself on the verge of a confession of sorts as she looked up at him, "Charles, I..." but she couldn't quite gather the courage to say it.
"I know," he pulled her close, both wanting and not wanting her to voice what he knew was on the tip of her tongue, "I feel it too."
It wasn't an exact declaration, but Sam felt it as though it were. And for now, in the middle of an unfamiliar wood consisting of lines of code, inside a game of her own design, it would suffice. Charles collected Sam's clothes and helped her dress before donning his own garments. He paused to tuck her hair behind her ear and they shared a brief, yet meaningful kiss.
"We should probably get back before they come looking for us," said Sam reluctantly.
"Quite right," nodded the Welshman, "I've no desire to be incinerated today."
Sam laughed, her heart swelling when Charles' hand found her own, and they walked back the way they'd come. They strolled through the trees, a sense of peace instilled within them by the sun-dappled leaves and gentle breeze, then a thought struck Charles.
"Now, granted I haven't played every single game path in Ruminate, why in the world would you write in something so hellish as those damned woolmouths?"
Sam almost burst out laughing at the sudden question, "...Creative license?"
"I died, " Charles deadpanned, clearly not amused.
"But you came back to life," Sam bit her lip and purposely flashed the Welshman a clear view of her cleavage.
"Yes, those are quite lovely," he leaned down and brushed his lips over the swell of her breasts, "But I still died ."
"Actually the woolmouths are some of many things that seem to have randomly spawned in here," Sam tapped her chin thoughtfully, "I'm honestly a little excited to see what else there is."
Just then, a pair of familiar voices rang through the glade, one of them clearly indignant, "How dare you mistake that scraggly tree for my gorgeous wife, you incompetent sack of feathers!"
Charles and Sam exchanged amused glances and walked toward the seemingly irate Samuel, and the cool-as-ever Who-med.
"I'm an owl, my vision is better at night."
"I swear you were trying to distract me," grumbled the small king, then his ears perked up as he spotted the pair approaching them, " There you both are. See, birdbrain? I told you they were this way, we could have found them ages ago."
Who-med aimed a wink in the couple's direction before replying indifferently with, "My bad."
"What were you two doing?" asked Samuel.
"We had some things to, er, discuss," Charles replied, drawing a giggle from Sam.
"Yeah," she added, "Turns out he's my Charles after all."
"And she's the Samara from my world," added the Welshman, ignoring the warmth he'd felt in his chest when Sam called him hers.
"...Well I could have told you that," stated the small dragon king.
"Then why didn't you?!" demanded the blond.
" You didn't ask," Samuel turned up his snout and crossed his paws.
The expression instantly reminded Charles of home, their home, "Now that I think about it, this little chap does remind me an awful lot of-"
"Bowser," laughed Sam, "He was modeled after him."
"My dear Welsh compatriot," the blond smiled wistfully, "I miss him."
"He's going to miss you too..."
Samuel interrupted before the weight of Sam's words could sink in, "What are you jabbering on about, blondie?"
"Nothing at all, Bowser-Samuel," chirped the Welshman.
"Now that's a mouthful," remarked Who-med.
Charles grinned evilly, "We could call him BS for short..."
"I'll give you BS," stated the small king as he started to squat over top of the Welshman's boot.
"OH-kay," Sam clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention, "We still have an item to collect and a quest to finish. Let's say goodbye to Dallas and get a move on."
"Seconded," echoed the blond, quickly pulling his foot away from Samuel.
---
The group quickly gathered their things and after a delicious breakfast with Dallas and Angel, they parted ways, the troll wishing them luck. After ten or so minutes of walking, Charles looked over his shoulder and noticed Samuel was falling behind, "Wouldn't flying be easier?"
The tiny king scowled at him, then sighed dejectedly, "It seems I've forgotten how."
"I could launch you into the air again," offered the Welshman.
"Do it and I'll singe those pretty eyebrows clean off your face," retorted Samuel, smoke curling from his nostrils.
"Then baby carrier it is," replied Charles succinctly, beginning to loop the harness straps over his arms.
"What? No! You always die! Give me to Samara!"
Charles and Sam both laughed, joined by a jovial hoot. The blond was in the process of handing over the harness when a malevolent voice spoke from behind them.
"Well now, isn't this touching."
Charles slowly turned and saw the spitting image of Gwen sneering at them from only several feet away. And to make matters worse, the Ruminate facsimile of his ex-best friend, Samael, was standing beside her. The Welshman clenched his fists in anger, ensuring to place himself between the intruders and Sam.
"I hear you've been set on some ridiculous quest to 'vanquish me' or something stupid like that," scoffed the witch.
"And you're here to what, grandstand about and tell us we'll never make it?" retorted Charles.
"Oh, on the contrary," Gwen's voice held a dangerous tone to it as she waved her wand over Samael, "I'm here to put a stop to it."
Her right-hand man grinned maniacally at Charles as he shapeshifted into a large, scaled wyrm, "You thought I burned you before ?" laughed the serpent, "You ain't seen nothing yet."
Charles caught onto his meaning just in the nick of time, dropping to the ground as a roiling column of flame blasted through where he'd just been standing.
"Now, now, Samael," tutted Gwen, stroking the massive snake's side, "I want him alive."
"Who-med, take Samuel to safety, now !" barked Charles, relieved to see the owl reacting quickly, swiftly bearing the worried-looking canine king away without objection.
"Charles!" Sam called out.
"Run, Samara!" he yelled, his tone desperate.
"Did you really think you could protect her from me?" Gwen's words cut right to his heart, "We both know you're incapable of even protecting her from yourself."
Charles prepared to take a run at Gwen, intent on ending all of this right now.
But her next command stopped him short, "Get rid of the simpering wench, Sammy boy, I tire of her face."
"No!" Charles shouted, instinctually launching himself between the oncoming stream of fire and Sam.
He'd timed it right, on a direct collision course for the flames, 'At least she'll be alive ,' he thought to himself. Then the world turned upside down as something unseen swiped him sideways, crashing into the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He watched in horror as the inferno enveloped Sam, not yet catching his breath enough to scream.
"It's okay, she'll respawn, she still has a spare life," he wheezed to himself, yet not entirely convinced.
"I suppose now would be a good time to tell you, Samael's fire transcends all game rules," Gwen's triumphant voice encroached on his thoughts, "It brings only utter and complete decimation. Nothing comes back, extra lives be damned."
Charles grew cold all over and he barely registered Gwen's next words, "Grab him and let's go."
The Welshman's eyes stayed riveted on the roaring blaze where the woman he loved had just been standing. 'And I do love her... But I was too damn cowardly to tell her and now... ' a sob escaped him and he gathered himself enough to crawl toward the dwindling flames.
His course was jarringly interrupted when a large pair of claws closed around his body and he was lifted into the air by a newly-morphed Gryphon-Samael. He struggled at first, trying to cry out, but realized the inevitability of it when he lost sight of the roaring pyre. He sagged in Samael's grip, the vast landscape of Ruminate flying beneath him as he was carted off to who knows where. Charles found he didn't care, nothing mattered anymore; not the pain, nor the circumstance he was in, or that he was still stuck inside a video game... he'd lost her.
She was gone and it was his fault. He didn't care what happened to him now, letting a numb feeling he'd become all-too-familiar with in the past embrace him as though it were an old friend. A single tear tracked down his cheek and to the forest below as he was taken away, feeling as though the breath-taking sunset was mocking him as they disappeared over the horizon.
---
Very superstitious | Nothin' more to say | Very superstitious | The devil's on his way