Chrysalis Ch15: Performance Anxiety (pt2) (Patreon)

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          L is standing in empty woodlands again, dark and cold, foliage stretching far off into the distance from all directions. The grasses hiss back and forth in the soft wind, tickling at her knees, but L’s focus is elsewhere.
          She looks down curiously at her skin, examining her hand. The cracks are wider now, little spider-web lines tracing their way through her flesh. They are just like the folds on her palm, trickling all the way along her forearm. Like empty veins, the tendrils acting as channels opening to show what lies beneath.
          It's still burning, but the sensation is numbed wherever skin flakes away. Left in their wake is a wonderful, sensitive coolness, as if someone's placed a damp cloth on her fevered body.
          L presses a fingertip to the newly-exposed flesh. Now that she's touching it, she can tell it's not skin at all. Thousands of tiny hairs, bristling and quivering as they start to dry in the pitch-black air. The burning spreads. L draws her finger down, gently encouraging the cracks to widen, like she’s teasing apart a snarl of tangled fibres.
          Maybe she’ll feel better once it's done.

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          L gasps as her eyes open, struggling to see as she drags herself back from the dream. She feels as though hours have passed since her last breath. Her mouth is dry, and there’s an odd taste on her tongue. Cool and silk-smooth, like silvered chalk. Her head swims, fragments of the nightmare twisting and twining into the room around her, as she holds up her hand in confusion.

The palm glitters.
          "Wh..."
          Her hand is covered in dust - no, scales. Her scales. Her fingertips are damp. L dabs them on her lip, coming away with more gleaming powder. The taste in her mouth… has she been… cleaning her wings?
          Her eyes move back and forth, focusing and unfocusing in the warm glow that surrounds her. She's perched atop a wooden shipping crate in a spacious, shadowy room, ringed by a collection of glassware. Little bottles glisten almost as brightly as the scale-dust on her hand, strange fluids and thick vapours bubbling away inside them. The light around her is warm and intense, flickering like a woodfire. It’s not hard to pinpoint the source - lanterns, usually decor for the Glade’s tables, have been left hanging around her, dozens of them, all lit. She's seated in straw, packed and settled as though she's made a nest for herself.
          L flutters reflexively as she takes it all in. The glow shines off of her freshly-preened wings, sending little flashes of light dancing in their wake. It's enough to break the spell.
          "Ah! AAHHH!" L scrambles out of the nest, scattering the lanterns and bottles in her haste, limbs flailing as she half-tumbles, half-flutters to the floor. Her screams are punctuated by the sharp sound of breaking glass. One of the lanterns has shattered, sparks of fire kindling in the straw. L’s eyes grow wide in horror.
          "O-oh no. Nonono, no - "
          She grabs at a still-unbroken lantern, shoving it at the burning straw, trying to push it away from the rest of the nest. Something clatters outside, a shadowy figure tearing the door open. A blaze of pale light spills in as Trystan pushes his head into the room. He first looks at L’s panicked expression, frowning.
          "... what's wrong? Are you still-" He follows L’s gaze to the wisps of smoke and little spurts of flame leaping up from the straw. "Oh, OH SHITE!"
          Trystan hurriedly slithers, clattering like a wind chime in a thunderstorm. L scrabbles out of the way as he circles around the blaze, closing his gilded encasement and choking out the flames until there’s nothing but smoke.
          Trystan starts, anger rising in his voice. “I said you could stay here AS LONG as you didn’t-” He pauses when he notes how little L reacts. She’s sitting and shivering in the corner, watching dying embers refract through Trystan’s glass armour. Trystan’s expression changes.
          "Oh,” he says quietly. "It's you again."
          L’s antennae twitch. "What?"
          Before Trys can respond, L is on her feet, grabbing at his shirt, yanking herself closer. "W-what the fuck do you mean, 'it's me again?'"
          Trystan takes her hands and gently pries them off. Without releasing them, he lowers L’s arms and squeezes comfortingly.
          "Well, I'm sure this is all a bit much. Here," He lets go and fishes out a bottle of glittering ice-blue liquid, pushing it into her hands. "Drink this."
          L takes the bottle, her shoulders shaking.
          And drops it to the floor.
          "Absolutely NOT."  L snaps, her voice high and panicked. Her wings whir, sending her bobbing around Trystan's head, puffs of smoke choking the air around them. "T-tell me what's happening! I can't - I was just on s-stage, and then I'm - I'm - where the hell am I?!"
          Trystan grabs hold of her by the shoulders, firm hands biting into her flesh. He gives L a quick shake, staring her dead on. "L, you're here, you're with me.  I need you to calm down.”
          L struggles to pull in a breath, letting out a hacking, half-choked cough. Her chest hurts, like her lungs have been pierced by her ribs. She isn’t sure if that’s because of the smoke or the sick feeling clawing its way up from her stomach. What had she been doing? Why had she had that dream again? The smell of the dead fire, thick and heavy, crawls its way into her nose and down her antennae, settling over her mind, smothering her thoughts. She can’t breathe. She can’t think.
          Trystan’s hold tightens. His voice lowers, dropping into a reassuring, steady hum. It’s almost musical.  “Name something in this room that you can see."
          L twists in midair, trying to pull away. Trystan's grip is too strong. She can feel herself breathing faster and faster, her wings beating at a matching pace. "Th-that crate," she points. "The c-crate I was s-SITTING IN - "
          “Perfect.” Trystan interrupts, his voice still low and level. “That's perfect. What's one thing you can hear?"
          "What am I supposed to hear?! I can't..." L's voice trails off. Faint vibrations rumble through her antennae. There's a rhythmic scraping noise somewhere outside.
          "...sweeping?" she ventures. "M-Madeline sweeping."
          Trystan nods. "That's right. Madeline is right outside. What's something you can feel?"
          "I-I think I… burned my finger," L mumbles, squeezing her hand shut. A thin twinge of pain shoots up her arm in response. She hadn’t even felt it before.
          Trystan looks down at her hand, frowning  sympathetically. "Madeline has a salve that can help with that. I’ll ask for it. Next question. Tell me something you can smell?"
          That one’s easy. "Smoke." L whispers, ducking her head. Her shaking has almost dissipated.
          Trystan takes a breath, visibly relaxing. His grip softens, though he doesn't let go. "Yes, that's right, from the extinguished fire. Okay, last one. Can you tell me something you can taste?"
          "Scales. From my wings." L's voice is soft. Chimes tapping in a gentle breeze. "I was cleaning them."
          Trystan nods, then runs his hand along the side of her face, wiping a tiny smear of shimmering dust from the corner of her mouth. "That's right. That… probably tastes a little odd to you. Here, this will help."
          He reaches for another bottle, this one full of fresh green leaves. "It’s just spearmint. No properties, no magic, no tricks. Nothing fae. I use these to finish the gin and tonic."
          Trystan pops the top and shakes out a few, handing them to L. They’re soft and cool to the touch. L pops the leaves into her mouth, chewing aggressively. The strong, sharp flavour wipes away the last of the chalky taste.
          "...thank you," L mumbles, huddling down in her wings.
          Trystan guides her to a seated position, flipping on the light. The bulbs flash with a pop, washing out the flickering remnants of the lantern circle in a steady electric glow. "You haven’t left the Glade, I promise. This is my store room, it’s behind the bar. The stage is just outside. But what’s most important is that you're okay, you’re safe, you’re here." Trystan’s voice is still warm and reassuring.
          "Okay..." L breathes in through her nose. The aroma of mint lingers, even if the taste of burnt straw travels through her antenna. There's something comforting about the electrical lights, though. Something… grounding. It’s harder to picture something like… that happening again while they’re on.
          Of course, they had been on while she was on stage…
          "...How did I...get here?" She asks, picking her words carefully.
          "You asked for help." Trystan replies gently. "I told everyone it was a… ‘nymph girl thing.’ You just needed a moment to yourself, and I was right here the entire time."
          "Did I?" L's expression is flat. Trystan’s voice is cool and soothing, like chilled water trickling over pebbles.  The sound reminds her of the way her arm had felt in the dream. Her stomach lurches. "I asked for help with what, exactly?"
          Trystan goes quiet, considering. "It was... it felt like you were someone else," he says. "The way you... walked. Fluid and low. Kind of like..." He moves his hand in a gentle wave pattern. "... like a cat, you understand? Your words were different, too. Which words you spoke, and how you spoke them. Diction and dictation. Not that you… really spoke much. You never answered any of my questions, and I tried several times."
          "And you really only asked me if anyone knew, if they ‘could tell.’" Trystan shifts. "... Is there something… greater you need help with, little nymph?"
          L pulls her hands against herself, squeezing them into fists. She'd lost enough time blacking out as she sang before. Now, that blackout had been long enough to do… this. How long would the next time be? What had led into it? Had her thoughts felt…the same way? Unsettled? Like they were coming from…
          …elsewhere?
          "I - " she starts, her voice wavering before she cuts herself off. How can she get someone to understand this? To solve it?
          "... I can handle it." L breathes out, sitting up a little. "I can," she repeats,  swallowing. "Could anyone else tell?"
          "Ian was worried during his shift last night, but I assured, and reassured, that you were alright. You should really let him know you're feeling better," Trystan answers, taking a spearmint leaf for himself and nibbling at the edges.
          "Last NI- " L clamps a hand over her mouth as she half-rises from her seat. A moment passes before she can speak again.
          "Last night?" She hisses, starting to pace around. Being able to sing was the only thing keeping them safe here, but ff she kept singing… it wouldn't be her. That much was clear. Whether this was something about the Market, or a lingering effect of Astraea's spell, or just… her waking up… how much worse was it getting?
          She needs something for comparison. Some threshold.
          “Trystan?” L casts a half-anxious, half-hopeful look over her shoulder. "Trystan, this is a-all staying between us. Right?"
          Trystan places his hand on her upper arm and leans forward, nearly touching foreheads. "L, I'm a bartender. It’s my job to keep secrets. We’ll leave this between us nymphs."
          "J-just between us nymphs," L nods hurriedly. “This… this isn’t the first time this has happened. I had this… dream and… i-it doesn’t matter.” She swallows. Is her arm tingling? That has to be her imagination. “Can you show me my, um, my negotiation with Hedrick? I want to see if I was walking like…”
          She mimics the way Trystan had moved his hand. The larger nymph taps his chin, his eyes lighting with interest, then nods.
          “Of course. This’ll only take a moment, luv.”
          Trystan’s fingers pick their way down his shell like curious spiders, finally selecting an angular bottle of green glass. He plucks it free and holds it in front of L’s face, showing her the mottled brown and grey vapours swirling inside. She leans closer, her antennae tapping curiously at the surface. It creates a strange feeling, something she can almost recognize. A familiar place on the tip of her tongue.
          “Watch closely,” Trystan murmurs, giving the bottle a sharp swirl. The vapour twists and reshapes itself, resolving into wispy figures. L, scared and uncomfortable. Ian, standing by with a firm expression. Hedrick, his tiny features stamped with a scowl. A miniscule cat made of grey fog, circling around.
          As she watches them move about, L can hear them in her head. She can remember hearing them.
"Get ‘em in the door. Give ‘em a main event. An’ tend ta the whales. ‘At’s the job, an’ you think yer up to all that?" Hedrick barks out, and L observes her tiny copy twitch away, vague recollections of the motion twisting in her own memory. Then it’s gone, twisting apart as quickly as it reformed. She can remember what she’s seen, but actually doing it…
"Ye got a pretty face."  The tiny image of Hedrick prods at the copy of L. A little thread of vapour spins away from her cheek, disappearing back into her hair. "But ye can buy those for a song from any bleedin’ swindler in the apothecary district-”
          L jerks away from the bottle, startled, and her  memories collapse into a shapeless, drifting cloud. Trystan raises his eyebrows, lowering the bottle.
          “See something you didn’t like?”
          “No, no, it’s - it might not even matter right now,” L waves a hand, brushing her antennae back. “Hedrick said you could buy faces?”
          “Mmm… from the right merchant. What, don’t you like yours?” Trystan leans down, studying L’s features under heavy-lidded eyes. L ignores him, her eyes lighting up with a sudden, wild idea. ‘Buy for a song,’ he said. There was nothing really stopping L from learning to sing for herself. And iff L could bypass… her… coming out…

          “So what else can I buy? Can I hire a… singing tutor? No, a magic singing tutor? A singing spell? Something I can get quickly, something that can work fast. Can I find that in the Market?"
          "You mean, like, buying a song?" Trystan sits back, thinking. "Well they're a tad expensive, but I suppose you could."
          "Did Hedrick mean he could literally sell a - yes. Yes, that!" L nods her head frantically. Could it possibly be that easy? There was no way, there had to be a catch, this was the fae. She casts a worried look at the door.
          "... would Hedrick be able to tell?"
          "You're worried about performing?" Trystan asks, his face turning curious. "Little nymph, what in all the worlds is this about?"
          L gestures at the smouldering wreck of the nest. "I can't… too long to explain. I just need a bit of time to work this out. Would Hedrick know?"
          "L, I-"
"Would he know?" L's wings flare out to their full length, eyespots flashing. Trystan backs away, surprised at the motion. It doesn’t last long. He chuckles, reaching out and lowering her wings with his hands.
          "Are you trying to intimidate me, little moth?" he says, nodding. "Sorry, I won't pry any further. The answer is no, he shouldn't... not as long as whatever song you buy sounds like the other songs you've sung."
          Trystan crosses his arms. "But, you wouldn’t know, would you? That's what triggered this. You can’t recall performing for Hedrick yesterday."
          L looks away. "You’re right, I don't know," she says quietly. "... But I'm going to fix this."
          "Then you realise you'll need someone who knows what you sound like." Trystan replies.
          L lets out a slow breath through her nose. There’s only one choice, really. "... Ian. I can bring Ian. Where can we find it?"
          Trystan places his hand on her shoulder. "Tell him it’s in the Apothecary District.  He’ll know where to go. Good luck out there, little moth."
          "Thanks. A-and thanks for… for helping me. I'll go fill him in." L hurries off, disappearing through the door in a whirl of wings.
          Seconds later, she darts back in. "And I swear, I'll clean this up when we get back."
          And with that, she's gone.

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Be sure to check in Friday July 8th to read
Ch16: Secret Places (pt1)