It was midday when Lance paid a visit to East Clock Town’s most highly esteemed hospital. This was much earlier than he or anyone else had ever been able to pay his mother a visit, but current events necessitated it. He dearly hoped the hospital wouldn’t turn him away for arriving before visitation hours, but believed deep down his relations would let him get his way.

He worried his lower lip as he pushed back compulsive thoughts about what just happened in his bedroom. It was difficult to parse and organize his thoughts on the matter, and frankly even just understanding how he was supposed to feel about it was a challenge. Was he angry for being talked down to by someone who pretended to understand his life? Perhaps it was sadness from knowing someone he’d become exceptionally close to wanted to throw him away like refuse. No, neither of those was quite right. Betrayal most aptly suited this emotion that made bile rise to the back of his throat. His chest stung with every agonizing breath and he wanted to die.

However, now death even represented a betrayal to him. If he met an untimely end, the next moment his eyes opened that man would be there. Once a reassurance to know he would never be alone again, his guardian now felt more akin to a ghoul. One with their claws sunk deep into the flesh of his heart, squeezing tightly but never allowing the pain to cease.

“Excuse me, Mr. Wisteria?” a voice called.

Lance jolted as he spun on his heels. A young nurse stood behind him pushing a cart full of dirty dishes. The bags under eyes were pronounced, and she gazed up at him with impatience.

“Right, pardon me,” he yelped, quickly side stepping out of the way. Now that he had resumed awareness of reality, Lance realized he was in the entirely wrong wing of the facility. With a heavy sigh he righted his course and found his mother’s room.

“Good afternoon, Mother,” he quietly announced as he closed the door behind himself.

Margaret Wisteria looked up with sunken eyes and gaunt skin. Lance instinctively recoiled at the sight of her debilitated state. To ensure she didn’t notice his reaction, he swiftly resumed walking to her bedside with a large smile and open arms. She appeared startled by his arrival, but nevertheless her mouth turned up into a weak grin to greet her son.

“I decided spur-of-the-moment to drop in to see you a little earlier than normal. Hope I’m not disturbing your rest or anything,” he said, face burrowed into her long caramel hair. It was a favorite place of his to be, having grown up a sensitive child that frequently needed his mother’s comfort. His own hair was kept long in a similar fashion to hers, hoping one day he might be someone’s safe haven. It was foolish in hindsight after all he’d endured; perhaps he’d outgrown his long hair by now.

“Nonsense. You just caught me before time for my medication. Sorry if I frightened you with the way I look right now,” she answered with worry in her blue eyes.

Lance stroked the side of her head before placing a kiss on her forehead. He grabbed the well-worn chair he always sat in, pulling it closer to her bedside to remain within arm’s reach. His eyes wandered to the bedside table covered in his mother’s personal belongings. The centerpiece of this table was a family portrait from Lance’s childhood, whose metal frame was dotted with faded tarnish. Many of her effects were covered in a layer of dust; things like her books, knitting, and a box with a half completed jigsaw puzzle.

In that pristine photo Lance was about the age of twelve, with several missing front teeth in his jubilant grin with a messy shock of auburn hair. His mother was ten years younger and full of boundless radiance. Now older, Lance could reflect on such a photo and notice the dark bags beginning to form around her eyes that makeup poorly covered. There was no way to know when her health began to decline; it took her collapsing one day as her stomach voided blood to admit defeat to her illness.

Margaret curled her knobby fingers around the top of his hands, pulling him from his deep reflection. Despite her deterioration she managed to muster a playful smile as she clicked her tongue at him. “So, when are you going to tell me what you’ve been doing the last few days?”

“Frankly, I was hoping we could just gloss over that and talk about something else,” he replied with a wince.

Her fingers and thumb grazed over the soft skin of his hand, and her smile turned down into a contemplative frown. “If you really don’t want to tell me you don’t have to. But I’m your mother, Lance. I’ve been able to tell something was wrong with you at a glance since before you could talk.”

“Wish I’d inherited that. I think I’m closer to Father’s impeccable talent to say all the wrong things with little regard for another person’s feelings,” Lance said, voice growing lower as he spoke.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, voice pitching up. “This is coming from the same person who as a little boy could cry for any little old thing. Be it squishing a bug or seeing a couple fight in the market, you’ve always had a bleeding heart. Just like your mother.”

His smile crinkled his eyes as she reminded him of the ways they were similar. He bit his lower lip as he felt his eyes begin to water and his breathing became shallow. Margaret continued stroking his hand, giving him constant reassurance.

“Hey, Mom? Can I ask you a question?”

“Always, sweetheart.”

Lance took a ragged breath as his reddening eyes shifted to face the wall away from her sight. “How did you know Father was the one? The right one to marry, at least.”

There was a heavy pause and Lance was uncertain how his mother felt about the question. He’d heard countless romanticized tales of how his father whisked his mother off her feet when they were young and had been in love ever since. Yet, as he grew older, Lance had drawn the conclusion that that narrative must have been fabricated. He wanted the truth or at the very least felt entitled to it.

“I take that to mean you want a real grown-up answer, and not just a nice story to help with your nerves,” she said solemnly.

Lance gave a slow singular nod and maintained his stare at the pristine snow-white wall.

“Oh, where do I begin? You’re twenty-two now, so I reckon I was about fifteen or sixteen when I met your father.”

“Isn’t he several years older than you?” Lance interrupted.

“Hm, yes that would make him about your age when we met.”

Lance visibly shivered. He could only imagine himself fraternizing with a young maiden barely past puberty. It was already a struggle for him to get along with people his own age, much less some immature teenager. Disgusting.

“Shudder all you want. I’ve just always had a thing for older people,” she replied in the midst of weakened laughter. “That’s probably another thing you got from me considering your betrothed.”

Oh, you have no idea.

“We’re getting off topic,” he said.

“Anyway, when I was a pretty young thing I caught the eye of many a man, young and old. I had boyfriends coming and going, much to the chagrin of your grandma and grandpa -bless their souls. Your father was amongst the many trying to court me, but for the longest time I always turned him down.”

“Must have eventually worn you down I imagine?” he said, already irritated with his young father.

“Not quite. You’re going to need to keep the commentary to yourself if you want me to finish the story, kiddo,” she gently reprimanded.

Lance threw up his hands, admitting defeat.

“Now, as often pretty girls do with pretty boys, I did fool around with them” -she pinched the back of his hand despite being unable to see his queasy expression- “if you’re not mature enough for the grown-up version we can shelve it for another day. Maybe when you’ve laid with your new wife you’ll be more mature about it.”

His whole body shivered, and he rapidly shook his head. “No- no, sorry. I’ll stop.”

“When I was about sixteen, I became pregnant with my boyfriend at the time. His name was Simon, a handsome boy, a couple of years ahead of me in school. Well, much like myself, Simon wasn’t ready to be a parent. So he called me a whore and broke up with me, denying the baby was his.”

As she paused, either to let the words sink in or taking a break from prolonged speaking, Lance’s hand pulled back abruptly from his mother’s grasp. His head tilted down and to the side towards her. “Wait, are you trying to tell me Father isn’t my real father?”

“Just let me finish, sweetheart,” she whispered. “My parents were begging the boy’s family to allow their son to marry me to save my dignity, but they refuted us every time. Our family wasn’t poor but we weren’t well off either. Lacking in a proper dowry and Simon’s refusal to own up to fatherhood, nothing came of it.”

His mother then released a deep sigh, and Lance could hear her shifting in the bed. “I was about two months pregnant, sick as a dog, and your father came calling to my home. I wasn’t in the habit of lying, so I told him the truth. It was my assumption that once he knew I was ruined he would leave me alone; I was wrong, however. Arthur took my hands in his, worry written all over his face and asked me to marry him right away.”

“My father, the most unaffectionate man I’ve ever met in my life, wanted to marry you, despite all of that?” Lance asked. In his stupor, he turned to look at his mother with his face screwed up in confusion.

Margaret, on the other hand, looked vibrant despite the lengthy tale. The story was taking a great toll on her stamina, but it was a tale he could see meant a great deal to her. “He did and I said yes. What other choice did I have? He was well off working as a lawman, already owned a home, and my parents were thrilled. Within minutes we had a wedding planned for two weeks later. Arthur, my darling, was so excited for his new family he built a crib in the time we still lived apart during our brief engagement. The same crib you slept in as a baby, actually.”

“I don’t understand. The years don’t add up; I should be two years older if this story is true. Do I have a secret older sibling? And you tell me Father was so excited and loving, but I don’t even remember him holding me as a child. If I didn’t see how much he loved you, I would think him incapable of affection,” Lance responded, voice raising as he spoke. The more his mother told him, the more he felt he’d been robbed of a loving father.

“Three days before the wedding was when the bleeding started,” she said, eyes pointed down as her hands began to fidget. Her lips curled inward and quivered, voice losing its luster. “I bled and ached for days; it felt like I was dying. At the time I felt it would have been better off if I had.”

“I don’t understand. What happened?” Lance asked.

“I lost the baby.”

As his mother’s tears began to shed, Lance hurriedly leaned forward and embraced her slight form. She wept into his chest and clung to the fabric of his shirt. He had no idea how to comfort her for this type of pain, so he resorted to stroking her head. Just as she had done his whole life.

They stayed that way for a while, mother and son clinging together. Yet despite the close proximity, it felt as if they were further apart than ever. He did not know this woman the way he’d always thought; the way he’d always assumed.

“I was left with a choice,” she murmured, mouth muffled. “Most of the town didn’t know about the pregnancy since my family wasn’t an important one. I could call off the wedding and pretend none of it happened, because I didn’t feel true love for him at the time.”

Lance pulled away to arm’s length, keeping his hands on her shoulders. “You decided to stay then,” he said.

“I decided to stay,” she repeated. “I chose to be with someone that would love me no matter what in the hopes I would one day feel the same.”

She wiped the remaining moisture from her eyes and began reclaiming her composure. Lance pulled back to his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t you ever wonder what might have happened had you not settled for Father?” he questioned, worrying at his lower lip while tapping his foot.

“I used to,” she answered.

His stomach sank to the floor, but he remained perfectly silent.

“I miscarried a second time within the first year of our marriage,” she continued, a statement that made Lance’s eyes grow wide. “However, with the third I was blessed. I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. My little miracle,” she spoke fondly, eyes crinkling as she smiled at him.

“Did- did Dad hold me when I was born? Did he love me then?” Lance blurted, causing Margaret to gasp.

“Of course he did. You were his son, and he’s loved you since the day we knew you were coming into the world.”

“Sometimes, Mom, I think Father dislikes me because he knows something is wrong with me. He knows something about me that I never knew up until recently,” he said, sinking into the chair as his arms dropped and eyes sank to the floor.

A weak, sickly hand slapped the top of his own. It didn’t hurt, but the sensation reflexively made him recoil with a tiny shout. Upon looking up he saw his mother’s eyes were fearful and her body was visibly shaking.

“Why would you say such a thing? What has Arthur said to you?” she half-yelled, spittle flying as her voice rose.

“No- no, he hasn’t said anything to me. He doesn’t need to. Father has always made it pretty clear he’s not fond of me, but I’m beginning to feel like it’s justified.”

She appeared to settle after that, taking several deep breaths to help herself calm down. In his entire life he could only recall a few times his mother’s voice raised at him. Majority of them were in childhood when he poorly told white lies to get out of trouble. Once she became enfeebled, it wasn’t something that ever happened, to him or to anyone else. Even so, this was different. She wasn’t angry so much as she was terrified of something, but he had no inclination as to what. He desperately wished to ask, but did not want to risk her pushing him away for it. Lance couldn’t tolerate another knife in his back.

“I wish I knew how to help you two see eye to eye. It’s foolish to spend the best years of your life at odds with each other for no good reason. You’re all he’s going to have when I’m g-”

“Don’t. Please,” he begged, eyes pinching shut as his forehead dropped to rest on his propped hands.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not giving up; I promise.”

Silence permeated the room as loving warmth gave way to cold uncertainty. He’d asked a question hoping to feel more confident, yet here he was filled with more doubt than he knew how to bear. Perhaps, just this once, he could be forthright. She’d shared with him a deep and agonizing scar he never knew existed, yet he thought no differently of her for it. Was he permitted to deserve the same?

“Hey, Mom? Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course, dear. You can always tell me anything.”

“I’ve been in love with Aryn for a long time. I know I told you it was something we realized recently, but I’ve been in love with her since I was thirteen years old.”

He looked up to check her response. She appeared to be optimistic about what he was telling her, yet aware there was an incoming ‘but’ to ruin the sentiment. Lance then resumed hiding his face in his hands as his upper body curled inward.

“She doesn’t love me, never has. Aryn’s actually in love with someone else but her parents won’t let her be with them. I offered to marry her as a favor, so she wouldn’t be betrothed to someone of her parents’ choosing. So she could be with the one she loves in secret. It took me only till recently to realize that the real reason I did it was in the hopes one day she would love me instead.” He then stopped to bark a laugh as his breathing began to quicken. “Father and I aren’t so different after all. Just like you said.”

“Lance…” she whispered, as if she were questioning if she was allowed to speak his name.

“To make matters worse now that I’m engaged, I’ve started to become confused. I think I’m starting to fall for someone new. Someone I’m not supposed to be in love with because it’s wrong.”

“Lance, if you’ve changed your mind about the wedding it’s alright. I’m not mad at-”

“Please, Mother, let me finish,” he begged.

She acquiesced to his request.

“While growing up I never understood the implication I was only supposed to fancy girls. I never really felt myself attracted to them, at least until I knew their heart. Once I feel like I know someone and they know me, something just clicks into place. That I want to belong to them, heart and soul. I just assumed that was what it felt like for any other man.”

He paused to catch his breath, but also in fear of what he was close to admitting. His body quivered, and his mouth began to dry. The leaping off point was mere inches from his feet, and he was closing his eyes ready to plummet into the sea. Once he was under, he wasn’t certain if returning to the surface would be an option.

“I recently came to know a man. He’s callous and knows what to say to get under my skin. When I first met him, I hated him, to be perfectly honest. Then he opened up to me and showed me his real self. For the first time in a long time I trusted someone else to show them my real self too. He saved me, that man. Saved me in ways he doesn’t realize.”

Lance felt a hand rest upon his knee and he let go. The tears came first, followed soon after by agonized sobs that tore through his chest. He lifted his face up to face her, fluids dripping down his cheeks and over his lips. His mother looked near to tears herself.

“I’ve fallen for a man, Mom. Is there something wrong with me?”

As he heard his own words spoken aloud, a vivid memory consumed his mind. He remembered being sixteen and hanging out with his best friend on the ranch, secreted away in the nearby woods and up to no good. The antiseptic scent of the hospital faded into the smell of tobacco, cheap liquor, and a young lady’s perfume. Visions of sterile white walls shifted to vibrant greenery and spacious pastures.

“Hey, Lancelot, if I tell you a secret will you keep your mouth shut?” asked a pimple-faced Aryn barely into adulthood.

“S-sure, ‘course I will,” Lance replied, a gangly teen coughing after his first puff of the cigarette.

“Okay, but if you tell anybody I’ll have to kill you. I’m serious.”

Lance nodded furiously, poorly hiding his anticipation.

“Alright.” She took a swig of the whiskey bottle she’d smuggled to their meetup. “I like someone.”

“You- you do?” Lance’s heart began to race.

“Yeah. I’m thinking about asking them out, but I’m pretty sure they’ll turn me down.”

“Turn you down?” Lance asked, a grin spreading across his face. Feeling bold, he took a deep puff of the cigarette only to erupt into a horrendous coughing fit. Surprisingly, despite how much of an embarrassing display it was, Aryn didn’t laugh.

“Yeah. Her name’s Irene,” she said, blush rising in her cheeks.

“Oh, I see,” he said, face dropping to the ground. “Wait, Irene? Isn’t that the girl whose dad owns the transport company your family uses?”

“Yep.” She took another swig.

“Just so I understand what you’re saying, you like a girl?”

“Ye-up. Is that a problem?” She furrowed her brows in an attempt to be intimidating, but even Lance could see her hand holding the bottle shake furiously.

“No, of course not,” he assured.

“Good. I’d have to beat you up otherwise,” she responded with a nervous laugh, but soon after her eyes shifted away from him to stare into the depths of the woods. “I’m pretty sure she’s got a crush on some boy that works at her dad’s company. So my chances are pretty low of her going out with me,” she said with a mournful voice. “Thanks, Lance, for not thinking something is wrong with me. Mama and Papa would raise hell no doubt, so it’s nice to have you to talk to about it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answered, struggling to bury his disappointment deep in the recesses of his heart. “I know what it’s like to have feelings like that that you can’t talk about. It sucks, but having just one person know helps.”

“Wait a minute, are you like me?”

“What- what do you mean?”

“Do you like boys the way I like girls?”

He began denying her assumption but closed his mouth immediately. Truly, Lance only ever liked one person in his whole life, and she was sitting right next to him. No one else, girl or boy, ever caught his eye. The thought of telling her the truth of what he meant terrified him more than this lie.

“Some- something like that, yeah. I guess. It’s complicated.”

“If you ever get a crush on someone, you have to tell me immediately. Promise?” She reached out her hand to him with only her pinky extended.

“Promise,” he answered weakly with his pinky interlocked with hers.

He’s pulled back into the present by the touch of a tender hand caressing the top of his head. When his full awareness returns he realizes he’s curled up into his mother’s side laying on the bed with her. Her other hand was rubbing small circles on his back, humming all the while.

Lance grew nauseous and began to remove himself from her side, but she resisted and hugged him closer. His body turned to jelly as she soothed him down from panic.

“Mom? Does Father hate people like me?”

“If he does, he will never hate you.”

Lance inhaled sharply. “Do you still love me?”

“I love you more than there are stars in the sky and fish in the sea. I want you to be happy. If a man makes you happy, then he better count his blessings he has the love of such a sweet human being. I would love to meet the lucky feller.”

He gently smiled and hugged his mother close. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Lance.”

Lance departed shortly after when time drew near for his mother’s medication. He hadn’t the heart to tell her the object of his affection had violently pushed him away. Her confirmation that she didn’t despise him was a fantasy he dared not believe to come true and did not want to sully it. No need to discuss his engagement either, as that was an encroaching disaster he was coming to regret.

After retrieving Oberon from the restaurant where he’d been abandoned the last few hours (to which Lance apologized with many pets and kind words), he returned home at dinner time. Instead of making an appearance at the dinner table, he requested to have it brought to his room. It was with great trepidation he even raised a hand to turn the knob to his room, frightened of all the possibilities of what could lay behind it.

The room was empty, with not a single object out of place from when he left it prior. He returned to his comforting night clothes and nestled into bed. His dinner arrived, and he made a few small efforts to eat, but in the end it went half finished. He fell asleep soon after before Abi returned to retrieve his plate.

Lance was roused from his slumber with a sharp jab to his side and his back making impact with the floor. Quickly he shot up, eyes frantic as he looked for the source of the assault. Ah, it was Bael. He should have known.

“I told you to be up early, but it looks like even that request was too much for you,” Bael snarled.

After looking out the window, Lance confirmed it was still the middle of the night. There was not even an inkling of sunrise in the dark sky, only shimmering stars in the endless pitch.

“Our definitions of early don’t exactly align. Also, there was no need to push me off the bed. I’m willing to cooperate with you, so stop being an ass.” Lance winced as he rose off the floor and steadied himself with a hand on the bed. His eyes were still encrusted with sleep and his breath tasted foul, adding to his irritation.

“Sorry I didn’t wake you with a kiss, sleeping beauty,” Bael spat, in combination with an odd sound that Lance couldn’t recognize coming from his hands.

Lance blinked to try and clear his vision. “What are you holding onto?”

Bael returned an unsavory chuckle. “Oh? This? Found it on your bookshelf; it’s quite an entertaining read.”

Hurriedly Lance wiped his eyes clean and willed himself to focus. In Bael’s hands he was roughly flipping through the pages of a book. It was dark and difficult to observe, but if his observation was correct the cover depicted a noble knight riding a horse with a fair maiden in his arms.

“I never gave you permission to go through my things, Bael,” Lance seethed, rasping the other man’s name with disdain.

“I can’t believe you read this drivel. Seriously? A kind to a fault knight romancing a bratty princess? How typical. I was honestly looking to see what kind of weird pornographic books you might have, but this is much more amusing.”

As Bael mocked him, Lance was already stomping towards him ready to rip the book out of his hands. Of course, as he should have expected, Bael was too dexterous and managed to avoid his grasp with each attempt. With every failure Bael laughed at him, sparking Lance into a fury. He lunged at Bael, who surprisingly did little to resist the move. Bael’s body collapsed easily enough as the pair fell to the floor with Lance atop him.

Suddenly Lance lost all will to be angry as he saw Bael’s heated look. His face was flush with splotches of red all along his face and neck. The collar of his shirt was stretched low exposing his collarbone. Without fully being aware of himself, Lance began drawing nearer as he was captured by Bael’s allure.

Then the stench hit his nostrils, and his heart sank into his stomach. They were scents he knew all too well. The smell of tobacco, cheap liquor, and a young lady’s perfume. Bael absolutely reeked of all three.

“What’s the matter, Lancelot?” Bael teased. “I know I’ve got long flowing hair, but don’t go confusing me for a delicate princess. That is unless” -Bael lifted his hand to trail a finger down the center of Lance’s chest- “you want to use me. To get over that someone you’re in love with. I don’t have to care about someone to do that with them.”

The sharp thwack resounded in the room. Lance punched Bael with more strength than he knew was possible. He leaned up on his knees and shuffled backwards away from him after realizing just what he’d done. Violence was not how he solved his problems. Still yet Lance was full of anger, and regretted none of the pain he’d just inflicted.

“How dare you! How dare you humiliate me and talk to me like I’m nothing to you?” Lance shouted, careful of his volume being too loud in the middle of the night. “I get it. We can’t be friends, but we don’t have to be enemies now too.”

Bael wiped at the blood pooling at the corner of his lip as he sat up. Lanced assumed he must have bit his tongue when he hit him, which still didn’t garner any sympathy from him.

“Alright, alright. I went too far. Even I can see that.” Bael stood up off the floor and adjusted his clothes from their disheveled state. “Nyx, stay here while I grab our stuff and get the horse ready. Don’t let him lollygag.” He then exited Lance’s room through the door heading in the direction of the armory.

Nyx flew out of the corner where she must have been hiding, and Lance could notice the apprehension in her tentative flight towards him. Just as Bael indirectly ordered, he quickly groomed himself and dressed for the day to come.

“Hey, Lance,” Nyx whispered near his ear.

“Save it. I know he’s your brother but you don’t have to make excuses for him or plead his case. Bael made his decision to act like this, and if he changes his mind later he can reap what he sowed.”

“That’s not it. I know that’s what I usually do. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Sorry that he’s treating you this way.”

Lance made a noise of acknowledgement. “Well, I appreciate it. I hope we can still be friends, as I do enjoy your company.”

“Of course,” she said.

He finished dressing in silence and departed quietly to join Bael at the stable. Lance arrived to find him struggling with securing Oberon’s saddle and causing a great deal of ruckus that was disturbing the other animals. Wordlessly, he yanked the straps out of Bael’s hands and deftly finished the job.

The three departed under the veil of night, with each mulling in their own respective silence. The Ikana Mountains loomed on the eastern horizon as they rode, with newfound fears rearing their head in Lance’s heart. It was not dissimilar to diving headfirst into the depths of hell after just clawing his way out of it with barely a shred of life.

The sun began rising on a new day.