I originally wrote these in the comments on each video, and am copying them to here so others can read them!
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she slips away into the night, day after day. she slinks away like a cat in the nighttime, disappearing from view and reappearing a while later with no indication she'd ever left. groups of older students joke, make a mockery of her, but she remains indifferent and slips away in the darkness all the same.
so one day, you follow.
you're afraid as you slip on your cloak. it's nearing three a.m. and if you're caught sneaking out you're expelled. your name is added to the list of examples for the new students coming to the school: never try and leave after the dormitory lights are put out. if you do...
she's silent despite the large boots she's wearing and you nearly lose sight of her along the way. her cloak is olive whereas yours is charcoal, her hair dark and long. she's fearless, walking down the pathway through wet fallen leaves and over tree branches. in that moment, she is fully in control and knows what to expect ahead of her.
she spins suddenly, emerald eyes bright and wary, her body tense like she's waiting to pounce. the cloak billows around her feet like fog would around a villain's as he makes his entrance.
having ducked behind a large nearby tree, you take a deep breath and wait for her to turn back around and continue walking before following. the sudden movement had caused your cloak to stick to your legs, but it slides away again when you start walking.
you don't see where you are until she stops. the trees have thinned out and formed a clearing where she now stands, but you hide behind a pine once again. she sits on a boulder and pulls a chunk of wood from inside her pocket, then a small dagger from her boot.
she starts carving away little pieces of the wood, flicking them onto the ground below her feet. you watch for a while, unsure how long, and are starting to consider announcing your presence when she says, "you can come out, you know," in a distracted tone.
you're hesitant and a little afraid, but you step slowly away from the tree and towards her. "how-?" you begin to ask.
she cuts you off with, "how did i know you were there?" and waits for your nod before continuing, "i've been waiting for you to follow me."
"why?" you're already wondering if you're asking too many questions, but it's not like you'll get answers any other way. "why wait for me?"
she holds up the piece of wood; in the time she's been sitting in the clearing, she's carved out the shape of two hooded figures ballroom dancing. "my father told me, when i first started here, that i should visit here each night. he showed me the way here, handed me this-" she waved the dagger in her hand. "before leaving me for good, and warned me that one day someone would follow. I would wake up in the night with the vision of this very conversation still vivid and yet already a hazy memory. but i knew it would be you."
"how are you so calm?" you ask. you're no longer concerned if you've made a fool of yourself, and only want to understand. "I've been following you the entire time and you've barely reacted."
"I've been waiting." she repeats. "that's all there is to it."
you decide that you're probably not going to get much more out of her on that subject. "what are you carving?" you ask instead.
"us."
you splutter, confused as ever.
"you probably don't remember the past, do you? who we were before." she muses. "they took it all away from you, only let some of us recall it."
"who took it away? what do you mean?" now you're worried.
she gestures upward with the dagger, to the sky now clearing and showing the moon and stars. "it doesn't matter who, it's about what you don't recall."
"I don't understand."
"then let me explain, dear one." she holds out her hand and stands, the carving now sitting on the rock where she sat a moment ago. she leaves the dagger next to it. soon enough, you're pressed together like the carving of you both.
"as a child, my mother was never around. my father was the one who taught me the fairytales that a mother would read to her child. he would write his own, read them to me and leave them beside my bed each night for me to read myself as I grew older. sometimes he would draw scenes, too, or carve them out from a piece of wood he'd otherwise use in the fire. he showed me how to carve things like I can now.
my favourite story was always the one about two lovers: they were just like every other couple, they lived a long life together. but the story only begins there. one night, one is taken from their bed under the cover of night and the other is forced to live out the rest of her lifetime waiting for her return. at her deathbed, the other says, "I don't know where she is, but we'll return together eventually." and she's right: she returns to the earth with a second chance at life, and grows up just the same as she did before. everything is the same, but she doesn't see her lover again for much longer.
she smiles like she's remembering fond memories. "when she goes to boarding school, her mother tells her that her lover will be waiting. she slips away under the cover of night every day until finally her lover follows. she doesn't recall anything of the past, of what they had before, but the other is patient and tells her it all. then, and only then, do they get their true happy-ever-after."
"I still don't know what you're trying to tell me." you say.
"that fairytale was never just a story; it was the truth. my father was born with the gift of telling the future and he used it to write my childhood stories. he wrote my future down on a sheet of paper as a tale about magic and love and told me that one day it would come true." her eyes seem to shine with unshed tears. "he wrote about us."
you're stood still, no longer dancing with her. "you mean-"
"yes." she nods. "you'll remember it all soon enough, but I can still tell you about our lives before, if you'd like."
you let your head fall forward onto her shoulder and hesitantly mumble, "okay."
she spends the night telling you stories of your love and how she'd dreamed of meeting with you again, dancing in slow circles for hours until you both collapse on the ground in exhaustion. only then does she say, "we should go back inside."
you agree, and end up falling asleep on her bed still holding the carving.
