FRITILLARY ━ tam song

𝐈 - unfiltered

FOUR YEARS LATER
(You were ten in the prologue)
(And yes, the prologue is rather important, so I advise you read it)

「ᖭི༏ᖫྀ•••ᖭི༏ᖫྀ」

The soft scraping noise, along with the soft thud of wood scrapings hitting the dusty ground was all you ever needed to calm down after a whole hour of scolding at the coaches for not being able to provide you with a suitable fruit.

They really couldn't do anything right. You knew there were at least three conjurors in the camp, and none of them were pulling their weight around the place.

They couldn't even complete simple levitation, and they dared to do something so horrible it got them banished?

That's pathetic.

You slowly slid your silver dagger's sharp blade up the stump of wood you had gotten your hands on. The perfect thin curl of wood fell onto the floor along with every other identically thin piece you had cut — the result of your practice.

About three years ago, you found that carving wood gave you the peace you needed from the turmoil of your emotions, which simply did not exist.

You had no emotions to calm down from, and that made you need to calm down all the more. Not being able to feel anything, to be completely numb to the world, was actually exhausting.

But it didn't matter. Nothing did to you anymore, not after...

Your eye twitched in your definition of a wince, a sudden pain tearing through your head as the dagger and half-finished wooden figurine fell on the ground, while you covered the sides of your head to try to stop the headache.

It happened a lot lately, probably because you had never, in your life, been in such close proximity with so many different abilities that were always on at least once a day.

Or, in the parts of the life you knew.

Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, the first nine years of your life...were gone. All your memories were gone, and you had no clue what happened in those years, or who it was that had wiped them so cleanly from your head, but all you knew was that something was wrong with your life.

And gone with it were the only imprint of emotions you had ever experienced, so you hardly knew now how it felt to be happy, or sad, or even surprised.

Whether it be this or it be that, you knew you would have to find out for yourself.

"Y/N!" A deep, husky voice called from the doorway, one that you had gotten used to lately, as a hurried rythme of footsteps pounded toward you. "Oh no, are you alright—?"

Before he could finish his sentence, you turned your controlled and dispassionate expression up to him, a quick flash of the warning red glazing over your F/B (favorite shade of blue for your eye color) irises, and he flinched, quickly dipping in a light bow when he saw.

"I-I'm sorry, um, Fritillary, are you alright?"

You just stared at him with your empty eyes while he gulped, the lightly tanned skin of his throat along his Adam's apple bobbed with the motion.

He was terrified to the death of you, and you knew it. And he knew you knew it too, which only made you want to understand him more, though you could never truly empathize.

But based on your observations, he was quite different to the other Waywards. Since Waywards weren't allowed to communicate except during lunch (with exceptions for your two friends, of course), you could only silently watch then.