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the knight is sleeping when grimmchild sneaks away under the covers of the night. quietly it flaps its brand-new wings, invigorated by the flame flickering inside and warming it down to the bones in the brisk air.
it is the night before the ritual, and even under the sombre lull of wind, anticipation can be felt in the quiet old town.
anticipation too does the grimmchild sense when it slips between the heavy drapes of tent fabric and into the warm embrace of the troupe. father had asked for it to see him. a prelude to the dance, he had said, to practice the steps necessary. the child chirps quietly. it knows the steps by heart, had known them long before it was born, it would never embarrass him.
---
“dear child, you’ve done so well.” grimm’s breath is hot over the curve of its horns. grimmchild is snuggled close on his lap, purring and preening under the rare attention.
“the flame burns bright within you, harvested from this kingdom’s embers. the opening act of a successful ritual… if our summoner heeds invitations.” his large claws curl around the child’s small shape, one of them scratches the base of its horns until the child chirps and yawns a small puff of flame. a chuckle rumbles through him. the grimmchild presses its mask against his cloak, the smell just like its own, familiar like the troupe, home. his claws brush over its freshly shed wings. the troupe master hums with pride.
“a grand performance awaits you, my child.” his knuckles drag over his offspring’s spine, rubbing gently over the joints where wings connect to shell. “and with it... its responsibilities.”
his thumb brushes over the grimmchild’s front, his eyes burn heavily with intent. never before has he touched the child like this, intimate and hot. at the base of its tail his movement halts, thumb rubbing over a slit in its shell that stirs awake, tingling.
the child struggles to understand, though in its chitin, in its shell, it knows what is happening. as sure as the nightmare lantern calls and its father bows to dance, it feels with certainty that this is not the first time. shadows dance and kingdoms call, an endless parade of different places that blur together in the grimmchild’s mind; always, always endless change… but some things remain the same in every life.
grimm gently but firmly wraps his fingers of his free hand around the curve of grimmchild’s face, tilts it up until small unlit eyes fixate on his. “he will not be gentle,” he rasps, low as if a warning.
and with a gesture that can only be described as a kindness, he pushes his thumb between the child’s hard shell and into its core.
grimmchild sobs and sobs.
“shhhh…” grimm rocks the child back and forth, retracting his finger and pushing it back into its soft tight warmth. “endure this, for it shall strengthen you for an eternity to come.” his digit protrudes deep inside, and the child winds its tail around his wrist just to have something to cling to, fat teardrops rolling down its mask and spilling on its father’s cloak.
“be brave, dear child.”
underneath his old wings, grimm’s slit tenderly parts and a long spiky appendage protrudes out, curving upwards. the child clenches its little claws into its unspread wings and shakes.
“it will be over before you know it, like a bad dream,” grimm coos quietly, brushing his thumb over the edge of grimmchild’s mask. “close your eyes… there we go.” the child whimpers. “hush, now.”
grimmchild squeezes its eyes shut tighter than all the nights it tries to chase away the shadows of dark dreams, tucked tightly under its father’s wings. now, its father’s arms are still solid and safe, so much stronger than the bundle in his lap. his cloak smells of embers and it is too easy to lean in and forget about this whole nightmare. only the press of something warm and wet against its parts rips the child out of its daydreams. suddenly, this is all too real.
"hush…," grimm repeats, pulling the child into a snug embrace. “hold on tight if you wish.” it clings to him as if its life depended on it. “this is merely another dance.”
no bracing could have prepared the grimmchild for the splitting ache, the burning heat, the flickering desperation. grimm firmly holds it in place, cooing softly and brushing away its tears with his palm.
“one, two, three…” the grimmchild holds its breath as his hips rock into it and wrench a piercing cry from its little lungs. “you’re doing so well,” grimm mumbles, voice breaking.
“I’m sorry…” it’s barely more than a whisper. not enough to light up the tent with his breath.
the pain ebbs and flows, drags little whimpers from grimmchild’s throat. it doesn’t dare look down to where their bodies are joined obscenely. instead, the unlit eyes stay shut and pressed against the troupe master’s palm.
“he will demand your service…” grimm cups its horns, so much smaller than his own. “complete devotion. loyalty to the heart, to the troupe.” his voice is rough and thick with something unusual. the child has never heard him like this before. it clings to the words like a lifeline, if only to distract it from the ache at its core.
“you must love him, promise me that.” grimmchild whimpers, both knowing and unknowing. grimm bends down to scrape a kiss against the top of its mask. “love him.” his finger follows the dark twin lines on its mask, the ones that mirror his own. “all you will have is each other.”
grimm’s demeanour is off. while he usually holds himself with grace and much bravo, there is a tiredness in his gestures tonight. his limbs seem heavier, and while elegant as ever, he cannot erase the worry from his voice. “you must know how much he hungers, child,” he pleads.
grimmchild doesn’t want to listen. it wants to bury its face in its father’s cloak and forget about this kingdom they have arrived at, forget about the pain, and father’s weird seriousness. it tunes out his voice, lets it wash over its shell, only fragments catching its attention. “… insatiable… …keep him alive…”
the child melts into its father’s embrace, tears hot and burning on its mask but it bravely swallows them down, allows him to lead in this headless waltz. allows them to become one, rocks its hips into his touch and performs the steps with him as it has done for countless generations. memories blur, and for a moment the child cannot recall on which end it dances, leading or following, father or child. they’re one and the same.
it presses its mask tightly to its father’s heart, feels the vibration of the beat, feels the rhythm of their movement, and it matches it. they are burning, dancing, flickering in the dark. grimm burns as if it was his last night aflame.
---
the ritual is over in a blur. the knight danced and twirled and swung its nail, flames alight, echoing applause. the child grows, nourished, his flame now kindling it from the inside along with the others.
what remains of the troupe master is a husk, sleeping, dreaming in the back of his tent for the very last time. grimmchild swirls around, bumps its mask into his unlit one, no warmth emanating from his shell anymore. just the aftertaste remains of the flame he had fed it that night, sweet and dry, delivered with a cough and a raspy "dear child, I could not be more proud." the warmth had spread from its horns into the tip of its tail, beating steady like a heart, chasing away the pain with familiarity, home, life. the claw holding the child close had seemed a little weaker that moment. grimmchild had curled into it regardless.
the knight readies its essence-sharpened blade. grimmchild curls up next to the vessel and begins to dream.