A Fairytale in Reality
Ch.2-Fate Claims His Own
A/N=Well, I hope you all enjoy.
Also, I am doing artwork for all of this. If anyone is interested, just let me know and I will designate a site or something where people can see it.
Baldemar's limbs were rusty. He moved, and within the base of his nerves, he felt as if there had been an earthquake. It was all too much for him, and he had to be still for a moment before attempting to move so much as a muscle again.
A patient man would have realized that he couldn't very well just spring up and start skipping after remaining motionless for fifty years. However, Baldemar was not a patient man. As such, he gave himself only a minute or two before he attempted to reach with his left hand for the ring on his right.
If only I hadn't let myself be injured so badly I needed to be put in that tank, Baldemar thought. She told me that fifty years would allow time for the belief in the characters to grow, enough time for my power to grow How come then, I feel weaker than ever?
He didn't succeed in even moving his arms. Desperate, Baldemar awkwardly rubbed his thumb and middle finger on the ring, trying to twist it from where it sat on his index finger. He had never thought it would be so exhausting to merely attempt to move such a small muscle. It seemed to require the strength of pulling an elephant combined with the willpower of a saint.
Hell, it was exhausting just trying to think...
The ring at last twisted, and with it, the room began to appear around Baldemar. He had to remind himself it was fifty years later, for everything remained untouched, covered in filmy layers of dust like a ghost world. Baldemar's writing quill still lay across the book, from the last time he had put it down.
Slowly, he was feeling more like himself. Walking was still a feat of effort, though. He still felt like a gigantic slug who was trying to control its tiny feet through layer after layer of lard. Right now, he wasn't sure he even had feet, much less half a brain.
Still, Baldemar did his best, and aided by various pieces of furniture, he at last reached the table where the book rested. Sinking into his usual chair, Baldemar pulled the stopper off of the ink, and picked up his quill. Without a pause, for the first time in a century, he began to write.
Of course, he had some slight hesitations. The last time he had written in the book, he hadn't had enough power to control exactly how the characters turned out. Though in general terms, they had been right, in terms of specifics, a few things had gone awry. The belief in them had grown stronger, but it wasn't enough, not yet.
This time, after so long, he had grown much more powerful. This time, his characters would be perfect; how they should be. First, would be the princess, always the easiest to write.
He would begin with her name. Alethea Aderes.
Baldemar smiled to himself. Ah, perfect. He could already sense the baby out there somewhere, beginning to form. Despite all the years, he hadn't lost his gift.