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liketwoswansinbalance · 7 days

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In Unrecognition of Rhian…

This fic is also available on Wattpad or AO3, if you would prefer to read it elsewhere.

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This fic was inspired by a comment about a stained glass window on this post by @wheretheoceanglows! Many thanks for the thought that jumpstarted this!

Summary:

Since Vulcan murdered Rhian, Rafal has not let himself grieve.

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Something was out of place at the Good School and Hedadora did not like it one bit.

A week ago, she had been summoned by the remaining School Master to serve as Dean of Good, and as she had approached the Good School, on the day of her arrival, more and more oddities had come into view.

It wasn't the Stymphs nested atop the coruscating, glass towers, sitting vigil like watchmen.

And it wasn’t the newly-erected, wrought iron gates, proclaiming to all the Woods: TRESPASSERS WILL BE KILLED.

It wasn't even the acrid smoke, billowing from the silver tower that stood like a sentinel over the bay, either.

It was the body strung up in front of the School for Good.

Over the entryway that read: THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD ENLIGHTENMENT AND ENCHANTMENT in shining letters, lovingly polished to a mirror-like sheen, hung a haphazard, iron contraption that held a corpse which rattled about in the wind.

A plaque affixed to the base of the gibbet, beneath the gruesome display read: HERE, FOR SHAME, HANGS THE VILE TRESPASSER VULCAN OF NETHERWOOD. LET HIS FATE BE A WARNING TO THOSE WHO DARE THREATEN THE GOOD.

To Hedadora, the victim’s grisly, charred corpse was unrecognizable, dressed in tatters like a drunken pirate with a now-scraggly beard and bare, dangling, gangrened feet. A singular, rusted, stab wound through its heart had rusted over nearly as much as the weathered cage that contained the man.

Hedadora shook her head, thinking it was a mirage. This was highly unorthodox and quite grotesque for any Ever’s delicate constitution. Surely, that did not belong here.

It was rotting for Heaven’s sake! And the breeze was tainted by its ungodly stench, only exacerbated by the midday sun.

And not a single Ever looked as repulsed as Hedadora had felt! Not one pupil had spared it a second glance.

The bedraggled Evers milled about in a shiftless, permanent fog in black on their way to classes and paid the exhibit no mind. Evers? In black? Ah, yes, she’d heard word of the Good School Master’s death. Those poor, bereaved children!

And that thing likely hadn’t been taken down in weeks, Hedadora presumed. It seemed bolted there, built to last an eternity.

This castle was in dire need of a woman’s touch. But who was she to decide what did and didn’t belong? Well, she assuaged herself, once she was Dean, things would certainly change, that much she knew.

As it turned out, the Evers themselves had become inured to their once-regular feelings of repulsion. They accepted this hideous blot to their otherwise resplendent environs.

But, more than them, the Nevers knew why it hung there—they were finely-attuned to such messages by now in their young lives. Clearly the offal served to ward off newcomers. Harm a single soul on the premises and you were fated to die, uninterred, made into a spectacle for all to gawk at, trophied and mounted.

All this, and Hedadora still hadn’t met the man behind such an operation.

Naturally, rumors were bandied about—that he donned an iron mask, that he burned people alive, even in this apparent utopia, but finally, after training for a total of a week with Professor Mayberry, her soon-to-be predecessor, Hedadora was scheduled to meet the Evil School Master.

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The week prior, Rafal had told himself that his first order of business was to find a competent substitute.

The day after Rhian’s death, Professor Mayberry, had returned to ease the tension and help the transition of power along, until Rafal found someone else to hire. It was the least she could do, she’d confessed tearfully.

Then, Rafal came across a list Rhian had left on his desk. The name Hedadora had not been struck out, so Rafal decided to allot the woman a trial run once he was able to contact her. Probably, she was the candidate Rhian would’ve hired.

When Mayberry left, Rafal stared hard at the calligraphic hand, about to crumple the list and toss it into the wastepaper basket. Instead, he hastily stuffed it into his pocket.

⸻

After Mayberry’s reappearance, no one had seen Rafal for weeks on end.

The Nevers could only verify his presence as they caught onto a new system he had put into place.

None of them, not even Humburg, had been notified, but they were able to intuit what was going on.

Each class, their smoking ranks snaked around the silver tower in an orderly train, and floated up to the tower window, entangled around a glimpse of a beckoning, pale hand.

Yet, no one could tell if the ranks were indeed being evaluated. The leaderboard hadn’t budged in days.

The numbers were always thrust back, burning and dripping with obscure, opaque pitch, driven into the ground by their weight, boring steaming holes into the ground as they guttered out like smoldering meteorites, burrowing their way to Hell.

Every time, the blackened fields were left pockmarked with craters as fearful Nevers jumped out of the missiles’ paths.

⸻

The day of Hedadora’s evaluation, willowy Nymphs flitted around in a nervous circuit in Good’s grand foyer with decanters of chilled, raspberry cordial, croissants, and rosettes of whipped butter. Silver trays held tiny saucers of black olives, pomegranate seeds, poached quail eggs, and luminous, pink, champagne currants.

Students clinked flutes of cordial, and the fairies chirred amongst themselves, but none was more apprehensive than Hedadora herself. She could only will herself to do her best, and hope to be looked upon favorably.

In an instant, the room hushed as the elusive School Master of Evil entered the foyer, appraising Hedadora’s cloud of white hair and pink-rimmed glasses.

He was positively saturnine, Hedadora noted as she saw the sunken shadows beneath his eyes.

Rafal picked up a pitted olive from a dish. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Hedadora sensed a lull, and decided to begin by pitching her best ideas: remodeling the Good School. Perhaps that would sway the unyielding figure before her.

Thus, she spoke of removing the horrendous gibbet to cultivate a more inviting atmosphere, widening the stairwells for easier access to the higher floors and the Library of Virtue, adding a statue garden to the roof, curtains so the students wouldn’t be blinded by the glass walls’ glare, fixing rounded finials to the pinnacles so the darling, little birds wouldn’t be impaled by the sharp spires of Good’s highest turrets. Just simple, minor architectural changes, as, oh dear, oh dear, the current state of Good wouldn’t do at all!

Rafal stared point-blank and said nothing.

Hedadora continued to prattle on brightly, about adding wall sconces and perhaps fresh flowers in them, reaching towards the glorious sun, like all living things did!

Not the Night Crawlers, thought Rafal. Not himself either.

The flowers would remind the students to always reach for the light and strive to be as pure and Good as they could possibly be.

Ridiculous, thought Rafal.

Undeterred by the School Master’s dearth of a response, Hedadora forged on valiantly. As it was, the design of the place was impractical, and the sheer vanity embedded in every cornice was clearly evidence that some frivolous magpie of a person, who only cared for surfaces and shiny things, had designed it without regard for those who actually inhabited the place.

“Out,” Rafal croaked hoarsely.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” Hedadora wrung her hands.

“Out. Out from my Schools.” Rafal fired her on the spot.

“You’re being unreasonable, Master Rafal!” Dean Mayberry cried out on behalf of her replacement. She hadn’t spent an arduous week training Hedadora only for her not to fill the role!

Good fights for each other. We can only fight for ourselves, rang in Rafal’s head. Just as he’d last told his Nevers the last time he’d personally taught them.

He had no one to fight for, Evil as he was.

“Out,” he repeated.

⸻

Then came the day of the unveiling. Both Schools were gathered in memory of Rhian.

Onstage, Rafal nodded to Kyma at his side, and the Evergirl pulled a gilded rope, drawing velvet curtains back to reveal a stained glass window in which Rhian was haloed.

The Good School Master’s lithe, white-robed figure was set against panes of champagne and rose and golden-hued glass, with winding, golden, flowered vines encircling his likeness, the tableau resembling a page from a sumptuous, illuminated manuscript.

The golden light of the setting sun set the window aflame, blazing with color as the day approached dusk.

Rafal’s eyes watered, irritated by the excess light, or perhaps the cause was the copious number of flower arrangements festooning the halls.

He turned away from the window, eyes dull and dimmed to a deadened gaze.

Tears streamed down several Ever’s faces, as they split into piteous, extravagant sobs, derailing the assembly.

No one would get anything done if they were still mourning Rhian, Rafal realized. Perhaps he’d decided wrong when he’d commissioned the window. It was a reminder of the loss.

Rhian this. Rhian that. Rhian was dead.

His audience still faced him, the Evers and Nevers nearly indistinguishable in funereal black, eyes downcast.

After a long while, they quashed their sobs, some Evers shuddering into handkerchiefs, giving way for Rafal to speak.

He began expressionlessly, as if delivering a rote recitation from the Handbook’s student code of conduct. “Today, we are gathered here to remember my br—”

Rafal stopped, his throat suddenly dry. Nothing came out. His voice had caught on a gargantuan lump. He swallowed, then swallowed again, throat bobbing.

“We are here to—”

A student coughed.

The Evers leaned in and peered at him strangely like he was a novelty show.

Not a sound escaped his throat, like a noose had been wrapped around his neck.

The Nevers murmured amongst themselves, concerned.

“Goodbye,” Rafal muttered.

The Nevers stared dumbfounded. That was it? This was what they had slogged over to Good for? All that fuss for nothing?

Rafal stalked off the stage, past Kyma, past the gleaming window.

Humburg rose from his seat and started to waddle forward, stone-faced, but Rafal left too quickly.

Black robes snapping behind him, Rafal strode down the aisle past his Dean, past the gormless, huddled, sniveling, ebony-clad mass of students. They cleaved apart, as if by a knife, clearing a path for him straight to the doors.

He slammed the doors with such force that a deep fissure bloomed from a hairline fracture in the glass floor, riving the assembly room into two down the middle. The doors juddered along with everyone’s skulls.

“…Rhian.” He finished his sentence as the doors settled with a thud.

He took off, heedless, tearing through the fog at breakneck speed without a destination in mind, and nearly impaled himself on a lethal, spiked pinnacle—had Hedadora been right about the birds that day?

He landed on a steeply-angled slope of one of Evil’s turrets, sitting himself on the edge of an eave, cloaked in the shadow of the spire.

The golden light of the sunset did not suit him. It was too warm, too lively. He looked out of place.

A place for everything and everything in its place. Even children recognized the reason embedded in such a statement.

Most things you could find a place for.

First, rearrange, when something new strutted in, and installed itself, intending to take over.

Second, remove, when something old broke, when it was vulnerable and defenseless. Or rendered itself useless and weak.

And third, replace, when there was nothing else to do, when the old thing could no longer fill a gap. Because he had let it break. And it would never return.

Out with the old, in with the new. That’s how the world worked.

And that’s what he’d do. Rearrange, remove, replace.

It would probably take a few generations for each new Dean to die. Or retire.

Then, he’d simply find another.

And another.

Seeking out replacements was a job he’d never anticipated having to waste his time on. All he could do was continue, wait for another day, and the next, and the next.

Rafal pulled the list out of his pocket. There was only one name he wanted to see. One candidate who would’ve surpassed all the rest. He didn’t want another Dean.

A place for everything and everything in its place.

He balled up the list.

But what if it was the other way around?

What became of a place when it lacked its thing?

He watched the Stymphs, ever his wardens, watching over his new, Good wards. That figure had doubled overnight while another had been halved.

He thought back to the rankings, the spell he’d cast. Why couldn’t other things put themselves in order, slot neatly into place?

The dusk’s frosty, moonlit pallor illuminated the Evers’ castle, which glowed whiter as the sky darkened.

He watched Vulcan’s body sway in the breeze, trussed up in its creaking, rusted cage, threatening to fall, to succumb to the elements. It would, one day. But that was something he could set right.

He stared into his tower window, and there was the Pen, scratching away at another tale.

And through one of the door frames, he glimpsed an empty, undisturbed bed.

There was only one thing not where it should be.

So there he sat, in the cold, refusing to return to his rightful place all through the night.

The wind washed over him, and he remained, cold as a corpse like always, waiting for the darkness to descend.

⸻

Songs I associate with this fic:

"Marche Funèbre" - Chopin

Fits Rafal's internal state, part of the time, when it's plodding and routine. Also, there are some sections that sound outraged.

"Idea 22" - Anya Nami

The lyrics toward the end make me think of the burning rankings:

This second of life

Feels like forever

This world has failed us

So let burn

Let it burn

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Note:

I'd love to know your thoughts, feelings, or reactions!

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liketwoswansinbalance · 8 days

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I've had the last few lines of TOTSMOV41 in mind for a long time, so I thought that if anyone would like to humor me and play along:

I will give you a very minor spoiler that hints at something significant/symbolic if you squint at it, if you can guess the last verb of the fic.

If anyone can guess the last common noun (not a proper noun or a pronoun), then I will give a different minor spoiler.

If anyone comes close with their guesses, I'll still probably reveal both slightly spoilery things. This is really just an excuse to entertain myself with this game, (or alternatively, to shock you with?)

(And, unless anything changes massively, the lines will likely remain similar to their current iterations by the end of the writing process.)

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #rafal #rafal mistral #sophie of woods beyond #agatha of woods beyond #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #one true king #my post #my fics #the one true school master of vault 41 #totsmov41

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liketwoswansinbalance · 10 days

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What if Rafal couldn't save Rhian in time? Like Vulcan successfully stabbed him with the pen before Rafal could prevent it?

The comedic answer is that I have one word for you: gibbeting.

That's the more "fun" answer, a form of medieval execution/torture, which was specifically intended to make an example of someone, publicly, to deter further criminal acts, and if Vulcan murdered Rhian, well, he deserves the worst death possible! And why not make it a creative one? However, I think, to an extent, that gibbeting could be too extreme, and that Rafal would recognize that if Rhian were alive, he'd view it as an eyesore, tasteless, or simply too brutal, so it's probably unlikely to happen. But, Rafal might not be above it, considering that the Doom Room exists, so it could go either way, potentially.

Plus, there's some added, bonus "fun" here, in how a certain canon moment would come full circle. Vulcan put Rafal in a birdcage (while he was a black sparrow), and now, Rafal would get the pleasure of hanging Vulcan (or rather, his slowly dying and later, decomposing body) up in a cage, a pretty neat form of revenge, if I do say so myself, haha! Besides, Vulcan was a bit exhibitionistic, wasn't he? So, this would also make for an ironical fate.

⸻

Now for the serious answer. I hope you don't mind it if I get a little more subjective/personal with this one at some point. It's not quite as much an overblown, narrative-style post, and may be more understated than usual.

I took this "what if" ask to essentially mean: how would Rafal react to Rhian's death and how would he mourn Rhian over time? If I misinterpreted your ask, and this wasn't the kind of response you were expecting, please let me know. Also, everything is speculative, of course, so take my interpretations with a grain of salt. I'm open to hearing other opinions!

I think Rafal's immediate, knee-jerk reaction would probably be to murder Vulcan as revenge, but also it would serve the more practical reason of disposing of the tyrant usurper, ousting him from the School permanently. However, I don't think Rafal would find catharsis in it, not this time at least, considering why he is doing it.

He'd have to act on his feet, and quickly, because, Vulcan would still pose a threat to his own life, which would force Rafal to delay any kind of visceral, emotional reaction.

That is why I think the murder would be done instantaneously because speed is more important, and so is getting the task done right. And, having Vulcan dead sooner for everyone's safety is more important than the potential brutality of any kind of gruesome catharsis Rafal could derive from the act. That's why I think Rafal would go about performing this particular murder in a less sadistic fashion, for once, like how Vulcan died in canon by a stab wound, versus the time when Rafal turned Rufius to gold and shattered him, or did worse to others, generally. If Vulcan had simply been a foe who was already incapacitated, that could've given Rafal the opportunity to go for a worse form of murder, but Vulcan isn't harmless.

Thus, employing a "kinder" form of murder in this instance wouldn't be out of sympathy for Vulcan, but more so, to fulfill an urgent need. And, in some sense, the act of murder would be done out of a kind of duty to Rhian, for Rhian's sake and nothing more. I think Rafal deriving pleasure/catharsis out of this murder could possibly be a bit of a slight to Rhian's memory because this is somber business.

Then, after that adrenaline or rage-fueled clarity and the action taken, I think Rafal would next probably feel some kind of uncomprehending fog next because Rhian was suddenly ripped away from him with little warning. His supposedly immortal brother, who was supposed to be with him forever, just died. To an extent, that has to feel surreal.

The surreal feeling could start out as a detached, dissociated feeling, like the kind of out-of-body experience where you're like a third-person observer, (probably a similar feeling as a panic attack?) Like, what? What has my life become? Rhian is suddenly gone, for good.

(The revelation of Rhian's death being real could also prompt a lot of thought as to why their bond wasn't able to save or revive Rhian, and could evoke guilt.)

Once Rafal processes the implications of Rhian's death, his initial outburst could be the most, actual, unbridled emotion he lets out, at all, if ever—maybe, one raw, primal scream of agony into the ether and that’s it. (Yet, I'm also tempted to say, that's too dramatic of a reaction, even for him. As interesting as it is to go to extremes in other cases, I'm attempting to go for something closer to realism here, so bear with me.)

While there is probably a narrow chance, that under the exact, right conditions, he could be driven insane or become an extremist in some way, out of guilt or by how ridiculously unjust the whole situation would be, I think it's a little more plausible that Rafal would just bury himself in his work. He could devote his life to Evil, and still keep it in balance with Good, without Rhian there to keep him in check, even if he was more often the one to keep Rhian in check, from what we saw. (He could also become disillusioned with the world and the Pen.)

Given how I view Rafal, I think he would shut down emotionally but not functionally. He wouldn't let himself dwell on the grief for long, and he might even (irrationally) resent Rhian for dying, at first, on the surface, because he's now got twice the work. And yet, the work would be a welcome distraction from his actual grief.

Additionally, I think Rafal would become numb and immune to all emotional appeals from other people. Not even a trick like Hook reminding him of Rhian would work to convince him to change his mind that he's already made up in any future instance. He's never, never investing himself in the fate of another person again. Not when he could lose them. He just... does his job. Someone has to do it after all.

That said, I think his paranoia level would absolutely skyrocket, too, as a result of the whole Vulcan incident, and that he'd isolate himself more than he already did before.

Now comes the part where this may or may not take a weird turn, and I could be projecting with what I'm about to say, but I think I have actual reason to apply it to Rafal, purely out of thinking it could make sense for him, (as just one of the many possible ways he could take Rhian's death. Again, this is all just my speculation. I could easily be wrong, so keep that in mind.)

Ok, I'm not sure if this is a common or a weird thing to think and I had a feeling it could be controversial. Thus, I'm going to preface it with this: my intention is not to sound callous, but...

I (usually) do not miss people when they are gone. (Death is different from just absence though.)

I doubt that I "miss" people in what is the typical way, from what I have heard from others? Though, I have an explanation. Obviously, it depends, but missing others doesn't occupy my every waking thought. (And thoughts about fictional characters are a different type of thought to arise.)

I feel others' presence when they’re around, and when they’re not around, unless I'm concerned for them, I don’t exactly think about them. It's kind of "out of sight, out of mind," except for the cases in which I actually am holding something to say to them in mind for our next encounter.

I’m sorry if this is strange, but I think that’s how I operate most of the time. I don't "wait around" for people to return because I always have some thing to occupy myself with. Can anyone relate?

I suspect that the reason why is because, to me, missing someone is what I would classify as an active feeling. When someone I love is apart from me, I'm usually busy, regardless of whether they're present or not (that doesn't change), and I know that when you're busy, you don't have the time to feel, at least not active emotions. They just... don't occur to you? Or maybe they are not conscious?

Now, from my view of things, if something you feel becomes a problem, and interferes with your daily functioning or general contentment with everyday life, that could very well surface as a real reaction or outburst. But, that's an entirely different matter. I also think that I am reminded of people at times, but that I usually don't "miss" them without there being some kind of (internal or external) stimuli that causes me to think about them.

Maybe, I'm just projecting onto Rafal too much because I relate to him over other characters, and this is silly, or junk psychoanalysis, but it seemed to fit his character also???

Sometimes, I just want recognition more than I want actual companionship since I don't get lonely. I wonder what that says about me? That I'm an introvert, or lazy because relationships require regular maintenance to sustain them? I promise I'm not a misanthrope!

Ok, back to Rafal. He's sunken himself into his work and as such, he wouldn't actively miss Rhian. (If anyone would like more clarification, I'm not saying he wouldn't grieve Rhian at all. It's not that.)

And, if we're going down a more realistic than dramatic route, he wouldn’t lose his sense of self, or his mind over Rhian. Yes, not even Rhian. I think the only thing keeping him running and tethered to his life would be his commitment to the School/keeping himself alive.

What this makes me think of is how people romanticize grief or unrequited love, how they may end up looking wan and eventually wasting away (well, if we're talking about being heartsick in literary/symbolic contexts...). And, I just don't think Rafal would be the type of person to fall into some kind of "madness" or melancholic malady. Grief just wouldn’t be so debilitating or all-consuming to him because he wouldn’t let it do that to him. He wouldn’t stop eating or sleeping as I would expect these behaviors more from someone like Rhian, not him.

Similarly, he might not indulge in pleasurable things, but he’s a bit of an ascetic already anyway, so that’s that. He could potentially renounce pleasurable things in life out of mourning, in a traditional way, but I doubt that would happen either, to be honest. It probably wouldn't cross his mind. At least, it wouldn't happen on a formal, conscious level, even if he could very well deprive himself without realizing it.

I just don't think Rafal would be engulfed by grief, simply because he isn’t that much of an emotionally driven person or that vulnerable to being swept up by personal tragedy, when compared to Rhian, who's more "wild." He’d only let his grief manifest so far, assuming his emotions do still remained locked down and under his control.

So, while he may think about Rhian regularly, he might just accept the fact of Rhian's death, carry on, and not miss him because Rafal missing Rhian could (implicitly) mean becoming non-functional due to grief (or guilt) and that would be too great of a risk for Rafal to take, considering his current reality alone. Basically, to let himself wallow in those emotions would be an unnecessary "risk," from his viewpoint. That's why he might repress that reflective type of thought.

Such feelings would be too much mess or potential disorder for someone like him, especially if he realized he couldn't keep them contained, and they, as a consequence, actually jeopardized his fate or the School's, assuming the grief made him unable to perform his job properly.

(He'd probably subtly resent the Storian as well, for not preserving Rhian's life.)

Also, one small point: in canon, was his bond with Rhian really, truly all-consuming? Let's stop and ask ourselves that for a moment.

Yes, for a time, their bond may have seemed like it was priority no. 1, but Rafal was apart from Rhian for six months, and might not have consciously missed him, if it took him that long to return after getting an external reminder from his interactions with Hook. It might have taken something outside of himself (like the prophecy) for him to come to the realization that he had to return and reestablish his loyalty to Rhian (which was arguably never gone, just dormant for a while). And this would mean that if left alone to his own devices, had he never been moved by James, or "awakened" and been made aware by Adela Sader, he could have taken longer than even six months to return... if he ever decided to at all, if the thought ever arose in the first place.

So, overall, it would only be rarely, when he has nothing to occupy himself with, that Rafal would grieve in some quiet way, and over time, the grief would fade. It wouldn't leave him entirely, but it would diminish, I think, the more and more he distances himself from everything else.

Also, in canon, I suspect that he lies to himself about how much he cares for Rhian. He never shows Rhian much affection, but he sacrifices his life for him, on instinct, which probably means a grieving Rafal would also lie to himself about how “little” he mourns Rhian. In reality, he’d probably mourn Rhian a great deal more than he could know, but wouldn’t have enough self-awareness to realize it.

Perhaps, at night, he would be haunted by Rhian's memory, and take on Rhian's insomniac trait on occasion. Also, to credit @cursed-daydreamer, I think it would be plausible for Rafal to take on a few of Rhian's traits, unconsciously, to compensate for the loss, and fill his void; it could be a way of keeping Rhian's presence in his life.

Lastly, I doubt that Rafal would publicly erect monuments or dedicate anything to Rhian. He wouldn’t want a painful, visual reminder around. His rituals, if we were to call them that, any form of remembrance, I mean, would likely be private, away from prying eyes and students. Rafal wouldn't want to come across as weak or sentimental. That’s the last thing he needs at the moment, a ruined reputation, another so-called threat to his own life/power. Because, increased paranoia could lead him to believe that if he were to show any sign of vulnerability, more "Vulcans" could prey on him and the School.

He could maintain the cherry blossom trees though, but it'd always be a sobering occasion, and he'd never take the credit.

Besides that, he probably wouldn’t go eulogizing his brother or canonizing him. He can still recognize Rhian's flaws, and to praise Rhian so completely would be "too much," too public, and the performative (or contrived) nature of certain mourning customs like those would probably strike him as "wrong" because they just seem... insincere. I don't think Nevers (if we're assuming Rafal remains Evil) put as much much stock in praise anyway, according to their value system.

The exception to the rule would probably be if he recognized that it would be Rhian's wish, to receive some recognition or a dedication. Then, he would do it, out of reverence, I think. He'd have reason to "excuse" it (Rhian's dying wishes), unlike visible emotions, which don't have an excuse to be felt.

⸻

Also, I was wondering: does anyone agree or disagree? I'm really curious because this ask provoked a train of thought I'd never considered before!

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #rafal #rafal mistral #rhian #rhian mistral #vulcan of netherwood #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #my post #ask #death #grief

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liketwoswansinbalance · 11 days

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Poor, angst-ridden Rafal... he looks great in that dim glow though.

unfinished thing of rafal.

i really like this one and wanted to finish it, but i woke up with the worst cold ever today and couldn't go along with my plan to finish it over the course of the next few days. still, i really enjoy this piece, and wanted to post it anyway.

#rafal

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liketwoswansinbalance · 11 days

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Rafal is the most character ever. He dies twice. He uses seduction, but is never truly seduced. He claims to be rational and pragmatic, but lives for drama. He watches torture like television. His canonical favorite food is hilariously dainty cucumber and herb butter sandwiches. He's literally a sorcerer, but was foiled by a sentient pen. He's supposedly good, but exhibits considerable bloodlust. He seems to enjoy the revelry at a nightclub, but never lets loose because he's so repressed, despite literally being evil for more than 50% of the time. He probably commits his world's approximation of war crimes, but looks down on mere piracy. He acts as if he could care less for fashion, but is a fashion icon all the same. He received a prophecy as a warning to essentially take safety precautions for himself, like any other fantasy protagonist in the history of ever, but took it to mean that he was the problem. He believed himself the greatest threat because he was an arrogant control freak, and didn't think anyone else could get in his way, despite the fact that he was the one person to fix things and restore order most of the time. He thinks he's above living an ordinary life. He actually wants to be the burdened chosen one because he has a thirst for power. He thinks of himself as in control when he's actually fate's plaything. He's incredibly genre-savvy, but doesn't know himself well enough to use his genre-savviness to his advantage.

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #rafal #rafal mistral #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #my post #my analysis

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liketwoswansinbalance · 12 days

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Round VII of Excerpts from The One True School Master of Vault 41

Someone has “revenge” on the brain. I thought the first excerpt might be funny and could stand on its own out of context. The actual context makes it funnier, in my opinion, but I unfortunately can’t spoil it because it involves possibly the most insane shock in the entire fic.

Admittedly, I’m slightly proud of myself for managing to not burst and to hold back on revealing the plot twists, particularly with major events #2, #3, and #4. Otherwise, there'd likely be zero surprises left.

Though, plot twist #1 is sort of foundational to the premise, so I gave it away! (Sophie is nominated for the position of School Master.)

Also, a strange observation about my own plot occurred to me: contrary to what I or others might think, the plot is actually quite simple. Or, at least, from my view at the moment, it is. I’d originally thought it was complicated, but no. Actually, it’s simple masquerading as complex because there are complications thrown into the story, like wrenches, via a few different elements/events. So, that’s something, I guess?

If I could summarize the plot in one sentence, it would be: three souls enter a crystal ball, and some of them emerged scathed, changed, or both at once.

That’s probably the easiest way to put it, without spoilers.

Anyway, here are the excerpts (from two entirely different sections of the fic):

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That was it. To say it irked her was to put it mildly.

Assuming they were both alive by the end of it, the first moment she got after all these crises were over with, she was taking him for a haircut, whether he liked it or not!

She would march him directly over to the finest salon she could find in the Woods, posthaste, like a prisoner if he resisted—all for the sake of a nice, neat trim.

So be it if it ended up botched. His Doom Room had done the same to her. So what did it matter?

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Rafal glared at Agatha as if to signal: don’t let on that you’re hurt.

“Why are you both limping?”

Agatha stole a quick glance at Rafal who found himself turning to stare intently at a Stymph on high.

He shook his head with the slightest motion. She couldn’t know what it had cost them, or she would intervene.

The movement caught Sophie’s eye, and she turned her attention to Agatha for the truth.

Agatha shrugged wordlessly.

Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Well, it certainly wasn’t bird-watching, that much I can gather.”

Agatha shuffled, and Rafal observed her shove one foot behind her other ankle, but in her gaping, oversized clumps, one sock slid down to reveal an inflamed, red welt.

Unfortunately, Sophie traced his sightline to Agatha's foot. “Agatha? What happened?”

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liketwoswansinbalance · 12 days

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Childhood Headcanons

These particular, sort of apocryphal headcanons (depends on who believes what after all) provide further context for the brothers' childhood under the constraints of my canon-divergent fic, "When Lightning Falls," that was proved wrong by canon after the release of Fall.

There's also an accompanying Creation Theory I made up, to provide context for the fic, which becomes especially relevant here.

And, if anyone's wondering, this post has been around for far too long—I just never posted it some while after the fic itself was done. I have a lot of stuff on backlog anyway, and figured I may as well edit and post this.

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Note:

Most of these thoughts focus on Rafal, and there is a slightly dark undercurrent that runs throughout this post.

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First, the brothers were originally foundlings, like in the fairy tales of yore.

Fittingly, they have been the youngest and the oldest beings ever to live at the School, at different points in time.

At first, they led a deathly existence, an insecure, unstable one, with potential death at every turn.

Rafal became used to death threats, and being called "demon spawn." He hardened in response. Ever townspeople tried to ward him off, but their feeble sigils did no good, did no true harm against him and his latent sorcery, even whilst he was still learning magic.

They were found, possibly, doddering around in the Woods, on the outskirts of the School, at somewhere from three to five years old? So, they conveniently have little to no memory of their existence beforehand, as vagrants, outcasts, rejects, waifs, who knows—they were alone in the world.

The twins crashed through the brambles, clothes torn, faces scratched, scrapes on their limbs, drenched by the rain, just... waiting to be taken in like strays, as if they simply... appeared.

Rhian trailed after Rafal who forged a path ahead, until they emerged in the light of a clearing, as if guided by the hand of fate, to the School for Good and Evil.

Shortly after their discovery, they became the youngest students to ever attend the school.

Of course, taking them in was the Good thing to do, but perhaps, if we let conspiracy run rampant, the Storian had a hand in the proceedings.

Oddly enough, the Pen just might have brainwashed all the faculty to come to the unanimous agreement of raising the brothers as their own, among the lot of them. How odd that they agreed for once, the one time in decades that Good and Evil have agreed on any matter.

It was probably done for the greater fate of the Woods, the way they were all swayed by the Storian, nearly unconsciously.

And so, they came to terms with the new status quo because there seemed to be something behind this decision of the Pen's, that was greater than they could ever know, or so they believed.

They accepted it. They didn't question it because it was so obviously the Storian's doing. Controlling their minds that had already been made for them. No chance to decide for themselves.

But, they let the Storian handle it, handed over all control to the Storian. Because, no one, not even the highest ranking sorcerer or fairy godmother of either School, or lord or lady could have taken issue with what the Storian did. No one went against it. No one could. Contradicting it would have been a death wish just waiting to happen.

And they all knew that. They knew that very well, considering the nature of the tales they taught.

Eventually, they came to the common conclusion that these children must have been their future School Masters.

Thus, they took the Storian's apparent decision to heart because it wasn't their place to step in.

No one could overrule the Pen, so they lived with it, and continued to train the mysterious, foundling brothers—while they worried for their lives and all that was to come.

That particular set of faculty became a little like the brothers' parents, until they died off, one by one, each from old age or the occupational hazards of working at such a School.

Their professional lives were demanding and they didn't pay as much attention to the brothers as they should have.

All they could do was follow through and hope the Pen had charted the right course, that it chose well in the end.

Even if they would never live to see the future, they were aware they had played a monumental role in securing safety and balance for the Woods, by acting as these children's first, human influences.

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"When Lightning Falls" takes place around three years after the brothers' arrival, when they're about seven, so they've had time to have grown used to the schools.

Everything has become a bit mundane to them. There's nothing new because it's all they've ever known and grown up with, unlike the incoming students' experience of the manor every four years.

So, they've never been around peers their own age, which led to Rhian feeling special and becoming fragile with no challengers and to Rafal gaining a massive superiority complex.

During those years is when Rafal starts on his skepticism, early in life.

Rafal starts to question the Pen, and ask why of everything and everyone that can possibly answer him, or that would answer him if he persisted and probed enough, and didn't relent. And he threatens his way to the answers, to get his way, to figure out what makes everything in this world of theirs tick.

It's the only way he knows, to bribe or exchange, even unethically, or to beat and to hassle information out of others, to trap them in their own bedchambers or offices and not release them until they answered him or fulfilled his demands.

He learned the word "leverage" early on, and the Evil faculty thought he was a prodigy.

He doesn't know any other way because the Never faculty took him in first, claimed him as one of their own. They took a liking to him and his silence, over his crybaby brother.

Predictably, the Never faculty were rough around the edges and they never showed displays of pleading and begging, so Rafal never did that, even as a child.

He never learned the art of apologizing either. Everyone was remiss to let that pass by... but it was too late.

He refused to resort to such means as begging, to lower himself in that way, like Rhian would, even at such a young age, because he wasn't taught mercy. He was told kindness was a weakness and that justice was right. And so, even as a young child, he maintained an adult-like level of dignity in how he conducted himself, always.

Meanwhile, he'd look on at his brother, and wonder: why is he acting so childishly? Having Evil imposed on him forced Rafal to grow up sooner, before his time.

Evil taught him never to whine and whinge, to never cry to get his way. He could already get his way, by other, more sinister means. Cleverer, more artful, more guileful means besides, and in doing so, he could still feel superior, boosting his ego, inflating it and inflating it as a result.

So, that was what he'd grown up around. It was the natural way of things, to him.

At least, this is how children ought to be treated in his eyes, simple as that. And he turned out fine, didn't he? Of course he did. No question about it. He's him, and he's great. The best. Superior to all others, everyone else in his school.

He probably considered himself the smartest little boy alive, not necessarily the most knowledgeable, but the most clever or capable of outwitting others, of negotiating deals, and plotting schemes and doing other, crooked deeds. He thought himself smart in that artful sense, skilled to the point that he could outfox adults over twice his age, outdoing the teenage students in everything he did.

Oh, and if certain knowledge were established as forbidden? Rafal would still try all the more diligently to go after it. That's how he contended with all things.

And what of Rhian? To Rafal, Rhian was naive. Secretly, Rafal never considered Rhian his match. No way, no how. That brother of his couldn't tell Good from Evil in the simplest of challenges.

The Evil faculty were decently well-meaning, thinking Rafal would be good villain material, but again, they weren't exactly attentive or warm or caring like Good's faculty was in "parenting" Rhian.

They weren't neglectful either, but still, Rafal was left to his own devices outside of lessons, and he grew accustomed to being alone when Rhian wasn't around to play with him. Not that he really played that frequently.

Thus, time passed, and the staff believed the twins to be foundlings. That they were adopted, taken in under their wings. Children of the School.

In reality, the twins were children of the Storian.

Everyone knowingly buys into the lie because they didn't want to think beyond the present. They wanted to believe the brothers were of woman-born, abandoned, and insignificant. But, the truth could only be delayed, not buried.

The brothers are foundlings, they all said, persistently. That's what most of the faculty believed, and that's what the brothers were led to think.

Yet, a select few knew their actual purpose of existence: the brothers were not being trained up to follow the Rules of fairy tales themselves—they were being trained up to rule. (Or rather, "rule" as figureheads for the greater Pen.)

They were bound to the School grounds, and only a few people, none in living memory, knew they belonged to the Storian...

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Any thoughts anyone?

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