Down, Down, Down the Rabbit Hole

Scylla Seastrum stared at her brother from across the table, uncertain if she'd heard him correctly. "I'm sorry, what–?"

Troy held up a piece of mail, over-enunciating as he read it back slowly. "Autumn Ball to be held at the Meadows in celebration of Prince Lock's Coming of Age. Enclosed you will find your ticket to the ball..." The envelope was ripped at the top from where he'd opened it, being all sorts casual about incriminating himself. That was her mail that he'd read aloud. "Listen, Scyllie. There's no way in hell that our father is going to allow you to attend such an event. You know this and yet you spent money on a ticket anyway."

"On two tickets actually," Scylla corrected, as she stood from her seat and snatched the envelope from his fingers. She paused and asked out of curiosity. "And why not?"

He didn't know how to not sound like a prejudiced asshole, but he went for it anyway. "Because there are hybrids living in the Meadows and there's still a ton o' shit that we don't know about them."

"This is the first social gathering where hybrids and humans will be allowed to mingle and co-exist with one another, and like, in a party setting, which is just a bonus. It's fascinating. No—it's historic and you can bet your uptight, manhwa loving ass that I'd love to be there." The blond haired boy lifted his eyes at her, a small smile tugging against his lips. She continued, "I spoke with our father and you know what he said? 'Get one for your brother, too.'"

Troy sighed passively. "Well, I wasn't expecting that. I was just rather hoping he'd do that thing where he beats on his chest and roars his short response of 'fuck' and 'no' from atop the highest mountain."

She patted his shoulder with mock sympathy. "There, there, take the loss as it comes, brother. Swiftly and sweetly. Do you even own a proper suit?"

"I have about as many suits as you do ball gowns," he said.

"So, zero then? 'Kay, sounds good. We're real ahead of this thing."

Troy grabbed his car keys from the table, wanting to get it over with. "Let's hit the stores now, before I decide to go in my pajamas. You know that I would, too." When it comes to his sister, Troy tended to cave in, perhaps too easily. Whatever Scylla wanted, whatever she needed, and most of the time—even things she could do living without.

With the absence of their father, he'd felt obligated to take care of her.

They split up once they were inside the store, headed in two separate directions. Scylla hadn't expected half the town to be at this particular dress shop. Autumn Ball doesn't exactly scream, 'Let's go to the frock boutique.' If Scylla had the money to spend, she would have hired a renowned seamstress. Her dress would have been as unforgettable as the Ball itself.

She received a text from her brother a moment later:

Troy the Great

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This is a new kind of torture, I think.

To: Troy the Great

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Yeah, well, my hopes of looking original are completely dashed.

It's a bust.

Troy the Great

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We could always go with my pajama idea?

To: Troy the Great

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I'm not meeting the Prince of the Meadows in a camisole.

Troy the Great

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Gross. See you in the parking lot.

Troy was already inside the car when she returned. There was a plastic bag that'd been tossed carelessly into the backseat. She shut the passenger side door with a huff, somewhat affronted by the sight of it. "You were able to find something? What happened to the experience being too torturous for you? How were you able to stay long enough to find something suitable?"

"Yeah, unlike you, I don't care if I'm wearing the same shit as someone else, especially a suit. They all look alike." He started up the car and turned onto the main road, driving around idly, until they decided on their next stop. "Again, I would have gone in my striped pajamas without a single fuck to be spared. I like keeping my fucks to myself."

"Of course you do."

Troy was scowling, as he tended to do so very naturally. "I would really hate to piss off the woodland creatures with our subpar fashion choices, so start calling out shops and we'll swing by to see if it's packed."

"Hybrids are people, not creatures or monsters. Just because they have ears and tails and instincts, they're treated as outcasts," she said, turning somewhat dejectedly to stare out the window. "Why do I have to keep reminding you? You're the intelligent one and yet you say the most asinine things."

Fair enough, he winced.

"What are you hoping to achieve by seeing the Prince anyway? He will not favor you, as you do him." It was such a sad anomaly, something that shouldn't have happened, but it did, and it was too late. His sister had fallen in love through mere stories of the Hare Prince. What if the tales weren't true? Don't meet your heroes, wasn't that the saying?

The treaty between hybrids and humans had practically been forced, guns aimed at each other's heads in a stalemate between two stubborn kings. As it turned out, the two species needed one another, whether it was for the oil, the crops, or other various cargo. The union was not wanted, but it was necessary.

The thought of their father having even agreed to put them in some slight form of potential danger was preposterous to him. Although, it was possible that his darling sister was lying to him, right to his own face. At least he could later credit himself for not being entirely blindsided by it. No one jukes Troy Seastrum.

"I'm not expecting to speak with the Prince, so what does it matter?" They were stopped at a light. For a long moment, the silence played with the tension accumulating between them, the siblings on edge. Scylla released a sigh, the quiet growing unbearable. "I only wish to look upon him with my own eyes, to take a glimpse of his true nature for myself, instead of by word of mouth."

"Alright, enough. You can stop with the flowery…fair maiden talk. I get it…" Troy felt frustrated, stopping in front of a shopping mall. It didn't appear to be as busy as all the other stores they had passed along the way. It was possible that the dresses were already gone, the first ones to go. He surrendered his card as a form of an apology, which Scylla graciously accepted. "Don't make it long."

She'd made it especially long.

After they finished shopping and ate supper, Scylla headed to her bedroom in the attic. There, she admired her tickets. They were made of the finest paper; bone-white with speckled gold and elegant cursive lettering.

A part of her mourned over the fact that she'd have to hand them over at the castle gates, but at least she'd get to keep the envelope. She tucked it away inside the top drawer of her vanity and looked into the mirror.

Tonight she would finally get to meet the Hare Prince. It seemed overdue, having followed the timeline of his reign. She relied heavily on magazines, reading about his time on the battlefield, of the scar across his cheekbone, of how he'd spared the life of the human General who gave it to him.

Prince Lock was an advocate for equality, a symbol of peace and hope. He'd visited the Isles of Lunar and showed their people what it was like to taste the sun. He did not leave until all were healthy and full. She'd heard that he'd brought in environmental scientists to study the moon enriched lands and that they'd found ways to sustain and harvest crops. That was how he'd inherited the nickname, 'Lunar Prince'.

There were no photographs allowed to be taken of the Hare Prince. However, the news articles were free to state as many details as they so desired. Scylla tried to envision what he would look like given the various descriptions. He was tall with broad shoulders. Just shy of six-foot-three. Two velveteen rabbit ears sat atop a silky crown of raven black hair, pure white in color, and responsive to the change in his mood. One columnist in particular went on and on about Prince Lock's dark onyx eyes and how large and doe-like they had appeared with such depth and warmth. Scylla rather enjoyed that bit.

For tonight, she'd wanted to dress in swathes of silk and netted fabrics.

The Meadows was said to be the pinnacle of nature itself, the homeland of the fae and hybrid kind. Magic would exist in her world for only just one night, but that was already more than what she could ever hope for.

Scylla's dress was a warm peach pigment and littered with blossoms. For her hair, she had it pinned in an up-do, save for a wavy strand here and there. She avoided wearing any eye-catching jewelry, knowing that the trinkets she owned were of no real value. As for her makeup, she kept it tame.

She would not pretend as though she belonged in their world, because she didn't.

And that was more than fine.