Work Text:
Griffith doesn't know how long he's been trapped here for.
He sits next to Cyrel and other people, the cold floor of the cave seeping into his bones. Using a small stone he found, he scratches at the floor, trying his best to doodle a paper crane. Outside of the cave, Faewish Sprites flutter around, flying around the cages in the cave.
Griffith doesn't understand. Why? What do they have to gain from trapping humans for who knows how long?
He tries not to think of Grandpa. He's so sick. Grandpa was struggling to get out of bed without help and was prone to coughing fits. Griffith thought becoming the Wish Collector would help, that it would allow him to buy better medicine for his Grandpa. Griffith wonders how he is now. He must be so worried. The thought sends fresh tears to his eyes, and he purses his lips and closes his eyes, trying to dispel the tears.
He continues to scratch at the stone.
Scratch, scratch.
“Cyrel?” Griffith asks a while later, still carving into the stone.
“Yeah, Griff?” The girl responds, looking towards the boy. Griffith is glad she's here with him. She wiped away his tears when they were first kidnapped and always tries to talk with him. The other people trapped with them are silent. The sadness is oppressing and seeps into each pore of the cave. It's overwhelming.
“How long do you think we've been trapped in here?”
She smiles sadly. “I don't know, Griffith. I'd tell you if I knew, trust me.”
“It's alright. I'm just worried about Grandpa. He needs someone to take care of him, and now that I'm not home…” He trails off, imagining Grandpa waiting outside on his rocking chair for Griffith like he always does whenever he collects wishes, imagines his hug and soft smile when he comes back, tastes the hot cocoa he makes whenever it's cold or when he can't sleep, imagines going back to the manor…
Tears rush to his eyes again, and he curses how easily he cries.
“Hey, Griffith, it's ok. I'm sure your Grandpa's fine, alright? I know it's scary, I wanna go home too..” She continues soothing him, scooching closer to the boy and pulling him into a side hug. Griffith hates how she treats him like a baby, he's 15 not 6, but her hug reminds him so much of Grandpa's it hurts, and that's the last straw for him. He sobs, hugging Cyrel back. It feels like home, or at least the closest he'll get to it from his prison.
–
The sun is shining, warming his back and burning his skin.
Griffith is wandering the forest, looking for some materials (and inspiration) to craft some clothes. The weather is pleasant, a beautiful day. He pauses in a particularly beautiful spot, blooming flowers sprawled around him.
He studies a particularly purple one, looking at its shape and size. The idea of a dress that curls out like the flower's petals with green accents adorning the skirt hits him suddenly. He needs to draw it or else he'll forget it, so he turns, prepared to run home, only to come face to face with a Faewish Sprite, white fading to indigo.
Griffith blinks, confused. Faewish Sprites aren't welcome in Stoneville, not after what happened with the Wishing One. He immediately distrusts it.
“Are you Griffith, the wish collector?” It asks, fluttering in the air.
Griffith purses his lips, hesitantly nodding.
It looks at him, beaming. “Great! I'm glad I found you!”
The statement catches him off guard. Found him? The Faewish Sprite was looking for him? Why? He opens his mouth to ask, but he catches a glimpse of something behind him and he turns to see a group of armed Faewish Sprites approaching him, spears in hand.
The one leading the group has a large, recent looking scar across its eye. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he's running before he can even ask why.
(There's something wrong, the undergrowth is shifting, moving, vines running around him, it’s wrong, it’s horrific it’s wrong it's so wrong it makes his blood curl, makes him gag, it’s wrong, it's wrong, it’s wr-)
He's running, feet pounding on the floor. Behind him, a group of Faewish Sprites chase him, spears in hand. His breath is quick and his heart pounds in his chest.
He’s so confused. What do these creatures want with him? He's from Stoneville, somewhere Faewish Sprites don't visit. Why are they carrying spears, why are they following him? Why him? Why now?
Griffith trips, falling to the floor. (It's the vines, the vines, the wrong vines, it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s-) The split second it takes him to get up is all it takes for the Sprites to catch up. They circle around him, making it impossible to escape. The one with the scar looms over him.
“Don't worry, this will only hurt for a bit.” It raises its spear, vines appearing out of crevices in the forest floor. They wrap around Griffith and he opens his mouth to scream as they suffocate-
Griffith wakes up in a cold sweat. The cave is dark, cold, and smells like piss and body odor like it always does. Cyrel is asleep, snoring. Griffith shudders, the feeling of the vines still clinging to his skin. It was wrong. It was so wrong. He sniffles, grabbing his stone and returning to his task, digging into the rock beneath him, chip by chip.
Progress is made, the crevice a little bigger, when Cyrel stirs, shaking and gasping. A nightmare, just like his. Griffith purses his lips. Cyrel always tries to take care of him. It is only fair he returns the favor.
Griffith moves over to Cyrel, who is now begging to be let go, eyes skewered tightly shut. He nudges her shoulder, which sends her flying upwards in shock. Her eyes are wild and frantic, glossed with unshed tears.
“Hey, it's ok, it's fine,” he coaxes, trying to comfort her like she does to him. It doesn't seem to work, because instead it makes her cry more, soft in an attempt to not wake the others. Griffith's heart hurts, more so than it normally does. What did they do to deserve this?
“You remind me so much of my little brother,” she says, between tears, “I was all he had. He's all by himself now.” It makes her sob louder. “I miss him so much.” She confesses, soft and heartbroken.
Griffith pulls her in for a hug, blinking back tears of his own. He tries to hold her like she holds him, tries to remind her of home, tries to remind her of happier times, and most importantly that she is not alone.
Cyrel is all Griffith has left.
–
(Later on, when Griffith recedes into himself, no longer crying and no longer looking for comfort or entertainment, a part of Cyrel dies, shriveling up and corroding. There is truly no hope left, not for the few survivors that made it past the cold, disease riddled winters over the last couple of years.)
(Even later, when Griffith starts to go by Giovanni, he holds the Wishing Artifact in his hands and wishes with his whole soul to be stronger than Chidga, for it to grant him the strength to save those who he left behind. He thinks of those cold nights, huddled next to Cyrel in an attempt to stay warm. He thinks of those days Cyrel gave up her food to appease Giovanni's growing hunger, and all the times he stayed up taking care of a sick person only to watch them die.)
(He laughs, tears in his eyes when he wakes up right at the beginning of his journey in the outside world. Of course he can never have what he wants.)
(And at the end, when he gets to hug Cyrel under the Stoneville summer sky, he laughs and cries tears of joy for the first time in fifteen years)