The Nutcracker Bleeds (32 page)

Armand
looked at her, but there was no remorse–no sorrow for these past things. There
was only hatred and a lust for his revenge.

“As
for me,” he said, staring into her eyes, “the premature curse he locked me in
did not hold me completely–though it held well enough I suppose. It wasn’t designed
to make me into a simple doll as he had done to Clara and the others. I was to
be a nutcracker, but a living one, made to be immortal and understand that
there was no way for me to be free. He let me keep my soul, and made me nigh
indestructible–even by my own hand.”

He
raised a hand to his chest on the right side, taking hold of the wooden panel
that signified the fold of his uniform. He slid his fingers beneath it, pulling
it away from him slightly. Anne was amazed; she’d had no clue that it wasn’t
completely attached to him as skin!

There
was only a small opening–any more force would make the wooden flap snap off.
She could see nothing but darkness inside. With one hand, Armand held the wood
apart. With the other, he guided her hand inside.

She
felt a smooth, wooden, featureless chest once she’d slid her hand beneath the
wooden panel, but then her eyes widened, darting all around when she felt
something different. The wood had gotten softer within there, until all at once
she realized that it was not wood at all.

“Flesh…”
she whispered out, hardly believing she was saying it or feeling it.

Her
hand rested on the skin of a firm pectoral muscle just above his heart. It was
warm and soft like her own skin, and she felt his heart pumping away inside there
better than she’d ever felt it before.

He
seemed to like her touch, not anxious to push her away. She ran her hand across
that patch of flesh until she met with the wooden dead–end just past it. Her
fingers slid back, and they wouldn’t leave.

“This
is the only place flesh remained on the outside,” he said, his voice low and
quiet as if in reverence for his remaining skin. “Within, I have some organs
left. Heart, lungs, brain… I hunger, and need food to keep myself strong, and
yet starvation won’t destroy me. I’m forced to eat bugs, because they are the
only things that my body does not reject. My distorted system uses every bit,
wasting nothing.

“I’ve
tried to give up before, fallen into desperation and attempted to kill myself.
I tried to cut off my head but I couldn’t get a blade there. I tried to stab
myself in this patch of flesh, but could not even make the point go close. I’ve
fallen–been crushed. I tried to make it an accident, but my body never
cooperated. This is a true curse, doing everything a curse was meant to do.

“When
I couldn’t destroy myself, there was nothing left but to pursue y enemy once
again, spending the rest of my existence to seek revenge. There is very little
reason for anything else, and if anything good has managed to come along, I
know that I can’t
have it.”

Anything
good…
Perhaps he was talking about her by this? Anne wasn’t sure.

“I’m
completely
miserable
.”

She
hated to hear him talk this way, mainly because there was such honesty behind it.
Was there nothing pleasant at all about his existence? No; how could there have
been? She was so young compared to him and he understood so much more than she
would in a lifetime. The extent of his constant suffering and hatred was
unfathomable.

It
was so terrible–and yet at the same time so laughable–that in just a few
moments she had understood that she loved him, and also understood that he
could never love her. She withdrew her hand from his heart and his flesh,
vowing to have it forgotten. He pressed the panel back in as if it had never
been opened.

“For
years, I have sought only two things,” he said. “Revenge on the one who wronged
me, and redemption through that. I don’t expect to be made whole again. I don’t
want to be.”

He
leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice as if telling her a secret.

“Most
of all, Anne, I just want to die.”

She
allowed him to say this without revealing any emotion on her face. Anne tried
to accept what he was saying. It didn’t come instantly, but she reminded
herself to look on all of this distantly–just as he did.

“It
will do you no good to care for me,” he told her then, finally looking back
down to his weapons. “In fact, it’s best to forget that we even had this
conversation.”

Forget?
Is that how he handled everything? Even his past?

“Don’t
dare say that,” she shot at him indignantly. “You can’t simply speak a word and
have me stop caring for you!”

He
stared back at her, and her face twisted suddenly, as if she hadn’t meant to
say what she just had, but then she shook her head, realizing she shouldn’t
feel at fault.

“Knowing
that something is inevitable doesn’t always make feelings go away,” she said.
“Humans understand that they will eventually die, but that doesn’t stop them
from living! Even here it’s true! Brooke realizes he is just a toy, but yet he
feels, even though he tries to deny it. I see it every time I look at him. You
cannot tell me that he’s nothing. And you! You can’t just forget about
everything. I know you feel for the past, telling me that story, but you act
like you don’t. But if you didn’t, you wouldn’t want revenge! Isn’t this what
you tried to show me? To properly acknowledge what’s real? Well this that I
feel is real, and don’t try to say that you don’t feel it too!”

Armand
stared at her, still silent.

“I
never thought I’d truly be able to care about someone else,” she admitted. “I
always thought I would marry for money and live out the rest of my life with a
man who I would spread for every night, and yet I would never feel anything by
it. I know that I have to go back to that world–and to think that I actually
hope for that! And perhaps I will still have that life I imagine, but I have
something here, and that is you. While it lasts, you can’t smother it.”

Having
done with her speech, she brushed back her damp hair in a frustrated motion,
and he simply looked at her.

Anne
looked on, awaiting any sort of response he might give, but then her hope for
that vanished and her attention shifted to something else.

3

Armand
watched her silently as she ranted, her words bringing odd feelings akin to
those that surfaced when he heard his name. There were memories, old
recollections; neglected but not completely ignored. Things that perhaps needed
to be spoken to someone but never had been. If he didn’t tell her, perhaps he
would die without the story being told, and then he would be no different from
those animated toys around him–as if he’d never existed. His life would mean
nothing.

He
knew she wouldn’t like him to be silent, but what could he have said? Anything
that passed from his lips would have only made this worse for both of them. He
knew that her silence could not last long, however. She spoke again.

“You
have blood on your face,” she told him as emotionlessly as he’d always spoken
to her.

He’d
heard those words before. Brooke had spoken them to him, and in fact, they’d
both used the exact same tone.

She
took the damp end of the cloth that surrounded her and lifted it up. Carefully,
she began to wipe the blood from his face and body. He’d forgotten that he was
dirty himself, but what were those things that had spewed forth from her mouth?
For the moment, had she become the wise one? Did she know more than he did
about life and love? In all the years he’d been without those things, had he
forgotten? Grown completely cold?

Her
hand was wiping a spot of blood from his jaw, and he clenched her wrist to stop
her. He pushed her hand down, leaning her back against the metal ridges of the
arm that waited to receive her. His hand left her wrist and tilted her chin up
sharply, and all the while she looked at him with that same, seducing look that
he’d seen before. He hadn’t looked at it long before his lips fell onto hers.

He
wasn’t certain what his lips felt like to her, only knowing that hers were
stimulating–so plump and easily manipulated. Armand leaned her back a bit more,
stretching the width of his kiss until there was enough room to slide his
tongue down inside. As warm and fleshly as it was, she moaned graciously for
it, taking it deeply.

His
hands knew they could grip any part of her they wanted without her protest, but
he wouldn’t let them go too far. One held her back while the other enjoyed the
curve of her waist. He’d admit, it would do wonders for him to watch her moan and
writhe beneath him–for her to have her release even though there was none for
him, but he reminded himself that he was not kissing her simply because he
desired her or because he cared for her more than he’d cared for anything in
ages. He was trying at something very important.

He
was making her hate him. She couldn’t keep forgiving him forever. He’d let her
get much too close, especially now by what he’d just told her–which was why he
hadn’t told her from the beginning. Now, he brought her in closer to push her
away.

Eventually,
he closed off the kiss, knowing that she must have been sufficiently aroused by
this time.
Torture
. Armand leaned back from her, giving her up, and she
stared at him in confusion.

“I
know what’s real.” He let his tongue pass lightly over her lips before he spoke
again. “But I don’t have time for feelings. Yours
or
mine.”

4

His
voice was low and breathy, but his tone was completely heartless. Anne stared
up at him, unable to understand. He was accepting her, and now so suddenly he
was rejecting her?

Abruptly,
Anne saw herself inside the role of another woman, hundreds of years before,
cleaning a bedroom in a large castle when suddenly the prince had come home
from a hunt. He’d found her there in his chamber, seduced her with whispers,
perfect lips, and a strong body. He’d taken his turn within her upon his bed of
clean linens, and there was nothing more to it than that.

Anne
knew she was nothing more to him than that servant he’d lent his seed to and
then let die for their child. This was such a familiar story to her. She was
completely infuriated.

No…
None of that was
true. He didn’t feel so carelessly about her at all. He only wanted her to
think so. That realization angered her more.

Armand
turned emotionlessly back to his weapons, and all the while, Anne sat quietly
to herself, claiming her dress once it dried. She didn’t cry, only sulked.
There was so much anger within her–such absolute rage!

She
considered everything he’d told her, knowing the truth about him now. What was
it he’d told her before? That after she’d heard his story, she would decide
that it didn’t concern her and she wouldn’t care at all? She decided perhaps
she should do him a favor and stay true to his prediction. He didn’t need her
concern–he didn’t want it. She would let him have his stubborn way.

Anne
decided she was wrong before. She did not truly believe–not for one more
moment–that he thought she was worthless.

5

“
Broooooke
.”

The drifting
whisper awoke him where he waited in the shaft, and for a moment, he thought he
imagined it. It was only after Brooke remembered that he didn’t dream that he
understood it was real.

The soldier
didn’t bother moving from against the wall, turning his head soundlessly to
peer down the dark passage.

“
Broooooke…
”

The
whisper was distant, reaching him only by the echo in the shaft and by the warm
wind that blew at him. It could have come from anywhere within the depth of the
house. These were the ghosts of his past, calling for him. He recognized their
voices. In fact, he had expected them sooner.

“
Where
are you, brother
?” they asked. “
We crave your embrace
.”

Brooke
did not stiffen where he stood–did not budge. Instead, he looked straight on
into the shadowy distance.

“
Brother…
”

“Come
on,” he whispered back.

1

If
there was ever a moment when the snake, belly down in the grass, raised its
head above the blades and smiled over its own cunning nature, pleased with
itself for not being detected; if ever it chucked while it laid in wait,
anticipating man’s ankle to pass by so that its jaws could snare it–if such a
notion existed, that was what this moment was like for Edge.

Had
he known any songs, he might have sung. He didn’t have to know any dances to
trot around gleefully, but there was no sense in looking ridiculous. Still, all
those around him sensed his dark pleasure, and those that were able, cringed.

Edge’s
grand triumph–of cleanly slicing off the nutcracker’s head to make way for his
own–was still in the distance, but this was the beginning! His red eyes danced
wildly, wide and alert. The gorgeously hideous doll could not contain his
wicked grin.

Within
the dark, musty attic, the Rat King’s minions–
Edge’s
minions–had
prepared themselves accordingly for the plan. The doll pushed back his dark
hair and peered up at the tall object before him that was set on a board and
mounted on a roller–skate. It was draped by a decorative cloth of red and gold,
and Edge paced around the great, square perimeter of it to make sure it was
completely covered. Yes, it was hidden from view. It didn’t have the most
pleasant odor, but perhaps that would go unnoticed. Perhaps it would be hidden
beneath the smell of fresh paint.

From
inside the rectangular obelisk, Edge heard a bit of squeaking, and he
immediately slammed his palm against the wooden side of it.

“Keep
quiet in there or I’m coming in,” he warned. The mouse noises ceased. Edge’s
snarl switched to a purr. “I know it’s cramped, but it won’t be for much
longer.”

From
the side, a mass of blonde curls approached, carried by the clean, pretty child
doll who was to be the greatest star of this day. Edge normally liked to manage
his presentations on his own, but he had to accept at that he was not the doll
for this task. The evil gleam in his eyes could not be hidden and the sinister
look on his face was always apparent. Besides, what better to appeal to a child
than another impossibly adorable little girl?

Edge
knelt down to await Clara’s approach, and she skipped up to him obediently. He
peered at her, and she back at him. There was something different about her
face. There was a tiny smile on her lips, and her eyes were narrowed slightly,
set and determined.
Wicked.

“You
have a nasty gleam in your eye, child,” Edge told her, smiling despite himself.
“That won’t do for this play.”

Clara
sucked in a deep breath, and then threw her hands to her face as if playing
peek–a–boo. After a short moment, she pulled her hands away and revealed her
new expression. Her eyes and lips smiled prettily. She batted her eyelashes and
clasped her hands together in mock joy. She spun around in a little twirl and
threw her hands behind her back. The tilt of her head and the extent of her
mockery made Edge laugh aloud.

“Much
better,” he praised. “The Lady Sovereign would hug you before dreaming of
suspecting you.”

Clara
fell out of her lovable stance. “Do I have to
let
her hug me?”

“Now,
now, poppet; that’s not the proper attitude at all.” He scolded her with a
lenient finger. “You know this whole performance is resting on your blonde
head.”

“I
know, I know,” Clara insisted swiftly, rolling her eyes. Edge always played the
best games.

“Are
you nervous?”

“Not
at all!” she declared. “It shall be my finest work!”

She
dipped down into a curtsy, and pale doll rose from the ground.

“That’s
my girl,” he said, giving her a complementary pat on the head.

Edge
peered around at everything they’d prepared. They had the gift–stuffed full of
surprises. The dolls who were to make the presentation were standing around at
the ready, dressed in their finest. Edge had his blade with him, and before him
stood one anxious little girl doll. Yes; everything was ready.

“Seems
you’re all prepared,” Edge grinned, hardly able to contain himself. “Let’s go
make our offering.”

He
turned to Clara.

“
Do
lead on, princess.”

Edge
stooped in a short bow from the waist, and the child was thrilled. But she had
a role to play now.

Turning
up her tiny nose, she led the march from the attic and across to the Lady’s
main gate, their gift in tow.

2

Once
again, Olivia admitted her boredom, but with that was a deep sense of worry.
What was going on downstairs? She had yet to hear word from any of her soldiers
or from Armand. What if they were not alright? What if they were being ripped
apart? Should she send more soldiers? Her advisors had informed her that she
needed to keep enough defenses here so that her kingdom would be safe, but
every toy in existence was important.

Especially
Armand.

Olivia
sat for the longest time. The sitting and the ruling and the worrying never
seemed to end! Though, there was no way for her to know that her kingdom was
about to be uprooted.

“Lady,
there are soldiers here to see you.”

Olivia
had nearly missed the introduction, but a delayed nod did just as well as a
prompt one, and the peacock feathers were lifted from her view. Two soldiers
were revealed to her, kneeling with their hats off reverently. She recognized
them, knowing their names just as she knew every toy. These were two of the
soldiers from her main gate.

“Pardon
our intrusion without being summoned, Lady Sovereign,” the soldier said, “but a
curious group of toys has approached her majesty’s main gate. They have a
rather large cart with them, and have requested to be allowed inside.”

“Are
these more from Pirlipat’s kingdom?” Olivia inquired, folding her hands across
her lap.

“No,
majesty,” piped up the second soldier whose name was Thaddeus. “They claim they
have come from the realm of the toymaker, and they have brought a gift for her
highness. Their princess is with them and would like to meet with you to
establish a treaty.”

A
gift? How pleasant! Another princess had come to meet her? Olivia was thrilled,
and though she’d told herself she should be cautious, she quickly forgot about
that. She stood from her throne and addressed the soldiers.

“I
will go meet them myself,” she said with an unsuspecting smile. “It would be
rude to refuse a princess.”

3

Just
outside the large door of the Lady Sovereign’s kingdom, Clara was beginning to
feel nervous–and irritated. She denied the first feeling; nurtured the second.
Several of the Lady Sovereign’s soldiers were poking their noses around the
gift, and though Edge instructed her to allow them to do this, she was still a
bit concerned over it. How could she not be? What if they found the secret?

No,
no. That was impossible. They were far too unintelligent to best Edge’s plan.
However, the small doll had to clench her fists to keep her hands from shaking.

“I
assure you toys that this is a strict offering of peace from one ruler to
another,” Clara insisted in her most commanding voice, crossing her arms where she
stood between two toys posing as her own soldiers. “In these times of despair
and fear, is it not best that we should all join together?”

“Then
your majesty will certainly understand our need for security,” one soldier said
respectfully as he peered beneath the sheet of red and gold.

Clara
sighed heatedly but did not allow her agitation to get the better of her. This
was her job, and she would not fail her master again.

Just
before she thought she might be swallowed by the monster of impatience growing inside
her, a small window in the door opened up above them. It was the same one that
she and Anne had stood before earlier that night.

“The
Sovereign has come to meet with the princess,” a soldier relayed. “Have you
inspected the gift?”

“It
smells a bit sour,” one of the outside soldiers said, “but it seems to be
legitimate.”

It
was the paint, Clara had told them. Imbeciles.

“I’m
opening the gate. Stand away, please.”

Finally!
Clara had a hard
time hiding her joy, but then she decided that she shouldn’t have to worry
about that. There was nothing wrong with being happy–or anticipating being with
Anne again.

From
above, they heard a latch release, and the enormous door began to swing back,
parting inch by inch until Clara could actually see inside the kingdom that had
so strongly opposed her master.

It
was not impressive.

Where
were the devices of torture? The pits of bugs? Where were the beasts? The girl
was disappointed, but reminded herself that she was not here to see the sights.
This was business.

Once
the door–gate had been fully opened, Clara and two soldiers with her followed
the Lady Sovereign’s soldiers inside. Behind them, a few others of Clara’s
company pulled the weighty, rolling gift through the gate. After they had all
come inside and the gate had been closed once again, Clara found herself
looking upon the Lady Sovereign for the first time.

The
Lady was standing there in the middle of the floor, surrounded by soldiers and
several other members of her court behind that. Clara examined the human girl
in the elegant green gown, once again unimpressed. This was the great ruler?
There was nothing terrifying about her at all! The child knew that the Lady was
like Anne–of the flesh–but she had expected something a bit different. No
matter. This did not change things.

Many
toys in the room had noticed the visitors, and they headed forward hesitantly,
gathering to see what was happening. Clara’s soldiers set the perimeter,
keeping back the onlookers. It looked like security, but it was strictly
because the gift needed room. Clara saw now why this kingdom was such a
nuisance. There were so many of them!
Hundreds!
Small and large, glass
and cloth, soldier and not. The little princess smiled to see them. She hadn’t
expected to have such a grand audience!

The Lady
and her company stopped at a distance indicated by Clara soldiers, requested
for the gift. The doll princess came forward then and met her soldiers,
standing before Olivia.

“I
do appreciate you agreeing to meet with me, Lady Sovereign,” Clara said, dipping
in a perfect curtsy. “Especially since I did not send word of my coming.”

“The
pleasure is certainly mine,” Olivia obliged, “and there is no need for
apologies.”

“Most
gracious, your majesty,” Clara said.

She
had reviewed various lines and responses, and Clara could likely keep this
conversation going on for quite a while. However, since she could nearly hear
Edge growling at her to hurry, she would keep this short.

“I
admit,” Clara started off, “that in the past we have misinterpreted one another
in our efforts to preserve ourselves, but there is a much greater threat to us
all now. I have not only come to propose a joining of our two kingdoms, but to
inform you that the kingdom of the Princess Pirlipat has been attacked.”

There
were several gasps from within the toy crowd–one coming from Olivia herself.
The toys began to discuss this quietly with one another. Clara enjoyed the
moment, letting the hush settle back in before she went on.

“It
was falling apart, but now it has been completely destroyed. The princess has
been ruined beyond repair, I’m afraid. We tried to assist them, but were too
late.”

The
Lady lowered her head, reverencing the fallen.

“We
were able to recover only one thing,” Princess Clara continued, “and I thought
it only right that you should have it–as much as I hear that you loved it so. I
do hope that it will be a sufficient gift, and a symbol between us that we will
not crumble so easily. This, my gift, I present to you.”

Clara
bowed once more, turned with her soldiers and marched ten steps forward. They
then turned once again, taking exactly twenty–two paces off to the left–just as
they’d practiced. One of Clara’s soldiers stepped forward then, taking hold of
the cloth and pulling it away to reveal the gift.

Olivia’s
eyes widened when she saw it, and despite the horrible circumstances that had
brought it into her possession, she couldn’t help but smile.

There
it stood before her, tall and majestic–the very thing she’d craved for so long.
It was the clock tower that had once sat atop Princess Pirlipat’s castle house,
looking down over everything. Oh, how Olivia had desired it! She’d placed her
own clock upon her palace, but this one would fit much better.

The
tower had been freshly painted, though it had obviously been a bit damaged.
Still, it appeared decent enough. And look! The clock was still working.