Chapter Text
The wardrobe opened, slowly. What had once been wood was now a glade, what was once a hanger was now a tree, and what was once the back of the wardrobe was now Parthenia.
“My goodness, it actually worked!” said Aunt Elizabeth, her hand still firmly holding the key. “I didn’t expect it would after such a long time.” Clara saw the enraptured look on her aunt’s face. She watched as her aunt took the key from the lock, and set the necklace on her neck.
“Come! As long as we have the key, any door can be opened and become a portal back to our world. The portal only lasts for a moment.”
They took each other’s hands, and stepped inside.
A soft bed of grass was beneath her feet, it was soft, and smelled like mint. Far away she could see the sugar capped mountains rising towards the everblue sky. It was as if nothing had changed since she had gone. Only this time there was not an evil Mouse King ruling the land.
Two bluebirds flew in the sky towards the horizon.
“It is just as I remember,” said Aunt Elizabeth. Her eyes were wide, twinkling in the light as her mouth widened in wonder. It was as if she had become younger in an instant. She knelt on the ground to touch the grass, brushing it with her fingers. “I thought I’d never see this place again.”
“Why did you think the key would not work?”
Aunt Elizabeth was about to answer when a whizzing sound came from behind them. They both turned to see the gateway to Parthenia close with a fall of golden sparkles. Soon there was no sign of the room or the wardrobe, it was merely grass, trees, and air. They would be back.
Aunt Elizabeth rose from the ground and held out her hand to Clara. “Come, let’s go. Time might pass differently, but I would rather us be safe than sorry.” Clara took her aunt’s hand and they walked together in the hills just above the peppermint forest. They could see sheeps grazing close by; their wool the colors of green, blue and pink, and with the delicate sugary fluffiness of cotton candy. The shepherd who was watching them lay happily on the grass, hat over his eyes, and a stroke of hay between his lips. His shepherd’s crook lay next to a rock, with a pink ribbon tied to its hook, gently fluttering in the warm breeze.
He did not see them passing, but his flock did. The cotton candy sheeps looked up from their feeding, and stared at Clara and Aunt Elizabeth with their chocolate brown eyes. The grass between their teeth was chewed with great haste, and some of them let out a baa. It was an unusual scene of pastoralism with too many colors that were too bright to make seem as realistic as the paintings. It was too perfect, that was which made it so unnatural even as one looked at the scene with one’s own eyes.
She had hoped to go to Parthenia with Eric, yet there was a kind of kinship which manifested itself between Clara and Aunt Elizabeth. Both had come from one land to another, from the real world to that of dreams. For Parthenia was a land built on dreams, from the specks of dust from the corners of one’s eyes, yet it was another realm which one could go to through mouse holes and doors. It was a paradise realm now; as sweet as hard candy between the teeth. One could just swallow it up for all of the tastes it made sense on the tongue. Yet there was a kind of emptiness in it too, a kind of vastness of the pastoral and the rural idyll of a garden between Heaven and Earth. A world between, a thread in the veil between one world and the next. The sweetest spot between childhood and adulthood.
* * *
Eric had long since wanted to see the city where his love Clara lived, but he had hoped to see it with her. Instead, he had seen it alone. He had watched the children playing with each other in the snow; throwing snowballs at each other, laughing all the while. He remembered a time when he had been that young, when his father was alive.
He walked the streets of Nuremberg with boxes of sweets under his arm, they were presents for Clara and Frau Drosselmayer. She had given him money to use for buying things for himself for the day, but he had decided to use the money to buy her something instead. It was the smallest favor he could do for all Frau Drosselmayer had done for him.
She had been the first person he had seen when he had come through the mouse hole into the small room in her house. He had knocked on the door in the middle of the night, waking her up and nearly making the poor maid faint at the sight of him. The maid had come prepared, with a poker from the fireplace, ready to knock him cold. Gladly Frau Drosselmayer had come at that very same moment, her red velvet dressing gown draped around her, her auburn hair untangled, and asked the maid to put the poker down. She had then pestered the maid to go back to bed, and that there was nothing to see here. She was merely dreaming.
The maid had looked at them both, too stunned to speak. Frau Drosselmayer explained that she had invited the son of an old friend of hers to drop by, only he had come too late, and she had opened the front door to him. The maid had been asleep, that was why she had not heard the front door open. She assured the maid that the man was not the Christkind or Saint Nicholas bringing presents, even if he had the face of one. Eric had no idea what she was talking about, but took it as a compliment of some kind.
The maid had left and the two of them were left alone. Frau Drosselmayer sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I had a feeling the curse would be broken, but I had no idea you would end up in my house of all places.”
“I am sorry, there was no other way. It was safer to travel here than to just appear at Clara's house in the middle of the night.” He was dressed in his uniform of a King of Parthenia, with the red court uniform with golden threads and ornamental golden epaulettes on the shoulders. He felt overdressed. “She was in Parthenia one moment, then she was gone. It took me a month to find these in my father’s old study.” He said and took the pouch from his belt. Inside were golden nuts, glimmering in the lamp light like stars. “He used to say that if he ever wanted to see your world he would have a way. The Mouse King had not thought of them as important would be my guess. He wanted Parthenia, not your world. I can understand why. Being a small mouse in your world was hardly the size for a conqueror.”
Frau Drosselmayer shook her hands in the air. “Wait! Wait! Your father had these all the time.” He could see the hurt in her eyes as she looked at the golden nuts inside the pouch. “I thought…I thought…never mind, what is done is done.”
There was a story she was not telling, and he too had things he wanted to ask her about her past. It seemed the most exciting kind of story.
But there would be time for that whenever Frau Drosselmayer would speak of it. There was also so much which Clara did not know. Things about Parthenia, its history, its culture, which he hoped would woo her to go back there with him.
Yet he could understand by her expressions when he had mentioned the idea to her that there was a conflict inside of her which he had to deal with by herself. He knew better than to try to force his will onto her. She was smart, she knew what was best for her. Even if it would lead to his disappointment it did not matter what he wanted, as long as she was happy he could live. Yet a part of him wanted that she would come with him to Parthenia, back home, where they both belonged.
As he walked the snowy streets he could understand why leaving one’s home for another place would be hard for her. If he had grown up in the same realm as her he would have wanted to stay here, even with the cold snow and the frozen ice spikes that stood threateningly from the roofs. The snow in Parthenia was sugar sweet, powdered and pure. Here on Earth it crumbled underfoot, sometimes it was hard, sometimes soft, yet always cold. He pulled the collars of his coat up, hoping it would keep the cold air away. Frau Drosselmayer had lent him some clothes, he had no idea where she had gotten them, but they fit him like a glove. He had a suit that the other men wore beneath their clothes that made them look like they were all going to a funeral. His coat was warm, and his top hat was of the latest fashion. He had the feeling of looking rather ridiculous. Another land, another custom, he thought.
Sitting on a bench at a park he let himself rest. He had walked so much for so many hours now, and yet he felt like he had only seen a small glimpse of the world in which his love lived. Everything in this world had a kind of grayness to it, even the sun did not peek from behind the clouds. There were moments of wonder, like the shop window full of toys where children had stood in awe of what was in front of them, barely in clothes warm enough for the weather; the smell of gingerbread coming from the bakery; the exotic ornaments in Frau Drosselmayer’s home; it all spoke about a kind of wonder, a kind of escape.
When Eric had been a boy his father had told him stories about a land without magic. It had excited him to no end, for there was so much magic in Parthenia one could choke on it. It was a land called Earth where people believed in all sorts of things, and who were very smart, for they had to invent everything and they had no magic to aid them. The magic was inside of them; sometimes it was called genius, other times madness, sometimes it was believed, other times it wasn’t. They were people who invented worlds to take away their toll, stories which weave into their lives. In a way they were no different from Parthenians.
Eric had found the idea of a land without magic as something exciting, something too unbelievable to be believed. Yet he always had had a feeling like it was a true place by the way his father had spoken of it. He had dreamt of it often, the place where there was no magic and everything had been built by hand and sweat. By trial and error.
Far away he could hear the toll of the church bells as the clock struck twelve. There was a kind peace here in this world, something rough, coarse and unfinished which he found appealing. The smells in this world were different too. They were much more varied, more unnatural, and it tickled his nose as he could smell the roasted chestnuts burning not too far away. It made his stomach growl. He was so used to the smell of sweetness in the Parthenian air that anything different made him curious to see where it had come from. He had already followed his nose all over the city, from bakery to patisserie to see what they had in store. It had caused more than enough looks as he had stared at the shop windows for longer than was probably appropriate without buying anything.
Putting his lips closer together he blew into the gray air, and a puff of white came through his lips. He watched as the cloud of white disappeared into the air. He could feel the frost on his cheeks, warming them red. It tickled him, made his face stiff, yet it did not frighten him.
Suddenly he heard noise coming not too far away. He saw a boy and a girl walking in the park. The boy looked like a brother and was older, wearing a tilted cap on his head and he could see the patches stitched onto his clothes. The girl was too young to be outside, sucking at her tongue as they both held out their palms in hopes of some alms from strangers. They were both dressed in rags, barely warm enough to keep the warmth in their small bodies.
People passed them by, paying no attention to them.
Then they came to Eric, and he felt a pang in his heart as he saw their wide, pleading eyes in front of him. They were large like pools of water, holding back tears from the cold.
“A few marks, Herr,” said the boy.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, quickly getting out the wallet which Frau Drosselmayer had given him. He looked inside and gave the largest coins he had into the boy's palm. The boy smiled, thanking him, yet Eric could not help like it was not enough.
The next moment they were with the seller of roasted chestnuts and he handed the boy and a girl a large portion wrapped in newspapers into their small hands. Their eyes pools of water now, and he could see the color coming to the girl’s cheeks as she ate the chestnuts.
“Thank you, Herr,” said the boy.
“Danke,” said the girl quietly, blushing.
“Is she your sister?” asked Eric. The boy nodded, mouth full of chestnuts.
“Not by blood, but we grew up in the same street. Her mother died two winters ago, so now I take care of her.”
“And do you have a family?”
“Just an aunt who looks after me, but she works at one of the factories.”
“And how did you end up in this situation?”
The boy shrugged. “By luck. I was born poor, but I will not stay poor,” he said. “In the future I will be rich like you, Herr, and then I will be able to buy us better clothes, a nice house, and we will ride on a carriage like that,” he said, pointing at one passing them by on the streets, drawn by two black mares. “The good book says that money is not the source of happiness, but it certainly would help.”
Eric was touched. The boy and girl ate their warm chestnuts, asking them questions between bites which they happily answered.
“And to who, Herr, you are giving those?” the boy asked as he pointed to the boxes under his arm.
“Oh these! One is for the woman who is now sheltering me at her home, and the other is for my love––I mean, for someone I cherish a lot.”
“Are you courting?”
“Yes, no, well…”
“Is it forbidden love?” the girl piped up, her voice loud and clear. She looked determined to get her answer.
“Not exactly, but we come from…different worlds.”
“How romantic!” said the girl while the boy rolled his eyes.
Then it struck him.
“Would you like to have a few?” Eric said, opening the box of sweets. “I know something sweet always tastes better after something hot.”
He handed two caramel chocolate sweets to the boy and two to the girl. They thanked him. The boy even reached to give him a hug.
“Thank you, Herr,” the boy said. Eric patted the boy's shoulder.
“Take good care of her,” he said looking at the little girl.
“I will!” The boy made a soldier’s salute and Eric answered in turn.
On his return journey back to Frau Drosselmayer’s home he could feel warmth and a striking pain mixing together inside of his stomach. He could feel the cold wind increasing, and he began to pat his arms and chest with his hands in order to keep warm. Suddenly he felt an emptiness inside the breast pocket of his coat. He looked inside and saw the wallet gone.
The boxes he dropped to the ground as he tried to look for the wallet. He took his coat off and checked every pocked. It was not there. He checked his top hat. It was not there.
It must have dropped somewhere in the snow , he thought as he began to walk backwards, putting on his coat at the same time. It must have fallen somewhere on the way . He was sure of it.
“Herr! Herr!” he heard a voice calling. It was the roasted chestnut seller from near the park. “You dropped this!”
The roasted chestnut seller handed the wallet back to him, painting all the while. He must have run quite a journey. There was sweat on his forehead and he took a moment before speaking.
“I saw it. It was in the snow.”
“Thank you,” said Eric as he checked the inside of the wallet and found everything to be as it was before.
“No worries! Just be careful next time,” said the roasted chestnut seller, and began to walk backwards. “If one of those poor kids had taken it there would have been no chance of you finding it as it was.”
In his tone was something which Eric did not like. He thanked the man again, picked up the boxes of candy from the snow, and began walking down the street.
When he reached Frau Drosselmayer’s house he could feel the muscles on his legs aching. He was fit, in good health, yet something in walking such snow and hard surface had made it harder.
He knocked on the door and the maid let him in. She had not spoken of the night he had arrived, he suspected something Frau Drosselmayer had said had been part of it.
He gave the maid his top hat and cloak, setting the candy boxes on the dresser with a vase of silk flowers on it.
“Frau Drosselmayer!” he called, but heard no answer.
“She and the younger Frau Clara are not here.”
“Where are they then?”
The maid shrugged. “I do not know. One moment I was making tea for them in the parlour. I heard them walk up the stairs, but I have not heard of them since. The next thing I knew I was alone inside the house. I think they must have gone out, but both of their coats are still in the closet.”
A feeling crept up Eric’s spine. Its sensation rose from his toes to the tip of his skull. He could feel it in his fingertips. He threw his gloves on the ground and ran upstairs.
No. They could not have. No. There was no way.
When he opened the door to the small room he only saw an open box, the wardrobe doors open, and no sign of anyone in the house.
He was alone.