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Once there was a house. A house covered in fog and dreams but its hallways laid empty. The wood creaked for no one. The sunlight reached in to find nothing but space. But the house still remembered the lessons that were once learned inside. The house remembered the dark place it had come from.
It hadn't been built like other houses. It had been manifested one day much like part of the family that later came to live inside. The Lynch family were a beautiful collection of uncanny and strange, befitting of their slice of picaresque unreality.
But the house existed outside the pages of a storybook and reality had never been as kind as the stories.
It was an autumn day like any other where the hours blurred and melted into the ever golden horizon.
The youngest brother and most affable of the Lynches had learned an important lesson that day. Actions have consequences.
Matthew cried into Aurora's shoulder while she tutted sweetly into his hair. "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to."
Of course he didn't mean to. But for the first time in his life he had been overwhelmed by something far larger than him. One moment Ronan had a toy in his hand and then suddenly the toy was in Matthew's hand and Ronan was on the ground. The satisfaction melted before Matthew could even process it. The guilt lingered long enough to last him through the night.
It would be years before Matthew let himself be brash again. He was afraid of what his hands might do if he let them. But tonight, here wrapped in Aurora's arms, those thoughts were too far away for him to process and so Matthew did the only thing he knew to do: cry.
"Oh, my darling, my dear. Let me take this pain from you. I shall trade your hands for mine. Let them be full of gentleness just as mine have always been." And Aurora took Matthew's shaking fists into her hands and placed a kiss on the backs of each. "Now sleep, my darling. And in the morning your hands will trouble you no more."
Matthew fell gently into sleep as his mother directed and she left him alone to dream as he might. She stopped at her other son's bedroom. Declan had not been sleeping because at the best of times Declan barely slept. With one of his brothers crying it was impossible.
"Ah, my dauntless one," Aurora said as she drifted to his bedside. She ran her fingers through his hair. "You are so brave. Will you watch over Matthew? He needs protection and who better than his brave brother to provide for him."
Declan didn't say anything but he understood.
It was a winter day like any other where the hours huddled gray and shivering under the storm clouds.
The middle brother and most volatile of the Lynches had been puzzling over something that didn't quite fit.
He couldn't understand why the baby calf was still and quiet. He couldn't understand why the mother cow called with a noise Ronan had never heard before. He couldn't understand any of it.
"But babies don't die," Ronan said to Aurora that night when they sat by the coals of the fire. It was something he knew to be true - or at least he had been so sure it was true - but his closed eyes kept showing him images of the calf and his ears kept playing the mother's cry even though she was far away in the barn just over the hill. He didn't want this.
"Oh, my darling, my dear. Let me take this pain from you. I shall trade your eyes and ears for mine. Let them remember the beautiful things in the world." And Aurora held Ronan's small face, frown and all, and kissed him between his eyes and on his cheek. "Now sleep, my darling. And in the morning your eyes and ears will trouble you no more."
Ronan slipped up the stairs and quietly went to bed as he had been told, though his brow was still knitted in concern. (By morning it will have disappeared, just as Aurora had told him.)
Declan had been waiting in the washroom, still carrying his clothes stained from the work of burying the calf. He had been told to wash the clothes but he wanted to burn them.
"Ah, my dauntless one." Aurora motioned for him to sit with her. She did nothing with the clothes staining his palms. "You are so smart. Will you watch over Ronan? He doesn't understand things the way you do."
Declan didn't say anything but he understood.
It was a spring day like any other where the hours yawned and stretched their shadowed limbs.
The father and most insidious of the Lynches had been left with his thoughts. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy thinking, for he was quite good at it, it was just that when he let the thoughts run their course they found the best nectar came from the thorniest flowers that bloomed in the darkest corners of his mind. Places he didn't care much to explore. Places that were easy to avoid if he never stopped moving.
"Aurora, Aurora, my darling, my dream," Niall said, had always said, whenever he returned home.
Niall was an expert liar, perhaps doubly so in the moments when he talked to himself. Yes, this was his kingdom, formed from the a speck of fantasy floating in his mind. Why then did this house, the one that sighed in relief whenever he returned, feel like a prison? Why then did the very mountains that parted for him so many years ago fill him with a sense of unease? Why then did this woman who wore his lover's face so easily, the one who looked at him as though he were a god (and to her, perhaps, truly he was) - why then did her gaze slip around his throat like a barbed noose?
Every question led to another and for once Niall couldn't talk his way out of it. For all of the power he possessed, he couldn't pull an answer from within himself. He had been born broken and no dream that ever sprouted from such a cracked foundation could ever save him.
"My dear, my king. Let me take this pain from you. I shall trade your smile and heart for mine. Let them be a beacon in the darkest of nights." And Aurora placed a kiss on Niall's mouth and over his heart. "Now sleep, my king. And in the morning these things will trouble you no more."
And it was true.
The next morning Niall and Declan prepared for a weekend trip somewhere far away from the Barns. Aurora leaned close as she embraced her oldest son.
"Declan," she said. And at the use of his name Declan tensed. "Will you watch over your father? Be a brave boy and make sure he never strays too far. Something is going to break him open and I worry he'll do it himself."
That's not my fucking responsibility, Declan thought.
But still he didn't say anything because he understood.
It was a summer evening unlike anything before or after.
The oldest and loneliest of the Lynches was wondering how best to tell his brothers that everything they ever knew was now lost.
My dauntless Declan.
He would remember those words forever.
After Aurora had fainted, Declan carried her to her room the same as she used to do for Ronan and Matthew and sometimes even for Declan. Dreams were so much easier to deal with when there was no dreamer to tether them to reality. It wasn't fair that Declan could easily pluck his mother up off the ground like a forgotten bit of rubbish. It wasn't fair that she looked serene and comfortable in her eternal sleep. None of this was fair but nothing in Declan's life had ever been fair so who was he to judge?
Still. He sat beside his mother on her bed and rested his head on her shoulder like he had always wanted when she was in motion. He held her hand, still warm and fluttering with a pulse, and closed his eyes. He didn't sleep, because Declan rarely slept, and he didn't dream, because Declan rarely dreamt.
By the time Ronan and Matthew returned to the house, Declan had wiped his eyes dry and reset the delicate balance he had worked so hard for so many years to achieve.
He looked tired, maybe, but Matthew wouldn't know. Ronan wouldn't care.
There would be no one here to guide him. It was Declan's responsibility to still his hands before they chose evil. It was Declan's responsibility to find beauty in terror. It was Declan's responsibility to keep his heart from breaking more than it could bear.
In a moment of weakness he often wished never happened, Declan toyed with telling his brothers the truth. After all, the truth shall set you free etc. etc. But it was the price for these truths that kept Declan's mouth shut. Money had meant nothing to the Lynches, but secrets? Those were true value and in that regard, Declan hoarded the most riches for himself. He would never betray the very thing that made him valuable.
And so, Declan said nothing more than was expected from him. He followed the breadcrumb trail Niall had left in his wake that Declan hoped and hoped led to something better than what they'd all been given. More secrets. More lies. The chains grew thicker and heavier until one day Declan found himself completely alone.
At least, he thought erroneously, things can get no worse.