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The two-story shingled house, turned grey by the salt air of the beach it overlooked, sat quietly in the threads of yellow and green grass it was buried in. Kristin stood on the porch, letting the breeze take her dress as she looked out into the horizon.
She’d sometimes get these feelings when she saw the vastness of the world. It reminded her of what she didn’t have-- in place of her memory was just a purple wisp coming out of her neck. With her memory went her head.
For as long as Kristin could remember, and that was two years, she had no memory. It was as if she woke up on this earth fully formed but with a blank slate for a mind. All she had was Phil.
Phil was her wonderfully kind and caring husband. He was the one who found her originally. He had not been scared off by her lack of head or memories-- in fact, he embraced that. They got married after six months and when he brought her to this house he carried her bridal style through the doorway, and it was the happiest Kristin had ever been.
For a time, she considered not needing her head and her memories at all; Phil was content with Kristin with or without the head and the memories-- in fact, he thought her obsession with her head was unhealthy. But every time Kristin looked out into the ocean and saw how blank the world looked, how big it was and how small she felt, it only deepened the longing to be whole once more.
So Kristin investigated.
She did her research, trying to pinpoint where her head could’ve gone, who could’ve taken it-- and most importantly, what happened that she lost her head at all.
Kristin had tuned out the world, so it was to be expected that she was given a bit of a fright when she felt a solid hand on her shoulder. “Phil!” she gasped when she finally took him in.
Her husband had returned from his work. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail and he wore a fine suit with green accents and golden jewelry-- he never wore jewelry until Kristin said she thought he’d look lovely with it on-- and in his hand was a worn leather briefcase with all of his important work files. Phil didn’t like talking about his job very much, from what he did say, Kristin could tell he was very good at what he did.
She didn’t get to see him so often anymore. He was always going on more work trips, and she was always going out to look for her head, so it was an uncommon occurrence for them to both be home at the same time.
“Hey, Kristin. I didn’t think you’d be home.”
“I am. My search was a bust,” she replied dejectedly. Kristin had gone on a five day expedition earlier that week on a lead about her head. She really thought she had something this time, but it only left her with more questions than anything. More times than she could count would Kristin go on trips like these, expecting to find her head or at least some answers, but they always came up more as question marks, as if she was being led on.
It was so frustrating.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping it would work out for you, but… Well, you know what I think.”
“I know, I know. But imagine if I had my memories, Phil. Imagine if I had a head. We could go out like a normal couple.”
Phil chuckled. “We’ll never be a normal couple, love. And I’m happy with you no matter how you look. You know I don’t care about all that.”
Kristin leaned into his embrace, his honeyed words softening her heart. They walked hand in hand back in the house as they discussed dinner and their days. It was such a light conversation that Kristin didn’t really think much of anything at all. Even when Phil told her about all the new things going on at work, she just nodded and took the words in a shallow manner.
They had potato salad and brisket that day. The window was left ajar, letting that cool breeze keep them company inside the house.
Phil left for work pretty early in the mornings.
Kristin only woke up after he left, and she couldn’t say she was too productive that morning. She milled around the kitchen, preparing something light and low-maintenance. In the middle of preparing breakfast, she remembered she should grab the mail, something Phil always forgot to do since he was in a hurry to get to work.
Kristin slipped on a pair of sandals and padded outside to the end of the gravel trail that led to the dirt road. At the end was a rusty old mailbox with a malfunctioning flag on it. Inside were a few letters, most of it pre-sorted mail that could be thrown away after a glance; however, there was one letter addressed to Phil in swooping, fancy letters from a name Kristin could not recognize from all the times Phil mentioned people.
One thing Phil drilled into Kristin’s-- well, not her head-- being, was that what was his was hers. The house was just as much hers as it was his, so was the food and the clothes and the money. Kristin considered this as she walked back inside while sliding her finger under the sealed flap and ripped it open. It was a short, one paged letter, handwritten and signed off by the same man.
It was as follows:
Dear Mr. Philza Craft,
It is with a sense of urgency that I write to you, and that I write to you at your personal address. I am an associate researcher at one of your labs located in Flowerfall, specializing in occult magics and mythos. Two years ago you tasked us with the protection and research of the head of a fae, which we have done silently and diligently, yielding little to no finds on fae as a whole, save for the discovery of three more subjects. These are things you are well aware of, sir, but that I must remind you for when I describe the reason I write to you.
Upon receiving the head, we began to have run-ins with beings much like who we have dubbed Subject 1. We dubbed them Subjects 2, 3, and 4, respectively. They were able to remove their heads from their bodies at will and still maneuver properly, much like Subject 1. This had been reported to you in our semi-annual lab reports.
Ever since this initial contact was made, Subjects 2, 3, and 4 have been non-stop attacking facilities of ours all over the country. We believe they are looking for Subject 1. We cannot identify whether they are after the head or the body, nor do we know if their intentions are malicious.
In order to maintain the schedule and consistency of our work, we ask that more security be installed in the labs-- not just here in Flowerfall, but elsewhere too. Should Subject 1’s head go missing, our research would cease, and without overstepping bounds, sir, I reckon you will be at a loss as well.
We look to your guidance at this time.
Regards,
Dr. A. Samuel Dude
Kristin was stunned when she finished reading. She could follow along with what the doctor was saying, but only vaguely. None of it sounded remotely like what Phil said he did for work. He said he was a businessman. That he dabbled in multiple markets. What was this about labs and subjects and-- heads.
What was all this about heads? Could it be a coincidence that a letter about heads was sent here? Did Phil know-- was Phil involved in the disappearance of her head?
It frightened her. It frightened her so much that she lost her appetite, and she was forced to throw away the toast that she had already toasted and buttered before she had left to grab the mail.
Kristin simply could not fathom that Phil, the man that picked her up and helped build Kristin back up after coming from quite literally nothing, could be directly responsible with all these feelings of hopelessness and confusion.
Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. Perhaps ‘head’ was some sort of business jargon that was flying over her head. Maybe she was making something out of nothing because she wanted her head so badly.
That was it.
Surely that was it.
Phil returned early in the day again. Kristin was out on the porch once more, staring out into the water. She’d never actually stepped foot on the beach, never touched the struggling waves and felt sand sink beneath her toes. Kristin felt that it would all be too real if she did, so she always stayed on the porch. Always in close proximity to the house. To Phil.
“Views are nice this time of year,” said Phil in lieu of a greeting. He put down that same old briefcase and sat down on the bench next to her. Lightly, he tapped her on the side with his stomach when his words did not elicit a reaction. “Are you thinking of something?”
“I am,” she responded. As she had no memories, Kristin couldn’t say she was someone who beat around the bush. She had nothing to hide, nothing to equivocate. “You received a letter in the mail today.”
“Oh,” said Phil. “May I read it?”
Wordlessly, Kristin handed him the opened envelope with the crinkled letter angrily shoved back in. Phil offered an awkward smile as he pulled the letter out. He scanned the contents before turning it over to check if there was more on the backside.
“Well?” prompted Kristin.
“Ah,” was Phil’s first reaction. “It seems I have a business trip to schedule.”
Kristin stood up. “You don’t have anything else you’d like to say? To me of all people?”
Phil stood up too, his hand instantly on her arm, swirling soothing circles on her skin. “What would you like me to say?”
“What is this head? These subjects? You said you were a businessman!” She ripped him off her arm, taking a few steps back. With no face, the only thing to show for her anger was her body language.
“Kristin, I know what you’re thinking, but it’s-- it’s nothing like that-- come on, you wouldn’t really think that about me? I-- it’s just a business thing. Some subsidiaries are involved in the scientific sector.”
Kristin was memory-less, but she wasn’t dumb. What she was was a woman in love, someone with inextinguishable faith in her husband. So even though he was a stuttering mess, even though his eyes clearly held some sort of deception, she let it fly over her head. She willingly allowed it to blow away with the breeze.
“Okay,” she breathed, and finally Phil could take her hand and not be thrown off. “When do you leave?”
“First thing in the morning. This-- well, whatever it is-- sounds urgent.” He shook his head mechanically, as if he was going through the motions of disbelief and confusion. “Well, what are we thinking for dinner? Shall I cook?”
The next morning, Phil took off with his leather briefcase and a black duffel bag. The train station was a bit far, so again, Phil left quite early in the morning-- before the sun was even thinking of coming up.
When Kristin woke up, she felt more tired than normal. Perhaps it was the stress of still not having a head. It kept her up at night, wondering where it was. That was a piece of her, after all, and she had no idea if someone was desecrating a piece of her body in her absence. It sent chills down her spine.
Kristin didn’t have any more leads, though. She used up the last one a few days ago. She could always put a scarf over the place where her head should be and head into town for a newspaper or a map or some word-of-mouth, but all her energy was just sapped from her body.
She hardly even wanted to get out of bed to eat despite the rumblings of her stomach.
When she finally did get up, she padded into the kitchen to make some toast. In her periphery was the envelope of the letter addressed to Phil from yesterday. He took the actual letter with him for ‘reference.’
After smoothing the butter over the surface of the toast, Kristin took a bite and headed outside to the mailbox. It was empty when she opened it, devoid of all mail. Perhaps they had none, or perhaps Phil finally started grabbing the mail. The former seemed more likely-- what kind of mail-carrier brought mail so early in the morning?
Kristin didn’t go back inside immediately. She loitered around the front of the house. She didn’t wear shoes out this time, and the small rocks digging into her bare feet felt grounding in a way Kristin hadn’t felt in a long time. She walked around the house, through the long grass. There, she looked out over the beach.
She could go, if she really wanted to. She could take a step forward, and then another, run down the slope and be on the shore. But she didn’t. Kristin just stood on the ledge.
Out in the distance, she noticed something peculiar; there was a person out on the beach. They were dressed in a full suit of armor with a red cape billowing in the wind, a boar skull covering their face.
Except it wasn’t covering their face.
Their face was held in their arms, tucked into their side. The head had long pink hair that blew in tandem with the cape, red eyes staring Kristin down from afar. On top of his head was a golden crown with glittering jewels.
She blinked once and he was there; she blinked twice and he was gone.
Kristin half believed it was a figment of her imagination, but it felt so real.
She waved her hand.
Phil had told her before he left, when she was still deep in the throes of sleep, that he’d only be gone for two or three days. Kristin didn’t mind the quiet so much anymore. At first, it was hard to be without Phil. He was the one who gave her a name and taught her all about the world, the world that she had forgotten.
Then she started looking for her head-- at first with Phil’s help-- and suddenly the quiet could be welcomed in a world full of chaos and destruction. The leads she found were never calm ones-- there was always violence involved.
That moment with that creature outside-- it disturbed her, but it didn’t destroy the preserved silence. She still managed to calm herself down and sit in the sitting room for a little with her feet propped up on the coffee table. The toast had long been consumed by the flames flickering from her neck.
She went about her day as usual. The house had gotten a bit out of sorts since she and Phil had been so busy, so she took the time to tidy up. She caught up on the dishes, wiped the surfaces and floors, washed her laundry and sheets, fluffed her pillows and aired out the house, which was starting to smell like chemicals from the cleaning.
Kristin stuck her neck out once to relieve her of the thick scent of ammonia when she saw something new and just as off-putting. Out on the beach, closer now, was a man in an old white poet’s shirt and a long billowing coat on his shoulders. He had a head on his shoulder, brown, wispy hair and sharp eyes, until he twisted it off and held it in place--those eyes still blinking, still looking at her.
Then he was gone.
In the evening, Kristin forgot about dinner. She couldn’t think about eating when she now saw not one, but two of those creatures, headless creatures, just like her, out on the beach. Kristin paced around the kitchen for a while, going over two paths she could take. She could stay inside, and forget all about it. Figments of her imagination. They couldn’t hurt her from inside.
Or, she could go to them. She could walk onto that beach and grab them and ask them why they were tormenting her. Perhaps they had answers about her head. Kristin was leaning towards the first idea: more than anything in the world she was just tired of it all. In her mind, perhaps she had decided on the former as she went around the house closing windows as the sun went down.
But then she saw a third one-- this one was wearing a tattered blue soldier’s uniform with golden lapels and shoulder pads. He had golden blonde hair and startling blue eyes, and his head was on his neck, but only barely, like it was trying to come off. All he did was stare, stare, stare.
It unnerved Kristin so much she slammed the window shut and slid down the wall, drawing her knees to her chest as she contemplated all of it. She couldn’t keep ignoring them, could she?
She’d have to go onto the beach.
Kristin darted into the kitchen and grabbed a lantern, slashing a matchstick against the wall to ignite it and light the lantern. She stumbled out the door and through the long grass, her feet sliding down the dirt and sand slope all the way down to the beach.
She could see it, just barely, in the distance, with the water licking at their boots. The three of them stood together in a semi-circle, staring at her. Waiting for her. She did not approach with caution; it was a full sprint, twigs scratching at her ankles and rocks nestling between her toes as she moved from earth to sand.
“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that she said. Kristin didn’t know why she was apologizing. She didn’t know these people, looking more like boys the longer she stared at them, the closer she stared at them. Boys just like her.
“Mumza!” The Soldier cheered. He had a big smile on his face as he went to meet her in the middle, but it dropped when he really took her in. “Your head.”
Kristin froze, dropping her arm that held the lantern to her side so she could conceal her lack of head. Of course that was the first thing he would say. That was all what anyone would say about a woman with no head-- Phil had warned her about people like this--
“That foul man,” the King said, his lips upturned into a sneer. “Stealin’ your head, holdin’ you captive...”
“It’s alright, Techno. We’ve come to take care of it.”
“T-take care of what?” asked Kristin. “Who stole my head? How do you know me?”
“Mumza, what?” asked the Soldier. “W-w-we’re your creations. How could you not know--”
“Tommy, we talked about this. Her memory’s gone with her head,” the Poet chastised.
“Creations? Like children?” she gasped, thinking about the implications of having children. Did she have another husband besides Phil? Was he looking for her? If she got her memory back, would she want to abandon Phil?
Luckily, the Poet shook his head. “It’s more complicated than that. Children is a human term. You made us in your image. Now we’ve come to you in your time of need--”
“My head. You know about my head?”
The soldier-- Tommy-- nodded vigorously. “We tracked it down, then tracked you down-- all because of that stupid dickhead Philza! He did all this.”
“Don’t speak about Phil like that,” she rebuked, hands shaking from the anger at hearing someone slander Phil, especially a stranger. What did this boy know about Philza?
“Mumza, we don’t wish to anger you, but… He has your head. Did you know he has your head?”
“I-- well--” She could lie and say she didn’t, except deep down she did. She knew exactly what that letter was, and she knew exactly how Phil told a lie. On the other hand, she didn’t really know until now. It had been a gut feeling. And it was terrible. “No.”
“Well he does,” the King-- Technoblade-- said.
“Why? Why?” asked Kristin, but it wasn’t really a question for these boys. It was a question for Phil, and she had no way to ask him now unless she went to him.
She could do that. She could go to him-- and if her head was there where he was, then she would know. Truly, she would know that Phil had had her head this entire time-- lied to her, pretending to support her search when he had kept her head.
Why? Why?
The Poet’s discerning gaze softened at the disharmony of her thoughts. “You created us as company. We’re loyal to you.”
“It’s all too much,” she said, shying away from their adoration. They all seemed to worship her-- even the King, with his stoic face still had a hint of care for her in the subject matter. It was clear they were not the ones lying. Their… attachments were evidence enough they were her own creations and then by unfortunate extension: Phil had her head.
She wandered back to the house, not stopping the boys from trailing after her, always a few steps behind. They sat out on her porch as she collapsed into her sitting room, chest heaving in lieu of tears. Kristin wondered if her head still produced tears when her body felt like crying.
In the morning, Kristin wore travel clothes rather than the light and flowy dresses she wore around the house. She packed a satchel with an outfit, some money, and a map.
The boys were still on her porch when she headed out.
“Mumza,” Tommy started. “I’m sorry about all this. I’m sorry for making you sad.” A small part of her pitied the soldier. He really looked so young despite the obvious air of immortality around him. Around all of them.
Around herself.
To Phil, was Kristin just a subject to be studied? Had that been what all of this was? Had he just been… Studying her? In a controlled environment?
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she stated.
“You’re goin’,” said Technoblade. “We’ll go with you.”
“No,” decided Kristin. “No, I have to do this alone. You… You three stay here. Go inside. Make yourselves at home.”
“Really?” Tommy said, his head swiveling back and forth from Kristin to the Poet. “Wilbur, Wilbur? Did you hear?”
“Yes, yes,” the Poet replied, smiling fondly at the younger. He turned to Kristin. “Mumza, you’re sure…?” He trailed off, meaning so many things and unable to say them all. Are you sure about going alone? Are you sure about leaving us here? Are you sure about letting us into your house, into your life? The Poet with the sharp eyes, Wilbur, was quite an uncertain man.
“I am.”
Kristin took an all day train and arrived at the town the lab resided in by evening. It wasn’t an unfamiliar place to her, she realized once she arrived. It was the same trees, same grass, same buildings she remembered from the very beginning-- from when she first opened her eyes and knew that something was missing from herself.
She couldn’t decide if it was poetic or sick. Maybe that was just the businessman in Phil cutting costs by not even moving the goddamn head. And of course she’d never return here-- all leads pointed away from this small town, by Phil’s design no doubt.
She walked herself into town, down the streets and towards a towering building not far from civilization, and without a doubt in her mind, Kristin knew it was the lab.
When she arrived at the front doors, the guards gaped at her, shocked at the wisp coming from her neck; they scarcely moved when she walked right past them into the facility.
The people inside were less forgiving. The moment the men in white coats laid eyes on her, they began to run around screeching orders. Kristin knew this was the right place when she felt a pull from down the hall, hearing a whisper of her own voice calling to her.
She followed it down the hall, focusing on the sound of her heels clicking against the tiles, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Someone tried to grab her arm but she threw him off without even looking. In the distance she could hear people call Phil’s name like he was a god that would save them from the apocalypse, as if she were the apocalypse and he wasn’t.
Kristin came upon a door: tall and wide, reinforced by multiple metal bars that acted as locks. She ripped them clean off, just her hands and her heart pulling it off and throwing it to the side.
The room was dark, but Kristin didn’t need light to guide her to the center of the room, her toes hitting a pedestal. On top of it was a head made of flesh and bones. Thick lips and wide eyes closed shut, long brown hair framed around the face, a button nose.
This was her head.
This was her head.
Palms outstretched, she took hold of her cheeks, cradling the head gently in her hold. She lifted it up and placed it on her neck. It almost felt like screwing in a nail and locking it into place, and something stable settled within Kristin.
Everything, everything settled together, like two ends of scarf being sewn together. Everything fit, everything connected-- there was no longing, no mystery in the pit of Kristin’s stomach, she just knew everything and it was crippling and it was beautiful.
That night, she had her head. Kristin had been holding it in her hands. She rode a horse; a beautiful dark horse named Crow that had been one of her companions for thousands of years-- and there had been a man.
Philza.
He approached her that night with a shy smile and a singular red rose in hand. “Hello,” he had greeted her, and she remarked back then how peculiar it was for a human to have the guts to approach a fae. He was endearing because of how nervous he looked. “My name is Philza Craft.”
“And?”she had said.
“I’d like to court you.”
She had been so shocked she couldn’t help but laugh. Here she was, in all her inhumanity, holding her head in her hands, and the human had asked to court her. “Be gone, human,” she had warned. “I do not take jokes from strangers.”
His hopeful smile had turned into a thin press of his lips as he had bowed his head and excused himself.
Why had she been there in the first place? She vaguely remembered being asked to be met there by Technoblade, her eldest creation. He had something to report on-- something inconsequential-- these reports were usually just excuses to speak with each other.
When Philza had left, Kristin slipped off Crow and stood by his side with one hand still gripping the reins. Yes, one minute she had been standing there with her head in her arms and the next she felt a blow on her back, enough force to send her hurtling forward and to release her head from her grip. It stumbled forward like a ball getting away from a game, and then… Then there was black.
That was when the new memories began.
It had been Phil.
It had always been Phil.
Technoblade and Wilbur stayed in the sitting room while Tommy showered. They had been run absolutely ragged by the amount of fighting they had to do these past two years for their creator. It was nice to just sit in silence for a little.
Until the silence was swallowed up by the loud beat of footsteps running up the porch and the slam of a door against the wall as Mr. Philza Craft bolted through the door looking like a sorry mess. His hair stuck to his forehead, covered in sweat from running the whole way from the train station. His suit was all in disarray and he was red in the face.
When he saw the two fae sitting in his house, he damn near passed out, which almost put a smile on Technoblade’s face.
Almost.
“Y-y-you’re her-- her--” Philza stuttered, his arm left frozen as he pointed at them, unsure of what to say.
“Did you really think we’d let you get away with taking our creator captive?” Wilbur seethed, shooting out of his seat to stare Philza down nose-to-nose. “Foolish human!”
“So then she-- she’s really found her head? She’s there now?”
Techno scoffed. He came back to confirm she had gone. He really was a fool.
“If Mumza returns, it’ll be to retrieve us, not for you,” Tommy growled from the hallway. His hair was a mess of wet curls, droplets falling onto the tip of his nose and his uniform. “You’re a blip in our existence, Phil-loser.”
“Okay, Tommy, no need for the name callin’,” said Techno, but it was only because the name-calling from Tommy was no good. Phil fell to his knees in a dramatic fashion. He was absolutely petrified, like a statue, staring at the three of them with wide blue eyes.
Caught in a lie.
The three fae continued about their day like that, letting Phil stew in his failures, until Kristin returned, head intact. It was like she was a completely different person from the woman who had been slamming windows shut and avoiding beaches.
Kristin stood before Phil, purple eyes glaring down at him.
At least she was looking at him.
Phil crawled over to her with desperate arms and legs, gripping the leg of her pants. “Kristin! Kristin, I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry, but everything I did, I did for, for, for--”
“For what?” she prompted. “For love?” It was as if she was mocking him.
Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy watched the scene with delight.
“I did!” he said, fully embracing the accusation. “You would not accept me as you were, so I…”
“Lied to me. Stole from me. Misdirected me for years. Philza, I could kill you for this.”
Phil hung his head. “I understand.”
Kristin frowned. Her heart detested Phil right now, but to see him accept his fate so soon… It didn’t sit well with her.
Not at all.
“Look at my face.”
Phil did as he was told. His limpid eyes gathered tears as he waited for his sentence. She studied him. This was a face she thought she knew everything about-- she knew the bridge of his nose and where his eyebrows stopped and started and how his chin dipped-- she knew it all.
What did this face of hers mean to Philza Craft?
She grabbed his chin, and his grip on her pant leg tightened. “Does this face torture you?” It was a slow nod, but affirmative all the same. Kristin’s fingers moved from his chin, stubble scraping her thumb pad as she moved to hold his cheeks in her hand, cradling it with astonishing gentleness. “You will wake up to this face every morning, Phil. And you will feel sorry for ever putting me through this pain.”
Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy’s moods instantly dropped.
“Mumza!” Wilbur argued. “You can’t possibly be serious--”
Kristin just put a finger up, silencing him for good. “I’ve made my decision, Wilbur.”
Philza got to his feet in an instant, almost knocking Kristin over with the fierce hug he enveloped her in. “I will! I will regret it everyday!” he repeated like a mantra, and it felt like a declaration of love anyway.
Her three creations stood huddled together, muttering and grumbling some nasty words about this arrangement, sending glares Phil’s way without even caring that he could see it. When she got Phil to release her, she went over to her boys.
“Thank you,” she said, “for looking for me when I couldn’t look for myself.”
“Mumza, please! You can’t do this,” Tommy urged. She patted his shoulder with a smile, sending cursory glances at Phil who was collecting himself.
“This is my decision. You can stay, or you can leave. I’d like it if you were to stay. I seldom see you boys.”
All three of them glowered at Phil as they mumbled agreements to stay.
Kristin grinned.
This was not forgiveness. There was no way for Phil to wash the stains of his sins from his hands. This was Kristin’s choice to stay here and haunt him for good, for him to get what he deserved, and allowed Kristin to keep what she loved all together.