Escape With Me;
A Fanfic By AmethystGleam

Disclaimer: I don't own Saga Frontier or any of its characters. The translations of otherwise 'unused' text from Saga Frontier belong to GlitterBerri and Robert Seddon, and were found at The Cutting Room Floor.

Caution: As this is an introspective 'how it was going to happen' fic, it does have spoilers for the game. White Rose is referred to as 'Shirobara' here, as it is her Japanese name. I like 'White Rose' equally as much, but now that I know the naming/numerical significance of her name, I will be using the Japanese version. My apologies if this bothers anyone. Furthermore, while I don't know how far I'll be taking this yet, the shoujo-ai nature of this couple might show itself. Consider yourself warned.

Introduction – Anywhere Is Better Than Here;

Chateau Aiguille is a prison. A dark, forbidding, strangely beautiful, rose-covered prison. I say that because I don't feel like I'm the only captive here. The humans in Rootville live in terror of mystics. The mystics in this castle live in slavery and oppression. Hell, even the crystals that light my room live with a dim light as if they're terrified to defy the unnaturally deep shadows.

I hate it here.

I hate a lot of things, lately.

My mirror is a testament to that. I knocked it over earlier when I got tired of looking at my now-green hair. To my surprise, it didn't shatter. It's far too resilient for that, just as I've become.

Most of my days are spent training under Ildon, fighting beast after beast on the rose-patterned platform as if there is no other meaning to my life. I often don't care if I win; losing is painful, but my wounds heal almost instantly. There are many nights where I cannot sleep, simply because I can't get tired.

I wander on those nights, and thank whatever fragments are left of my lucky star that I'm not holed up in a coffin like the others. I shouldn't be, after all. I'm human. It'd probably kill me.

Again.

I glower at the ceiling as though it's somewhat responsible for my current predicament and even worse mood. To my horror, it smiles back, a flash of obnoxiously white teeth out of the shadows themselves.

I gasp and all but fly off my bed as Zozma comes dropping down onto it, his unruly red hair like a stationary flame mounted atop his head. I realize I've pressed myself up against the crystal post, and it trembles under my sudden weight, sending light and shadow into a tussle across the ornate floor.

"Might not want to let that fall," Zozma chides me, knowing I'm too concerned to take my eyes off of him. "Never know who might hear."

Not that he'd be concerned about something like that. The man comes and goes like the wind. I'm afraid that if I blink, he'll be gone. I reach behind me and steady my light source, watching him hop off my bed and start lifting up the rather abused mirror.

"Just how long do you intend to stay in this castle?" he asks, admiring his own image as the glass is set upright once more. He's watching me through the reflection, and I can practically see the mischief brewing in his eyes.

I cross my arms haughtily and move back towards my bed, but I won't sit down. "I don't like it here, but I don't have anywhere else to go."

"I'll teach you something useful," his voice is practically purring as he turns to face me, dancing his fingertips down the reflection at his side. It looks like two of them are mocking me. His two sides. "The incinerator outside of town... the flames there come from another region."

I inhale, trying desperately to pull some importance out of his statement: "You're saying I should jump into the fire?"

"That's up to you."

Asshole. I think immediately, losing my temper in my own mind: Vague, incoherent, selfish, mischievous asshole. He's smiling again as though he can see my inner struggle. I want to ask him to explain; want to ask him so much… but the minute I try, he will disappear. I know how his game works by now. I draw up my posture a bit, cross my arms, and glare at him with as much intimidation and animation as I can muster:

"Alright then, I'll see you again in another region!"

"You can return home whenever you want," he replies, laughing in the same way he always does. As though we're all just amusing little puppets. I can't help but wonder which 'home' he means. "Back to your own region."

He barely finishes speaking before he's gone, faded once more into the darkness. I make a point to ask Shirobara if he actually ever disappears, or if mystics have the power of invincibility. I could see the pompous prick just hiding himself so he can watch me stew. Mystics are like that. I hate them. Most of them. But not Shirobara.