Epilogue

I see you there, eyes curious and wondering. Come closer. Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there were two brothers. They traveled to a mysterious place, called the Unknown, where the spirits of those who have gone before walked again, under the watchful eyes of the Celestial Queen and the Beast, and guided by those who watched over the wayfarers. These brothers, however, were not dead. Or that is, not yet.

But, guided by a kind if abrasive bluebird, they managed to defeat the looming Beast and return to their normal, ordinary lives, over the garden wall.

However, three years later they were summoned back to the Unknown by the very same bluebird who helped them, this time around in her rightful form as a human girl. This time, though, it was for a very different reason. The Unknown was dying, and all who lived in it would be devoured by the eternal Forest, unless the Beast was resurrected, to reign over the Forest once more. Through many obstacles, the lantern was relit and the Beast returned.

All's well that ends well, no?

Not quite.

The eldest brother became the Beast, grew his antlers, and gave up his soul to flame on in the lamp.

His name is Wirt, and this is what happened to him.

He floated, alone, in darkness.

Part of him, he knew, was being grown over by Edelwood, but his mind was here. Wherever 'here' was.

He thought of Greg. He hoped that he was safe, wherever he was. He thought of his mom and stepfather. He hoped they wouldn't grieve for them too much. He felt guilty, thinking about his other body drowning in a river beside a cemetery, but the velvet darkness swallowed his emotions.

He thought of Beatrice. Beatrice. Bluebird, girl, friend. He thought of how she hugged him, and the determined glint in her eyes when she told him she'd be coming back. There was something else there, but he didn't know what.

He had failed her. He had failed everyone.

In another detached part of his mind, he knew he must feel the ache of fingers elongating into branches and the itching sting as bark grew over his skin, but it was muted. If this was what it was like to turn into an Edelwood tree, it wasn't terrible, he supposed. He felt nothing. Nothing at all.

Suddenly, he was thrust back into his body proper and if he could've screamed, he would have. He felt an enormous pain at his temples, an aching presence hammering at his skull from the inside. His eyes felt unbearably itchy, like there were ants burrowing into his eye sockets. He tried to move, but his limbs were not longer his to control.

His mind skipped again, and he was reaching down into the earth with feet of roots. He tasted the slow, sweet contentment of Pottsfield, the odd bitterness that lingered at the Yarn-Witch's cottage, and the salty-fresh earth of Lichport. He stretched his arms to the sky and millions of branches covered the stars, hiding them, dimming them, obscuring them.

(In the sky, a queen sensed a new disturbance in the web of the Unknown and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, things were going back to the way they should be.)

Another skip. He was standing at the banks of the river outside the Eternal Garden Cemetery. All that rose to the surface was a few bubbles and a sodden red hat. He bowed his head and turned away. . .

And he opened his eyes. All he saw was darkness, and a barely-there glow emanating, oddly, from him. He reached out with long fingers, pushed against something hard. With a strength he didn't know he had, he kicked down the Edelwood tree covering him and broke into the light.

The light. It blinded him and he shielded his eyes from the glare with an arm. When his eyes adjusted, he looked around, disoriented. He was. . . taller? He looked down at himself and almost passed out.

He was a good four or five inches taller, and his clothes had turned a pitch-dark, light-eating black. He held up his hands to his face and his veins ran oil-dark against the paleness of his skin. There were weights on the sides of his head, and he turned with a dull sort of dread to the lantern.

It burned brightly, and in the new-polished surface he saw the reflection of two glowing eyes.

He fell to his knees and screamed, his voice tearing through the woods like the desolate, betrayed cry of the wolf. He was the Beast. He was the Beast.

He who kills the Beast becomes the Beast.

What now?

In a kind of numb days he picked up his soul and cradled it carefully against his felt good there. Almost comfortable (and that was what scared him).

He turned around, and there was a black cat watching him with grave amber eyes. "Enoch," he whispered. His voice was hollow, somehow.

The cat nodded and twitched its tail, beckoning him to follow it.

Having no other options, he stood up and left that desolate clearing, his soul flickering and swinging by his side.

His new legs were long, and the going was fast. As he passed through the Forest, the trees and branches drew aside for him, leaving a clear path. Vines and branches gently stroked the sides of his face, leaving dark lines of oil under his eyes.

(Beside him, in the shadows, black turtles paused as he strode by, watching their new master with incurious eyes.)

As he walked, he reached up a curious hand to the side of his head. At his temple was a small protrusion, hard and smooth like horn. In disbelief, he traced the small antler to its curving end, about a hand's width away from the side of his head. While nowhere as near as impressive as the old Beast's antlers, his horns were enough to make him shudder in revulsion.

"Oh my god," he whispered hoarsely (he was completely and utterly disgusted by the eerie, hollow note in his voice). "I'm a monster." He began to shake.

The cat came back and wound about his ankles, purring. The warm, kind feeling of soft fur against his calves stilled his shaking hands and brought him back to himself. He stooped down gratefully and stroked the cat's head. It purred encouragingly and they walked on.

Later, he would say that he had no idea where the cat was leading him, or how long they traveled through the woods. He lied. He knew exactly where they were going, as if the slow reappearance of autumn leaves on the bare winter branches wasn't a dead giveaway.

As they made their way back to the O'Sialia household, the weather began to warm. Cutting through the forest cut off an amazingly large distance from their journey, and he could sense the placid town of Pottsfield sooner than he thought.

It was different, moving through the Unknown as a part of it rather than a mere traveller. He could taste people and places as they passed, could feel their pain or contentment or despair on his tongue.

This new sixth sense took a bit of getting used to. It took him a bit by surprise the first time it happened. As they passed by Pottsfield, he took a deep breath and it hit him– a slow, dark, almost molasses-like taste at the back of his throat. Pottsfield tasted like the last dregs of fall, laced with the lazy sweetness of contentment and a hint of bitter relief. He found that he could almost hone in on a single person's scent– the cat before him tasted of a gingery caution and a slight, sugary curiosity. He wondered what Enoch was thinking, leading a Beast and his soul back home.

They walked for exactly four days and four nights. During that time he neither grew tired or hungry. It seemed that the taste of various feelings and emotions fed the lamp just as well as oil.

On the dawn of the fifth day, he saw a clearing ahead with a house in it, and outside that house, a boy. The cat led him out of the woods and looked back at him with its glinting amber eyes. "Welcome," said the cat, and vanished back into the Forest.

He looked up to see the child running toward him. "Greg," he said aloud, remembering the name from another life.

"Wirt!" His little brother (yes, that was who the child was) stopped within arm's reach of him as he took in how changed his brother had become. The expression on his face changed from joy to a tart, piquant fear. "W-Wirt?"

Wirt sank to his knees and hugged his little brother to his chest, dry, racking sobs shaking his tall frame. He had never wanted this. But this was what he had.

His little brother hesitated before hugging him back just as tightly. "Wirt," he said softly. "Welcome back, brother o' mine."

And so our tale ends, years after it first began. The Forest is back to its original state, and the Beast reborn and loved, despite the shadow of his predecessor. The two brothers were taken into the bluebird's nest, and the people of the Unknown had a Beast to fear once more. All's well that ends well, and yet, over the garden wall. . .

A family mourns the loss of their children, stolen by the lake they thought they had once escaped. Two more gravestones join the crumbling ranks of the Eternal Garden Cemetery, despite the fact that no bodies were found. After a while, the names of the two boys fade from the town's memory and, of course, the community's mysterious forgetfulness had nothing to do with the visit of a tall lean stranger with oddly luminescent eyes. Perhaps it is for the best. The brothers are in a better place now.

The brothers, you ask? Ah, they had many more adventures with that bluebird of theirs, after the elder set the Unknown to right again. He came to terms with his role in the world eventually, and made the most of it. He and his friends explored the Unknown together, traveling far and wide and living as best as they could while dead. But that is a tale for another day.

Here ends the last tale of the Tome of the Unknown, where long-forgotten stories are here, waiting for you to crack open their dusty pages. Who knows? Maybe you too can travel to the Unknown, where, dancing in the golden light of memories, are the loveliest lies of all.

Author's Notes: So that's the end! I hope you all enjoyed it, because as of right now, "Long-Forgotten Stories" is officially concluded. I know everyone says this, but seriously: All of your reviews, messages, and favorites really do make my day, and I appreciate everyone who took the time to read all of this. Special thanks to my sister Pauline, for beta-reading this fic- I wouldn't have been motivated enough to finish this fic without your nagging.

And now for some shameless self-advertising: I am on Tumblr under the URL of .com, and if you ever feel the urge for fandom, humor, and occasional ramblings, you might want to check me out.

There is an OTGW oneshot planned in the near future, and I am currently working on a somewhat-sequel for this fic. Just letting you know.

Thank you all again. I love you all so much.