Bloom

Grunting as you left yet another store you had been denied within, you leaned against a wall outside, rubbing your temples. ‘It shouldn't be this hard to do a good thing’, you thought bitterly. Pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of your pocket, you crossed yet another store off of the list. In your haste to move on, you dropped your pen on the damp coastal street. As you reached down to grab it, a hand enveloped yours. 

“Ah, my apologies.” A tall man in a long coat held his hand out to you “I believe this is yours?”

The man was odd. His hair was short, all for one strand that hung to the right of his face. Despite his polite demeanor, you felt a chill run through you as you made eye contact with the stranger.

“Yes, thank you.”

You turned away, eager to cut this interaction short. A pair of footsteps followed behind as you hurried down the sidewalk. You'd better nip this in the bud now.

“Did you need something?” You turned, speaking as clearly and confidently as you could manage.

“No, but I believe you do. A reliable vessel, if I am correct?” The stranger placed a finger to his chin in a mock thinking gesture.

“Wh- have you been following me or something?”

“Dear me, I simply saw a confused outsider in need and chose to offer my assistance. However, if you don't want my help, I will oblige and take my leave.”

The stranger turned away, walking back toward the shore. This was suspicious. Sure, you needed an affordable boat and your prospects weren't looking great, but that didn't mean you'd follow any mysterious benefactor that crossed your path. But you were also working towards something bigger than yourself. This was rather important to you and if you had to take one or two risks, then…

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

The stranger's wide smile almost made you second guess yourself. As the light glinted, you almost thought his teeth appeared sharper than they should. Brushing it off, you told yourself that you had already begun the motions, you might as well see it through now. Sighing, you turned to follow the stranger.

“What kind and how much do you want for it?”

Neither of the answers put you at ease. The boat was small, it could maybe fit four people if you squeezed in as tight as possible. Contrary to what you thought upon first glance, it did have a motor. The boat didn't appear to be in the best condition, which was to be expected since it was supposedly-

“Free of charge, of course. I am quite the fan of your work, you see.”

“Uh huh?” You stared blankly forward.

“Oh yes! Particularly the mountain reserve you helped set up, in fact, I-”

You tuned out the rest of the one-way conversation. This was not ideal, but it did have a motor and space to hold any samples. The wood was in poor condition, but it wasn't rotten. If all went according to plan, you wouldn't be out long anyway. It would be a simple trip out and back.

“I'll take it… thank you.”

As you left the boathouse, you noticed the stranger's expression seemed a bit too bright for the occasion. It wouldn't be until you got back to your hotel room that you realized you never caught his name.

The day of the expedition was set out to be ideal. The waves were calm, the weather pleasant, and all preparations made. You would be going in alone since the boat became a bit unbalanced when two or more people attempted to cram in. They had given you proper accommodations: a life vest, flares, a tracker attached to the boat, a waterproof radio for communications, and plenty of vials along with your extraction equipment. You had all come to the agreement that it would be easier to bring each sample back, rather than attempting to carry any testing equipment on the boat.

Everything was going swimmingly, so why couldn't you shake this pit in your stomach. Once you had arrived at the dock, you were overcome with the distinct feeling of being watched, though a quick look around the shore revealed nothing. Far too much planning had gone into this for you to back out because of a hunch, so you continued on.

Despite your worries, you began to relax once you were out at sea. The land disappeared into a light mist as you journeyed forward. For each of its drawbacks, the small dingy was very fast. It felt like little time had passed before you arrived at the site. Dropping anchor, you made quick work of gathering your samples. 

All went as planned until you dropped the last vial down. The string going taut following your attempt to pull it back up. Further pulling yielded no results and you wouldn't risk tipping the boat by struggling further. As you began untying the line from your vessel, the tautness turned to an insistent pulling, rocking the boat back and forth. In a moment of panic, you lunged for your bag, pulling out a pocket knife and quickly cutting the line. The severed line briskly retreated into the inky depths.

‘The line must have been caught on a ledge.’ You reasoned. The underwater waves must have been manipulating the line and rocking the boat. The reassurance didn't do much to steady your shaking hands as you took hold of the motor handle. It was the isolation, you determined. Nothing scary had happened, but when you were alone, a small hiccup could feel sinister, like hearing a noise in your house when you should be the only one home.

The ride back felt longer than the first trip. The feeling of being watched was back, which oddly put you at ease. This had to mean it was all in your head. There was no land on sight, the only thing that could be watching you right now were fish… Speaking of fish, it was strange that you hadn't seen any. Areas like this should be heavily populated, yet you hadn't caught as much as a glance at any wildlife.

You pushed the thoughts aside as the dock came into view. It was still a ways away when you felt something jerk back on your boat, halting its motion. You pulled on the motor once again, but the boat refused to budge. You tentatively lowered your hand into the water, hoping to clear away anything that may have clogged the motor, only for your singers to brush something fleshy. Quickly retracting your hand, you reached for the radio. You attempted, unsuccessfully, to calm yourself after receiving confirmation that help would be on the way. Something was holding on to your boat. You had no idea what it could be from the brief touch, but it wasn't small.

The fact that you could still see the land was a small consolation, though the mist now felt a bit thicker than before. To your horror, it appeared that your boat was slowly being pulled back out to sea. The speed at which your vessel drifted out only increased as you desperately fiddled with the motor. Changing tactics, you loaded your flare gun and fired a shot into the water. At first, it seemed to work, with the water stilling and whatever it was releasing the boat. Before you could move to start the motor up once again, something slammed into the boat from below, snapping it down the middle and sending you, the wooden wreckage, and all of your supplies flying through the air.

The water washed over you with a harsh smack. You scrambled to the surface, grasping blindly for a form of purchase. Rising, you caught a lung full of air before something tugged at your ankle, dragging you down once again. Struggling in vain you failed to push away whatever was pulling you along. Just as your hope began to fade, it let go, allowing you to breach the surface once again. In an instant, you were pulled down once again, the cycle repeating. This time, you caught sight of the flare gun floating near a loose plank. The next time it let you surface, you swam up diagonally, tightly grasping your only weapon. When it reached out for you this time, you let it drag you down before firing the flare directly, or at least what you hoped was directly, at it.

The flare illuminated it further, displaying huge tentacles that stretched deep into depths. You covered your ears as it let out a deafening screech. Grabbing onto a loose piece of wood, you surveyed your surroundings for any sign of assistance. The land was now long gone and you weren't sure what direction you should try paddling toward. You didn't have much time to worry about such things as you were once again tossed into the air. Once airborne, you were hit once again from the side, knocking the wind out of you before you landed with a splash.

The rough treatment and lack of air caught up to you. Your panic made taking full breaths impossible, you doubted you'd be able to breathe properly even if the waves around you would subside. As the corners of your vision darkened, you instinctively grasped onto the closest piece of debris, though it was more slippery than you remembered. Something your brain was too tired to process filled your vision, the waves becoming stronger. In your half-lidded state, you could pretend that you were being lulled to sleep, ignoring the sting of salt flooding your sinuses.

You awoke to a myriad of dull aches and a  pitch dark sky. Sitting up, you noted the feeling of dried salt water on your skin. You appeared to be on a small island. There was no vegetation, just sand and a cluster of tall rocks. Surveying the shore, you found a few pieces of wood, along with the remains of the radio and some torn pieces of your life vest. The radio was clogged with sand, but still seemed functional. Smacking the damp sediment out of its crevices, you managed to send out what you hoped was received as an S.O.S message.

It was unclear how far out you were. You took a swig of the flask of water on your belt, mindful that you should be rationing. Attempting to remember the events that led you here was troublesome. You knew you were attacked by something, losing basically everything in the fall-out.

It seemed your trip today would be a complete bust at best. You kicked a nearby rock in frustration. ‘What the hell was that!?’ You had come here to deal with fish, maybe to help protect an endangered species or two. You hadn't signed up for sea monsters. In the back of your mind, you had always thought that if you did find some sort of sea ghost or supernatural entity, that they would have a mind to leave you alone. You weren't some hostile entity, not a whaler or even a fisherman, you helped protect the ocean. As silly as it felt, you were frustrated that whatever this thing was couldn't see that.

Huffing, you leaned yourself against a nearby rock. It was late, darkness shrouded the small island on which you were perched. You doubted a recovery ship would arrive before morning. It appeared you'd have to make due for the night, not too much of a concern as you still had a bottle of water on your person. Sighing, you attempted to get as comfortable as you could against the surface. The more you leaned into it, you recognized an almost plush feeling to it. Turning around to inspect it further, you noted how slippery the rock (if it was a rock) felt. It was taller and smoother than you'd expected at this distance from the water. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you figured you wouldn't be able to rest with your mind nagging you either way. Walking around to find a slightly shorter part of the rock, you tried and failed to scale it. One second attempt with a running start later and you had done it, slipping down the other side. A cool breeze found its way to you as you turned to inspect this side of the fixture. The markings here were odd, circular, almost like… almost like…

You froze. It was a tentacle, a huge tentacle. Facing the breeze, you saw a massive figure silhouetted in the dark. Before you could attempt to leave, the tentacle behind you crept closer, forcing you further toward the rest of the creature. 

Was it not enough that it had destroyed your ship and left you stranded? Did it really need to torment you now as well?

As you neared what appeared to be the thing's head, more features came into focus. It appeared almost human from the waist up. That was, if humans were much larger and had grey skin. Its eyes were thankfully closed, the deep breaths indicating the thing was sleeping. It must have been grabbing at you out of instinct, an involuntary movement. The thought did not put you at ease as you were still trapped on a tiny island with the thing, nowhere to go until help arrived.

You thought about sending another message on the radio, telling them not to come. After all, even if they did arrive in time, it would take a single swipe for the rescue boat to be destroyed. Your only hope seemed to be the idea that the creature might not notice you before it returned to the sea. It felt laughable from your current position. You had only made it over the tentacle to begin with after a good, running, start. From your current position, it would be difficult to back up at all without backing right into the thing's face. You weren't sure if that would be enough to wake it up, but you weren't keen on risking it.

It wouldn't matter much anyhow since you were now facing the side of the limb that had suckers. Even with your running start, you'd had to scramble a bit of the way up, a task that would now be impossible with those things ready to sucker onto you. The inevitability of your fate was highlighted with each cool breath that washed over you. 

You could work with this, you convinced yourself. You didn't know much about this creature, but it appeared humanoid enough. Perhaps it could be reasoned with now that you were out of your vessel and very clearly appeared harmless (as if the dingy little ship would have been able to hurt it in any way). For all you knew, its vision could be motion-based. Maybe if you remained completely still, it wouldn't notice you.

You had been pacing, trying to level your thoughts and figure out a game plan. You doubted it would have any grasp on human language. What sort of universal hand signs could you use to communicate with something so far removed from humanity?

Something darted in the corner of your eye, though you couldn't quite make out what it was in the darkness. You wouldn't let it concern you, as much as you dreaded your current predicament, the presence of such a beast would surely keep any other wildlife far away. Continuing in your musings, you failed to gain any insights as the clouds above you parted, revealing a beautiful night sky. You didn't know the last time you had seen so many stars. They lit the surrounding area, reflecting off of the inky tentacle to your side and disappearing into the abyss of the ocean.

You couldn't help but smile. You had almost forgotten why you were here, how beautiful this wide world could be. You let a hand trail down the length of the awful limb in front of you. It almost glittered in the light, briefly making you forget the danger it had caused. You were so transfixed on the sights before you, you failed to notice the deathly focused gaze upon you, a horizontal pupil following your movements. You yelped as the limb shifted to make a circle around you, effectively caging you in. 

“Wait wait wait!”

The tentacle halted, a small relief before the stars disappeared above you, replaced with a looming figure you had to step backwards to get a proper look at. It seemed as good a time as any to try the reasonable route.

“U-um hello?” You cursed yourself for the stutter, not wanting to appear smaller than you already likely looked to it.

The thing cocked its head, letting out a thunderous hum.

“I don't mean any harm.” You raised your hands into the air.

“You shot me.” An even voice rang out above you, “You shot me in the eye.”

Now noticing that the creature's right eye appeared half-lidded, you nearly congratulated yourself, not imagining you had that kind of aim. The surprise of the thing speaking back to you left you slack-jawed, with it staring back at you expectantly.

“You can talk? Wait, no, you-” You jabbed an accusatory finger in its direction “destroyed my boat! And you were messing with my stuff before I even touched you!”

An annoyed huff resounded above you.

“So something touches your worthless little boat and you take it as an invitation to open fire? Of course, I shouldn't have expected more from a human.” Vitriol laced the creature's speech.

“You were freaking me out! Messing with the ship like that, I got scared and-”

“Oh, of course, you got scared.” It crossed its arms. “Everything scares you people.”

You paused, averting your gaze and sighing.

“Look, I'm sorry.” You relented, deciding that arguing with a giant sea monster was likely far from the wisest idea. “I shouldn't have shot you. I didn't know you were, like, a person.”

The creature let out a dissatisfied hum.

“Like a person, they say.”

“Okay, not ‘like a person’, I didn't know you were an actual person.” You sighed once again. “That was a poor choice of words on my part.”

It seemed to take in your words, leaning closer to inspect your sincerity. Startled by the sudden movement, you jumped back, smacking into the tentacle behind you. The creature laughed lightly at your plight, hesitating before reaching a hand toward you. Ignoring your protest, long fingers gently wrapped around you, lifting you from the safety of the ground. Your voice caught in your throat as it observed you, carefully tilting you from side to side. 

“You know, you're not all that bad without a boat or gun of some sort, when you're all alone.”

The words were almost cooed, bringing you no comfort as you shut your eyes tight, attempting in vain to pretend you weren't in your current predicament. The very thought that something was comfortably holding you in one hand made you so tense you feared your joints would crack.

“Haha- yeah, um, could you maybe set me back down now.” You cringed at the squeaky quality your voice had taken.

After a few tense moments, it transferred you from hand to tentacle, lowering you onto the sand.

“Thanks.” You stumbled back. “This has been… interesting, but I should really get going before anyone gets too worried.”

It stared at you for a moment, fingers lightly twitching.

“Very well then. Before we part ways, I would like to know when and how I should expect my payment.”

“...your what?”

“Excuse me?” It draped a tentacle dramatically over its chest “I rescued you, gently lying you out to recover on this island, even after I was so savagely attacked. Even a simpleton such as yourself should know that kind of help doesn't come for free.”

“I-” You wracked your mind for anything you could give up as payment “I don't really have anything to give you.”

“Oh, pity.” Cerulean eyes scanned the sand before landing on the radio. You couldn't help but flinch as an arm reached over you, plucking the (now comically small-looking) device out of the sediment. “And what about this?”

“I- no! I need that.”

“So, then. Are you unable to pay or simply unwilling?” The creature's eyes narrowed, the faint glow casting an eerie light. “Before you answer, I must warn you, I can be very… convincing.”

The tentacle surrounding you began to contract, creeping in until your arms were pressed against your sides.

“Okay, fine, just take it, take it!”

Hopefully the message you had sent out earlier had been received, considering you wouldn't get the chance to send another.

“A pleasure doing business with you.” The tentacle loosened once more, giving you much more distance this time around. “Though, you must understand, this is hardly enough to balance your debt completely.”

“Wh- but that's seriously all I have.” You couldn't help the exhausted slump of your shoulders.

“How unfortunate.” A glimmer in its eyes betrayed its false pitying look. “It seems your situation calls for a more long-term arrangement.”

A tentacle you had failed to notice taped you from behind. It was a gentle motion, though it sent you stumbling forward a few feet, closer to the creature.

“I'll make you a deal.” It leaned closer. “You're a rather useless thing out here. You can't swim very well, can't catch food either.”

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from cutting the creature off. Of course you couldn't swim as well as a literal sea creature. What sort of judgement was that?

“I could offset this issue, of course. In exchange, you would-”, it averted its eyes, cheeks taking on a slightly purple hue, “provide me with some.. information.”

“What kind of information?” Your eyes narrowed.

“The affairs on land, current events, we can discuss it all more later.” It waved a hand dismissively.

“Okay, sure.” While you weren't the happiest with the clarity at which the conditions were discussed, it seemed that your only options were either to agree or to succumb to exposure out here. “What else?”

“Ah, yes, you catch on quickly. There is still the issue of outstanding payment for your valiant rescue.”

“Which I wouldn't have needed if my boat wasn't wrecked.” You muttered.

“Ahem! As I was saying, you still have an outstanding balance.” It cocked its head to the side, tapping a slender finger along its jaw. “What to do, what to do…”

You looked around the beach, nothing particularly catching your eye. The debris of the boat being your only remaining possessions. Unless-

“You know, if you could just bring me back to the mainland, you wouldn't have to bother with keeping me alive out here. I could just meet you at the shore to talk about land stuff if you wanted.”

The creature stilled, letting out a brief laugh.

“Oh? I should risk getting locked away in some human laboratory just so you can run off sans payment, should I?”

“I would come back!” You rolled your eyes.

“Of course you would.” It mocked flatly. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

“Well, what other option is there? If you want payment so badly, I have nothing else I could possibly give you if I stay out here!”

It sighed, as if this situation was so exhausting for it.

“There's no need for dramatics, we can simply call it an outstanding favor.”

Your throat felt dry. This wasn't the way you had wanted negotiations to go, though you supposed it was the best deal you would be able to get for the time being.

“...Alright.”

“Wonderful! I'll leave you to get comfortable then, I suppose.” A tentacle lightly grazed your side as it retreated into the water. “Don't stray too far, now.”

Catching an unsettling glint in its eye before the creature completely submerged, you shivered. Plopping down onto the sand, you gazed back into the starry night, hoping rescue would come soon.

“I can't eat that.”

The past few days hadn't been unbearable. In the morning, you awoke to find a make-shift carport covering about half of the island, creating a pleasant, shady, area. What had surprised you the most was that the creature knew how to make a water filter, and had the materials to do so. With protection from the sun and a steady supply of water out of the way, the largest hurdle at the moment was food.

For all the basic human knowledge it seemed to have, it had little idea what humans actually ate. Right now, you were living off of a diet of dried seaweed, or at least, what you thought was seaweed. The creature had become frustrated at your refusal to eat the myriad of disemboweled fish it would present to you, complaining that its offerings were “already cut up for you, so you should have no issue eating it with your pathetic excuses for teeth and claws”.

“I already told you, I can't eat raw fish. Not unless it's prepared in, like, a really specific way.” You mulled about in the shade, idly messing with a few small rocks in the sand.

“Then tell me how to make it in that ‘really specific way’.” It rounded the island to face you. “Do you really think I'm incapable?”

“I never said that.” You sighed, growing tired of the tedious conversation. “I don't remember how to prepare sushi, maybe if I had a recipe, but-”

“How can you possibly not know how to make your own food?”

“Hey, it's not like I eat raw fish that often.” You stood, brushing sand off of your legs. “If I was on land right now, I could just look it up on the internet, but since someone won't take me, we'll have to make due.” 

“Well, perhaps if someone didn't swim like a newborn, they wouldn't be in this position to begin with.”

“That is so not fair!” You trudged closer to the shore. “I'm sorry I have legs meant for walking and not a bunch of creepy ass tentacles.”

It let out a short laugh, one harsher and more dry than usual.

“If you don't appreciate all the effort I've put in to keep you alive, perhaps I'll simply leave you alone for a few days. We'll see how well you fare then.”

“I was just joking, joking, I swear.” You backtracked.

It hummed mildly.

“For how much you care about deals and things being even and all that, you sure seem ready to break our deal based on some light ribbing.” You crossed your arms.

You quickly backed away as the creature came closer. Leaning down to rest its elbows on the shore.

“I don't believe it would be a violation at this point. There are conditions to be upheld on both ends and I fail to recall you providing me a lick of information since you arrived here.”

“You never asked.”

“And you never asked for all the carefully made accommodations I have provided, and yet, I gave them to you all the same.” It placed a hand on its chest, a gesture of mock-hurt.

“Fine.” You huffed. “What do you want to know?”

“What are you inclined to tell?” It cocked its head to the side in a way that you might have considered cute in a different context.

“Well, humans live on land. They usually don't eat brutally murdered jellyfish.”

“Not that sort of thing!” It wrapped a tentacle behind you, pulling you closer as it spoke. “I want to know about the smaller details, something I can't find out from basic observation. Societal nuances, social faux pas, what causes that ‘uncanny valley’ thing humans have- those sorts.”

“Why do you even want to know all that? It's not like you can exactly sneak your way into human society.”

It bristled at your words, a nearly inaudible whine resonating in its chest.

“Wait, is that what this is all about?” Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You want to-”

“I believe it's very presumptuous for you to assume you know what I want.” It rose, crossing its arms. “I get curious, is all. It's not as if I can ignore every reminder of humanity's existence, you're all everywhere. Or, if you aren't, there's human trash or a human-made buoy, or something else.”

You allowed the creature to ramble on.

“I would simply rather learn more about your kind than resolve myself to lurk in the shadows.”

“So, what? You want me to give you humanity's greatest weaknesses, so you can eventually overtake them?” You waved your hands dramatically.

It paused, eyes widening. “Now that's not a bad idea.” It leaned back onto the island, thoughts swirling.

“I was just kidding, c'mon.” Its look flattened as it turned to face you. “I don't even know what a weakness for all of humanity would be. Lava maybe.”

The creature's huffed, amused.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind, then.”

It laid down, the upper half of it taking up all of the non-shaded area of the island. You trudged over to where its head lay in the sand.

“Would it be against our ‘agreement’ for me to ask about merperson stuff?”

“What sort of ‘stuff’ are you referring to?” Its eyes narrowed.

“I don't know. Everything, I guess. I didn't really know you guys were real a week ago, so I'm starting from scratch here.”

“Well, we swim in water, and we do eat brutally murdered jellyfish.”

“Haha.” You stated flatly. “I mean, are there other kinds of fish-people? Are you all that, um, big? Do you have your own languages, like clicking and other aquatic mammal things like that?”

“Hm.” It turned to look at you directly. “I won't be telling you much, you are human, after all. I know how you love to talk.”

“Come on!” You gestured wildly to the open ocean. “Who am I going to tell out here? It's not like anyone will believe me back on land either.”

“Even so.” It rolled back over. “We have our own languages, of course we do.” It muttered.

It was better than nothing.

“And do you have conventional names in those languages?”

“Is that your way of asking what my name is?”

“I guess so, if you have one.”

“...You can call me Azul, I suppose.”

“Okay, Azul.” You tested the name out. “So, do you guys have- what I mean to say is- does gender, like, how does that work with the way you-”

“He and him for me.”

“Okay, okay, cool.”

He, Azul, rolled back around toward you, a tentacle wrapping in a loop on the sand around you.

“And you? Do you have a name?”

You didn't feel any need to withhold it at this point. It wasn't as if you were operating based on ancient fae rules. He repeated your name, testing the sounds out. The two of you continued to make light conversation until you felt the nagging pull of sleep overtake you, passing out mid-conversation.

“Goodnight”, a feather light touch slid under you, laying you down under the carport.

The last thing you heard before completely losing consciousness was the gentle uttering of your name.

You were starting to get really worried. Sure, you had no idea where you were or how far out you were, but you felt positive that help should have arrived by now. You had spent five nights on the island now with no sign of help arriving.

Your current worries were unknown to the merperson chatting away next to you. Azul had surfaced in the late afternoon, making a few choice comments about who you could assume from the context were his coworkers(?). It was difficult to tell with the sparse details he would provide you with. You were pulled out of your thoughts by the utterance of your name. The look on Azul's face told you that it hadn't been the first time he had called.

“Were you listening to me?”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” You figured it was better to be honest in case he tried to quiz you about the previous one-way conversation. “I just spaced out for a second.”

He huffed, a tentacle gently wrapping around your midsection before you were hoisted into the air. You couldn't help but notice that he had become awfully comfortable doing that, picking you up and handling you. It had turned into an unconscious routine. Half of the time, you were unsure if his reasoning was anything beyond having nothing else to do with his hands. The thought brought you a notable amount of unease. You wouldn't want him getting too comfortable. The times he'd hesitate before setting you down after you had asked lingered in your mind, an underlying worry that framed each and every interaction.

“What an awfully short attention span you have.” You bristled at the condescending tone. “Is that the norm on land or are you especially dull?”

“Oh, please.” You crossed your arms. “I'm sure merpeople wander off during long lectures too.”

“Certain, increasingly difficult ones, yes.” Azul grit his teeth, looking off to the side. “Though life under the sea requires one to be more engaged. The coddling, leisurely, human lifestyles on land make you soft, dependent even.”

“You must not hate humans so much if you picked up on so much human language.” You muttered. 

“What was that?” He raised a surprisingly well-tended brow.

“Hahaha, nothing, nothing.”

Maybe he was right about humans getting too leisurely too quickly. After all, it had only taken a few days of casual conversation for you to forget what you were dealing with at times. You kept talking to him as if he were a regular person, and not a terrifying, eighty foot tall, creature that could drown, toss, or crush you at a moment's notice.

“No, you said something and I ever so desperately want to hear it.” You were lifted further, now dangling above eye level. “You know how much of a conversationalist I can be, so please, do tell.”

“I-” You made eye contact in a desperate attempt to stop yourself from looking at the ground, far, far away. “What I meant was- well…”

“I'm waiting.” A twinge of the amusement in his expression was lost.

You hated yourself for what you were about to do. In your brief, yet somehow infinitely long, time here, you had gotten to know the creature called Azul better and better. Aside from the moments of softness and light teasing, he could be petty, vindictive, materialistic, and single-minded to a concerning degree. However, he also had a weak spot for flattery, specifically over the top and semi self depreciating flattery. And as much as it pained you, you knew a sure-fire way to dig yourself out of this hole before you were buried alive.

“I just meant that you're so smart for figuring out such a foreign language with so little resources. I don't think I could ever do something like that.” You smiled brightly.

‘A double root canal would be more pleasant than this.’

“Oh, really?” You were lowered slightly, now hanging slightly below eye-level.

“Yeah, of course! And you're so good at pronunciation too. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was talking to someone who lived within human society his entire life.”

“Well, I do try. I like to think of myself as an active learner, always taking things in.” He leaned back, a hand cradling his head.

“It shows! And, um, you're so good at… finding things.”

“Alright, don't lay it on too thick.”

A relieved sigh escaped your lips. You weren't sure if Azul would actually hurt you, all things considered, but were ultimately far too afraid to risk the possibility. If you thought your situation was unfortunate now, surely a broken arm would make it much, much, worse. You calmed, an index finger lightly petting your head. The gesture was not appreciated. As much as you disliked any threatening treatment, the coddling was almost worse. The petting, the cooing, all the veiled condescending comments- it was too much. It made you want to risk swimming out into the sea. You were drawn out of your thoughts once again by the sound of your name spoken in a harsh tone.

“Were you still not listening?”

“Uhhh”

‘I should have made a calendar when I first got here.’

At this point, you were unsure how long you had been stranded out here. You had tried asking Azul, sure that he must have some way of keeping track of the days out here, but he would always slip past the question and onto something else. He seemed to be growing a bit more excited day by day, working on some project that he always neglected to mention the details of.

Life had at least become a bit more comfortable here as time passed. You no longer had to worry about sand in the shaded area, with most of the ground now being covered by wood planks or textiles. The fabric had taken a while to dry out, but you fully believed it was worth it now that you could relax on a surface that was neither grainy nor hard. You had been gifted a few pieces of waterlogged furniture as well. A wobbly table, two chairs (only one of which was splinter free) and a dresser, though you had nothing to put in it. Azul seemed to like watching you use it, eyes lighting up when you first opened the drawers. You figured the “gifts” were meant to satiate his own curiosity, not given out of a sense of generosity.

As the days drifted on, you couldn't help but notice that Azul seemed more… clingy. You weren't sure if that was quite the right word to describe it, considering he had to see you each day to bring food to the surface. He would linger longer, trying to get more information out of you. Not information about humans in general, but about you specifically. 

“If you were in town for a special occasion, where do you normally reside?”

“Do you get claustrophobic?”

“What's your favorite dish on land?”

You tried to dodge the questions the best you could, though you were unsure why. The answers were useless, they wouldn't give him an edge in any way. Whenever you shied away from a question or tried to redirect, he would only get more insistent, physically caging you in or lifting you up in an attempt to intimidate you into an answer. It was endlessly frustrating, especially when you would try to point the behavior out, only to receive some comment about how he was ‘only trying to get to know you better’ or that ‘you made an agreement and now want to backpedal over such an inconsequential question?’. It appeared secrets were a luxury only he could afford. Any time you tried to pry in turn, he would brush it off, mentioning that he'd tell you later. “Later” never came, as you predicted.

“Come here.”

You had tried sitting on the less splintered chair before being scooped up into a hand. You protested under your breath, knowing stirring up an argument would do you no good right now. He adjusted you slightly before dangling something shiny in front of you. It appeared to be a gold chain with a matching cloche pendant affixed at the center.

“For you.” Azul presented the piece. “I am exceedingly benevolent to be giving such things, am I not?”

You stared ahead before slowly reaching toward the necklace. It was incredible that he had been able to make or find such a thing. The details were exquisite, intricate grooves lining the shell. It must have taken some very delicate handiwork, and that was ignoring the condition of it. Everything else he had brought to the surface had at least some indication of water damage, if not a barnacle or two. However, the necklace was pristine. If not for the dampness currently coating it, you would have no idea it had come from under the sea.

“Do you not like it?”

You glanced upward, meeting uncertain hues. It seemed you had been silent for too long.

“No, I do. It's beautiful.” You looked back to the pendant before catching his gaze once again. “How did you get this cleaned up so well?”

“I wouldn't worry about it if I were you.” His eyes held a glimmer of greed now. “I can't go around revealing trade secrets after all.”

You palmed the necklace. Nothing, no matter how pretty or glittering, could distract you from your current worries. You didn't want a shiny piece of metal, you wanted to go home. Azul took notice, thumb brushing the arm that held the piece.

“Why don't you put it on?”

You would rather not. Each time he surfaced with a “gift” it only felt as though your invisible debt were growing larger and larger. You wanted to reject the gifts, keep your head held high. ‘But what if he gets mad and stops bringing things to the surface altogether?’ You had survived out here for too long to consider jeopardizing your safety now. Weighing your options, you hesitantly clasped the chain around your neck. Azul made a pleased trilling noise, bringing you closer to inspect his own design.

“It looks lovely on you, don't you think?” An index finger lifted your chin, allowing Azul a better look at your neck.

‘How would I know?’ You thought bitterly. You didn't have access to any mirrors, positive you looked rather washed up at the moment. He didn't seem to mind the lack of response, cupping you gently and simply staring at you for a while. 

“I know this situation must be hard for you right now, but I assure you, it will all wrap up quite nicely soon enough.” Azul retracted further into the water, elbows now resting on the sand.

“Can you please just take me back?” The gaze upon you sharpened. “You don't even have to take me all the way, just close enough that I might be spotted or be able to swim close enough.”

You knew it was pointless. You had asked the same question times before, though with a more hopeful tone. All you wanted was to be back home, or even simply back on the mainland with access to the rest of society. Your time on this pathetic excuse for an island has been sucking the life out of you, leaving you tired and desperate above all else. You were sure Azul noticed, seeming less and less satisfied with your fatigued, one-word, contributions to conversation as time passed. Surely he would become bored before long. You only hoped that boredom would lead to him depositing you back on the shore, rather than abandoning you out here.

“Now, now,” The fingers cradling you tightened. “I believe we've already gone over this issue plenty of times.”

“No, you've gone over it.”

“All the same. I would be the one putting myself at risk afterall.”

“So I just have to stay here forever then? What's your plan here?”

It was rare that you had enough energy to question him like this these days. You figured you should milk the moment for all that it's worth.

“Oh, dear.” Azul sighed as if he were dealing with a fussy toddler. “I have a plan, don't you worry. You'll just have to be patient, I'm afraid.”

“I've been-”

“Hush now.” He lightly tapped a finger over your mouth. “Arguing the point won't do you any favors. I've already made my decisions.”

You huffed, turning away to gaze at the horizon. Azul quickly changed the subject, going on about one thing or the other. He grew slightly agitated as you refused to engage in conversation, attempting to mask his frustrations, though you could feel it in the way his muscles twitched at this distance. He was rather silly at times, you thought, attempting to find humor in the situation. It was almost pathetic, the way he'd tout his own superiority only to grow so upset when you refused to engage with him. It was an act of defiance you could take without, for the most part, concerning yourself with any repercussions. As it seemed he would rather die than reveal any sort of emotional vulnerability.

So you remained. Staring off into the distance, attempting(unsuccessfully) to drown out the sound of Azul's voice with your own thoughts until night fell.

Awoken by the rising sun, you stretched, flinching as a sore spot in your back roared to life. Your failure to sleep in a bed for who-knows-how-long was taking a toll on you, resulting in a new ache each day.

Spent despite your full night of rest, you resigned yourself to lay down on the weathered towel beneath you, staring out at the seemingly endless expanse of the horizon. You paled at the sight of it. The once beautiful sky now acted as a reminder of just how far away any help must be. You despised it, despised the infinite sky, the turbulent waves, the distant silhouette of a ship. The distant silhouette of a ship!

You leapt into the air. What looked to be a fishing vessel bobbed in the water. You stacked the meager furniture on the beach to create any kind of indication that you were out here, yelling and jumping all the while. Though, you doubted they'd be able to hear you at this distance. All your motion and ruckus only served to attract a different kind of attention.

“What in the world are you doing?” Azul drowsily rubbed his eyes, head surfacing.

“I'm trying”, you stabilized the rapidly tilting furniture tower, “to get the attention of that ship.”

“Ship?” Azul ducked further into the water. “It's not as if they'll notice you out here, it's pointless.” He whispered.

“They might, I can't just give up hope and stay here forever.” Your focus on the collapsing structure in front of you distracted from the tight expression levied in your direction. “Oh! Why don't you pop up just for a second?”

“You really hate it here that much?” Azul muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He sank deeper. “I'm not revealing myself just to draw their attention, not for a moment. Even if it did work, they'd have plenty of questions once they arrived.”

You groaned, frustrated.

“Fine, fine.”

You wished that your flare gun had been shipwrecked with you. Continuing to yell, move, and stack up objects, you ignored the not-so-subtle throat clearing and huffs behind you. That was, until they escalated to a hand swiftly toppling the tower you had worked to keep intact.

“Hey!”

You rushed to pick up the pieces, only to be thwarted by a second hand wrapping around you, gently pulling you into the water. 

“Stop!” You uselessly struggled in his hold. “I'm being serious, Azul. Let go!”

“You're just going to tire yourself out.” He rolled his eyes. “No one is coming for you. And even if they did, you still owe me, in case you've forgotten. You can't simply leave.”

“You're still going on about that!?” You struggled to keep your head above the water with the fingers around you lightly pulling downward. “I swear I'll send whatever you want from me out to sea once I'm back home! Just let go!”

“No!”

You weren't sure if it was the noise, all the movement, or if you had just gotten lucky. When you turned, desperately looking toward the distant ship, you noticed that it was now headed in your direction. Eyes wide, you let out a relieved gasp, Azul following your gaze to glare daggers at the vessel. He seemed to relent, retracting his hand and ducking into the abyss below. You sighed, paddling back to the shore. 

“You're acting ridiculous right now, just so you know!” You yelled into the water.

You figured he wouldn't surface with the ship getting so close. You turned back toward your saving grace. It was close enough that you could make out a few details if you squinted. It seemed to be some sort of large commercial fishing boat. The ship was making quick progress, racing closer at a steady pace before it seemed to stall. You cocked your head to the side, that was odd for a boat of that size, especially at the pace it had been advancing before. That was, unless-

Before you could finish the thought, an obsidian limb rose out of the sea, slamming into the vessel. A second tentacle arose from the opposite side of the ship, tightly wrapping around the center. 

“No, no! Stop, stop!” You paced around the shore, wildly yelling and waving your arms.

You couldn't hear at this distance, but there must have been screams. You watched, frozen, as the tentacle wrapped around the ship's center began to contract, cracking the deck and outside shell. As debris, or what you hoped were debris, fell into the water, you noticed limbs dragging the pieces underwater, leaving nothing behind. Your stomach churned at the sight.

Desperate, you leapt into the water, wading out into the open. You wouldn't be able to make it to the ship, but perhaps you could meet someone half-way. You could get some more materials, lead them to safety, they might even have some sort of communicator on them. Even as your thoughts swam, you could feel that it was hopeless. The sun was setting, you couldn't see any bodies floating in the water, and any wreckage you could see was beginning to blend in with the dark waves as the daylight disappeared.

You let yourself float as your arms grew tired. You glanced around, unable to make out much of anything. A fresh bolt of terror struck you. You had no idea where you were, where you should head now. Even if you could see the island, you were unsure whether going back would be the right decision. Despite your complaints, you had at least been safe there before. You weren't sure if that safety could still apply to the small patch of sand now.

You panicked as a pair of familiar cupped hands surfaced from beneath you. Gaining a second wind, you desperately scrambled to climb over the fingers caging you in. He was going to kill you. He had probably killed all the people in that boat and now he had come back to finish you off.

“What are you doing all the way out here!?”

Its angry tone gave you the last burst of energy you needed to slip out of its grasp, smacking harshly down into the water below. Another mistake. Once you dipped below the surface, it was impossible to tell one direction apart from another, everything melting into an unforgiving abyss. The adrenaline pumping through your veins gave you the means to swim about a yard into the unknown before being scooped back up.

“Stop that! You'll hurt yourself.” 

Its warnings landed on deaf ears as you searched for another exit. It tightened its hold, keeping you in place with its thumb and middle finger. The pressure ceased your movements. You needed to move, but you couldn't and you were going to die. Tears welled in your eyes.

“Will you cease the dramatics? I only-” 

It stilled, finally noticing your plight.

“Oh, no, no, no-” It loosened its hold, tilting one hand over the other to prevent any escape attempts. “You'll be alright, it's just me.”

That was the last person you wanted it to be. Your eyes darted around, looking anywhere but the creature. There was nothing else to look at. With the sun down, the waves and sky blended together, creating a uniform tapestry of dark, deep, black. Just as you began to calm down, a finger lightly petted your head, making you still once more. A quiet whimper escaped your lips. It sighed, slowly wading back toward the island.

You wanted to hide, but there would be nowhere to go, even once you returned. It leaned against the land, a single finger still brushing against your back. You didn't ask it to put you down this time, afraid of what the answer may be. 

“I don't enjoy doing that sort of thing, you know.” It muttered, breaking the long silence.

Had you felt inclined to respond, you doubted your dry throat would allow you to. You didn't want to talk, you didn't want to think, you just wanted to be left alone. Your silent pleas were left ungranted as it laid down in the sand, still holding onto you. Apparently, the hold it had on you wasn't enough, as you noticed two tentacles on standby out of the corner of your eye, as if it was still worried you'd attempt to make a mad dash away. It positioned itself on its side, peering at you.

“Say something.” It brought the hand that carried you closer to its face. “Please.”

You didn't, you couldn't. You just stared ahead, looking right through the creature. A desperate noise prompted you to gaze directly into its eyes. Once again, it seemed silly, how desperate it appeared to be for attention after committing such an act. However, you could find no humor in it now.

“I want to go home.” Your voice broke, giving way to a torrent of tears.

It cooed over you, rubbing your back in an unwelcome attempt at comfort. Every action it took served to make you more and more tense. Your blood froze in your veins as it spoke once more, smile audible as it whispered under its breath. Had you not been so close, you may have missed it entirely.

“You're already home, are you not?”

You had hoped that, given recent events, you would be given some space for the time being. You were wrong. When you woke up the next morning, Azul was still there, with you in hand, resting out on the island rather than sinking back into the sea. After prying yourself out of his grasp, you stared ahead at the tentacle blocking your way to the shaded area. You didn't want to touch it, you'd prefer not to be anywhere near it after what you had seen before. Though, you didn't like the idea of being stuck near him either. Steeling yourself, you attempted to climb to relative freedom before falling back onto a strategically placed hand as you were lightly shaken off of the limb.

“Hm, lay down a little longer.”

Your chest tightened.

“I'm not tired.” You internally congratulated yourself on speaking so evenly.

“Then just humor me.” 

Azul pulled you closer, a cool breath rustling your hair. He uttered the phrase as if you had the choice to not humor him. You wanted to struggle, to yell, to do anything that could be considered defiant, yet all you could do was freeze against his hold. You felt foolish. You had known perfectly well what he was ever since you both met. There was never any deception on his part, and yet, you felt so betrayed. He had attacked your boat without a second thought, so why would you assume another would be any different. 

‘But I survived the encounter.’

In your case, there had been no serious physical harm. That was, if you considered being stranded minimal. You were still alive at least, there was hope for you yet. 

Since the incident, Azul had only become more attached. And, unfortunately, more physical. While it was difficult to get a moment alone before, it was nearly impossible to get a moment on the ground now. Constantly being held, sitting on a hand or tentacle more often than the furniture itself. Even with this overbearing behavior, Azul appeared paranoid. Eyes constantly tracking your movements, as if you could run off into the ocean at a moment's notice.

Azul only left late at night, when he thought you were asleep. If you went to the shore at those times, gazing into the depths below, you would see flashes of light within the abyss. They were distant, very much so, but bright and spontaneous, reminding you of a firecracker. You would never stay long, knowing he would return to the surface before he assumed you would be awake. It was odd. You didn't know of anything that made that sort of commotion underwater, not that you would ask Azul at this point.

You woke up to a finger lightly stroking the length of your back, Azul affectionately gazing at you through half-lidded eyes. Once fully conscious, you failed to suppress your shiver at the contact.

“Are you cold at all?” He dragged you closer. “I can try to get you something to warm up if so.”

You shook your head.

“It’s far colder where I'm from.” Azul hummed, “Though, I don't believe you'd like it there very much.”

It was a light comment, what most would consider small talk. But it was also the first personal detail you had received from him, the first to make mention of anything in his past. Had this happened previously, you would have been delighted that a more open conversation was in the works. Now, you couldn't care less. You didn't want to know more about him, feeling that it only tethered the two of you together further- the last thing you wanted.

You tried to push the information from your brain, not thinking deeper into it. Though, you were far too curious for that, the comment stirring up old questions you would never ask.

‘Could he be from the arctic?’

‘He seems to be more adapted to the deep sea. I wonder why he's been so close to the surface.’

‘Does he migrate? What happens if he leaves now?’

The last question did not fill you with the same dread that it used to. Perhaps it would be better that way, if he simply moved on, leaving you behind. Maybe you would finally be at peace before you expired. It scared you. How the thought of your own death didn't seem to phase you much anymore, though you couldn't exactly blame yourself for the thoughts now. You were just so, so, tired. In a way that no amount of rest could remedy.

You awoke to the, now unfortunately familiar, scene of Azul splayed out on the island, still asleep, his tentacles lounging in the water, save for one that served to cage you in. You didn't want to be awake, too exhausted to deal with anything at the moment. Azul stirred, you tensed, bracing yourself for whatever was to come. Nothing came. He paused before slowly slinking away from the sand. 

You cracked an eye open, ensuring that the island was now clear, leaving you unsure of exactly what you wanted to do. You could move under the carport now, but that would mean getting up and having to converse with Azul once he inevitably returned. Though, the sand was now rough on your skin, your position less than comfortable. Before you could make a decision, the water shifted once more, Azul surfacing. You ignored the subsequent light tapping at your side, decidedly still unready to face whatever the day may bring. 

“I know you're awake.” Azul spoke in a flat tone. “Get up. There is much we must discuss.”

You disagreed. There was nothing for you two to talk about. Actions spoke louder than words, and his actions had made exactly what he was exceptionally clear.

“I've noticed you've been rather cross with me lately, but I believe, with time, you will come to understand.”

Not dignifying the words with a response, you rolled over. Azul sighed.

“I have something for you.” His tone perked in the way one does when offering a dog a treat. “Something very, very, special.”

You didn't want anything from him. You might have said so if you weren't still committing to your sleeping act. An act thwarted by a tentacle snaking around your legs, dangling you upside down. You yelped, now forcefully very awake. Coming face to face with Azul for the first time this morning, you noticed a certain softness in his eyes. He seemed at peace in an odd way.

“I understand that you are having a bit of a fit as of late, but I assure you this won't take long.” 

A second tentacle reached toward you, stopping shy of your face and presenting you with a small, glass, bottle. Or rather, small compared to the tentacle itself, it appeared to be about the size of a fire hydrant. The liquid inside was a bright, unnatural, pink. Bubbling as if it were carbonated.

“I want you to drink this.”

You blanched. Positive they didn't have soda in the ocean, surely this would not be a safe substance for you to drink. Your refusal clear from your expression, Azul tutted.

“Come now,” a tentacle wrapped around you, propping you upright while gentle fingers held the vial to your lips, “drink up.”

Shaking your head furiously, you refrained from opening your mouth lest any of the liquid be poured in involuntarily. Azul made a few attempts to keep you still, trying to keep your head straight without grabbing your face with too much force. Eventually, he resigned. Placing you back on the sand (in a slightly harsher manner than you believed to be necessary) and backing away.

“Very well, then.” He sighed, a hand smoothing his hair back. “I didn't want it to come to this, but if you are so insistent on refusing what is best for you-”

You scrambled back as a tentacle rose into the air, swiftly slamming down onto the water filter, leaving no debris behind as it retreated back into the water.

“-then I have no choice but to force your hand.”

You stared ahead in disbelief. It was gone. Your only way to access drinkable water was gone. You hadn't had the chance to get any water this morning either, already feeling the dryness of your throat.

“You'll drink it eventually, you'll have to after all.” Azul waved a hand dismissively.

“What is wrong with you!?”

Your mounting frustrations had come to a head. You couldn't do it anymore, sick of everything that kept happening to you, that he kept doing to you.

“Oh dear, I understand change can be difficult, especially for land goers, but there is really no need for such hysterics.”

“Hysterics? Hysterics!?” You glared in disbelief, courage waning for a moment as you noticed just how far up you had to glare, before returning with a fury. “You effectively kidnapped me, leaving me on this island, you wrecked a ship full of people, and you've been tormenting me day in and day out! And, and now- you want me to just drink some unknown liquid that you drudged up from the bottom of the ocean? No, Azul! No, because you can't just do whatever you want to fully realized people!”

“Oh my, with all the screaming you've been doing, I'm sure you're absolutely parched.” Azul tilted the bottle in your direction. “Why don't we cut this short right here and simply have you drink it here and now.”

“No!” You were at your wits end, the entire situation ridiculous in your eyes. “I am never going to drink your sinister, unexplained, potion-looking thing! What can you possibly not get about that!?”

“Never?” He laughed, a sound filled with more humor than you'd ever known him to display. “We'll see about that. Oh yes, I think we'll see about that very, very, soon.”

You could still hear his amused giggles as he plummeted beneath the waves, splashing seawater across the sand and leaving you completely alone for the first time in a while. He was wrong, you were sure of it. You wouldn't do it.

‘But would you really rather die of thirst out here than give into this one, little, thing?’

You struggled internally. It was poison, it must be. After all, he had destroyed your water filter, implying you wouldn't need it after drinking the concoction. Though, maybe he had simply broken the filter to make a point? He had built it rather quickly, perhaps it was an easy trinket to make, holding no real value to him. If he had wanted to kill you, why use poison? It wouldn't be very difficult for him to snuff you out in countless, more time efficient, ways. Pacing back and forth, you failed to come to any solid conclusion. You just didn't know, a feeling you were coming to hate more and more.

What you did know is that you wouldn't be drinking whatever it was. Ever since you had arrived here, you had allowed Azul to push your boundaries more and more, perhaps that was what led you to your current predicament, you hadn't been strict enough. Though, “allowed” was a rather generous word to use considering your complete lack of power in the situation. It wasn't very fair. You had done nothing but be several times smaller and weaker than him and now you were trapped in an impossible predicament.

Pausing in your pacing, you supposed you should focus on conserving energy for now, keeping your mind on the things you could control. You walked over to the shaded area, taking a seat on a stray towel. With nothing else to do, you lay down, hoping the embrace of sleep will distract from your increasing thirst.

You lasted about a day and a half without water before heavily questioning your decision. Not particularly used to going without drink for an extended period of time, you had severely overestimated your own endurance, especially considering the sunny weather that had graced your small patch of sand. Your throat was so dry you thought it might crack if you exerted it too much.

Azul had yet to return since your latest argument. You assumed he'd be delaying food as well to ensure you didn't get any moisture from other means. You glanced at the rolling waves. Drinking salt water would be just as bad, if not worse, than drinking the mysterious substance you were left with. You had tried throwing the bottle out to sea when Azul had first left, only for it to wash up right back on the shore. As much as you wished to continue your act, you were unsure you would be able. You had lost your flask in your attempt to paddle out to sea, leaving you with no back-up for this situation. Even now, your tongue felt heavy and dry in your mouth.

Perhaps it wouldn't be all that bad. Maybe this was just a test, an overly cruel and messed up test. What if the bottle was simply filled with some sort of fruit concoction Azul wanted you to try for some reason. Against your better judgement, you popped off the cork seal. Giving the air near it a sniff, the liquid was acrid and metallic in scent. Decidedly not fruit. Though, now that it was in front of you, sloshing in the bottle, you almost couldn't help yourself. You were so thirsty, surely one or two drops wouldn't hurt.

Motion in the corner of your eye caught your attention before you could take your first swig. Sighing, you turned to face it, assuming a certain someone may be about to surface for the sake of gloating. Though the sight that greeted you was far from unpleasant. You placed the bottle back in the sand, opening and closing your eyes as if the image in front of you might disappear as quickly as I had arrived.

It was a ship. Perhaps the last one had successfully sent out a distress call after all. The thought was dismissed as soon as it arrived. Had it come to assist the previous ship it was arriving far later than customary. You quickly glanced at the water, seeing no stirring. You had learned your lesson from before, making no noise as you pieced your remnants of furniture together, connecting them with a rope previously attached to the carport. You had never made a raft before, but this one was about how you'd expect one to look.

It was mid-day, meaning Azul should be sleeping about right now, if he was following his usual schedule, that was. You wasted no time in tossing the make-shift raft into the water, internally cheering as it remained afloat. You prayed to whatever higher power that this would work. If not, you were sure you would get furniture privileges revoked somehow. Hopping onto the raft, you furiously paddled toward the ship. This was a bad idea, you knew it was. Had you seen your current actions played out on a film, you would curse the protagonist for such a foolish decision, wading out into the open sea with only a raft. But this wasn't a film, it was your life at the moment, and you were desperate to get away, to be free from this nightmare at last.

Wading out further and further, you quickly became tired, forcing yourself to continue on. Your lack of hydration doing you no favors. You desperately wanted to yell, to scream, to make any attempt to alert the ship goers of your presence, but you knew those cries would certainly be heard by the wrong audience. Working against the waves, you nearly swallowed a mouth full of sea water. For such a pleasant day, the waves were turbulent, only furthering your exhaustion. You had to keep going, a mantra you repeated like a broken record as the boat seemed to appear the slightest bit closer. You paddled until you couldn't feel your arms, vision blurring as your open view of the horizon was interrupted.

Nothing felt better than your first night sleeping in a normal bed back on land. The plush surface felt like heaven after sleeping on a pile of towels for so long. You made it a priority to get out of that coastal town as soon as possible. You wouldn't give your team much more of an explanation, other than that you had been stranded. This didn't explain how you had managed to survive so long without any access to fresh food or water, but you shut down any burning questions they had under the guise of exhaustion. It wasn't a complete lie either, you were completely out of it. 

You practically passed out in the cab on your way back from the hospital. Your co-workers had insisted that you get checked out. Despite everything that had happened, you seemed to be in relatively good health, other than your dehydration issues, surprising your co-workers and yourself. You supposed that your food for the past while had been fresh, at least. The cool sensation of the cab window quieted your thoughts on the way out of town.

The smell of saltwater never failed to make your stomach churn, even after months had passed. You had moved your operations inland for the time being. Finding a semi-relaxing job as a forest ranger. It was a small patch of land, only really consisting of a few hiking trails and a ranger cabin at the mouth of the forest.

You decided to take a bit of a break after everything that had happened. It all felt like a dream now that it was over, almost managing to convince yourself that you had hallucinated the experience all together. You could almost convince yourself until your fingers met the shell pendant around your neck, snapping you back to reality.

You weren't sure why you kept it. It held no real sentimental value, any warmth you felt toward Azul turning to a harsh chill near the end of your stay. When you tried to remove the necklace, you had become uneasy, a strong sense of dread muting your thoughts. So you hadn't removed it, choosing to ignore the issue for now.

It had been a slow day. It was overcast, meaning not many hikers had seen fit to walk the trails today. You were broken out of your routine of restocking bug spray by the light jingle of the bell at the entryway. Setting the box down, you hurried to free your hands of the many cans in your hold.

“Sorry, give me just a moment. I wasn't expecting anyone to be checking in today.” You let out a short, light-hearted, laugh as you turned to face your single customer. “What can I do for-”

You locked eyes with a familiar looking stranger. They displaced a pair of dark sunglasses, revealing widening azure hues as they met yours. Your eyes focused on the unnatural, oblong, shape of the customer's pupils. You froze, throat too tight to recite your assigned greeting. He smiled, paying no mind to the silence.

“Good evening, I believe we have some outstanding business.”

“I'm sorry, do I know you?”

It couldn't be him. That wouldn't make any sense. It was just a stranger that happened to look like the human equivalent of the monster that still haunted your nightmares.

“Do you know me?” The stranger became agitated, stalking forward. “‘Do you know me?’, they say.”

You took a step backward for each advancing step in your direction. Flinching as you back hit a nearby shelf 

“Sir, please calm down. I don't want to have to escalate matters further.”

“You don't want to-” The man paused before bursting into a fit of laughter.

You weren't exactly sure what to do. He seemed unstable at best, convincing you that it would be in your best interest to have a bit of back-up. 

“Alright. Just give me one moment, please.” You turned toward the counter, hoping to access the work phone behind it.

“No, I believe you've had more than enough time already.” He moved to block your way.

“Excuse me?”

“You really don't recognize me?” He seemed genuinely confused, a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “After everything, you don't-” He trailed off.

The longer the conversation went on, the less convinced you were at your earlier conclusions that a merperson couldn't simply become a human. Or disguise themself as one, rather. Not ready to admit anything yet, you attempted to soothe the agitated customer.

“I think you may be mistaking me for someone else? It's no issue really, I just have one of those faces y’know.” You politely waved him off.

He took another step forward, prompting you to flinch backward.

“Why are you so nervous?” He spoke in a low tone. “I'm just a visiting stranger, after all.”

You hesitated, unsure of how you would like to proceed.

“You just look a bit like someone I used to know.” You continued to creep away.

“Used to know? As in, you don't anymore?” He stopped advancing for a moment, something you couldn't identify flashed across his expression.

“Someone I thought I knew.” You glanced out the window, watching as the first few drops of rain patterned against the glass. “Someone I would be fine leaving in the past.”

“You can't expect such things to stay put away.” He grit his teeth, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his shirt. “Especially when you have unpaid dues.”

It felt as if you were watching the scene unfold from a third person perspective. You were dazed, looking forward as the reality of the situation sunk in. Your name echoed off of the walls of the cabin, speaking over the ringing in your ears. Azul stared ahead, gaze pinning you to the floor.

“I'm tired of whatever it is you're playing at.” He folded his arms expectantly. “You know who I am, I know who you are. No matter how far inland you trek, that remains true all the same.”

“But- no. No, that's not right.” You backed away slowly, staring in disbelief. “You can't be here.”

“I can't, can I?” He smiled, satisfied.

Instinct taking over, you bolted as (human?)Azul attempted to close the distance between you two. Locking the break room door behind you, you leaned against the hardwood, listening as the slow, leisurely, click of shoes followed after you.

“What I really can't do, angelfish, is let such a large debt go unpaid.”

The footsteps came to a stop right outside your wooden barrier.

“I saved you, you would be dead without me, and yet you still swam away the very first chance you got. Not even sparing me the courtesy of a farewell.” Azul sighed, fingers thrumming against the door. “But I know, I know, you're just confused. All this time on land, it hasn't been very good for your addled mind, I'm sure.”

You held the door handle tightly as it steadily twisted back and forth.

“Not to worry, I've found a solution, as I'm sure you've suspected. Soon, you'll never have to worry about the surface world again.”

Ditching your attempts to hold the door knob as its thrashing became more violent, you looked toward the only pieces of furniture in the room: a table, a few chairs, and a cabinet that only a child would be able to fit into. Taking your chances with the heaviest piece, you lunged for the cabinet, hoping to create a barricade to buy yourself more time.

“Now, let's get you home, shall we?”

Before you could move the cabinet more than two feet, the lock snapped with a loud crack.

♡ Vil,  much  like  your  other  peers,  does  not  request  your  name  or  endeavour  to  get  to  know  you  better. Of  course,  you  don’t  expect  any  less  out  of  him.  Your  entire  purpose  is  to  remain  forgettable  in  his  pale  purple-rimmed,  gorgeous  viewpoint,  even  if  he’s  passing  you  long-winded  criticism  on  the  way  you  sag  beneath  the  table  like  the  dumbest  of  all  potatoes.  Far  too  common  in  appearance,  sprouting  from  the  lowest  of  ground,  dirty. Fitting,  you  think. Most  of  time  you’re  drowning  in  notes  a  foot  taller  than  you,  the  other  you’re  subject  to  protracted  speeches  about  adjusting  your  posture  lest  you  become  an  ‘even  worse  of   a  hunchback’.  A  cultivating  ground  for  your  self-esteem,  of  course.

♡  You  get  some  spare  time  to  pay  Mountain  Lovers  a visit  here  and  there,  and  Jade’s  sly,  scheming  woebegone  pout  makes  you  believe  he  deems  himself  a  widow  in  your  absence.  Flattering,  but  usually  it  ends  in  you  having  to  wrestle  a  polaroid  out  of  his  surprisingly  rigid  grip,  hearing  him  encourage  your  attempt  all  the  while  with a   small  trill.  Annoying  as  hell,  sure,  but  you’ve  hit  the  jackpot  by  keeping  only  a  small  circle  close  to  you.. Well, yeah,  all  of  them  are  love  interests,  but  they’re  still  heed-deep  in  their  own  little  love  story,  aren’t  they?

“Must  you  always  sag?  It’s   unbecoming.”  The  smooth  tone  hurls  you  upward  from  your  notes,  a  few  pages  feathering  in  the  space  like  small,  terror-stricken  birds.  Warmth  shrouds  your  nape  when  you  look  at  his  disapproval-laden  features.   “Ah. So  you  weren’t  sagging  after  all.  Do  you  not  get  ample  sleep  at  Savanaclaw?”

“I’m  from  Scarabia..”

“... I  see.”  He  revises  a note  in  his  head  and  drums  his  fingers  against  the  table.  You  can  tell  he  wants  to  be  anywhere  but  here.  “I’d  assumed  this  was  the  result  of physical  exertion,  but  if  you  reside  in  Scarabia, then  it must  be   lifestyle.”

“I  didn’t  understand  a  single  thing you said,   but  that  feels  like  an  insult.”

“Hm.  It  simply  is.”

With  an  expulsion  of  fatigued  air,  flanked  by  the  scars  of  restless  nights  on  your  eyes  (that  your  executioner  oh-so  vehemently  traces  with  the  curve  of  his  own lids), you surrender  to  the  papers  once  more.  Until,  of  course,  a  chair  lists  to  the  side  and  a  shadow  falls  on  your  paper. 

You  squint  up  at  him. “...  Can  I  help  you?”

“Don’t  flatter  yourself, spud.  I  never  put  myself  in  a  position  where  I  require  anyone’s  help,  least  of  all  yours.”  Brows  slope  to  the  almost  smug,  content  tilt  of  gloss-full  lips.  He  folds  his  arms,  then  gently  slants  his  head  to  your  handiwork....  if  you  can  even  call  it  that. “What  are  you  doing.”

“Reading.”  Not  liking  where  this  is  going,  you’re  quick  to  defend  yourself.  “I  can  read  it  just  fine,  by  the  way.”

“Then  do  enlighten  me,  what  does  that  say?”

“...  It  starts  with  a   word.”

“Give  it  here.”  

♡ That’s  how  it  usually  goes.  You  listen  to  the  song  of  fabric  and  paper  intertwining  and  rustling,  a  pen’s  nib  gliding  with  ink,  and  prop  your  face  on  your  hand.  Not  even  a  second  later,  fingers  tap  the  underside of  your   chin  and  direct  your  attention-

“Up.”

You  blink,  and  the  paper  meets  your  eyes.  His  handwriting  flows  and  curves  and  impinges  upon  your  mind’s  ability  to  comprehend  text. It’s  worse. 

“Thank—”

“Don’t  thank  me  yet,”  Lightly,  he  closes  his  eyes.  In  his  hand  he  carries  his  phone, and  you  immediately  get  the  hint  to  back  out  of  his  selfie.  Gloved  fingers  sifiting  through  his  blonde  strands,  he  speaks  to  you  straight-backed.   

 “Now you’re  expected  to  maintain  the  standard  I’ve  left  for  you.”  Twin  gems  peer  at  you  from  the  corners,  a  glance  ever  so  fleeting.  “It’s  all  I  ask  of  you.”

Well, you can atleast manage that much.

“The  elusive  silhouette  behind  Schoenheit..”  Jade’s  eyes  crimp  at  the  horror  dawning  upon  your  face.  “Fufufu..  Might  I  request  your  autograoh?”

“No!”

“Hmm.” There’s  a  soft  tap  against  the  screen. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I’m  think  I’m  gonna  die..”

“After  all,” he  skims  over  your  remark  and  continues  lightly, “it  would  be  such  a shame  if  I  were  forced  to  keep  this  to  myself.”

♡  Ack!  Looks  like  your  ‘backing  away  from  a  selfie’  technique’s  gotten  old  and  rusty,  because  right  in  front  of  you  Jade  holds   up  his  phone  screen  to  let  a   familiar  picture  unspool  in  your  mind:  the  stunning  mien  of  your  tutor,  and  the...  very  dead-looking  you  hunching  in  the  corner.  You  almost  smack  Jade, but  the weightlessness  in  your  knees  shows  no  sign  of  ebbing  away, ultimately  coercing  him  into  assisting  you  onto a chair  as  you  fan  away  your  dread....  

♡  Very  tentaively  and  graciously  does  he  show  you  the  onslaught  of  comments  and  likes  on  the  single  post.  Some  of  them  are  big,  red  circles  outlining  your  slouched  self,  others  are  complete  jargon  along  the  lines  is  this  a  hard  launch  or  they  definitely  make  him  laugh .  Nevertheless,  it  daubs  your  face  in  a  layer  of  impermeable  heat.  You’d  think  Vil  would  have  the  gentility  to  remove  the  post,  or  at  the  very  least,  crop  you  out  —  but  no.  Somehow,  you  think  it’s  all   a  big  part  of  his  elaborate  plan. That  jerk!  Was  he  always  this  petty  in  the  game?  

“Careful,” he  hums, far  too  pleased  for  someone witnessing  your  social  demise. “You  wouldn’t  want  to faint  before  signing, would  you?”

“I’m  not  signing  anything,” you  mutter  weakly. “Delete  it.”

“Delete it?” he  echoes, as  if  you’ve  suggested  something  quaint.  “But  this  is  already  quite  public.”

Your  palm  clenches  into  a  fist,  and  before  you  know  it  you’ve  wringed  the  suave  eel  with  the  livid  round  of  your  fist  and  streeled  him  towards  you. 

His  eyes  widen,  a  reaction  you  seldom  elicit,  but  as  you’re  standing  so  close  to  one  another  —  a  breath  away  —  you  take  your  chance  and  jab  your  finger  right  through  his  chest.  Much  like a  knife. 

“Jade.  Delete.  It.  Now.”

♡  Ugh!  You  know  Jade’s  already  made  a  million  screenshots  and  saves  of  this  garbage  of  a  photo,  but—

Huh? 

“Jade?”  You  inquire,  blinking  up  at  him. 

The  male  does  not  respond,  and  funnily,  his  eyes  stay  enlarged,  air  forsaken  in  the  galleries  of  his  throat,  hitched. 

The  long  streak  of  black  descending  from  his  teal  tresses  feather  against  your  cheek, a  soft, absent-minded  brush  that  shouldn’t  feel  like  anything,  but  does.  He’s  looking  at  you,  a  stare  unlike  Vil’s  —  everlasting  and  deep  —  your  finger  still  pressed  to his chest,  feeling  the  faint  rise  and  fall  beneath  your  touch.

When  his  breath  steadies,  the  world  returns  to  normal,  and  so  does  his  close-eyed  visage.  You  rip  your  hand  away,  and  a  soft  chuckle’s  effused  into  the  space. 

“…My,” Jade  exhales,  his  tone  a  bit  too  soft. “How forward.”

“.. Sorry?”  You  avoid  meeting  his  stare,  a  twinge  of  anxiety  rippling  through  your  nerves  at  the  crescendo  of  his  stare.  “I  shouldn’t   have  gotten  so  close.”

“Oh,  don’t  look  so  dejected. You  rarely  come  this  close of  your  own  accord,” Clad  in  that  ususal  manner,  with  his  finger  tapping  against  his  chin,  he  croons  that  last   part  with  something  much,  much  lower  threaded  beneath.  “I  should  thank  Schoenheit.  Don’t  you  think  so?”

You  blink,  in  a  daze,  before  dipping  your  head  in  refusal.  “You—”

“Though,” Oh?  In  your  stupor,  you  realize  he‘s  taken  hold  of  your  hands once more, made  to  entwine  and  be  ensared  in  one  place.  Very  subtly  does  his  thumb  run  along  the  edges  of  your  pulse.  You sputter. “if  this  is  what  it  takes  to  draw your  attention…”

A  muscle  ticks  in  your  jaw.

“I  might  be   inclined  to  keep  it.”

An  empty  space  greets  Jade  when  he  opens  his  lids, the  outline  of  your  shadow  speed-walking  to  the  nearest  exit. 

♡ Yikes! That gave you second-hand embarrassment, but no worries.. you’ll manage, just like you’ve always done. Except.. Jade doesn’t seem too big on letting you scurry away from his reaches, or perhaps he has a knack for freaking you out. One day, after a sun-bleached and stifling lecture on Magic history, paired with the unmistakeable traces of Lucius’ fur on you, you tumble out of the doors and catch your fitful little breath. The hallway becomes lined with students, and soon you’re just one small ant in a horde of them. Nothing can tell you apart from others, nothing but the all-encompassing mismatched eyes of your tormentor, of course.

“Fufufu,” An arm extends towards you. “You look quite fatigued. Dare I assume you dislike Professor Trein?”

You nearly jump out your skin and scream at the waxy mien, a hand flying to your chest as you try to swat him away — much to your dismay, he seems entirely disaffected at your light barrage. Only smiling in shame’s stead. “Dude, warn me next time before you— just appear!”

“On the contrary,” Jade tilts his head. “I’ve been here for quite some time.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Then, in the light of your doubt, allow me to escort you,” As if this had always been the natural conclusion, he closes his eyes merrily.. “You’re in no condition to be wandering alone. After all, I’ve word Vil’s searching for you, something about your rescheduled sessions...” With the shrewd smile you detest, he coaxes you forward. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“I am alone.” you argue weakly- but at the thought of said blonde male’s imposing stare, are ultimately forced to loop your arm through his and weave through the hubbub. The ends justify the means or whatever it is they say, you chant to yourself.

♡ What you get, however, isn’t salvation, rather half-phrases referring to your untimely appearance in the post. At this point, you’re trying to shield yourself by hiding behind the eel- but even that proves futile. Jade would sell you for a box of mushrooms, you close your eyes and affirm, but when you push your sight open again, you catch him musing over your antics even as the prefect’s voice floods Main Street. In the area he used to lurk and prowl in their presence, he now stands by you. This is bad. This is very, very bad. This is so bad you can’t even think of the repercussions. You just want to knock some sense into the man.

‘Schoenheit seemed a bit off-kitler today.’ The prefect, voice swept with the breeze yet as captivating as ever, sags in worry. You can’t see them, you refuse to, but you hear the light tempo of their footfalls. ‘He wanted to do my makeup again, but something kept coming up.’

“That guy again?” Ace, you assume, slumps over their shoulder, frown tearing his words apart. “..He’s got the hots for you. Of course he’d act weird, man.”

♡ Something feels wrong.

♡ You can feel it too. As the crowd shrinks and twists and fluctuates around you, you absent-mindedly huddle closer to the eel, heedless to the frazzled downturn of his eyes. The prefect laughs, the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard, someone bumps your shoulder, and suddenly your ears become hypersensitive to everything. Bodies move slowly, slowly, slowly and slowly- until—

“Le voilà.”

♡ Rook, ever the all-knowing, stands a few ways away and as witness to the confusion mottling your face. Oh.. no. Eyes crimping at your realization into half-moons of intrigue, he strides closer.

♡ Right. You’d forgotten. You’re no stranger to ditching Vil’s study sessions, but when it comes to a staggering amount of absences, he has this very strange way of acquiring you back. It’s never worked, partly beacuse you’re privy to his tactics and his esteemed hunter, but he’s caught you at a bad time, and is surely here just to drag you back. Ugh...

“Now, now,” Rook tilts his head, green eyes flicking briefly to where you cling. “Must you borrow another’s shadow to escape mine?”

“I’m not—”

“Non?” he smiles like he’s coaxing something something mulish into the open. “Then come.”

Unfortunately, you step back and bump right into Jade.

“My, my,” Hums the eel. “You’ve become quite popular.”

Rook’s smile widens, if that’s even possible. Good grief... He narrows his gaze down to another half-moon, constricting the space only around the forms of you two — you can see the gears coiling and turning in his head as he analyzes you, and the feeling is downright pervasive... Luckily, it seems he’s rather content with his deduction.

“Why, of course! A natural occurrence,” he trills. “Beauty, once glimpsed, cannot be ignored.”

“Is that so?” Jade hums. “Well then, you’ll have to forgive me for intruding. You see, my club member and I are already quite occupied, and..”

Gloved fingers perch themselves upon your face and pull. Your lips are dragged into the most lachrymose, tragic downturned frown known to man. You freeze, but all the while, Jade angles your face ever so slightly towards Rook, as though adjusting a display.

“..I’m sure you can guess.” He finishes — smoothly — with the everlasting, even more all-knowing glint in his eyes.

You swat his hand away. “Stop doing that!”

Much to your chagrin, Rook leans in, and you have an inkling of what he’s thinking. “On the contrary,” he breathes, delighted, “you are most captivating when you protest. There is a most certain candor to it.”

“I want to LEAVE.”

“Non. If the moutain does not change, then the hunter shall simply hone his approach.”

(Somewhere far away, Vil sighs. He’s become rather tired of your antics, hasn’t he? A spud should never be this elusive).

“That look on your face tells me you’re thinking of running away, pup.”

♡ The potion bursts in your face when he says that, and you book a first class flight to another one of his ceaseless reprimands. Truth be told, you’ve completely gone off to the deep end, or as you would put it, the deep end of complete isolation. For the past few weeks, you’ve attracted unsolicited attention, and you like to think you’ve gone radio silent on all your ‘acquaintances’ and their accidental run-ins henceforth. But, as your misfortune would have it, this solitude also implies you’ve made a habit of never turning up to your study sessions with Vil... and well, we all can see where that’s going, since you’re standing in the brutish aftermath of that decision right now.

“This,” Crewel tuts, circling you with his protracted gaze and lined, dark eyes. “ is precisely the reason why I entrusted Schoenheit with the... gruelling task of tutoring you.”

“I—”

“Save it.” His voice slices clean through the air, his heel clicks once against the floor as he stops in front of you. “If you’re about to offer excuses, I suggest you swallow them. I’ve no patience for poorly brewed lies.”

♡ Everyone has a knack for interrupting you, it seems. Explaining that you’d been avoiding people like the plague, and that every interaction lately feels like walking into a spotlight you never asked for, that even thinking about sitting through another one of Vil’s faultless study sessions drives you mad — feels like too much effort. So, you make do with what you have and try to make the most of it. Crewel does not pry for more, he presents in front of you a nimiety of vials and examines you wordlessly getting to work. There is something different in your eyes now, something unusual, but he need not prod for fruitless things.

♡ Along the way, Crewel talks a few times about Yuu. You try to cancel their names out from memory, but such praises are born to seep into your ears and stay etched in your bones.

♡ Lately, everything’s about Yuu now, isn’t it? Every single one of the student body is so intent on gushing over them, it almost makes you feel resentful.. Granted, you’ve stayed in the shadows for far too long to even have the right of such an intense emotion, but it gets to a point when such a constant in your life is a person you’ve never met before. Vil, Jade, Kalim, Jamil... you’re just so, so tired.

♡ So, you just.. focus on the task at hand. The orange substance goes into the green.. whatever that is. Shoot! You can vaguely recall Vil telling you something about this particular formula... maybe if you’d just listened..

“—Perhaps, you wouldn’t have stooped to such an unsightly level.” The voice arrives as quickly as it ebbs away, prompting a deep, frigid chill to rove over your spine. “I recall instructing you to follow the example I set for you.”

♡ Ack! Speak of the devil, and he shall come with a visage as gorgeous as his tone. Only.. you’ve been trying to evade the clutches of said devil from the start, and instead instantly spiral into a plethora of hows and whys.. after all, you’d avoided him to the utmost of your abilities, did you not? You find yourself thinking that, yes, Crewel must’ve had a part in this, judging from the now vacant classroom. Only.. you also find yourself thinking of Rook’s words: If the mountain does not change, then the hunter shall simply hone his approach.

“You’ve no clue of the trouble you caused me. ” Vil pivots on his heels, and looks down at you through his nose. You are almost inclined to believe he takes joy in the way your head lolls dejectedly across your shoulders (at your inevitable defeat, of course), before your posture straights as per usual and you pertain to his demands. For with an expulsion of air that could be deemed a self-satisfied chuckle, he leans forward, and makes you regret every single decision you’ve ever made in your life.

“Don’t give me that look, spud. After all, you’re the one causing me such inconvenience. Had my hunter not set his eyes on you, I’d still be quite lost..”

You clench your eyes shut, a headache blooming.

“I can never satify you, can I?” Your teeth press. “Go ahead. Do what you want or whatever.”

..

Silence ensues, prompting your head upward.

From the way he looks at you, you’re almost mortified he’s mulling the suggestion over his tongue, lashes feathering against it. His lips recede before bursting forth with the words you’ve grown to dread, finger propped against the sides of his face, and this time — he looks at you with pleasure.

“Oh, spud. You needn’t concern yourself with such things. Rest assured,” He eliminates any space between you with a flick, eyes crimped. “I will be doing exactly what I want.”

“Huh-?”

♡ For the first time in his life he willingly grabs you, or rather the sides of your arm. Bringing you forward, you feel a thump-thump-thump against your palm.. until realizing it’s only the feeling of your hand pressed against your erratic, feverish heartbeat — anchoring you to your seat, the other latching onto the sides of the table.

“You’ve made a habit of running, haven’t you?” He closes his eyes in peaceful contemplation. “Let’s correct that. You’ll leave when your work is presentable.”

“Vil-”

“Fairest one of all.”

The next moments that transpire are a blur.

You can’t remember exactly what happens, only your hands gliding across the table and growing lax and sore with each movement; of you grabbing a vial, mixing something, lost within the drunken, heavy daze of your mind. Your lips feel vacant, your body feels numb, but you hear him speak up behind you, the words barely registering on your ears as he orders another potion.

What’s going on? Your vision’s a mixture itself, of amorphous shapes, of your own limbs, your own fingers wrapped around the small jar and its contents squirming, fighting for dominance. Everything is moving sluggishly. Your head hurts so much. What happened to your voice? Were you speaking before?

It doesn’t matter, all you can see is him. As stunning as ever, like a queen perched upon her throne, face awash in perpetual contentment. Blonde tresses descend upon his shoulders, silken locks brushing against the back of his neck. His posture is straight, tall, and elegant; arms crossed and face serene. So unlike you.

Huh..

You think this is the first time you’ve ever seen him so clearly.

“Now,” An upturn dances at his lips. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

“Yo,  Deuce,  who’s  that  weirdo hiding  behind  the  couch?”

“Be  quiet  for   a  second,  dude.  We  just  lost  Yuu.  Where  did  they  even  go?”

♡   To  hell  with  your  life!  How  desperate  do  you  have  to  be  that  you  need  to  use  Kalim’s  parties  as  a last  resort  and  for  your  own  selfish  perusal?  You’ve  gone  insane  these  past  few  days,  having  Jade  Leech  flank  you  whenever  he  desires,  having  Vil  hot  on  your  tail.. (huh, strangely enough, you can’t recall ever interacting with him in potionology as he claims)  and  receiving  a  bundle  of  invites  from  the  red-eyed  devil himself. Scarabia’s  warm  and  arid  air’s  just  shy  of  crushing  your  deserted esophagus,  so  you  take  to  your  heels  and  conceal  yourself  in  a  gold-accentuated  cranny  of  the  room.  Granted,  Scarabia  is  your  dorm.  You’re  free  to  wander,  but  with  this  many  people...  attention  is  unavoidable,  isn’t  it? 

♡  The  notion  of  seeing  Vil  again  has  messed  with  your  head.  It’s  safe  to  say  you  detest  him  to  no  end.  Ugh,  you  loathe  his  polished  heels  and  his  exceptionally  well-applied  eyeliner,  oh, and  you  also  resent  his  luscious,  blonde,  blinding-  whatever.  The  point  is,  you’ve  bitten  off  more  than  you  can  chew.  So  you’ve  been  left  to  your  own  devices  for  now,  as  you  try  to  vehemently  recall  every  single  detail  left  vague  in  the  game.   Twisted  hearts,  twisted  hearts,  twisted  hearts.  It  seemed  ordinary  at  first  glance,  ordinary  love  interests  with  a  tad  bit  too  much  verve  in  their  devotion —  but  mentally  well,  nonetheless!

“Huh— hey!  Isn’t  that  the  magicam  hunchback?!”

“Ace, they’re our senior! Have some respect..”

“Dude, chillax! They’re only a second year!”

Which episode  do  you  die  in  again?

♡  Ace  and  Deuce,  ever  the  cautious  duo,  eye  you  from  far  off,  probably  noticing  you  rocking  back  and  forth  in  a  kneel.  Oh,  and  you’re  probably  chewing  on  your  nails  as  well,  so  that’s  double  the  humiliation  points. But can you bring it in yourself to care? No, never. You’re just so, so tired. Even as, inexplicably, Deuce opens his palm to you, and inquires of your state in such a belittingly sincere manner, you offer him no response but the deliberate, messy shake of your head. Oh, no.

Taking to your heels, you pace around in circles. You let the music swell. Just barely, just enough to drown out the buzz and-

“Hey! Watch out!”

And fall right into someone’s lap.

Hm. What were they even doing? Sitting alone in a corner? They..

Oh.

Yuu stares down at your wide-eyed face, tracing the way your hair’s splayed upon their clothes like tiny veins snaking around their legs. Your lips are parted just slightly, expelling a momentary breath of shock, feeling their weight buttress your nape, and it’s not soon before you find yourself scrambling for purchase..

Except..

Yuu doesn’t move. They don’t utter a single thing; in fact, their breath hitches, and the tips of warmth as pretty as the zenith of the sunset floods their face. For a moment, you almost find the likeness of your face casted back within the overwhelming pool of their irises; bleak and bleary-eyed and scrambling time and time again. When you maneuver and get up, your legs wobble, you blink, and yet all you can see is Yuu.

Yuu.

Yuu, the person you’ve swore never to associate yourself with.

How’s your life come to this?

“Huh..” They blink, fog dissipating. “Um... are you real?”

You scratch your head as a response. No, no you’re not.

It was still dark. Has a fog settled in? You couldn’t even make out any bark of the nearby trees or foliage of the underbrush. This all felt so vaguely familiar somehow, as if you had been here once before. Yet, that was impossible. The only places you knew in this world were Pat Port and Chesswick, and this wasn’t like those places. 

There wasn’t any sign of life here, unlike the crowded towns and cities of Heartslabyul. You didn’t know whether to finally breathe a sigh of relief or shudder in fear because you were alone. Instinctively, you raised a hand about to summon a flame for light, but you stopped yourself short. 

The flame would remind you too much of him, the Pyro Archon. You shuddered, trying not to dwell on the thought, because if you kept thinking about him you would think of the Furnace, and if you thought of the Furnace then you would think of what happened in the Furnace, and if you thought of that–– well, it was best not to get that far at all. You sniffled, willing yourself not to shed anymore tears, which proved to be a challenge. When you tried to frantically wipe at your eyes with your sleeves before the waterworks could commence, you found that you couldn’t move a muscle. 

Then you detected it. That little sense that felt as if you were being watched. You couldn’t move, but your eyes wandered. Immediately your gaze darted up, startled. You were not alone after all. 

Across from you, through the fog, was a horned figure. Realization dawned on you as you recognized it. You had a dream just like this before, when you were still in the Fyrosian Palace. This time though, the figure did not have their back to you. They were partially turned. While you couldn’t make out their features in the dense fog, you could see green eyes. Strange green eyes, glowing, drifting to stare right at you–– 

You jolted upright, eyes opening instantly. The dream––you had it once before, with that same horned figure haunting your nights.

Dark. It was incredibly dark, in your dreams and in reality as you tried to scan your surroundings while your mind began to shift into consciousness. Any comfort you had in your sleep, not that you had much to begin with anyways, was extinguished as the grimness of your situation became clear as day.  

You were still lost, freshly tossed from the burning Furnace, and into the unforgiving unknown of the wilderness. In your exhaustion you had fallen asleep at the stump of a particularly large tree, its roots the frame for which your coat and fallen leaves served as the bedding among strange flowers. You felt terrible, mentally and physically. 

Rubbing at your eyes, you attempted to forget the nightmare you had and suffocate any memory of what you witnessed in the Furnace. It was too early to start crying again, so you forced yourself to take a shuddering breath that stopped as you detected a familiar voice. 

“Hey! I know you’re there! Show yourself!” Grim. Why was he yelling? Who was he talking to? There was no way you could have been followed, not when the portal to the Furnace closed. Was it possible he found someone out here? 

You were hesitant, but it shouldn’t have been a knight, so you shook the leaves off your cloak and carefully stepped over the weirdly colored underbrush to find your companion. There he was in a wide clearing, tail lashing about as he scanned the trees around him for something you couldn’t see. “Grim…?” 

The little snarl on his face was gone as he looked at you, and brightened up. “Disciple! You’re awake!” Just as quickly as he relaxed, he went tense once again with his fur standing on edge. “Get behind me! There’s someone here!” 

Immediately you looked around, quickly joining his side as you scanned the clearing. You didn’t see anyone, but then you heard it: humming. And it sounded very close, almost as if the voice was by your ear. Slowly, you picked up Grim while continuing to scan your entire surroundings and search for the source. The darkness and fog in the forest made it eerie, especially when there were no sounds of singing birds or signs of sunlight but rather unfamiliar whirs and distant crackles. “Um… hello…?” 

“Looking for somethin’?” 

Grim screamed and you jumped in fright as the voice became clear as day. Above you, on a sturdy branch, was a floating head. A grinning head. You felt sick, like you were stuck in some nightmare still where you were witnessing the rolling heads from executions severed by King Rosehearts himself. You didn’t answer immediately, just shook your head no as you worried opening your mouth too soon meant running the risk of losing the contents of your stomach. It was only after the head kept grinning down at you, did you eventually find your voice, but barely, “Uh, I, um… n-no, I mean, just… you, I suppose.” 

What sort of twisted horrible world was this if it had magical talking floating heads in dark mysterious woods? 

“Me? You suppose?” The head repeated, saying it like it was a tune. It was only then did you notice that this head had cat-like ears, like the beastfolk you had seen in Chesswick. However, none of the beastmen were simply just a head. 

“A monster!!” Grim screeched, which you found to be terribly ironic when you had once mistaken your guide for some sort of little beast. 

Squeezing Grim, you shushed him while taking an apprehensive step back. “Shhh, Grim, please, don’t be rude…!” If this head wasn’t human or beastman, what if he was some manner of entity? That was the only plausible option, wasn’t it? You really did not want to end up catching the attention, positive or negative, of another entity. “I-I am terribly sorry, you are clearly not a monster! Are… Are you, um, the White God…?” Who else was this supposed to be if not the White God you theorized was the source of the white flames leading you to safety? Although, he didn’t wear much white if any at all, and he certainly didn’t look like a white flame. 

“I am not. The White God has been dead for centuries.” The head answered, still grinning with a smile that reminded you of the crescent moon. Perhaps he wasn’t the one who saved you, since he appeared just as surprised to see you and Grim here as you were surprised to see him. “I wonder how a mortal wandered in here? You must be very lost, love.” 

“I… I am lost.” Shakily you admitted, but swiftly corrected yourself. “We are lost. I’m (Y/n), and this is Grim.” 

Grim raised a paw during the introductions, and he stared intensely at his fellow feline. Since his hackles weren’t raised and he wasn’t grumbling, it seemed safe to assume that this entity before you wasn’t an immediate threat. Back in the Fyrosian Palace, you would read Grim the stories and files, and maybe he actually remembered something, or not. He did usually fall asleep when you read to him, so maybe he didn’t remember at all. “We came from a weird pocket–– uh, what did they call it again…?” 

There was no longer a point to avoiding the mention of the Furnace, since, well… it was already discovered and perhaps didn’t even exist anymore. Shaking your head, you cleared your head of those terrible thoughts as you helped Grim. “A pocket of space.” 

“That’s it!” Grim nodded, and continued his explanation to the strange entity who was listening on silently, still grinning, and slowly tilting his head as he absorbed every word spoken. “A pocket of space! When we followed some tiny white flames because of a card, we found an exit that shot us out here! But if you’re not the White God or whoever helped us, then who the heck are you?”

“Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker is the name.” As the seconds ticked by, the rest of his body came further into view in the darkness. Yes, he definitely looked like a beastman now, but you never once saw any type of beastfolk with fur that was purple with streaks fading into white. “It’s quite alright.”

Your companion scrunched up his little nose in confusion, and you furrowed your eyebrows in fascination as you gingerly lifted Grim up to use the fire at his ears like a lamp. As you held him above your head, Grim was now closer to eye level with the stranger and you could make out more features on him. 

The stranger had a pair of yellow cat-like eyes that seemed to glow like fire-flys in the night. Those ears of his were definitely like a cat’s and he even had the oddest ringed tail to match, but you had never seen a cat with that coloring. That hair of his was choppy and messy, the same hue as the fur on his animalistic features. So he was definitely feline like Grim, but he didn’t look anything like your guide. He didn’t even look like the entities you knew, dressed like nobles among the mortals. Seeing Grim, he mimicked his movement, scrunching up his nose playfully. “You don’t look like a mome rath. You almost look like me!” 

Grim appeared highly unimpressed, looking down at you as you continued to hold him up, “Disciple, get me away from this, uh, Arte–Arche–– gah! Get me away from this guy!” 

You lowered Grim back into your arms so he wasn’t so close to the feline fellow. Once you gave him a look of apology, you proceeded politely, “Could you perhaps repeat your name…?” 

“I can repeat my name.” He hummed, reciting his given name once again without missing a beat. “Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker.” When he noticed the repeat did not help, he only giggled and added, “Chenya will do.” 

“Ah, of course, Mister Chenya.” If you had to put this Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker fellow into a category, you would say he dressed more like the casual lawbreakers you once dwelled with. You tried to forget about it again, and instead focus on his manner of dress. This fellow had a cloak like yours but his was plum-colored, while his tunic beneath it had multiple leather straps that resembled the rings on his tail. It’s possible it was connected to something on his back but you couldn’t tell, so you took in his black and long purple sleeves that draped over his fingers. 

What an oddly dressed man, and an odd man if he even was a regular man. 

“No need for formalities, just Chenya will do.” Always smiling, constantly smiling, and it wasn’t like others you had seen. This one smiled like he was holding a secret. Meeting Grim’s gaze as your companion muttered weirdo under his breath, Chenya acknowledged it but hardly seemed bothered at all. “Is that what you think? Hmm… I’d say by the standards here, I’m no more mad than you or them or him. I theorize that you must have used an item blessed by the White God. That would explain the remnants of his magic I detect on you pair.” 

“Him?” Piecing together his words, you frowned. In this instance, you hoped you were wrong. “Mad? Does that mean we’re still in Heartslabyul?” If the rest of his statement was true, that meant the White God never was there. The only thing that remained were blessings of a deity long since passed, blessings which miraculously answered your prayers. If you hadn’t accidently brought that card with you, where would you be now? 

“Did you ever leave to begin with, or are you from somewhere else? This is Heartslabyul.” He confirmed, but he hardly paid you any mind. Not when he was focused on his own words, singing softly some words that sounded like he was speaking in a foreign tongue. A spell or some chant, maybe? Wait a moment––he was beginning to disappear! Vanishing in front of your very own eyes! 

Grim appeared spooked as you exclaimed hastily, “Oh, please, before you go, can I ask you one thing?” 

That got his attention. With one swish of his tail, he was wholly visible in front of you again, and he was looking directly at you. Perhaps this was a benevolent entity, a strange one, but a good one. “Very well.” 

The small entity in your arms spoke up, raising a paw as he demanded, “Hey, Chenya, answer this! Where exactly are we in Heartslabyul?” 

When his gaze slowly went from you to Grim, he remained oddly silent for a while, and you were starting to get worried. Did he never stop smiling? You saw it as a good sign before, but now you weren’t so sure. “Um, Chenya? Are you alright?” 

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Those yellow eyes went back to you, and his tail hanging from the branch he was lounging on slowly swished back and forth. “It’s only that I had been told that you would ask the question, not your friend here. You’re in the southernmost woods of the Cradle of Fables.”

“The Cradle of Fables…” That wasn’t good at all! It was no wonder you felt off the entire time. This was the place that all mortals were instructed to avoid. Carefully you placed down Grim and from your satchel you removed your map of Heartslabyul, which was still relatively intact save for a few tears and burns on the edges. 

According to the map and if Chenya was telling the truth, then you were still in the Ashen Fells area, just in the very southern part of it. You were far from Chesswick, which was good, but bad because the closest major town was across the sea on an island to the east. The Cradle of Fables was tucked away between mountains to the west and waters to the east. However, it was practically next door to a border with the nation of Savanaclaw. 

“Chenya, Grim and I are searching for a way out of Heartslabyul that is safe.” You met his gaze, and he was watching you with what appeared to be mild amusement. Well, if Grim was no longer on edge, that must mean this entity was not a threat. So you raised up the map to show him. “Which way would you recommend for us to go?” 

He blinked, and shifted on his branch before he gave a response. It was not an answer. “Hm? You said you only had one question.” What was he talking about? This was your question! Ah, did he count that moment from earlier, when you inquired if he was alright? Grim was about to interject on your behalf when Chenya continued, “It’s not safe for a mortal like you here, you know. Keep veryyy close to your fellow feline entity, or you run the risk of never leaving the cradle.”  

“R-Right, I understand. Thank you for that, I’ll keep close to him.” 

You were still debating if it was safe or not to reveal how you and Grim were currently on the run, but your feline entity did not seem to consider holding back any information. “We’re trying to get far far away from that crazy little red tyrant! I don’t know if he’ll still brand us or execute us, but he’s still got those threads we’re escaping from!” 

“Riddle, a crazy little red tyrant. He’s been called a tyrant for the last few centuries, but he’s been crazy, little, and red for as long as I remember.” That got a chuckle from him, and those words only left you and Grim more perplexed. He knew Riddle? 

It seemed too good to be true. Finally, someone who didn’t want to drag you down into a mess or use you to fix it. “You’re… not going to turn us in?” 

Chenya shrugged, disappearing completely but you heard his voice echoing all around you. “I never get involved in politics.” When he reappeared, he was standing at the base of the tree. “You best be on your way then.” 

Grim looked startled, but no longer scared of the mysterious entity teasing and playfully tormenting you. In fact, he had so much confidence that your companion did not hesitate to demand another answer from him. “Hey, we still need a way! It doesn’t matter what way, as long as it’s safe––!” 

“Then it really doesn’t matter which way you go!” He was gone in the shadows again, and you got the distinct feeling he was messing with you as Grim growled in frustration. 

If you didn’t receive help here, then you risked the real possibility of becoming lost in one of the worst locations for mortals. Gathering your courage, you stepped forward, scanning for any sign of him. There was nothing to indicate he was still present, but somehow you just knew he was still lingering. “Please, Chenya. I promise, this is my final question: which way should Grim and I go to safely leave Heartslabyul?” 

There was silence for a prolonged moment, and you thought that perhaps you had guessed wrong. Maybe he really had vanished for good… until he reappeared at your side which successfully caught both you and Grim off guard. 

The mysterious entity paid no mind as Grim hopped onto your shoulder. In fact, Chenya casually leaned over, practically draping an arm around you and covering you slightly with his cloak as he peered down with interest at your map. You memorized the way his fingertip landed on a spot within the area titled Cradle of Fables, and how his touch slowly trailed south. “North, east, and west, are paths of no escape. Those are the Pyro Archon’s ways. There’s south… but south is walking into the lion’s den.” 

“The lion’s den?” There was no asking for clarification, if that meant the southern route was any safer, because Chenya had vanished once again. Yet this time, you did not expect him to come back. 

Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker, otherwise known as Chenya, had left you with a possible path to proceed on while avoiding King Rosehearts, but also an ominous warning of what you would find on this path. 

You dearly hoped he wasn’t talking about a real lion, but then again, maybe having to face off against a lion with Grim was better than having to reencounter Riddle Rosehearts. “Maybe south is the way to go…” 

“You think?” Now Grim was the one shoving his face against the map, eyes glued to every little drawn detail. 

You shuddered to think of what would become of you if you didn’t have an entity to guide you. Finally, you closed the map. You had no idea what awaited you on the other side just outside of the Kingdom of Heartslabyul, but it couldn’t possibly be any worse than here. You were still scared, so very scared of this world and all it had thrown at you, but Grim was still here. The little entity made you believe that you could get through this. “I promise I will not wander off, Grim. So please, stay close. This is a little scary…” 

Grim scoffed at your admission of fear as he clung onto your shoulder. “Oh, disciple. Don’t worry, the Great and Wonderful Me will protect you and be your guide!” You didn’t point out the obvious signs of his nervousness, like the quick swish of his tail or the way the fire at his ears moved much more than usual. 

Slowly you began to walk southward, trusting in the map but more so trusting in Grim’s keen senses to guide you through the forest. 

It was dark, the old trees all around you blocked out the sun, creating an eerie sort of atmosphere. You tried desperately to avoid looking at the multiple pairs of eyes peering at you through the darkness and the squeaking of odd creatures scurrying about underfoot. You kept walking, assuring yourself that you were alright. Grim would protect you, you might even be able to protect yourself now too. 

Wondering is the only thing left you could do. Wondering and hoping. Wondering if Ace and Deuce were okay, and hoping they somehow escaped the Furnace; wondering if Cater and Trey were somehow keeping the kingdom stable, and hoping they did not have time to search for you; wondering if Riddle was still thinking about you, and hoping that somehow his subjects were able to escape his fiery threads. It was too much wondering, and not enough hoping for something else. 

“I hope we find the God of Intellect as soon as possible.” You admitted quietly, your voice seeming to echo and carry around you, even if you spoke softly. “They should have all the answers.”

You’ve never seen the sun.

You know it exists. You’ve heard of its existence. You’ve read of its existence.

And sometimes you can feel it.

You can feel it when the maids forget to close your curtains all the way, when the warmth of it creeps across your bedsheets and finds your skin.

It feels like being held.

It feels like something vast, something ancient is reaching through the glass just to touch you, just to remind you that you exist in a world that you’ll never witness.

You were born blind.

Your mother says that you came into this world with your eyes sealed shut, and when you finally did open them, or think you did, there was nothing behind them.

Emptiness.

Just darkness that has never, not once in 18 years, lifted.

You don't know what darkness looks like. You don't know what anything looks like. The concept of sight is as foreign to you as flight is to a fish. Fish don’t know of the world outside the sea, and they don’t know how some animals, like birds, can be free and fly anywhere. You feel like a fish, one that’ll never truly grasp freedom because you were born incapable of the tools needed for that.

You understand colors, scenery, and sight in general exist. You understand that other people are lucky enough to experience it. But… It’s something you’ve never had, so you’re incapable of missing it.

What you miss is freedom. … Even if you’ve never had it.

Your room is your entire world. It’s large, you know that much. You know it’s large by the way you’ve mapped every inch of it with your hands and feet, memorized the distance from your bed to your vanity, from your vanity to your window balcony, from the window to the door that is always…

always locked.

Your family says it’s for your protection. Vampires are everywhere, they tell you. The outbreak has made the world even more dangerous for someone like you.

Someone fragile. Too fragile. Someone helpless. Too helpless.

Someone…

blind.

They never say it, but you know it’s what they mean. You hear the servants whisper it sometimes when they think you can’t hear, but being blind since birth has made your hearing way too absolute, so nothing goes unheard with you.

You’re at your vanity today, in what feels like it could be morning, or late afternoon… You don’t know. Your concept of time has always been shitty because, in an enclosed space, most of your life has made it hard to learn what time feels like through your senses.

You’re running a brush through your hair for what feels like the thousandth time in this hour. The bristles catch on a small tangle, and you work through, repeating this process over and over. It’s something to do, something that’ll fill these endless hours.

You reach, and your fingers find a soft ribbon on your vanity, satin. You like that fabric a lot, it’s nice to feel, it’s not an understatement that you like soft things in your room. Soft always feels pretty to touch. You tie the ribbon into a tiny bow and clip it into your hair without needing to see, your hands already knowing the motion by heart.

Then, you grab your signature, the lace eye mask, delicate, so delicate, and you settle it over your closed eyes like it’s so a part of you that you would even consider it your second skin. You’ve worn one for as long as you remember; you change the fabrics sometimes, but you only wear it in white. Your mother started putting them on you when you were a child, said it made you look more comfortable… more at peace.

You think it just makes people less uncomfortable around you. 

Less unnerved by the girl with the eyes that never open.

You hear a knock at your door.

You turn toward the sound, even though turning does nothing for you, because what would you even see? But even so, it’s just a habit that comes naturally, and you’ve been taught to be polite. "Yes?"

"It's me." You recognize the voice as your brother's, and you hear the lock click and feel the air change when the door swings open. You hear his footsteps cross the threshold, heavy boots on hardwood, and then the door closes behind him.

You turn back to your vanity, faced straight in front of your mirror that you’ll never see, picking up your brush, to again, brush your hair uselessly because at least it’s something to do. “You’re leaving today… I know, I just don’t know why I’m always the last one to hear about it.”

Like, I don’t matter enough.

You hear him cross the room to you. “Yeah… for a few days.” You feel him stop beside your chair, the slight displacement of air when he does. "There's a nest about two days' ride from here. Mother wants it cleared before it spreads."

"And Father?" You ask, pausing your movement with the brush as you do, like you’re almost scared of being alone without family, even for a couple of days, even though you’re never allowed outside your room without supervision, and your movements pick up again.

“Father?” he repeats, “Staying here, of course.” He pats your head as he continues, "Someone needs to manage the estate while we're gone."

You nod, because this is how it always goes. Your mother or father going with your brother for a hunt, and either parent stays behind to run the household… because you can’t. You’re incapable of overseeing the workers and the farmers, and the endless business dealings that keep your family weathering.

You stay in your room. Always in your room. Forever and always useless.

You drop your brush onto the table and fully turn your body where you can feel his. "... Can I come with you?" The words slip out before you can stop them, because they’re a habit.

You’ve asked before, and you won’t stop asking ever, because your voice is all you have. And yet… the answer is always the same.

"You know you can't." Your brother says, with a sigh, almost like he’s bored with this useless question of yours, but also feels bad about your incapabilities that make his reason.

Your voice picks up slightly, desperate for this time to be different. “I could help, my hearing is better than yours, you can’t deny that. I can detect them before you even- “

"And what would you do when you detected them?" He decides to cut in; his tone feels gentle, but also firm. "Run? Fight? You can't see them coming, little sister. You can't defend yourself."

“I could learn…” you start.

“No.” he finishes, final.

You sense him reaching out, and then you feel his touch, his gloved hand on your shoulder, he squeezes, just briefly, as if affection could dismiss what you’ve been wanting for forever.

"I brought you something," he says right after and your irritation fades oddly quick, replaced by curiosity, interested in anything new you could feel.

Your brother always brings you things from his hunts: trinkets, trophies, little pieces of a world you’re not allowed to experience firsthand.

He takes your hand, and you feel press something into your palm, it feels like cool metal with an intricate design. You run your fingers over it, mapping the shape, and it feels like a brooch, well, you assume it’s one with the circular shape, filigree around the edges.

"It belonged to a vampire countess," he mentions. "Mother put a stake through her heart last week... I thought you might like it."

"It's beautiful." You can't see it, but you know. The craftsmanship is exquisite beneath your fingertips. "Thank you, brother."

"Stay safe while we're gone." He kisses the top of your head, the way he's done since you were small. "Don't cause trouble for Father."

You let out a giggle, fingers still exploring the trinket as your head is tilted at the direction you feel your brother is at. "When have I ever caused trouble?"

He laughs, saying goodbye, and you hear the door to your room open, then close just as quickly, and then you hear the familiar and never foreign sound of the lock clicking into place.

And you’re alone again.

The hours pass slowly.

You read for a while, your fingers tracing over the raised dots of your books, but the story doesn’t hold your attention today. It’s a romance, which is one of your favorites, about a woman who falls in love with a man she shouldn’t. The villain of the piece, the one everyone warns her about.

You've always liked the villains.

Not because you think they're good. But because you understand them, in a way. 

The books paint them as monsters, as irredeemable creatures of darkness, but you know that no one is born a monster. Something makes them that way. Trauma, or circumstance, or the simple cruelty of a world that refuses to show them kindness.

Not a lot of monsters do exist in the world you seem to live in, a lot of these are fiction, fake, or just myths. The only monsters that exist, the only ones you’ve heard about are vampires.

You wonder something stupid sometimes, stupid to you, you wonder what it would be like to meet one…

A vampire.

Your family has a history with them, generations of your family have been hunting them for centuries, and you’ve grown up on the typical propaganda your parents teach you.

That they’re wicked, bloodthirsty, that they’re dangerous, have inhuman speed and strength. You’re supposed to hate them, it’s what you’ve been raised to hate.

And you do because they’re monsters.

But sometimes, late at night, when loneliness feels like it might swallow you whole, you wonder if being a monster might be better than being nothing at all.

You set the book aside and make your way to the window. The route is familiar to you. Twelve steps from your bed, turn left, four more steps, and your fingers find the cool glass. You crack it open, just slightly, and the air rushes in.

It’s spring, you can smell it, and it’s your favorite season. The sweetness of blooming flowers in the garden, the dampness of recent rain, sounds of the sprinklers starting to go off.

You press your palm to the glass and close your eyes, even though they're already closed behind your mask, and you breathe.

This is as close as you get to the outside world.

You can hear the workers in the distance, the thud of someone chopping wood. You can hear voices too, too faint to make out the words. The estate is always busy during the day, full of people you've never met and never will.

You stay at the window for a long time.

Eventually, you close your window and return to your vanity. Sit down to brush your hair again. Tie a new ribbon. Change from your morning gown into an afternoon dress, soft white cotton with lace at the collar and cuffs. 

You like soft things, white things. Light things, even though you've never seen light.

Your mother says you dress like a doll, maybe you do, and maybe that’s all you are.

A pretty thing to be kept on a shelf, looked at but never touched, protected but never freed.

You're brushing your hair again, for the thousandth time, when something changes.

The feeling is subtle at first, you can’t quite name it, but you freeze, brush halfway through your hair and listen.

The birds have stopped singing.

That’s the first change you notice. The constant chatter of sparrows and other beautiful birds that usually fill the air outside your window has gone… silent. 

And beneath that silence, you sense something else. 

A presence, one that doesn’t belong here.

Something is wrong.

You set down your brush, letting your panic settle in, listening to whatever strange instinct that you feel. Your heart is beating fast, and you don’t understand why. You shouldn’t feel scared, you shouldn’t ever feel scared because your room is safe. The door is locked, the windows are too high for intruders to climb, and your father is home.

But the silence drags on for too long, and your senses that most people take for granted, are screaming that someone is very, very wrong.

You could ring the bell by your dresser and wait for your father to come, hope he or a servant hears so you can’t alert them of the danger you sense. 

Alert them of what danger? Nobody listens or would listen if you even tried to alert something you couldn’t describe. Maybe it’s nothing anyways, maybe you’re starting to go insane from the boredom up here and are hallucinating feelings.

Maybe the birds flew away because it’s about to rain?

You get up and walk up to your window, cracking it open, listening for anything.

It’s silent outside, perfect, unnatural silence compared to what you’ve listened to merely 15 minutes ago.

And then, distantly, a scream.

It cuts off almost immediately, far too quickly, and you press your hand to the glass, desperate to hear anything more, but there’s nothing after that scream, just dead silence again.

"Father?" you call, instinctively hoping he might hear even though you assume him to be downstairs in his study. You try again, louder. "Father!"

Nothing.

You close your window and move to your door, feeling the handle, try it even though you know it’s locked. It doesn’t budge, obviously, and you pound on the wood with your fist, but the sound seems to disappear into the silence, swallowed up by whatever wrongness has descended on your home.

"Someone!" you shout. "Please! Something's happening!"

Nothing again.

You back away from the door, your breath coming too fast. You’re trapped more than ever, it feels like the walls are closing in, and you can’t do a thing about it.

You give up banging when your wrist goes sore and achy, and you walk slow, in defeat towards your soft, large, ‘safe’ bed.

Minutes pass, long minutes, or hours. You can’t tell, you’ve stopped focusing on time, only focusing on your own spiraling thoughts as time passes.

Footsteps.

You finally, finally hear something close by your room. Someone walking through the halls of your home, opening doors, leaving them open, the sounds drift up from the floor below you, distant at first, then getting closer by the second.

Your father, it has to be. He’s coming back to check on you, tell you that everything is fine, that the scream you heard was nothing, that you’re safe, that he’s safe.

But why would he check every room before yours?

The footsteps climb the stairs to your floor.

You stand, smoothing your dress with shaking hands. The footsteps move down the hall, pausing at each door, and you count them, waiting as they get closer and closer.

They stop outside your room.

The doorknob twists, but doesn’t budge. Then you hear the lock to your room click, and the next thing you hear is the door swinging open.

“… Father?" You ask, voice small, standing by your bed, body facing the direction of your door.

It's silent for what seems like way too long. Then you hear a voice that isn’t your father’s.

"Interesting."

You scramble backward, your back hitting your vanity, and you knock something over. A perfume bottle that you hear shattering on the floor. The sound makes you flinch, but you quickly try to balance yourself against the table, swallowing big.

“Who’s there?” You ask, clearly frightened, not used to hearing a boy's voice that isn’t your brother's or father's. "Who are you? Where's my father?"

Your door stays open as you hear the boy’s footsteps cross the threshold into your room, fully. 

The animal part of your brain keeps sending signals to run even though there’s nowhere to run.

"So you're the one they keep locked up here." His voice sounds young, now that you’ve heard him say more than one word. He also sounds amused in a way that makes your panic spike even more. "I was wondering what was in this… locked room."

"Get out." You reach behind you, fingers closing around the handle of your hairbrush. It's a pathetic weapon, but it's all you have. "Get out of my room!"

"That's not very hospitable." He's moving again. You track him by sound, but he's circling you, and you can't keep up. “… Though I suppose you have reason to be upset."

"Where is my father?" You grip the brush tighter. "What did you do to him?"

It's quiet, and you can sense that the boy has stopped moving, distance kept from you as he speaks again, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than what you heard before. "I'm sorry to tell you this. But your father is dead."

The words hit you like a physical blow, like a dagger to the stomach. You believe him immediately, because that’s never something to joke about, and it all does add up. You stagger back, your legs feeling weak, and you catch yourself on the edge of your vanity. "No." You say, even though you know.

"A vampire attack." He sounds sympathetic, and almost what you can assume as slight trauma in his tone, but it does sound oddly fake, "I arrived too late to save him. I'm sorry."

"You're lying." You shoot back, quickly, still in denial, your words not matching your thoughts.

"I wish I were." He replies.

Your… father. Your father, who has protected this estate for decades, who has hunted more vampires than anyone else in the region, who kissed your forehead last night and tucked you in, and did the same the night before that, and the night before that, every night for years.

Dead.

“Why are your eyes covered?” He asks suddenly, random. “Did you get some sort of surgery recently done or-”

You cut him off. "Who are you?" Your voice cracks on the last word. "How did you get in here?"

"My name is Scaramouche." Footsteps again, closer now. "My father does business with yours… Did business," he corrects, and there's something in his tone that you can't quite read. "I came to pick up some documents, and I found the door unlocked. I found-" He stops. "I found what I found."

"And you just happened to come upstairs?" Your question sounds weaker than an accusation of anything; no heat found, just despair, still processing your father's demise.

"I was looking for survivors." He sounds close now, very close, and you have no room to create distance because you’re already against your vanity. "The whole estate has been hit. Everyone downstairs is dead. I thought maybe someone up here had been spared." He pauses before adding, "It seems I was right."

You’re shaking, body trembling all over, and you don’t make an effort to hide how affected you are at this information… but it’s not that you don’t care, it’s that you can’t control yourself. You can’t control how weak you feel currently, how helpless and small you feel.

"I don't believe you." You muster out with your lips quivering, head tilted slightly down so he can’t see your eyes closed behind the mask.

“… About which part?" He says back, and there’s just the slightest hint of a tease in his words.

"Any of it… All of it." You raise the hairbrush, pointing it vaguely in his direction. "You could be a vampire yourself for all I know."

You hear him laugh, and it throws you off balance at how little you expected to hear one after an accusation like that.

"If I were a vampire, you'd already be dead." His voice is calm for someone you’re suspecting. "I'm not here to hurt you… I'm here to help."

“Help?” you say, palm tightening on your hairbrush. "By breaking into my room?"

"By saving your life, actually." His footsteps move again, and you tense, but he seems to be backing away, as if he could sense you want space. "The vampires are still out there. Most of them have moved on, but some might come back… This house of yours isn't safe anymore. I need to get you somewhere secure."

You let out a fake laugh, crossing your arms, head turned to the side. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Then you'll die."

The bluntness of his words makes you flinch. He doesn’t say it in a cruel manner, though; he says it matter-of-factly, like it’s nothing but an obvious truth that he’s ready to watch you learn the hard way.

"I will wait for my mother," you say. "And my brother. They'll be back in a few days-"

"A few days?" He sounds almost incredulous. "You think the vampires will wait a few days before coming back to finish what they started? They'll return tonight, as soon as the sun sets. And they’ll find you in your room… alone… defenseless. Does that really sound like something you’d want?"

"I'm not defenseless."

"Really? Said by the one holding a hairbrush."

Your cheeks burn at how right he is. You know a hairbrush isn’t a good defence weapon, it’s not even a weapon in general, but you don’t let go of it, because doing that might let him think you trust him.

"Look," he says, and his voice softens again, similar to the tone he gave when he told you your father is dead, "I understand you're scared and that you don't trust me. But I'm the only person standing between you and the same fate your father just met. Can you at least let me help you?"

Say no. Tell him to get out. Scream at him. Tell him to let you mourn in peace.

But…

He’s right. You’re alone in a house full of corpses. The family you have that aren’t corpses are days away…

And…

You have no way to defend yourself against creatures that move faster than any sound your ears that are better than most can pick up. 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” You ask, voice small and unsure. “How do I know this isn’t some trick?”

"You don't." He's honest, at least. "But what choice do you have?"

None. 

You have no choice at all.

Slowly, reluctantly, you move past where you sense him and lower yourself onto the edge of your bed. You can’t stand any longer because of the grief eating you inside. You lower your head and press a hand to your mouth to stifle the sob that threatens to escape.

Your father is dead.

Your father is dead, and you're alone with a stranger, and everything you thought you knew about your safe, sheltered life has just shattered like glass.

"You're blind."

The statement catches you off guard. You raise your head, even though you can't see him, can't see anything.

"Yes." You respond, voice tiny.

"I thought the mask before was for some kind of surgery, but you don’t react to my movements," he says, like he's working something out. "And your eyes seem closed beneath it… Why is that?"

"They've never opened." You lie, they can open if you want to, but you choose to keep them closed under the mask at all times. And you don't want to feel the need to explain such an odd choice to a stranger.

He takes note of that, and it’s quiet for a while; you can’t tell if he’s nodding at what you said, or staring into the mask deeper. But finally, as if he got the concept of a girl like you being blind, he says, in a quiet tone, “That must be… difficult.”

"I manage… I’ve gotten this far at least." You say, voice threatening to break as you talk, as you’re still trying to hold back tears, trying not to look smaller than you already feel in front of this stranger.

You hear footsteps again, ones that seem like he’s getting closer to you, but they’re slow this time, careful, aware, like he’s approaching a frightened animal.

"I'm going to sit next to you," he says, tone so gentle in a way that any people pleaser hearing it would say yes in a heartbeat. "...Is that alright?"

You’re too tired and so… scared to even muster up a no. You don’t give him a response, and you feel the bed dip beside you. He’s a little too close for someone who's a stranger to you, but you don’t move away or tell him to move. 

Being this close to him, you don’t feel warmth next to you… It feels like he himself is cold.

"I won't let anything happen to you." His voice is soft, really soft, and you can sense confidence in it that makes you believe him, just a little bit, but not enough. "I promise."

Your head is tilted down, and your fingers are toying with the edge of the lace on your dress as you think before asking, “Why do you even care? I’m just some blind girl you’d be better off leaving behind… You could just go to your home, where it’s probably safe, but… You aren’t.

“I don’t know why I care to stay.” He sounds surprised as he speaks, as if the words are foreign in his own mouth, as if his own answer to you is something he’s never said before. “But I can’t allow someone to die defenseless, especially if I have a chance to save them before they even reach that level of danger.”

And with that, you start crying. Tears are sliding down your cheeks beneath the mask you wear, and your breath is hitching. And what you feel next is a touch you’ve never felt before. A touch by a gloved hand, his hand, on your face, tilting your head, probably in his direction, and brushing away the wetness with care a stranger shouldn’t have.

His thumb traces the curve of your cheek as you don’t make an effort to pull away. He does it gently, tenderly, and you’re so desperately lonely, more than ever, that you lean into the stranger's touch.

"You're so young," he says, not commenting on your tears. There's something strange in his voice, something you can't identify. "How old are you?"

You swallow before saying, "I’m eighteen." 

"... Eighteen?" He repeats it like he's savoring the word. "I'm nineteen. Just a year older than you, shame we haven’t met until now. Just as much as it is a shame your parents choose to keep you locked in a room, not knowing it doesn’t keep you safe, just traps you, especially when there could be danger right outside your room… or in it."

You let him finish, before managing out a, “You sound older than that… nineteen.” You feel his thumb brush over your cheek as you talk, wiping a tear for you, and that makes your voice come out tiny at the end.

“Do I?” You hear him make a soft laugh, thumb moving on your cheek again. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve seen a lot for my age.”

His gloved fingers trail down your cheek, along your jaw, and then they're gone. You miss the contact immediately, and you feel pathetic for doing so.

"Wait here," he says. "I need to make sure the way out is clear. Then I'll come back for you, I promise."

"Don't leave me."

Your voice breaks on the last two syllables, a tiny sob leaking out from your lips right after. It sounds so childish, the very thing you hate feeling like, but the thought of being alone again in this room without a body to cling to… it makes your chest hurt with panic.

"I won't be long…" he starts.

"... Please." You cut in, voice fading in such a weak way that you suddenly feel his hand on yours, squeezing gently through the glove he’s wearing. 

"Alright… I'll stay." He settles more comfortably on the bed beside you. "We'll wait here together until it's safe to move. I’ll be as patient as you need me to be, but… It’s getting late, and the sun will set soon. We'll need to be careful and leave before the others come back."

"Others?" You ask, confused at the random mention of a group.

“There was more than just one vampire, I’m assuming, one can’t just kill every person here without getting caught, especially since it’s daylight and that works against them.” He sounds like he knows a lot about this, but you don’t find that suspicious because if you were in his shoes, you’d assume the same. “I don’t see them now, maybe I came hours after they left, maybe I came just as they left, but I’m certain that they’ll return at nightfall. They always do.”

You don’t trust him as he’s still a stranger to you, but you nod at what he says, because it does make sense, and he seems to be the only option you have currently.

The hours pass in silence after that.

Sometimes he speaks to fill it, asking you small, minor things about yourself, your life, your family… It’s odd he seems so interested in you. He doesn’t need to fill the silence with questions; he could just leave, or he could just keep it silent and not interact until you’re ready, while he sits there bored. But he doesn’t, but you also don’t match the energy needed to keep a conversation flowing, you answer each other in fragments, too grief-stricken for full sentences.

Sometimes… he just sits beside you, quiet and still, and you listen to the sound of his breathing.

It occurs to you, distantly, that you haven't heard him breathe once.

But you're too tired to think about what that means.

"It's time to go."

His voice pulls you from the half-sleep you'd fallen into. You spring upright, disoriented, and his hand steadies you.

"The sun is setting," he says. "We need to leave now."

"But… I want to see my father first." Your voice still sounds broken from the crying you did; you stopped about an hour ago. You’re sore, almost emotionless on the outside, but split open in despair on the inside.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I need to say goodbye." Your voice is firm despite the trembling in your hands. You’re suddenly aching to meet your father's body now that the idea is in your mind. "I need to... I need to touch him one last time. Please."

He's quiet for a long moment. You can feel him considering, weighing options you can't see… or you just imagine that's what he’s doing.

"... Alright," he says finally. "I'll take you to him."

He stands, and then his hand is extended toward you. You know this because he tells you, guiding your fingers to his palm. His glove is soft, fine leather, and his grip is steady as he helps you to your feet.

"I can walk on my own."

"I'm sure you can." But he doesn't let go of your hand. "But the halls are... difficult. You told me it’s rare when you’re outside your room, so let me guide you."

You let him lead you because you’d feel even worse if you stumbled over something that could’ve been avoided with his help.

Your sense of smell has always been another good trait of yours, one that you hate, because bad smells are hard to ignore.

And what you smell when you step out of your room, holding his hand…

It’s bad.

Something copper-rich that makes you feel like you might just gag.

Blood. You're smelling blood.

"Don't let go of my hand," he says quietly, careful to speak if there’s somebody or something lurking. "And try not to touch anything."

You just nod and trust him to do everything for you, everything to keep you safe.

Trust?

Where the fuck did that come from?

He leads you down the hall, down the stairs, through rooms you've never been allowed to enter. Your free hand trails along the wall occasionally, feeling the familiar texture of wallpaper, and then something wet, and you jerk your fingers back.

"I told you not to touch anything."

"I know… I’m sorry," you say, voice weak. “I just rely on touch a lot, especially with the things I haven’t explored yet.”

He doesn’t respond, his grip just tightens on your hand… firm in a way that feels possessive.

You walk for what feels like forever before he makes a full stop.

"He's here," he says. "In front of you… About two steps."

You let go of his hand. 

Take one step… Two.

Your foot bumps against something soft and heavy, and you sink to your knees.

Your hands find him by touch. The broad chest, the fabric of his coat, the familiar shape of his shoulders. Your fingers travel up, trembling, to his face… his jaw… his cheek that’s already going cold.

And then his neck. Your fingers come away wet.

"No." The word is a whimper, more panic than denial. You press your palm to his throat, feeling the ragged edges of torn flesh, the slickness of blood that hasn't dried yet. "No, no, no-"

You gather him into your arms as best you can. He's heavy like the dead weight described in some of the books you read. And he’s so cold, cold in a way that makes you break further, sobbing suddenly, ugly wrenching sobs that tear through your chest.

"Papa." You haven't called him that since you were a child. "Papa, please. Please wake up. Please don't leave me alone. Please-"

He doesn't wake up… He’ll never wake up.

You press his hand to your face, just to feel it one last time. The rough calluses on his palm. The familiar weight of his fingers. You memorize it, brand it into your memory, because this is all you will ever have of him now.

Behind you, Scaramouche watches this all play out in silence.

He watches you cry until you can’t cry anymore, how your voice sounds raw at some point, how your father's blood soaks into the fabric of your dress. 

He watches… watches as you just kneel there, holding him, unwilling to let go.

And he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

"We need to leave." His voice is gentle in a way that, if you were paying attention enough, he almost sounds like he’s faking kindness. "I'm sorry… really, truly sorry. But we need to go."

"I can't leave him." You yell, shocked at the desperation mixed with anger in your tone.

"You have to."

You resist the moment you feel his hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you away gently, you clutch onto your father’s coat… but… all that crying, all that grief, everything has made you too exhausted to fight back. So you let yourself get pulled to your feet.

His hand finds yours again, holding them in a way strangers shouldn’t, and he guides you away from your father's corpse. 

A corpse he is the cause of.

You don’t look back when you walk away, hand in Scaramouche’s, because that would imply you could see, and you’ve never seen anything, anything in your life.

You’ve never been allowed to be normal.

You've been outside before, briefly, under heavy supervision. But this… this is different. This is the world, vast and open and terrifying, and you cling to Scaramouche's hand like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

"Where are we going?" Your voice is hoarse from crying.

"My home… It's safe there. You can wait for your mother and brother to return."

You walk in silence for a while. The ground changes beneath your feet, smooth stone, then rough earth, then gravel, then something softer. Grass, maybe. The air smells like trees and night-blooming flowers and something else, something you can't identify.

The room they've given you is beautiful.

At least, that's what Scaramouche tells you. He describes it in detail: the canopy bed draped in white silk, the antique furniture, the chandelier that catches the light just so. You can't see any of it. But you can feel the softness of the sheets, the smoothness of the polished wood, the weight of the heavy curtains that you've never been able to move.

"Can I open the window?" You ask one day.

"Not right now." His voice is gentle, apologetic. "It's not safe."

"... But I want to feel the sun."

"The sun is dangerous right now. They’re still vampires in the area. They might see the light from your window and know someone's here."

It doesn’t make sense, none of it does. But you're in a strange place, dependent on a stranger's kindness, and you don't have the energy to argue.

"Okay..."

He visits you every day. Or every night, you've started to realize. You can never quite tell when he arrives, but it always feels like evening, like the world has gone dark and quiet outside your sealed windows.

It’s weird he never shows up during the day.

He brings you food prepared by servants you’ve never met, carried up on silver trays. Sometimes he feeds you himself, guides the utensil to your lips, and the intimacy of it should make you feel embarrassed… but you’re not.

Because you’re falling in love with this strange… kind stranger.

Well, is he a stranger anymore?

It’s stupid how quickly you’ve fallen for him. It’s been a week, and you barely even know him… but he’s the only person you have now, the only voice in your silent world, and when he touches your hand or brushes the hair from your face, you feel something warm bloom in your chest.

"Tell me about yourself," you say one evening, or morning… You can't tell anymore.

"What do you want to know?" He responds, casual, ready to share whatever it is you want.

"Anything… Everything." You're sitting on your bed, your back against the pillows, and you can feel him next to you, how he moves closer to you. "I don't even know what you look like."

"... Would you like to?"

"Yes."

You feel him take your hand, slow, and raise it to his face. "Go ahead," he says. "See me."

Your fingers tremble as they make contact with his skin… his skin is cold, colder than it should be, colder than anyone’s skin you’ve felt. But it’s smooth, and you feel that makes up for it.

"Why are you so cold?" You ask.

He leans into your touch, and you can hear a slight sigh come from him, as if this relaxes him. "I run cold... I always have."

You map out his features, feel the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his lips. His cheekbones are high and prominent, and his face is narrow and elegant.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, even though you can't see him.

He tilts his head at your touch. "... Am I?"

You smile, tiny in response. "I can feel it."

His hand covers yours, pressing it flat against his cheek. He's still wearing his gloves, even though you wish he weren't.

"What color are your eyes?" you ask even though color is foreign to you.

"Do you even know color?” He chuckles, playful in a way. “It’s dark violet… almost indigo, in some lights."

You nod, fingers still exploring. "That sounds pretty… What about your hair?"

"Similar, actually. Very dark, with hints of blue." You feel him shift, leaning closer. "Does that help? Can you see me now?"

"I don’t see, Scara.” You giggle, comfortable around him enough that you use a nickname now, “But I think I can imagine." You're building him in your mind, piece by piece, as you speak. "You're taller than me?"

“Im sure you can feel that I’m a little taller than you, but, unfortunately, not by much.” He laughs softly. "I'm quite short, by most standards."

"And thin?"

"Very."

You lower your hand from his face, and you feel him catch it before it falls. He holds your hand between both of his… gloved ones.

"Can you take off your gloves?" you ask.

He pauses, with clear hesitation at your question, squeezes your hand just once before saying, “If that’s what you want, then I will.”

You hear a soft sound of leather being removed, and then you feel his bare hand in yours. It’s cold just like his skin, but smooth, and soft, and you trace the lines of his palm, the shape of his fingers, and he pretends it doesn’t tickle.

"You're freezing." You note, again.

"I told you… I run cold."

You come up with a solution. “We should go outside, in the morning, when the sun is warm. It’ll help… and I like the outside air.”

You feel him go still beside you, like what you just said is something nonnegotiable, something he couldn’t ever possibly agree to.

For reasons you don’t know yet.

Then, as for what you’d assume to be a distraction, his free hand comes up to touch your cheek, and you sense him getting closer, leaning in.

"We can't go outside," he murmurs, and his lips brush yours.

You’ve never been kissed before, this is your first one, and he does it softly, and you don’t even know what to do. His mouth moves against yours, gentle, but also patient for you, and you try to follow his lead because this is something you definitely want.

When he pulls back, you're breathless.

"It's not safe," he whispers against your lips, continuing his last murmured statement while his thumb rubs over your lips. "I won't risk you."

"But-"

But he kisses you again, and that cuts you off. This kiss is deeper than the first, as he slides his hand into your hand, cradling the back of your head, and tilting his own head into the kiss. You melt into it… into him. And when he breaks away this time, you’ve forgotten what you were going to say, all you just want is more of that feeling he just gave you.

"Trust me," he says. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

And you trust him way more than anyone in your position should.

More days pass after that… or nights, you don’t know. 

You've lost track entirely.

He kisses you now. Often. His hands find excuses to touch you, your shoulder, your waist, the small of your back. Always through gloves, always careful, but the touches are becoming bolder. More intimate.

He kisses you a lot after that day, after that first kiss. Often… really often. His hands find excuses to touch you, your shoulder, your waist, the small of your back. Glove gone, because now he knows you don’t care about the cold. The touches are careful, but they’re also becoming more bold as the days go on… more intimate.

You don't mind, of course. And of course you want more. 

"Scaramouche?"

"Mm?"

He just finished feeding you lunch, and he set the tray aside, setting onto the bed beside you. His presence has started to feel too much like home.

“I like it when you kiss me… touch me and all, it feels nice.” You start, voice small, nervous even as your head is tilted down, hand curling at your duvet. “I want more…”

He’s quiet as you speak, after you speak. You feel him looking at you, even though you can’t see his gaze. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You respond, eager, but shy.

You feel his hand cup your cheek, turn it to face his direction, and you lean into his hand instinctively.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "Do you know that?"

“But…” you shake your head, tiny. "I can't see myself."

"I know… But I can." His thumb traces your lower lip. "You look like a doll. Like something precious that should be kept under glass."

"... Is that how you see me?"

"It's how I want to keep you." He leans in, and his lips brush yours. "Safe... Protected. Mine."

The word sends a shiver through you. Mine.

He kisses you, his tongue sliding past your lips. You gasp, and he swallows the sound, his hand fisting in your hair. The kiss goes on and on, dizzying, overwhelming, and when he finally pulls back, you're panting.

"More?" he asks.

"Please."

His mouth moves down your jaw, along your neck. His lips are soft against your skin in a way that makes you whimper, involuntarily at each kiss.

"You smell incredible," he breathes against your skin. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No."

"You smell like..." He trails off. His mouth lingers at the curve of your neck, just above your pulse, and you feel his breath go shallow. "Like everything I've ever wanted."

You don't understand what that means. You feel his lips pressing kisses to your throat now, gentle and almost reverent, and you tilt your head back to give him better access.

"Lie back," he says. "Let me take care of you."

You obey his words, taking it as permission for what you were already going to do. You sink back into the pillows, your white nightgown riding up around your thighs. You hear him move, feel the mattress shift as he positions himself over you.

“Have you ever been touched before? He murmurs, pressing more kisses down your throat as he asks.

"No." You breathe out.

"Good."

His hands find the hem of your nightgown, and you feel his fingers slide beneath, skimming up your thighs, and your breath catches at that.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he says against your mouth.

You've never wanted anything less in your life for him to stop.

He moves down your body, trailing kisses along your collarbone, your chest, the swell of your breasts through the thin fabric. And then he's sliding lower, pushing the nightgown up, disappearing beneath the sheets.

"... Where are you going?"

"Relax." His voice is muffled now, distant. "You'll see."

You won't see, you think. You never see.

But then his lips are on your thigh, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin, and you stop thinking entirely.

You feel him make a nip at your skin, just slightly, and you let out a soft whimper before you can stop yourself.

"Did that hurt?" He sounds curious, not concerned, curious.

"N-no. It felt..." you start, voice tiny.

"Good?" he finishes for you.

"Yes," you agree.

You feel him smile against your skin. And then his fingers are hooking into your underwear, sliding the soft satin down your legs, and you're bare beneath his gaze.

His mouth finds you, and you can feel his tongue licking up through your folds, a sensation you’ve never felt before, and you cry out. It’s nothing like the vague descriptions in some of the smut you’ve read… occasionally, it’s overwhelming… consuming.

"Ah... Scara..."

"That's it." His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh. "Say my name."

His tongue circles your clit, teasing, tasting, and your hips buck involuntarily. He pins them down with one hand, holding you still.

"So sensitive." He sounds delighted. "And you can't even see what I'm doing to you. You can only feel it."

Every touch feels magnified tenfold. This is what being blind has given you… this heightened awareness… this desperate sensitivity.

He slides a finger inside you, and you gasp.

"Tight," he murmurs. "We'll fix that."

He works you open slowly, one finger, then two, stretching you while his tongue continues its assault on your clit. It feels too much by the way you can’t help but squirm, but it also feels like not enough, and also just everything all at once. 

"Hah... please... I need..."

"What do you need?"

"I don't know... more... something..."

He adds a third finger, curling them up, finding a spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your closed eyes. His mouth seals over your clit, sucking gently, and you shatter.

The orgasm crashes through you like a wave. You cry out, your back arching, your hands fisting in the sheets, and he works you through it, relentless, drawing out every last tremor.

When you finally come down, he's crawling back up your body. His mouth finds yours, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"Good?" he asks.

"Yes... hah... yes..."

He pulls back and you can hear the rustle of fabric, the soft sounds of clothes being removed. And then his hands are on your nightgown, sliding it up, over your head, leaving you completely bare.

"You're beautiful," he says again. "So beautiful."

His hands run over your body, mapping your curves, and you wish desperately that you could see him. See what he looks like above you, naked and wanting.

"Can I touch you?" You ask.

"Yes."

He guides your hand down, down, until your fingers close around him… what you’d assume to be a cock. He feels hard, and the shape of it seems big. It’s heavy in your palm, and warm, warmer than the rest of his cold skin.

"Oh..."

"Do you feel what you do to me?" His voice is strained. "How much I want you?"

You nod, speechless.

He moves your hand away and positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against you. Your breath catches at the feeling, realizing that this is really happening, that you’re really losing your virginity.

"This will hurt," he says. "At first."

"I know."

"I won't be gentle."

"... I don't want you to be, Scara."

And with that, he pushes inside, one thrust, all the way.

You scream, not from pleasure, not yet, just from the sudden fullness, the pain of being stretched beyond what you thought possible. He swallows the sound you make with a kiss, his mouth claiming yours, his hands pinning your wrists above your head.

"Shh." His lips move against yours. "Breathe."

You try to listen and breathe, but it’s hard when he’s inside you, especially so impossibly deep, filling every inch of your body. But you don’t feel pressured, as he’s very patient, holding you still and letting you adjust.

"Does it hurt?" 

"Y-yes..."

"It won't for long."

He starts to move, it’s slow at first, long strokes that pull out almost all the way before pushing back in. His thumbs simultaneously rub soothing circles on your belly, a strange counterpoint to the ache between your legs.

And then the pain starts to fade... Replaced by something else. Something warm and building.

"Oh... hah..."

"There we go." He picks up the pace slightly, noticing. "That's it. Feel me."

And you do, you feel every inch, every thrust, every time he angles his hips to hit that spot inside you. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, and he swallows each one with kisses.

His mouth finds your neck again, and he kisses, sucks, and marks the skin there. He’s obsessed with your throat, you realize, with the way his lips keep gravitating there, always lingering.

"Can I..." You gasp as he hits that spot again. "Can I ask something?"

"Anything."

"Will you... Will you bite me?"

He goes still.

For a moment, you think you've said something wrong, that you’ve gone too far. But then his hips start moving again, harder than before, faster, and his voice is rough when he speaks.

"You want me to bite you?"

"Yes... please... I want..."

"Are you sure?"

"Ngh... yes... please, Scara..."

His teeth sink into your neck.

It’s not hard enough to actually break your skin, but it’s hard enough that it hurts, that it makes you cry out, that it makes the pain mix with pleasure in a way that you can’t tell them apart. He bites you again, and again, marking your throat with red impressions of his teeth.

"Mine," he growls against your skin. "You're mine."

"Yours... hah... I'm yours..."

He's fucking you harder now, losing control, his breath ragged against your neck. And then he's tensing, burying himself deep, and you feel him spill inside you.

And when he cums inside, something he does happens by accident.

His teeth clamp down hard on your neck. His teeth don’t even feel like teeth when he does it; it feels like a knife piercing your skin, something sharp, not like human teeth.

You let out a confused whimper in response to it, and his hips are stuttering, groaning against your throat, and the pain you feel fades into a strange, floaty warmth.

When he pulls back, his mouth lingers on the bite, kissing it, licking at something wet that trickled down your neck.

"Sorry," he murmurs, still inside of you. "Got carried away."

"S'okay..." You're drifting, boneless, blissed out. "Felt good anyway..."

He laughs softly, and you feel his thumb trace the bite mark, pressing gently, and you wince.

"I left a mark." He points out.

"I don't mind..."

"No?" He kisses the spot again, more focused on kissing that than your own lips, and then he licks it, slow and deliberate. "I'll have to be more careful next time."

Next time. The words warm you from the inside.

He shifts, pulling out of you, and you whimper at the loss. But then he's lying beside you, pulling you into his arms, and you curl against his chest.

"Will you stay?" you whisper. "Tonight? Sleep with me?"

"Yes."

"You never stay."

"I'll stay tonight." His arms tighten around you. "I'll stay as long as you want me."

You press your face against his chest, feeling safe in someone's arms, something that has always felt foreign to you until now.

"I love you," you whisper, 3 words you’ve never said to anyone once before.

He goes still at your murmured confession, not expecting to hear those words from you so soon, but he doesn’t mind it. His hand finds your hair, and he strokes it gently in a way that makes you curl into him further.

"I know," he says. "I love you too."

You fall asleep like that.

Wrapped in the arms of a monster you can't see.

You wake up to him still on your bed, his hand still on your hair, like nothing changed after you went to sleep.

Well… except for the fact that your nightgown is back on. You remember falling asleep naked in his arms, but now the soft fabric is back, covering you, and you wonder if he dressed you while you slept.

"You're awake."

His voice rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your cheek. You lift your head, even though lifting does nothing for you, even though you can't see him, no matter which direction you face.

"How long was I asleep?"

"A while." His hand starts to begin it’s pattern of stroking you hair. "You needed it."

You settle back against him. The silence is comfortable, easy in a way you've never experienced with another person. You've spent your whole life alone, and now you're not, and the relief of it is almost overwhelming.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Tell me about your family." You trace a small circle on his chest with your finger. "Your father… What's he like?"

Theres a brief pause, almost imperceptible, but you catch it. "He's a busy man," Scaramouche says. "Always working. I don't see him often."

"And your mother?"

Another pause, a longer one this time.

"My mother," he repeats, and there's something strange in his voice… something heavy. "My mother is... complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"She lives here. In this estate." His hand stills in your hair. "She's… powerful. Important. Everyone knows her name, fears it, respects it. But… she's never been much of a mother to me."

You wait, sensing there's more.

"She's neglectful," he continues, quieter now. "Always has been. Too busy with her own concerns to notice her son. Too wrapped up in her own world to care about mine." He laughs, but it's hollow. "I hate her sometimes. Most of the time, actually. But somewhere, deep down, I suppose I still..."

He trails off. You press your palm flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, not questioning why you can’t find it.

"I'm sorry." You say, clear sympathy in your voice.

"Don't be." His hand resumes its gentle stroking. "It's just how things are."

"Can I meet her?” You ask, more curious than eager. “Your mother?"

He tenses when you ask that, and he tries to cover it up, acting normal by continuing his rhythm in your hair. "Maybe," he says. "Someday. I'm not sure."

You accept the non-answer, it’s what you’re used to. Your whole life has been built on them.

"Scaramouche?"

"Mm?"

"My mother and brother." You swallow. "Do you know if they're back yet? From their trip?"

The silence that follows after what you say feels different than any question you’ve asked. It feels heavier, makes you feel oddly tense.

"Why do you want to leave so badly?" He says in a tone lacking of any emotion, in a way that sounds scary and not at all like the sweet boy you’ve grown to love.

It catches you of guard, definitely, and you shake your head immediately, frantically even.

“I don’t… not at all, Scara. I would never want to-” You stop, realizing what you just said without giving it a single thought. Never. You just fucking said never. You clear your throat, trying to fix your words. “I just… I want to know if they’re safe… that’s all. It has nothing to do with me wanting to leave.”

You feel him shift beneath you, feel his hand move from your hair to cup your cheek. That motion would normally make you feel secure, safe, loved by him. But right now… you’re just confused at his behavior, confused on why he can’t just give you a proper response without having you fall apart first.

"I visited your estate two days ago," he says finally. "To check. And they weren't there."

Your heart drops hearing those words. It’s been two weeks, they should be back by now on there trip, should’ve been back days ago, but what Scara’s telling you makes you think they never made it back… or did, and got killed by the very thing they’re skilled at hunting.

"What do you mean they weren't there?"

"I didn’t just look, also. I asked around… not your dead servants, but I asked your neighbors, anyone alive in the vicinity…” His thumb traces your cheekbone, it seems like he’s doing it to comfort you, but to you it feels like he’s mocking you. "I’ll be nice and say they're possibly missing."

All blood drains from your face as you process his words, you feel your body go cold just like his… you feel the relapse of emotions you felt the day your father was murdered.

Your face is gone. Your mother… and your brother are missing.

You have no one.

… no one but him.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head in denial, hoping that the worst isn’t as true as it seems. “No… that can’t be right. They were supposed to come back… they always do, I never worry about them when they go on hunting trips… I just feel sad that I’m never allowed to come with them. I wish I was now… I wish my brother wasn’t such a stupid asshole that only sees me as something weak… because maybe then, I’d be able to say goodbye.” 

You burry your face in Scara’s chest, trying not to sob, but the tears threaten anyway. “I’d rather die with them, than not be with them at all.”

Scara watches this display of your… emotions without uttering a word, none until you’re finished.

“Shh.” He starts, voice soft and nothing compared to the uncanny, emotionless one like before, he strokes your head as you cry onto his chest. “I’ll check every day for you, I promise. I’ll go back and look, over and over, day and night if I have to. And the moment I see them, I’ll bring them to safety and tell you immediately.”

The words don’t help, not at all, because how would something as a promise you’ll never be able to see experience, actually, and I mean, actually make you feel better.

“Let me come with you…” You sit up, desperate, clinging onto his shoulders. “Please, Scara. I want to go home… I want to feel my house again, smell it, actually open the curtia-”

He cuts you off, “You can’t.” His tone is calm in a way that it makes an insane contrast with how much you’re currently spiraling.

"Why not?" You say, just as desperate as your words before.

"It's not safe." He says it like it’s already been decided, confirmed.

“I don’t care if it’s safe or not!” Your voice cracks. “What the hell, Scara, they’re my family… my fucking family! I’m an adult, not just some child that wants to be locked all the time, I can fend for myself, I’m sick and tired of being forced to stay in bed like if I even stepped out of it, I’d be in danger.” 

"You can't come with me." His words are, again, firm and final. You’ve heard them before, a thousand times, coming from the very people you’re so desperate to find.

You're too fragile. Too delicate. Too blind.

But there’s a difference here because Scaramouche doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t call you helpless, he doesn’t point to your disability as the reason. He knows your senses are strong, he’s seen you navigate his estate, memorize the layout of your room, detect his presence before he speaks. He knows you’d be more useful than him at searching, that your hearing could pick up things his eyes might miss.

So why won't he let you?

"They’re vampires out there," he says, as if reading your thoughts. "The ones who attacked your home. They're still in the area. I won't risk you."

Vampires.

You think of your father, his throat torn open, his blood soaking into your hands. You think of the creatures that did that to him, the monsters that hunt in the night, and hatred rises in your chest like bile.

"I hate them." The words come out bitter. "I hate vampires. They're disgusting creatures. Monsters. They killed my father, they destroyed my life, and I hope every single one of them burns."

Scaramouche doesn't respond.

You keep going, unable to stop yourself.

"My family has hunted them for generations. We've killed hundreds, thousands. And it's not enough. It'll never be enough. They're a plague, a disease, and the world would be better off if every last one of them was wiped from existence."

Still nothing.

You take a breath. "But..." You pause, uncertain. "I would like to meet one. Someday…"

"What?" Scaramouche finally responds.

"A vampire." You turn your face toward him, even though you can't see his expression. "In my books, they're always described as hideous. Monstrous. Twisted things with rotting flesh and hollow eyes. But… I don't believe that. I think they must be beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful. And I want to feel one, just once. Even though I know it would be impossible. Even though they'd kill me before I could get close."

It’s quiet in the room, and you wonder if you’ve said something wrong, you wonder if he hates vampires as much as your family does, that maybe he was raised the same as you, but isn’t weird like you.

"You imagine them as beautiful," he repeats slowly.

"... Yes."

"Even though you hate them."

"I can hate something and still find it fascinating." You shrug. "I've never been able to separate the two."

He doesn't respond to that. Instead, he changes the subject entirely.

"Have you ever opened your eyes?"

The question startles you because no one has ever asked that before. People assume you can't, that there's something wrong with them, that keeping them closed is a medical necessity rather than a choice.

"No."

"Never? Really?"

"I choose to keep them closed." You touch the edge of your lace mask, feeling the delicate fabric beneath your fingers. "I can't see anyway. Opening them wouldn't change anything."

"Then why keep them closed?"

You hesitate because this is something you’ve never told anyone, not even your family. Something private, sacred, held close to your chest like a secret.

"You’ll probably find it stupid… but I'm saving them," you say finally. "For someone special."

"Someone special?"

"Someone who'll stay with me for eternity." The words come out soft, almost reverent. "Even in a human life. Someone who'll love me and protect me, but who'll also let me feel protected on my own. Someone who'll trust me to keep myself safe. Someone that I love enough to open them for."

You pause, your chest feeling tight.

"Someone who'll love me forever."

The silence that follows is so heavy you could drown in it.

"Only a vampire can love you forever."

You tilt your head, confused as his response, and let out a nervous giggle, thinking what he said to be a joke. "What?"

His lips find yours before you can say another word, he kisses you soft, gentle, cutting of your confusion before in can fully form.

"I'll love you for an eternity," he murmurs against your mouth. "And you can choose when you want to open your eyes for me."

You melt into the kiss, the strange comment already fading from your mind.

Days pass.

He sleeps in your room now, every night, he crawls into bed beside you, pulls you against his chest, holds you until morning… or what you assume is morning, you never know for certain.

He still feeds you, more now that the relationship you two have seems more established than ever. You wish though, that it was different, that you could feed yourself, and he does the same infront of you. One day, as he’s feeding you, you ask, "Can I eat with you? At a table, like normal people?"

"Maybe one day," he says.

That day never comes.

The day does come for a different shared experience, one that doesn’t involve eating but involves a lot of trust and intimacy.

"Let me bathe you."

The words catch you off guard completely. You’re sitting on your bed, tracing the embroidery on your pillowcase when he says it. You were going to bathe later, in a few hours, it’s not necessary to do it now… but you shake your head, almost at yourself, continuing to trace as you respond.

"I can bathe myself."

"I know you can." You hear him move closer, feel the mattress dip as he sits beside you. "But I want to do it. Let me take care of you."

You’ve been bathing yourself your whole life, navigating through your bathroom with the ever-present fear of falling. You’ve memorized the layout of every bathroom you’ve ever used, mapped the distance from every object… you don’t necessarily need help.

But… the thought of him doing it, of his hands on you, of not having to worry about slipping and cracking your skull on the edge of the basin because he'd be there to catch you...

"Okay."

His hand finds yours, and it’s cold, as always, but you’ve stopped flinching at the temperature. Ever since that night, the first night, when his skin pressed against yours and you were too overwhelmed by the softness of it to care about the chill. He's touched you more since then, like something shifted between you and he no longer feels the need to hide.

He leads you out of your room and down a hallway you haven’t memorized yet. You count the steps as you both walk, fourteen until you turn left, seven more, then a door on the same left side of the wall. 

"Bathroom," he says, unnecessarily, leading you inside and shutting the door behind you both, locking it. "Stay here."

You stand on a rug, seemingly in the middle of the bathroom while he moves around the space. You hear water running, the squeak of a tap being adjusted, the slosh of liquid filling something large and deep. A bathtub bigger than any you've had before, by the sound of it.

"Temperature's good." His footsteps return to you. "Arms up."

You raise your arms, and his hands find the straps of your nightgown. It’s a short white babydoll dress, and he slides the straps off your shoulders, slow, deliberate, and the fabric pools at your feet.

You’re naked now, fully exposed, and you can feel his gaze on you like he’s physically touching you, tracing the curves of your body, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts. You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the weight of his attention.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself.

His fingers find your face and they trace along your jaw, up your cheekbones, and then higher. They go to the lalce mask you’ve worn everyday since childhood.

"Can I take this off too?"

Your breath catches at that question. No one has ever seen you without it, not since you were a baby… too young to keep it on yourself. It's part of you now, as familiar as your own skin.

But he's already seen everything else. What's one more piece?

"... Yes. You can, Scara…"

He’s gentle as he unties the ribbon at the back of your head, sliding the delicate fabric away from your face.The air feels strange against your closed eyelids, more exposed than even your naked body.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment.

"You're not opening them," he says finally.

"I never do, I told you."

"I know." His thumb brushes across your closed eyelid, featherlight. "Your lashes are longer than I expected."

You don't know what to say to that. You've never thought about your eyelashes. You've never thought about any part of your face, really. It's just... there. A thing you can't see, can't evaluate, can't compare to anyone else's.

He cups your face in both hands and tilts it up toward him.

And then he kisses you.

Not your mouth, though, you feel him press a soft kiss on your cheekbone… then your eyelid, so gentle you can barely feel it, then the other one… reverent.

Worshipful.

You giggle because you can’t help it, the kiss on your eyelids tickles, and it’s also so sweet. You’re overwhelmed by the tenderness of it.

He doesn’t just stop there, he kisses your mouth next, lips moving against yours, his tongue sliding past your teeth. You melt into it, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders, and you realize he's still fully clothed while you're completely bare.

"Your turn," you murmur against his lips.

"... What?"

"Your clothes." You fumble for the buttons of his shirt, your fingers clumsy. "Take them off."

He laughs, soft and amused. "Eager."

"I want to feel you."

He lets you try, lets you figure it out yourself. Your fingers work at the buttons, struggling with the unfamiliar task, because you’ve never worn buttons before, and he doesn’t help. You get three undone before you give up, frustrated.

"It's hard when you can't see what you're doing," you mutter.

"Most things are."

You can't tell if he's mocking you or sympathizing… Maybe both.

He takes over, shrugging out of his shirt, then his pants, and then he's as naked as you are. "Come on." His hand takes yours again. "Water's getting cold."

He guides you to the edge of the tub, and helps you step over the high rim. The water feels perfect, warm, but not scalding, and you sink into it with a sigh of relief. The tub is enormous, deep enough that the water comes up to your chest when you sit.

He slides in behind you.

His legs bracket yours, his chest close to your back, and you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against him. You let your head fall onto his shoulder.

"Comfortable?" He asks.

"Mm." You say, completely lost like you’re under some kind of spell.

He reaches for something, you hear the click of a bottle opening, and then his hands are in your hair. You feel him lathering shampoo through the strands, his fingers working at your scalp.

You let out a tiny, embarrassing (to you), whimper at the feel of it.

No one has ever done this for you, never touched your hair like this… with this much attention, this much care. His fingers press and circle, finding the stops that make the tension drain from your shoulders, and you go boneless against him.

"Good?"

"So good." Your voice comes out dreamy, like you’re distantly there. "... Don't stop."

He washes your hair thoroughly, rinsing it with ahndfuls of water, and then he reaches for another bottle, conditioner, you assume, and he works through the ends, detangling with his fingers, patient and methodical.

You could fall alseep like this if you aren’t careful. Being here… feeling this… makes you want to stay here forever, floating in warm water, his hands at your hair, his body solid and real behind you.

His hands go lower… down your neck, across your shoulders. He’s washing you now, his palms sliding over your skin, leaving trails of soap. He washes down your back, the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist.

And then he goes to the front of your body. His hands cup around your breasts.

You gasp, but you don’t pull away. His palms are slick with soap, sliding over the soft flesh, and his thumbs find your nipples, he circles around them, clearly teasing.

"Still okay?"

"Yes." The word comes out breathless, and you nod. "Yes, keep going."

He doesn’t rush after your full permission, he touches you like he has all the time in the world, like your body is something to be explored and memorized, the same as you do any room you come into. He learns the weight of your breasts, the way your nipples harden under his attention, the sounds you make when he pinches just slightly.

He lingers at your breasts for way too long.

"More?" His voice is low, rough against your ear.

"Please, Scara… "

His hand slides down your stomach, over the curve of your hip… between… your thighs.

You spread your legs without being asked.

He touches you slowly here too, like he’s learning, just like everywhere else. His fingers trace along your folds, slipping through the slickness that has nothing to do with the bath water. He finds your clit, circles it ones, then twice, and you let out the cutest whimper in response.

"Sensitive," he murmurs, you’re always sensitive, one of the few things you like (and hate) about being blind. "I like that."

And because he’s obsessed with it, because he seems to always go to it, his mouth finds your neck. He presses kisses to the curve of it, and you feel his teeth, just barely, tiny nips that send shivers down your spine. You're too focused on his fingers to pay much attention, too lost in the way he's touching you, slow circles that build heat in your core, especially when he slips two fingers inside.

He learns what makes you gasp, what makes the little hitches of breath you cant control, and he exploits it ruthlessly. Pressing harder when you react, curling up in the spot that makes your eyes roll back behind your eyelids and always pulling back when you get too close.

"Scara..." You're squirming against him, trying to grind into his hand. "Please..."

"Please what?"

"I need to cum... Please let me cum."

He bites your neck, harder than before, and it’s hard enough to sting. While he does it, his curl up into your cunt, abusing that spot of yours perfectly, in the way you’ve been needing this entire time.

The orgasm crashes through you, your body arching in the water, waves sloshing over the edges of the tub. He works you through it, his fingers relentless, his mouth still pressed to your throat, tiny bites you barely register through the pleasure. You're distantly aware of his teeth breaking skin, just slightly, just enough to taste, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation of cumming on his hand.

You slump back against him, panting, trembling, and his hand moves away from between your legs to rest on your stomach.

"Good girl," he murmurs against your skin.

You're too blissed out to respond.

He holds you like that until the water goes cold. Then he lifts you out, wraps you in a towel, and carries you back to bed. You fall asleep in a new nightgown he got for you, in his arms, still floating.

You don’t notice the small wounds on your neck until the morning, when you accidently touch it because your neck feels weird. But even then, because you cannot see the weird look to it, how it just looks like two holes punched into your skin, you don’t think much of it.

Needless to say, you’ve become dependent on him.

He's the only person you see, the only voice you hear, the only touch you feel. When he's not in the room, you sleep. You can't help it. There's nothing else to do, no one else to talk to, and sleep is the only way to make the waiting bearable.

Sometimes, when you can't sleep, you walk. Around the room, tracing the walls with your fingertips, memorizing the furniture and the layout and the exact number of steps from the bed to the door. 

The door that's always locked.

You think it's been three weeks.

On what feels like the twenty-second day, something changes.

You wake up alone, as usual. Reach for the door, as usual. But when you turn the handle…

It opens.

That makes you freeze because why would the door be unlocked? Did he forget to lock it when he left? But… Scara doesn’t seem the type to make a mistake, ever.

Your heart pounds.

You've memorized your room, but… you don't know what's outside it. The hallway, the stairs, the rest of this place that might be a mansion or might be something bigger. You're terrified of unknown spaces, always have been. The thought of stepping into an area you haven't mapped makes your hands shake.

But you're also curious.

And right now, curiosity is stronger than fear.

You step into the hallway and cling to the wall, feeling the texture beneath your fingers, and you start walking, slow. You’re careful as you walk, one hand staying on the wall, the other extended in front of you.

Your goal of finally being able to get out of that room without Scara’s supervision is to find a window. Not to jump or anything sucidial in that manner, you’re happy… happy in the sense that you’re trying not to think too much of your family, and think more of how Scara treats you. You want to find a window so you can feel the sunlight again. The curtains in your room are too heavy to move, and you miss the feeling of warmth on your skin.

But you don't find any windows. Not ones you can reach, anyway.

What you find are stairs.

You navigate them slowly, one step at a time, clinging almost for dear life onto the railing. Down, down, stop, hover your foot just to make sure that what’s under is really a step, then down, down. They’re more stairs than there should be, more than any normal house would have… this place is enormous, which would be any blind person nightmare to walk through, if they’re alone.

But you manage.

You reach the bottom, and the floor is soft here, carpet maybe. And being down here, you can hear voices.

Not Scaramouche's voice.

Multiple.

You freeze hearing them, every muscle in your body going tense. The voices seem to be coming from a room nearby, the people, you assume, probably don’t see you, so your panic does fade, just slightly. You inch toward the room you hear the voices coming from, and you feel for the door, it feels ajar, which is better than it being fully open, and you press yourself against the wall, moving as silently as you can.

"-tired of this," one voice is saying. It sounds like a male’s voice, deep, rough at the edges. "Three weeks and we're still tiptoeing around."

3 weeks? That’s the same amount of time you’ve known Scara.

"The prince wants her kept alive," another voice responds. Also male, but higher, more nasal. "What the prince wants, the prince gets."

The… prince?

"But the smell." The first voice again, frustrated. "Do you have any idea how maddening it is? Human blood, everywhere, all the fuckin’ time. It's all I can focus on."

Your blood runs cold.

Human blood.

"He keeps her locked up," the nasal voice continues. "Won't let anyone near her. He won’t even let us look at her."

"The prince has always been selfish." A third voice, bored. "You remember what he did to that village last century? Killed everyone, just because one of them looked at him wrong."

The first voice laughs. "Scaramouche has always been-"

You stop breathing.

Scaramouche.

They're talking about Scaramouche.

They called him prince.

Business partners' sons aren't royalty. Business partners' sons don't have people calling them prince, don't have people talking about villages they destroyed last century.

The man you've been living with, sleeping with, kissing, loving-

"Do you think the human smell's gotten stronger?" the first voice asks suddenly. "Over the past few minutes?"

"Now that you mention it..."

You run.

You don’t think before you do. Plan? Out the fucking window you’re never allowed to feel. You don’t have time for any of that, this is life or death, these… whatever these people are, vampires, sound hungry for you.

Your hands frantically feel along the walls, your feet stumble over unfamiliar terrain, you’re looking for a door… an exit, anything…

And oddly enough…

You don’t hear those men chasing you.

You don't hear them at all anymore, and that's worse. That's so much worse, because vampires are silent, vampires are fast, vampires can move without making a sound-

You collide with a body.

The impact knocks the breath from your lungs. You stumble backward, your hands coming up instinctively, something you assume to be a defensive position. Your arms crossed in front of your face, body curled inward, the way you've read about in books.

A familiar laugh cuts through the darkness.

"That's what you'd do if a vampire ever tried to attack you? Seriously?"

Scaramouche.

Something in his voice is different… the gentleness of it has been stripped away, like the way he acted before, was all just an act he was too good at. He sounds amused, yes, but in a cruel way, a mocking way.

"You-” Your hands go down now that you know who it is, but not in a way that you aren’t ready to try and defend yourself. You're shaking, trembling all over. "Y-you're a-"

"A vampire." He finishes for your stutter, and he says it causally too, like this confession is nothing to him. "Yes. Obviously."

"You killed my father, didn’t you." You say, hurt at the betrayal, the heartbreak is painfully clear in your voice.

"Mm. He died quickly… if that helps."

Something inside you snaps.

You lunge at him, fists swinging, you can’t see where you’re aiming, can’t see if you’re even close to hitting him, but you don’t care. You want to hurt him… you need to.

Your fists connect with nothing.

He’s moved, and you don’t know where, you just know he’s not where he was, and that causes you to stumble forward, off-balance. You feel a hand catch with your wrist, twisting it behind your back, and suddenly, you’re pressed against him, your back to his chest, and you can feel his mouth at your ear.

"That was pathetic," he says pleasantly. "Try again."

You struggle, trash, try to break free of his grip. And he seems to barely even be trying, his tight grip is effortless, his body immovable like a statue. You’re fighting with everything you have, and he’s just… standing there. 

"LET ME GO!" You yell, loud, ready to bite at his hand if he tries covering your mouth.

"No." He says, casual, while you’re frantic. 

"YOU KILLED HIM!" Tears are streaming down your face now, soaking into your mask. "You killed my father!!” You scream, your own throat burning and your next words come out quiet, broken, “You made me think… you made me… love you-” 

"I didn't make you do anything." His voice is cold, a perfect match with his body. "You fell in love all on your own. I just... helped it along."

Your voice raises again. "You're a MONSTER!" 

"Yes."

"I HATE YOU!"

"Do you?"

“ILL NEVER LOVE YOU!” You don’t stop screaming, you don’t care if someone hears, you don’t care about anything but seeing your family right now. “ILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU! Do you understand that, you fucking ugly, disgusting VAMPIRE. I hope someone drives a stake though your nonexistent fucking heart and-”

"Careful." His grip tightens on your wrist. "My patience has limits."

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking CARE ABOUT YOU. LET ME GO!! LET ME GO.”

He does, and you stumble forward, nearly falling. You spin around, your hands up, and your breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Fine," he says, and he sounds bored. "You want to go? Fucking go."

You freeze, hearing something you definitely didn’t expect. “What?”

“The door is right behind you, I’ll even open it for you, so you won’t struggle to find it like I know you will. You can walk out… into the night, because it is night right now, where they’re dozens, and I mean, dozens of vampires far less patient than me, and you can fend for yourself.” He pauses and you can feel amusement, something mocking in his tone. “Is that what you want?”

Yes. No??? You… you don’t know.

"You're bluffing.” You say instead.

"Try me." He counters.

You hear footsteps, his, walking past you, and a large door creaking open from behind. Cold air rushes in, and it’s the same air you’ve been craving to feel weeks ago, and you can sense, just by it that he’s right, that it is nightime.

"There you go," he says. "Freedom, just like you want. Take it."

You want to be the brave one and run, sprint out that door and never look back.

But you’re terrified. The night is full of monsters, ones you’ve never encountered once in your life, apart from this one, and as much as you hate to admit your disability being the very think that makes you weak… you’re blind, and that ruins any chance of a proper escape you could ever have.

"That's what I thought." He sounds amused noticing your hesitation. "You want to prove you can protect yourself? That you don't need anyone? Then prove it."

You turn, following the air your feel and take a step forward, than another.

"Brave," he murmurs. "Or stupid. We'll see which."

You keep walking, out the door, into the cold, onto the ground that feels like dirt and grass and leaves. You’re also not wearing shoes, only socks, white ones with lace that cuffs at your ankles, you feel stupid remembering your lack of footwear, and you know that’ll just make this even more dangerous for you.

“How long have I known you?” He asks, suddenly.

You turn your head back toward his voice. "What?"

You hear the irritation in his voice, like he’s annoyed he has to repeat something he said that he knows made clear sense. “How long has it been since we’ve met?”

Your brows knit, confused at why this is a question he’s asking now. “I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

“Guess it then.”

You think, even though you’d rather be running right now "... Three weeks?"

"Close enough." You hear him step out after you. "I'll give you a three-minute head start."

You back up, arms crossed. "What the fuck? Excuse me?"

"Run." His voice is soft now, almost gentle, despite that one word sounding like a clear warning. "And I'll chase. That's how this works."

Your hands drop at your sides, "You're going to-"

"I'm not going to let some nobody vampire eat you." He sounds almost offended. "Just who do you think I am? You're mine. If anyone's going to kill you, it'll be me."

Your blood runs cold.

"A little tip," he whispers, and suddenly he's right behind you, his breath cold against your ear. "It's better to hide than to run too far. But even then... your scent gives you away. So either route you take, you're completely fucked."

You run before he finishes speaking.

The forest swallows you.

At least, you think it's a forest. They’re trees everywhere, you can feel them, their bark rough against your palms as you push past. You don't know where you're going, you can't see the path, can't see anything, can only feel and smell and hear.

You don’t even know hiding spots, if one you took would actually keep you hidden, or make you look obvious. Every direction you take feels dangerous, every step feels like a giant risk. You could be running toward more vampires, or running off a cliff… or just looking like an idiot, running in circles.

Your father is dead.

The thought crashes over you like a wave, nearly sending you to your knees.

He killed your father… Scara. How fucked up at you to still be reffering to him as the nickname you’ve been calling him? He’s the same man who held you, kissed you, made love to you. And he’s the same one who tore out your fathers throat and then walked upstairs, pretending to be your savior.

Your mother and brother might be dead too, because Scara told you he’d visit your estate daily, and now… with everything you’ve heard, and heard him confess to you, you wouldn’t be surprised if he did harm them, kill them.

Or worse, they might be alive, mourning you, searching for you, never knowing that you're just a few miles away, trapped by the very monster they've spent their lives hunting.

And you loved him.

You fucking loved him. You… love him.

And that’s the worse part. Because even now, even knowing what he is, what he did, theres a part of you that wants to run back or stop running and just wait. That part of you just wants to throw yourself into his arms and pretend none of this is real.

Is he a monster?

He killed your father, lied to you, manipulated you into falling in love with him.

But was he a monster when you fell in love with him? Was he one before you knew? Was he always one, or did the truth change something fundamental about who he is?

You don’t know… You don’t know anything anymore.

You just don’t understand why you? 

The trees seem to shift around you… you think you’re going in a straight line, but you keep feeling the same bark, same pattern, like you’re circling back without realizing.

He's playing with you.

He’s not chasing you, he’s herding you. He’s using his speed, his silence, his knowledge of this terrain to push you in whatever direction he wants.

You spin around, reaching out, trying to detect him.

Nothing.

Then you hear a rustle to your left, you turn, heart pounding.

Nothing.

A snap behind you, you spin again.

Nothing.

He’s everywhere and nowhere at once. Circling you like prey, messing with your senses, the very senses you’ve always relied on, the ones that are supposed to be better than anyone elses.

It's not enough. It's nowhere near enough compared to a vampire.

"I can't do this anymore!" You're crying, tears streaming down your face, your voice cracking. "I'm tired! I’m so fucking tired…” You rub your head, exhausted, spiriling. “I can't-"

A laugh echoes through the trees. "Already?" He sounds delighted. "That was barely what? Two minutes."

"Please-"

"But you wanted to prove yourself, remember?" His voice comes from everywhere at once. "You wanted to show me you could protect yourself. That you don't need anyone's help."

You spin again, reaching blindly.

"Then do it."

Something shifts in the air and the next thing you feel is pain.

He slams you, hard, very fucking hard against a tree, and your back hits the bark hard enough to drive the breath from your lungs. Before you can recover, his mouth his on your neck, and his teeth are sinking in.

Sharp, knife sharp, actually, sharper than any knife, any sewing needle, it’s nothing compared to the playful nips like before.

You scream… or honestly, try to. What comes out is more of a whine, high and broken and pathetic. He bites again, different spot on your neck, just as hard, and again, and again, and fucking again. He’s relentless with it, like an animal, his mouth is everywhere, marking you, claiming you, and all you can do is hang there and take it.

"This," he growls against your skin, "is what I've wanted to do since the moment I saw you."

"Please-" Another bite cuts you off. "Please, I don't want to die-"

"I'm not killing you." His tongue drags across a bleeding wound, and you shudder. "Just tasting... You're too valuable to waste."

"I don't want to be a vampire-" You're sobbing now, ugly and desperate. "I don't want to be a monster like you-"

His teeth sink again, harder this time, obviously for your comment of calling him a monster, and it’s hard enough to make you scream for reach. The sound echos through the forest, and he groans against your neck like it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

"Call me that again," he murmurs. "See what happens."

You can’t do anything else anymore… not even your voice seems to work as the blood loss is making everything fuzzy and distant. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, in your neck also, where he’s been taking and taking like you’re a snack. All you do is whimper helplessly, hands limp at your sides.

When he finally stops biting you’re barely even conscious. You feel him, distnatly, because of how blacked out you’re feeling, him licking the wounds, cleaning the blood thats dripped down your neck, pressing soft kisses to each bite mark like an apology.

Except he’s not sorry. And he never will be.

Your legs give out.

He catches you before you even have the chance to fall onto the dirty ground. His arms slide under your knees, your back, lifting you easily, bridal style. Like someone out of one of your romance novels. The irony would be funny if you weren't too exhausted to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as your head falls limp in his arms. You think apologizing sounds better than continuing to yell at him, at this point, and your words come out weak, barely audible from the bloodloss. “I’m so sorry, Scara… P-please… take me home… even if it’s just for a second. Let me see- I mean… feel my house again, just one more time, and you can do what you want.”

“I am taking you home, obviously,” he says, and his voice sounds calm, pleasant for someone who just tore your throat open in a forest. “My home is yours now, more than ever.”

You shake your head, a weak no coming out as you continue, “Please, Scara… I want to see my mother… my brother.”

"That’ll never happen, you don’t see y/n, remember?"

"Please-"

"You will never feel or sense their presence again." He starts walking. "Those are just terrible people who’ve kept you locked in a room your entire life. Who’ve made you feel like a burden. And you want to go back to that? They don’t even deserve you. They don’t even let you live.”

You start crying again, quiet, weak tears you’re too exhausted to wipe. “W-what? How can you even say that…” But your voice sounds so, barely audible, the weight of them feeling low in a way that seems impossible to defend yourself, your own family. “You don’t know them… they… they’re my family…”

"They're your prison." He cuts off your pathetic attempt at trying to defend, his own words heavier than yours tenfold. "But you're free now. I'll teach you to protect yourself. I'll teach you to keep yourself safe. I'll let you go outside, feel the sun, do anything you've ever wanted. I couldn’t before, because I couldn’t let you know I was a vampire just yet."

Your voice cracks, and you can feel your hair sticking to some of your tears, “B-but I don’t want-”

"With time, of course." He sounds almost reasonable. "I can't trust you yet. But it's a promise I'm confident in."

You grit your teeth, but even that’s a weak movement of yours. "I hate you."

"Do you?"

"I'll never love a monster… A vampire like you." Your tone is filled with disdain, even in this state.

"You already have." His arms tighten around you. "You're letting me carry you right now. You're fighting your own emotions, telling yourself you hate me, but you don't. If you truly hated me, you would’ve kept fighting. You would’ve clawed and screamed until I had to knock you unconscious to get you home."

You don't respond because you don’t have one.

"Here's what's going to happen," he says, and his voice drops, turning serious. "As long as you continue to love me, as long as you never stop, I'll keep your mother and brother safe."

Your tears suddenly stop hearing that, processing that last part faster than you’ve processed anything before.

"They're alive," he continues. "I know where they are. I've seen them. They've been back for a week, mourning your father, setting up a funeral while I watched from the shadows. Your brother misses you. Your mother sleeps in your room at night, waiting for you to come home."

Tears stream down your face again.

"But if you show hatred for me..." His voice goes cold. "If you try to run again. If you make me think, even for a second, that you've stopped loving me. I'll kill them. And your attempt to escape won't even matter, because you're never leaving anyway."

You're silent the rest of the way because of that.

Because you’re scared to speak now, scared to say anything that might sound like hate. Or love. Or both.

He carries you back to your room.

The room you’ve been staying in, you’ve assumed was for guests. But as he lays you on the bed, tucking the blankets around you, he says, "This room is yours. I decorated it especially for you."

You don't respond, but you listen.

"The rest of this mansion is dark," he continues. "Red and black to be specific. Everything is dark-toned, dark-colored, shadows and gloom. But this room..." He pauses. "This room is different. It’s white… soft, light."

You still don't respond, but he knows you’re listening.

"That's what I associate you with," he says quietly. "Light, in the middle of all this darkness."

You turn your face away.

"I left the door unlocked on purpose," he adds. "I wanted you to find out eventually… I didn't want to be dramatic and tell you myself."

You’re still silent, so much that if he didn’t know you, he’d assume you passed out by now.

"Do you have any questions?" he asks.

You do, you have so many that your head might explode. But, you feel weak, and only one matters right now to you.

"Do you love me?" Your voice is hoarse, broken. "Actually love me?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "You're the only person I've ever cared about. And I'll love you forever."

"Why me?" You turn to face him, even though facing him doesn't mean you can see him. "What about me could you possibly want? You've only known me for three weeks."

"When I walked into your room that day," he says slowly, "I felt something I've never felt before. Something as stupid as love at first sight. I've seen thousands of humans in my time on this earth. Hundreds of years of faces and bodies and souls. And you're different than any of them."

"How?"

"You dress differently… Probably because you can't see." He sounds almost fond. "You're beautiful, even with your eyes always closed. And I'm impressed with how much you manage without sight. How you need to feel things before you're comfortable with them. How your senses are stronger than any human I've ever met."

"That's my favorite part about you," he says quietly. "Your senses. The way you experience the world. It's... fascinating. Beautiful, in its own way."

You don't know what to say.

So you don’t say anything.

Eventually, he leaves.

You stop counting the days.

What's the point? Time has lost all meaning. You're here, in this room, and you'll be here forever. Whether it's been three weeks or three months or three years makes no difference.

You avoid him.

Not physically, you can’t avoid him physically, because he still comes to your room every day, still brings you food, still sits at the edge and talks to you. But the difference is that you don’t respond, or engage. You give him nothing to work with, not love, and no hate, just… emptiness.

He watches you a lot.

You can feel it, his eyes on you, all the time, even when he’s giving you space. Even when he’s standing on the other side of the room, he’s watching, waiting.

For what? You don’t have a fucking clue because you aren’t giving him shit.

You stop eating, too.

It’s not conscious, not something you’re doing in retaliation… you just can’t. The food tastes like ash in your mouth, and swallowing feels like choking, and eventually you just stop trying. You loose weight of course, which turns you into something you hate, getting weaker, more fragile, but even though that is something you hate… you don’t care at this point.

You’d be fine dying like this.

He gets mad pretty quickly.

You can hear it in his voice, when he threatens you, tells you he’ll force the food down your throat if he has to, calls you childish, pathetic, weak.

You barely flinch or react when he yells, and he hates the lack of reaction, hates how emotionless you’ve become… depressed, almost like a corpse that only chooses to move when they’re forced to. And your eyes being closed never helps that.

You eat, only to get him to go away, and you don’t let him feed you. You take the fork from his hand before he even can, and eat mechanically, joylessly, and you don’t let him touch you.

He doesn't push, surprisingly.

He respects the boundaries you've drawn, even though you know he doesn't have to. He could force himself on you. He could pin you down and take whatever he wants. But… he doesn't.

It’s like he respects you as a person in the way your family never has, even though the situation is dark.

Oh yeah, your family…

The only time he actually makes a threat about your mother and brother is when you make a mean remark towards him, specifically calling him a monster, telling him you hope he burns, anything your brain can muster out that sounds good enough to be hatred.

"Careful," he says each time. "Remember what I said."

And you remember.

And that makes you shut your mouth.

On what you think might be the twelfth day of silence, you break.

You don’t know why… you don’t know what about that day makes you crack, but when he walks into the room that evening, you don’t stay in bed, you don’t turn away from him.

You get up, cross the room, and wrap your arms around him.

He goes still at the sudden motion he hasn’t felt in days from you. You feel the tension in his body, the surprise, and you’re crying, tears soaking into the fabric of his top, and you’re holding onto him, tight, with strength you’re surprised your weak body can manage.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, your head desperately nuzzling onto his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He’s quiet for a long moment, still processing all of this, and then, finally, his hands wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you feel warm… protected when he does.

"I'm sorry," you say again. "I'll stop fighting. I'll let you love me. I'll... I'll give it back. I'll try."

He lifts you effortlessly, and carries you to your bed, carefully settling you against your pillows. You try desperately reaching for him, craving his touch back, even though it was just a second, and he settles beside you. He touches you again, his hand on your face, thumb brushing away your tears.

"I know," he says quietly. "I know you will."

He kisses away the wetness of your cheeks, and you whimper, and he doesn’t stop. He presses his lips to your closed eyes, the very ones he worships when you’re without your eye mask, and he kisses your forehead, your nose, and when his mouth finally finds yours, you melt into it.

You give in.

Completely.

When he pulls back, you feel him smile against your lips.

You realize, it’s the first time you’ve ever felt him smile before.

Like he won.

The days become easier after that.

Not good, or happy just… easier. You talk to him again, let him feed you, touch you… hold you. You don’t tell him you love him, though, you can’t, maybe not ever you feel, but you show him in other ways.

You offer him your hand.

He takes it, confused, and you guide his to your wrist. "Drink," you say.

He doesn’t ask if you’re sure, if you’re aware that the skin on wrists is thin and that cuts, punctures there hurt worse, burn even. He just lifts your wrist to his mouth, and his fangs sink in. You gasp at the pain, whimpering as he sucks, because that pain fades rather quickly into something else. Something warm and floaty… and almost pleasant.

You offer him your neck, too.

This becomes a routine. Everytime he visits your room, which is every night, you tilt your head, exposing your throat, inviting him to drink. You don’t need to say the words anymore, he understands.

He's not gentle with it at all.

You don't want him to be, anyway.

His teeth tear into you, hungry, possessive. He drinks until you’re dizzy, until you can barely stay upright, and then he licks the wounds clean, pressing apology kisses on them and he holds you as you recover.

"You're getting better at this," he murmurs one night, his mouth still pressed to your throat. "Taking it so well."

You don’t respond, you don’t talk when he feeds. You just thread your fingers through his hair and hold him closer.

He keeps his promises.

The door is unlocked now, all the time. You can leave your room whenever you want, wander the halls, explore the mansion. You still cling to the walls, still map everything by touch, but the fear is fading… slowly. And he helps you the first couple of times, teaching you what each room is, giving you a large tour while he lets you move independently, without his hand, but of course, he steps in when you’re close to tripping or falling.

He takes you outside, too.

The first time he does, you cry. Actual tears just streaming down your face as you stand in the garden and feel the breeze on your skin. The air is fresh and clean and alive, and you haven't felt anything like it since before your father died.

He watches from a distance.

You don’t  know how far, you just know here there… in the shadows, keeping you safe while letting you believe you’re on your own.

When the sun rises, he retreats further. He goes into the deepest shade, where the light can't reach him. But he stays, always.

You don't know how many days have passed.

Months, maybe. It feels like months. The seasons have changed, you can feel it in the air, smell it in the flowers, hear it in the birds that sing different songs now.

You're sitting in the garden, your face turned toward the sun, when you realize something.

You love him.

Not the fake love he manipulated you into. Not the desperate clinging of a captive to her captor. Real love… Terrible, terrifying, all-consuming love.

He killed your father, kept you prisoner, threatened the rest of your living family… and yet, you love him anyway.

Maybe that makes you as much of a monster as he is.

"Scaramouche."

He appears beside you fast, and silent as always. You've stopped being startled by it.

"I want to show you something," you say, turning to your right, where you sense him.

"What?"

Your hands are shaking as you reach for your face. For the lace mask you've worn since childhood, the one you've never removed in front of anyone.

"Wait." His hand catches your wrist. "You don't have to-"

"I want to."

You pull the mask away.

You feel vulnerable much like that day in the bathroom, much like some of the nights in bed with him when you take it off, just so you can feel him kiss your eyelids again. You feel vulnerable, because you know what you’re about to do, and you’re ready for it also.

Slowly, carefully, you open your eyes.

Nothing changes for you when you do it, you can see anything you’ve never been able to see, and no doctor, nothing supernatural will ever change that. 

But… the act of opening them, of revealing this part of yourself that you’ve kept hidden for eighteen years, feels monumental.

He's silent.

For a long, long moment, he's completely silent.

"Are they..." You laugh nervously. "Are they white? Do they look strange? I've always wondered if they're all one color, or if-"

"They're beautiful." His voice is reverant, fully reverant, not a mock in sight.

"What color are they?" you ask. Not that it matters, you don't know what colors look like anyway.

"I'm not going to tell you."

You knit your eyebrows, rolling the eyes only he can see. "And why not?"

"Because you don't need to know." His hand comes up, cupping your face, and his thumb traces the skin beneath your open eyes. "You just need to know that they're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

You lean into his touch, your eyes still open, still staring at nothing, and you feel tears start to fall.

"I love you," you whisper head tilting in his touch, to him, it looks like you’re staring up at him, to you, you’re just falling the direction where you sense him. "I don't know when it became real. I don't know when I stopped pretending. But… I love you, Scara."

He’s quiet, again, he’s always quiet after you drop big moments on him, quiet because you’re unable to see the expression he makes, but you imagine him smiling, a pure smile on his face. His forehead touches yours, and you can feel his breath ghost across your lips.

"You asked me once," he says softly, "what kind of person could love you forever. Who could stay with you for eternity. Who could protect you and trust you and give you everything you've ever wanted."

"... I remember."

"Only a vampire can love you forever," he murmurs. "Only a vampire like me."

He kisses you.

And you kiss him back.

And somewhere in the distance, the sun begins to set.

Uh-oh!  Your  plans  go  awry  right  in  the  midst  of  your  semester  when  the  headmage  insists  you  all  opt  for  joining  a   club.  You  want  to  lay  low,  but  your  grade  depends  on  your  extracurricular  activities,  so  poor  little  you  has  to  drag  yourself  out  of  your  spot  by  a  random,  murky  tree  and  comply. In  the  distance,  you  hear  Yuu  pick  the  basketball  club,  ever  so  happy  with  their  ragtag  bunch  of  companions. 

As  the  twisted  breeze  whistles  past  your  face,  you  find  yourself  at  a  stalemate:  wavering  between  the  clubs  labeled film studies  and  mountain  lovers;  the  only  clubs having  a  single  member.  You  vacillate  between  Vil  and  Jade;  and  from  what  you  can  remember,  neither  of  them  are  much  fun.  Though  it’s  clear  you  don’t  have  to  exert  yourself  over  it  much  longer,  because  when  a random  boy  bumps  by  you,  ink  blots  and  smudges  out  the  ways  of  the  mountains, already deciding your fate for you.

The meeting spot is somewhere behind somewhere, you keep your head down all the while, even as the silence flourishes into thickness, even as the man of your nightmares sits silently at the far end and grins that cathedral of sharp teeth, just shy of crushing your spirit.

“A member?” Suave as he is, you don’t miss the glister of disappointment in his eyes (expecting someone else, someone named Yuu). Jade is far prettier in person, but you don’t dwell on it for long. “How unexpected.”

He does not deign to ask your name, a reason for gratitude, and so your woebegone, mundane routine continues. You find his composed and charming exterior belies his passion for mushrooms beneath, and it becomes a habit of yours to put an end to him prating before he’s left unchecked forevermore. He rewards you with a cool chuckle, streaks of noctilucent teal slanting along with the tilt of his head. It’s all rehearsed, isn’t it? Jade, even when he acknowledges you, couldn’t be any more robotic.

“During my usual trek,” Jade explains, lashes dipping towards a pale cluster of such umbrella-shaped bodies. “I happened to come across these earlier. You’ll find they grow in peculiar places.”

“Everything here grows in peculiar places,” The forest scent floods your nose as you breathe in. “That’s kind of the brand.”

Jade’s smile does not falter. “How delightfully pragmatic.”

You reach out and poke one of the mushrooms. It yields under your finger, the texture oh-so real, even as it springs back. Vaguely recalling a bad ending recalling spores, you add: “Don’t eat that.”

“I hadn’t intended to,” he replies, and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise coursing through his mismatched gaze. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the reaction was authentic. “Though I appreciate your concern.”

“It’s not concern,” You turn away, and Jade’s stare scorches the fabric of your clothes. Moisture-laden grass squelches beneath the accidentally aggressive tempo of your boots, and you hope he doesn’t store the sound away as emotion. “If you die, I have to find a new club.”

When your ears crane for the sound of his approaching footsteps, you get a soft chuckle in its stead.

“How reassuring. I shall endeavor to remain alive, then.”

And to think he still doesn’t know your name.

That’s how your days go, and that’s all they’ll be limited to. On Tuesday, you take a tour of Main Street again, and find the eel inexorably staring at the visage of the prefect, so vehemently absorbed in his thoughts as they chatter off to someone faceless. You move, and Jade does not, staying true to the script. You almost feel bad, until the bell rings and you’re forced to take another lesson of flight, listening to Vargas yammer and run his mouth. Strangely so, even the teacher is not privy to your name. How delightfully pragmatic. In turn, you find yourself foraking your duties to Jade’s mushroom lineage.

“Evading your club activities?” You flinch awake from your near nap, head lolling to the side. The familiar voice somehow chimes in even as you sink into the shadows. Jade must be passing by, you think, there’s no other reason he’d willingly approach you. “Dare I ask, are you perhaps displeased with me?”

“Nah.” You quirk a brow at him. Displeased? Of what? “Just needed a break.”

“Ah.” The corners of his lips unravel to reveal that pointy smile you hate. “That certainly eases my worries.”

Standing up, you shrug off your drowsiness. But just as you move — snip — your foot catches on the edge of the bench, and you’re sent headfirst into the ground.

“Careful,”

A firm hold seizes your arm. Bleary-eyed, you blink up at Jade in a daze, the sunlight pooling over the panes of his complexion. “I would hate for my only club member to injure themselves.”

“Your only club member would hate that too.”

A small incline of his head.

“How fortunate we are in our alignment.”

He releases you, the pressure ebbs away as his tall stature’s reduced to a tiny little speck in your vision.

On Wednesday, you willingly skip out on the club meeting and decide to hone your flight skills once more. You catch sight of the prefect sauntering off elsewhere, and trailing after them is one more anomaly. Surprisingly so, Jade does not approach you again, a confirmation that he had not indeed sought after you yesterday. It was more so a twist of fate, and you wonder if he’s already occupied in seeking the prefect out.

Nevertheless, you digress. You abide by your flight class regulations. Until, well... something bonks you over the head and you get a concussion.

There’s a face above you now, bright and frantic and entirely too close. Sunlight halos his warm visage, and the red pools cast your own likeness back at you.

“Ah—! Wait, wait, are you okay?!”

“I didn’t see you! You just kind of— appeared— no, that sounds like I’m blaming you, I’m not blaming you— are you hurt?!”

You blink once, wondering if you should offer formalities to your housewarden.

“…You hit me with a broom.”

“Yes! No— I mean— I did, but not on purpose!”

“…That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know!! I’m sorry!”

You soothe his worries, and he seems ever so desperate to call for Jamil and seek the aid of someone more well-versed in... well, whatever this is. He doesn’t know what to do, you tell yourself, and somehow, that’s how you find yourself back at Scarabia as Kalim accompanies you to the building, fussing over you and the growing bruise on your temple.

Kalim hands you tea, atypical of him even in the absence of his other companion. The padded seats have you all warm and comfortable, and soon enough, you find yourself lost in a one-sided conversation entirely (deprived of something as normal as this for a long, long time).

“You look kind of familiar,” He smiles and your shoulders loosen. “Have we met before?”

“You’re my housewarden.”

“Ohh! That’s why!” The touch of happiness is not scrubbed off his face, even at the tip of your bluntness. It’s a pretty smile, you think.

“Yup..”

“Yes!” He mimics. “I’m Kalim Al-Asim! Oh— wait, I should’ve started with that, sorry— what’s your name?”

You freeze.

A simple, harmless, entirely normal question, yet you find yourself prodding for its reason all the more.

“…Why?”

He blinks.

“Why…? Because I just hit you with a broom.”

“That’s not usually when people ask.”

“Well, I feel like I should know who I’m apologizing to! That’s just polite!”

Uh-oh!  Your  plans  go  awry  right  in  the  midst  of  your  semester  when  the  headmage  insists  you  all  opt  for  joining  a   club.  You  want  to  lay  low,  but  your  grade  depends  on  your  extracurricular  activities,  so  poor  little  you  has  to  drag  yourself  out  of  your  spot  by  a  random,  murky  tree  and  comply. In  the  distance,  you  hear  Yuu  pick  the  basketball  club,  ever  so  happy  with  their  ragtag  bunch  of  companions. 

As  the  twisted  breeze  whistles  past  your  face,  you  find  yourself  at  a  stalemate:  wavering  between  the  clubs  labeled film studies  and  mountain  lovers;  the  only  clubs having  a  single  member.  You  vacillate  between  Vil  and  Jade;  and  from  what  you  can  remember,  neither  of  them  are  much  fun.  Though  it’s  clear  you  don’t  have  to  exert  yourself  over  it  much  longer,  because  when  a random  boy  bumps  by  you,  ink  blots  and  smudges  out  the  ways  of  the  mountains, already deciding your fate for you.

The meeting spot is somewhere behind somewhere, you keep your head down all the while, even as the silence flourishes into thickness, even as the man of your nightmares sits silently at the far end and grins that cathedral of sharp teeth, just shy of crushing your spirit.

“A member?” Suave as he is, you don’t miss the glister of disappointment in his eyes (expecting someone else, someone named Yuu). Jade is far prettier in person, but you don’t dwell on it for long. “How unexpected.”

He does not deign to ask your name, a reason for gratitude, and so your woebegone, mundane routine continues. You find his composed and charming exterior belies his passion for mushrooms beneath, and it becomes a habit of yours to put an end to him prating before he’s left unchecked forevermore. He rewards you with a cool chuckle, streaks of noctilucent teal slanting along with the tilt of his head. It’s all rehearsed, isn’t it? Jade, even when he acknowledges you, couldn’t be any more robotic.

“During my usual trek,” Jade explains, lashes dipping towards a pale cluster of such umbrella-shaped bodies. “I happened to come across these earlier. You’ll find they grow in peculiar places.”

“Everything here grows in peculiar places,” The forest scent floods your nose as you breathe in. “That’s kind of the brand.”

Jade’s smile does not falter. “How delightfully pragmatic.”

You reach out and poke one of the mushrooms. It yields under your finger, the texture oh-so real, even as it springs back. Vaguely recalling a bad ending recalling spores, you add: “Don’t eat that.”

“I hadn’t intended to,” he replies, and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise coursing through his mismatched gaze. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the reaction was authentic. “Though I appreciate your concern.”

“It’s not concern,” You turn away, and Jade’s stare scorches the fabric of your clothes. Moisture-laden grass squelches beneath the accidentally aggressive tempo of your boots, and you hope he doesn’t store the sound away as emotion. “If you die, I have to find a new club.”

When your ears crane for the sound of his approaching footsteps, you get a soft chuckle in its stead.

“How reassuring. I shall endeavor to remain alive, then.”

And to think he still doesn’t know your name.

That’s how your days go, and that’s all they’ll be limited to. On Tuesday, you take a tour of Main Street again, and find the eel inexorably staring at the visage of the prefect, so vehemently absorbed in his thoughts as they chatter off to someone faceless. You move, and Jade does not, staying true to the script. You almost feel bad, until the bell rings and you’re forced to take another lesson of flight, listening to Vargas yammer and run his mouth. Strangely so, even the teacher is not privy to your name. How delightfully pragmatic. In turn, you find yourself foraking your duties to Jade’s mushroom lineage.

“Evading your club activities?” You flinch awake from your near nap, head lolling to the side. The familiar voice somehow chimes in even as you sink into the shadows. Jade must be passing by, you think, there’s no other reason he’d willingly approach you. “Dare I ask, are you perhaps displeased with me?”

“Nah.” You quirk a brow at him. Displeased? Of what? “Just needed a break.”

“Ah.” The corners of his lips unravel to reveal that pointy smile you hate. “That certainly eases my worries.”

Standing up, you shrug off your drowsiness. But just as you move — snip — your foot catches on the edge of the bench, and you’re sent headfirst into the ground.

“Careful,”

A firm hold seizes your arm. Bleary-eyed, you blink up at Jade in a daze, the sunlight pooling over the panes of his complexion. “I would hate for my only club member to injure themselves.”

“Your only club member would hate that too.”

A small incline of his head.

“How fortunate we are in our alignment.”

He releases you, the pressure ebbs away as his tall stature’s reduced to a tiny little speck in your vision.

On Wednesday, you willingly skip out on the club meeting and decide to hone your flight skills once more. You catch sight of the prefect sauntering off elsewhere, and trailing after them is one more anomaly. Surprisingly so, Jade does not approach you again, a confirmation that he had not indeed sought after you yesterday. It was more so a twist of fate, and you wonder if he’s already occupied in seeking the prefect out.

Nevertheless, you digress. You abide by your flight class regulations. Until, well... something bonks you over the head and you get a concussion.

“Ah—! Wait, wait, are you okay?!”

There’s a face above you now, bright and frantic and entirely too close. Sunlight halos his warm visage, and the red pools cast your own likeness back at you.

“I didn’t see you! You just kind of— appeared— no, that sounds like I’m blaming you, I’m not blaming you— are you hurt?!”

You blink once, wondering if you should offer formalities to your housewarden.

“…You hit me with a broom.”

“Yes! No— I mean— I did, but not on purpose!”

“…That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know!! I’m sorry!”

You soothe his worries, and he seems ever so desperate to call for Jamil and seek the aid of someone more well-versed in... well, whatever this is. He doesn’t know what to do, you tell yourself, and somehow, that’s how you find yourself back at Scarabia as Kalim accompanies you to the building, fussing over you and the growing bruise on your temple.

Kalim hands you tea, atypical of him even in the absence of his other companion. The padded seats have you all warm and comfortable, and soon enough, you find yourself lost in a one-sided conversation entirely (deprived of something as normal as this for a long, long time).

“You look kind of familiar,” He smiles and your shoulders loosen. “Have we met before?”

“You’re my housewarden.”

“Ohh! That’s why!” The touch of happiness is not scrubbed off his face, even at the tip of your bluntness. It’s a pretty smile, you think.

“Yup..”

“Yes!” He mimics. “I’m Kalim Al-Asim! Oh— wait, I should’ve started with that, sorry— what’s your name?”

You freeze.

A simple, harmless, entirely normal question, yet you find yourself prodding for its reason all the more.

“…Why?”

He blinks.

“Why…? Because I just hit you with a broom.”

“That’s not usually when people ask.”

“Well, I feel like I should know who I’m apologizing to! That’s just polite!”

King Rosehearts had found the Furnace. 

The world stopped spinning as the Pyro Archon slowly scanned his surroundings, his eyes widened as his frown deepened when he took in the environment around him. Then, his gaze landed on you, and you recognized the slight glow in his smokey gray eyes. It felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

Beside him were his two loyalest subordinates, the Deity of Camaraderie and the Deity of the Hearth. Both appeared equally as taken aback by the heavenly surroundings before them, but they were tense unlike the archon. It’s like they knew of the chaos that would unfold in mere moments. 

The two mortals, or rather, immortals by your side, appeared just on edge as you were. You had never been hurt by the Pyro Archon, he never once touched you with his deadly fire. However, the Red Thief and Blue Brawler had both been burned by him before. They had the brands to show for it, brands personally cast by the Pyro Archon and his spell of hellfire on thin red threads. When the King’s eyes drifted off to the side, away from you and Grim, his gaze hardened. 

Riddle Rosehearts took a deep breath, and for a moment it looked as if smoke drifted from the corners of his mouth. He was a ticking time bomb bound to explode at any moment. For now he began sternly, evenly, “Why is it that no matter how severe I am, no matter how many heads I remove, there are still those that insist upon breaking the laws?” 

You flinched upon hearing his words. Ace and Deuce had been branded once before and got away, they wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. Nearly everyone here in the Furnace had a brand, and they would not be spared. You felt your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you vividly recalled that first decree you read while at Pat Port: We, of His Majesty’s Court, find all those that have willingly participated and will partake in illegal activities taking place in The Furnace, to be guilty. By the King’s blessing, all lawbreakers associated with The Furnace will face execution. 

Grim’s ears were flattened, and for once he didn’t speak. Gathering your courage, you lowered Grim onto the grass but he kept very close to you. This gave you the reassurance you needed, so you swallowed the knot in your throat. Surely onlookers might have seen the King from afar, and knew to run. If you could just give them time. “Y-Your Majesty, I––” 

“Silence!!” 

That made just about everyone flinch, but there wasn’t any need for you to reel back and hide quite yet. It was nearly imperceptible, but he didn’t shout it at the same volume as he usually did. It was a smidgen quieter, still a strong shout to anyone else not familiar with the pyro elemental, but after staying in his palace for some weeks and hearing him all the time, this was slightly different. 

“It appears as if my act of mercy in bestowing brands has been far too lenient.” His glare traveled to the settlement not all that far away. It was across the field of flowers past the riverbend, just within his reach. Very easily could he reach his hand out and shoot his fiery threads towards the people there, and none would be able to escape. The thought made you sick to your stomach. “I see now that I should have beheaded every single lawbreaker. They learn nothing from their mistakes, and only continue to cause chaos that threatens my kingdom. You, my subject and Grim, I expected better from both of you after I spent my time teaching you personally. And… you two.” Rosehearts glared at your two friends. Ace and Deuce defiantly met his gaze, but they weren’t so foolish as to outright attack or run right now. That would be an immediate death sentence. “You two must be the ones casting a negative influence on them. I remember you. So you were ultimately spared from this world’s higher powers, were you? That shall be corrected as well.” 

Before Riddle could act, the Head of Investigation stepped in. It was noticeable that his ears were lowered and his tail was missing. Was he using magic to hide it again? He tended to do that when he wasn’t entirely confident. Quickly, he tried to distract the King, “Your Majesty, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself! Grimmy and (Y/n) did learn a ton––!” 

“And they went right back to their chaotic ways because of the troublemakers dragging them down.” Riddle corrected, the firefox’s words doing nothing to cool his temper that was currently simmering and threatening to boil over. “If you keep running your mouth like that, Cater, you’ll lose your head along with it.” 

Rapidly the firefox raised his hands in surrender, although notably, he was still partially standing between you and Riddle, as if to deter the archon from making any rash decisions. Somehow, he managed to continue forcing a friendly smile, despite how obviously nervous he was. “Whoa, whoa, my bad!” 

“I made my point quite clear with the decree. All those lawbreakers associated with the Furnace shall be executed! They’ve even gone and corrupted my loyalest subject. Now we have to start all over again on their progress!” 

Your breath hitched. Why was he still going on about you? If for so long they searched high and low for the Furnace, why wasn’t he more focused on that? On progress? Your progress? To what? Becoming someone that fully submitted to his every whim? King Riddle Rosehearts spoke as if he saw you as more than just a puppet to use as pleased. You saw Ace and Deuce about to open their mouths, no doubt about to say something that would make the entire situation worse, so you beat them to it. You had to try again. 

“Your… Your Majesty.” You attempted the curtsy he so loved, lowering your head for a moment before meeting his gaze. The words felt like they were caught in your throat as he stared at you so intensely, the words threatening to strangle you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement from the settlement. No doubt that locals had noticed. If you could stall him for a few moments longer–– “I… I–I ran away. They had nothing to do with it. Most of these people are only charged with petty crimes anyways. I’ll do anything, so, please––” 

“That is not the problem!” Riddle Rosehearts snapped, the flames at the ends of his hair appeared for a second longer. The reaction from him even startled the King’s Regent, who slowly and unsurely reached for his staff. “The problem is not that you ran away, but it’s that you should have known better and that by doing wrong, you became involved with lawbreakers that do nothing but bring you down! It does not matter what crime they commit, what matters is that they broke the law! I do what I must for my kingdom. One lawbreaker is all it takes to sow chaos and wreck havoc on all I have ever protected, destroy the laws I kept for so long, and it threatens to undo everything!! You think I did not know you would attempt to leave me? You forget what I am and what I represent, what I know and what I’ve lived through! I am the law! I cannot allow a single lawbreaker to undo everything, not even you, so this will be corrected! Your behavior will be corrected!” 

He knew you would try to leave? He knew the entire time? Was it a test then, when he demanded you stay by his side? If so, you failed that test and in doing so you damned all these good people in the Furnace. If he knew, then he followed you. That’s why your plan with the knights failed, but it didn’t matter, because if the Pyro Archon knew you would attempt to flee, he could send the God of Camaraderie and God of the Hearth after you. You didn’t mean to come here, but you had. So… you unknowingly led them here, straight to the Furnace that was a safe haven for lawbreakers. It was your fault. 

Ace and Deuce sensed the growing tension so taut it could snap at any moment. Steadily the Red Thief’s hand inched toward the blades at his belt, while the Blue Brawler hid his rapidly warming hand behind his back. If any of the deities before you sensed that the two flanking your sides were on the verge of activating their magic, they didn’t show it. 

Grim climbed up your back, his face appearing beside yours, snapping you out of your dark thoughts. You couldn’t think of a way to save them, to prevent anyone from getting hurt. There was no way to get the Pyro Archon to back down. How would you protect Grim or yourself or Ace or Deuce? Even the four of you together couldn’t dream of stopping an archon, when you could barely stand a chance against the firefox who was hardly considered a deity these days! Grim’s gaze met yours, and you couldn’t hide how panicked you were as you felt yourself on the verge of tears. 

Riddle Rosehearts noticed this, and his hardened expression softened for a mere moment. “One day, you might understand, but not today. You are only mortal. There is still so much you don’t comprehend, and you could not begin to understand until you learn obedience.” Taking a deep breath, he removed his black gloves entirely and tossed them aside. “You lot––all these lawbreakers sowing havoc and turning loyal subjects like you to disorder, sever their own heads. They know the consequence of breaking my laws!”

It must have meant something bad, because Trey was stepping forward and speaking up. In your days in the Fyrosian Palace, you hardly ever saw him do that. In this instance, even the elf looked extremely apprehensive. “Riddle, if you do this––” 

“I know what I’m doing, Trey. This has to be done and I’m the only one capable of doing it.” The King’s Regent was only spared an irked glance by the monarch, before he focused his attention fully on you. Not Ace, not Deuce, not even Grim. Solely you. When he gazed upon you, despite his increasingly volatile temper, it’s as if your mortal presence reminded him of something he considered vital. “My court, my very first followers, they were right! Thus, I am right! It remains up to me to keep their prayers of law and order alive!”

You felt like you were on trial awaiting the gavel to seal your fate all over again. 

“(Y/n), you have broken law one: Never defy the King’s direct order. This is a grave crime, but because you are not of this world, you will not receive a brand of retribution or an execution. Instead you are to remain in Heartslabyul until you can lead by example as a loyal subject. Let this be my final act of mercy to any lawbreaker––” 

“Now I get it.” Instantly you whipped your head towards Ace who had the bravery to interrupt the Pyro Archon. When you tried to shut him up before he could make things worse, he didn’t have it. He didn’t even let Grim try to use his paws to cover his mouth or listen to the obvious signs from the other two deities to shut his trap while he still could. “You want them as a propaganda piece! Just to make everyone think that if you control the face of the resistance, then you control all. They’re not some tool for you to use! No one’s actually going to believe that rebel here would willingly follow your stupid laws.” 

“Stop!” Cater interjected, trying to get the two troublemaker immortals spared from a world of pain. The pair made it difficult to do so when they talked back. “They don’t mean that, Your Majesty! Of course our cute newbie is gonna come back with us, right?” Now Cater was looking at you pleadingly. It looked… genuine. Was he pleading with you to go with them in an attempt to spare lives, or because he wanted you there? 

“No, they’re not. They’re not going with you. They ran from you for a reason, and you’re going to try and drag them back when they don’t want to be there?” Deuce placed an arm in front of you, but you tried to get him to lower it. Even you knew that someone as clever as Ace or strong as Deuce would be defeated in seconds flat. If Riddle just looked away for a second, then maybe you could give the two enough time to make a break for an exit. 

“Heartslabyul is the safest and most prosperous nation because of me. I beheaded the beasts that made it all but impossible for mortals to live in peace, I brought centuries of order because I alone annihilated the old chaotic age when no one else could, and I enforce the laws that you mortals desired in order to do away with anarchy! There is nowhere safer than with me where I can teach you the laws and how to abide by them.” It didn’t sound like he was arguing with Ace or Deuce anymore, it sounded like Riddle was speaking to you. You didn’t like how his hands were sparking even more now, smoke rising from his fingertips. 

You got it. You had a plan to get Ace and Deuce out of here–– 

“Just cause you did all that doesn’t mean you can’t be a tyrant.” As soon as Ace spoke those words, you knew your plan was rendered useless, especially as the Pyro Archon stilled. 

The hair on the back of your neck went up, and instinctively you slowly raised your arms in defense as you felt heat emanating from him. However, he didn’t move. Riddle Rosehearts looked down at Ace from his spot on the hill, and he murmured strangely quietly, “What…? Care to repeat that?”

“Sure! He called you a selfish pompous bad-tempered lil’ tyrant who’s trying to steal my disciple!” Of all times for Grim to finally speak up––you felt like you were about to have a heart attack. 

It all happened so fast. Fire erupted at his fingertips, and you recognized the fiery threads that shot out towards you. Not directly at you nor at Grim, but at the two immortals beside you. You couldn’t block individually with one hand yet, but they were close enough to you so you could try, but this was the Pyro Archon’s fire. 

King Rosehearts didn’t even stop to check if his hit landed on the two immortals, because he immediately diverted his attention towards the settlement. You couldn’t see him past the flames, you could barely hear him past the effort of your own straining, but you did pick up on him shouting out commands. “Trey!! Cater!! While I fulfill this decree, you are to see to it that those two criminals are detained and my subject is brought back to the palace forthwith!!” 

Your palms felt as if they were burning, so hot you thought your flesh might melt straight off the bone. It hurt, like pain you never experienced before. The heat was centered directly in the middle of your palm where the emblem would be, as you had stuck out a hand in front of Ace and another in front of Deuce. You think, the only reason you weren’t fatally burned yet, was because Grim acted quick enough to aid your blocking technique with his own blue fire he spit out. You could feel your hold on those Threads of Eternal Fire beginning to slip. 

You heard Ace and Deuce scream something, maybe your name, you think. It was impossible to tell, when the heat was overwhelming you and making you dizzy, and the roar of the flames was the only thing you could clearly hear. The only thing you felt was the heat, and Grim still sticking close to your shoulder. There was no way you could cancel out the archon’s pyro, it was too strong. It wasn’t like the blessed thread the judge used where you miraculously cut it without entirely meaning to. Trying to cut through this thread would be like trying to cut through a chunk of metal with a flimsy pair of scissors, impossible. Deflect. That’s the only thing you could do, which became manageable when you felt the weight of the flames partially lifted on each end. You didn’t have to look to know that Ace and Deuce were likely stupidly attempting to block it too so you wouldn’t burn. It gave you enough leeway to deflect, back towards where Cater and Trey were ahead of you. 

The entire thing lasted a second, maybe two, but it felt like forever. You had no chance to check on your immortal friends, or if the attack actually hit the deities, or even check on your hands. Instantly, there were deafening bursts all around you, bursts of heat that made you wince and blasts that made your ears ring. One in particular was close, so close it sent you flying, separating you from Ace and Deuce while also driving a wedge between you and Cater or Trey. Miraculously you still had Grim, who dug his claws into your cloak and refused to be separated. 

You didn’t break any bones as you landed in those familiar daisies even further from the settlement. Your vision was blurry, and Grim was shaking you as you struggled to lift yourself up. The ringing continued in your ears, and as you looked at Grim’s wide blue eyes, you saw his mouth was moving rapidly but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. When you looked down, you were covered in remnants of soot and your trembling hands were somehow still intact. Your flesh felt sore, but it wasn’t burned, as your emblem glowed a horrid bloody red. When you looked up as your vision recovered, that is when your heart felt as if it stopped beating. 

The Furnace was on fire. 

The once bright blue sky was now gray with clouds of thick smoke, the white daisies on the ground were dirtied with ash. The horizon was painted red, not by a sunset but by flames. There were flames all around you, especially over the settlement, flames with bright red threads strung everywhere. 

Your hearing was starting to return at the worst time, because you could now make out the roaring flames and thundering blasts that drowned out the sound of screams. So many screams it formed a symphony of destruction, and Riddle Rosehearts was the conductor. You could just barely make out his silhouette far off in the distance, as he raised his hands this way and that way, controlling every strand of thread and spell of pyro. 

You couldn’t breathe–– was it the smoke in the air or were you hyperventilating? This can’t be happening, this can’t be real! It was your fault, this was all your fault–– 

“Disciple!!!” Grim was pulling you along, and only then did you notice he was pulling you away from the settlement. When you looked to the direction he was trying to guide you in, you noticed your bag ahead, some of the items had fallen out. It must have ended up there when you were tossed due to the blast. 

One of the items that had fallen out was the card you discovered in the last book you read: The White Flame and Crookedspire. Originally, you had intended to return it with the forbidden book to the library, however, in all the chaos that had ensued with your plan to escape, you had left the book on the nightstand beside a simple file you barely glanced at and accidentally brought the slip with you. The card was a plain old thing, dirtied by all the ash, but it was glowing. It didn’t do that before. As you quickly approached to gather your bag and Grim grabbed the fallen supplies to stuff back into place, the card began to glow brighter until white flames appeared. 

White flames formed, multiple in a line leading off deeper into the Furnace, away from the settlement and the ongoing destruction. The feline entity didn’t give you a choice, he pulled you along as quickly as he could, until both of you were running. Running, because this was not a fight you could win. 

Something told you to follow the trail of white flames, and so you did with the card in hand. Each time you got too close to one of the white flames, another would appear, then another, and another. They were tiny wisps that reminded you of him, but they weren’t red like him, they were pure white like little ghosts that hummed and beckoned you forward. Grim took the lead, not stopping at all as you continued running despite the intense ache all over your body, especially in your hands. The further you went along, panting and sprinting, the more the card glowed, brighter and brighter until it was warm. 

The last wisp hovered above a hole, hidden far from the settlement on a mound. The gap was right at the root of a great big twisted tree, the opening concealed by a boulder and vines. You were gasping, dying for breath when you stepped closer to the white flame. Just as before, it vanished, and you were left alone with Grim to peer inside. Immediately you could tell it was an exit, a way to leave the Furnace, but it must have been one that likely had not been used in a very very long time. 

There was not much time to question if the glowing card played a role with those white wisps, or why this particular exit was all the way out here, or where exactly it would lead. It was an exit, a way to get out, an opportunity to escape the Pyro Archon. 

Evidently, this was not something Grim would wait for you to decide on. The feline entity looked around, making sure no one was near, before pulling you forward so your feet were tipping over the edge. “Come on, disciple. We need to go. I’ll protect you, no matter what happens…!” And you believed him.

In one hand you gripped the mysterious card, and with the other hand Grim pulled you down so you were falling through that familiar space. Your guide clutched you tight, and in return, you held him like a lifeline. Poor Grim was covered in soot. You were falling and falling, the card in your grasp glowed like a nightlight. If only it could make everything go away, drive off the bad as if this were nothing but a nightmare. 

It got so bright, so hot, that you had to let go of the slip before it burned your fingers. It fluttered behind you, and you heard movement. The card fizzled and burned, going out like a firework, and as it did so, the path behind you was closing. You didn’t see it close entirely as you were spit out, but you heard it close with a pop! Suddenly it was quiet. 

So so quiet. There were no shouts, no screams, no sizzling or hissing or bursting of flames. It was so quiet here, wherever here was. It was a dark unfamiliar forest, very unlike the heavenly atmosphere of the Furnace. You could hear nothing except your rapid breathing and your own heartbeat in your ears, and Grim panting before sniffing the air. 

“I don’t smell anything weird nearby so I think the coast is clear!” Your vision got blurry again as Grim peered up at you, and he placed a paw over your hand as you were still awkwardly on the ground. “Disciple…?” 

You were crying. You were crying and you couldn’t stop it. The Pyro Archon had carried out his decree as he promised, and would surely devastate the Furnace as he had to so many places before. The Head of Investigation and the King’s Regent still had their orders to bring you back to the Fyrosian Palace even if they had to drag you while you were kicking and screaming. The Red Thief and Blue Brawler, your friends… you had no idea what would happen to them. “I-I’m sorry, Grim––” 

You could hardly breathe again, this time it was because of the droplets dampening your cheeks. The tears slid down your face, dropping onto your hands as you tried to rub them away and stop, but you simply couldn’t. 

“It’s okay…! Hey, I’m here!” Grim tried assuring, settling in your lap as his paws frantically tried patting at your cheeks to wipe off the tears. At least you weren’t entirely alone. Things could be so much worse, but at least your guide was still here sticking by your side. 

King Rosehearts had found the Furnace. 

The world stopped spinning as the Pyro Archon slowly scanned his surroundings, his eyes widened as his frown deepened when he took in the environment around him. Then, his gaze landed on you, and you recognized the slight glow in his smokey gray eyes. It felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

Beside him were his two loyalest subordinates, the Deity of Camaraderie and the Deity of the Hearth. Both appeared equally as taken aback by the heavenly surroundings before them, but they were tense unlike the archon. It’s like they knew of the chaos that would unfold in mere moments. 

The two mortals, or rather, immortals by your side, appeared just on edge as you were. You had never been hurt by the Pyro Archon, he never once touched you with his deadly fire. However, the Red Thief and Blue Brawler had both been burned by him before. They had the brands to show for it, brands personally cast by the Pyro Archon and his spell of hellfire on thin red threads. When the King’s eyes drifted off to the side, away from you and Grim, his gaze hardened. 

Riddle Rosehearts took a deep breath, and for a moment it looked as if smoke drifted from the corners of his mouth. He was a ticking time bomb bound to explode at any moment. For now he began sternly, evenly, “Why is it that no matter how severe I am, no matter how many heads I remove, there are still those that insist upon breaking the laws?” 

You flinched upon hearing his words. Ace and Deuce had been branded once before and got away, they wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. Nearly everyone here in the Furnace had a brand, and they would not be spared. You felt your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you vividly recalled that first decree you read while at Pat Port: We, of His Majesty’s Court, find all those that have willingly participated and will partake in illegal activities taking place in The Furnace, to be guilty. By the King’s blessing, all lawbreakers associated with The Furnace will face execution. 

Grim’s ears were flattened, and for once he didn’t speak. Gathering your courage, you lowered Grim onto the grass but he kept very close to you. This gave you the reassurance you needed, so you swallowed the knot in your throat. Surely onlookers might have seen the King from afar, and knew to run. If you could just give them time. “Y-Your Majesty, I––” 

“Silence!!” 

That made just about everyone flinch, but there wasn’t any need for you to reel back and hide quite yet. It was nearly imperceptible, but he didn’t shout it at the same volume as he usually did. It was a smidgen quieter, still a strong shout to anyone else not familiar with the pyro elemental, but after staying in his palace for some weeks and hearing him all the time, this was slightly different. 

“It appears as if my act of mercy in bestowing brands has been far too lenient.” His glare traveled to the settlement not all that far away. It was across the field of flowers past the riverbend, just within his reach. Very easily could he reach his hand out and shoot his fiery threads towards the people there, and none would be able to escape. The thought made you sick to your stomach. “I see now that I should have beheaded every single lawbreaker. They learn nothing from their mistakes, and only continue to cause chaos that threatens my kingdom. You, my subject and Grim, I expected better from both of you after I spent my time teaching you personally. And… you two.” Rosehearts glared at your two friends. Ace and Deuce defiantly met his gaze, but they weren’t so foolish as to outright attack or run right now. That would be an immediate death sentence. “You two must be the ones casting a negative influence on them. I remember you. So you were ultimately spared from this world’s higher powers, were you? That shall be corrected as well.” 

Before Riddle could act, the Head of Investigation stepped in. It was noticeable that his ears were lowered and his tail was missing. Was he using magic to hide it again? He tended to do that when he wasn’t entirely confident. Quickly, he tried to distract the King, “Your Majesty, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself! Grimmy and (Y/n) did learn a ton––!” 

“And they went right back to their chaotic ways because of the troublemakers dragging them down.” Riddle corrected, the firefox’s words doing nothing to cool his temper that was currently simmering and threatening to boil over. “If you keep running your mouth like that, Cater, you’ll lose your head along with it.” 

Rapidly the firefox raised his hands in surrender, although notably, he was still partially standing between you and Riddle, as if to deter the archon from making any rash decisions. Somehow, he managed to continue forcing a friendly smile, despite how obviously nervous he was. “Whoa, whoa, my bad!” 

“I made my point quite clear with the decree. All those lawbreakers associated with the Furnace shall be executed! They’ve even gone and corrupted my loyalest subject. Now we have to start all over again on their progress!” 

Your breath hitched. Why was he still going on about you? If for so long they searched high and low for the Furnace, why wasn’t he more focused on that? On progress? Your progress? To what? Becoming someone that fully submitted to his every whim? King Riddle Rosehearts spoke as if he saw you as more than just a puppet to use as pleased. You saw Ace and Deuce about to open their mouths, no doubt about to say something that would make the entire situation worse, so you beat them to it. You had to try again. 

“Your… Your Majesty.” You attempted the curtsy he so loved, lowering your head for a moment before meeting his gaze. The words felt like they were caught in your throat as he stared at you so intensely, the words threatening to strangle you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement from the settlement. No doubt that locals had noticed. If you could stall him for a few moments longer–– “I… I–I ran away. They had nothing to do with it. Most of these people are only charged with petty crimes anyways. I’ll do anything, so, please––” 

“That is not the problem!” Riddle Rosehearts snapped, the flames at the ends of his hair appeared for a second longer. The reaction from him even startled the King’s Regent, who slowly and unsurely reached for his staff. “The problem is not that you ran away, but it’s that you should have known better and that by doing wrong, you became involved with lawbreakers that do nothing but bring you down! It does not matter what crime they commit, what matters is that they broke the law! I do what I must for my kingdom. One lawbreaker is all it takes to sow chaos and wreck havoc on all I have ever protected, destroy the laws I kept for so long, and it threatens to undo everything!! You think I did not know you would attempt to leave me? You forget what I am and what I represent, what I know and what I’ve lived through! I am the law! I cannot allow a single lawbreaker to undo everything, not even you, so this will be corrected! Your behavior will be corrected!” 

He knew you would try to leave? He knew the entire time? Was it a test then, when he demanded you stay by his side? If so, you failed that test and in doing so you damned all these good people in the Furnace. If he knew, then he followed you. That’s why your plan with the knights failed, but it didn’t matter, because if the Pyro Archon knew you would attempt to flee, he could send the God of Camaraderie and God of the Hearth after you. You didn’t mean to come here, but you had. So… you unknowingly led them here, straight to the Furnace that was a safe haven for lawbreakers. It was your fault. 

Ace and Deuce sensed the growing tension so taut it could snap at any moment. Steadily the Red Thief’s hand inched toward the blades at his belt, while the Blue Brawler hid his rapidly warming hand behind his back. If any of the deities before you sensed that the two flanking your sides were on the verge of activating their magic, they didn’t show it. 

Grim climbed up your back, his face appearing beside yours, snapping you out of your dark thoughts. You couldn’t think of a way to save them, to prevent anyone from getting hurt. There was no way to get the Pyro Archon to back down. How would you protect Grim or yourself or Ace or Deuce? Even the four of you together couldn’t dream of stopping an archon, when you could barely stand a chance against the firefox who was hardly considered a deity these days! Grim’s gaze met yours, and you couldn’t hide how panicked you were as you felt yourself on the verge of tears. 

Riddle Rosehearts noticed this, and his hardened expression softened for a mere moment. “One day, you might understand, but not today. You are only mortal. There is still so much you don’t comprehend, and you could not begin to understand until you learn obedience.” Taking a deep breath, he removed his black gloves entirely and tossed them aside. “You lot––all these lawbreakers sowing havoc and turning loyal subjects like you to disorder, sever their own heads. They know the consequence of breaking my laws!”

It must have meant something bad, because Trey was stepping forward and speaking up. In your days in the Fyrosian Palace, you hardly ever saw him do that. In this instance, even the elf looked extremely apprehensive. “Riddle, if you do this––” 

“I know what I’m doing, Trey. This has to be done and I’m the only one capable of doing it.” The King’s Regent was only spared an irked glance by the monarch, before he focused his attention fully on you. Not Ace, not Deuce, not even Grim. Solely you. When he gazed upon you, despite his increasingly volatile temper, it’s as if your mortal presence reminded him of something he considered vital. “My court, my very first followers, they were right! Thus, I am right! It remains up to me to keep their prayers of law and order alive!”

You felt like you were on trial awaiting the gavel to seal your fate all over again. 

“(Y/n), you have broken law one: Never defy the King’s direct order. This is a grave crime, but because you are not of this world, you will not receive a brand of retribution or an execution. Instead you are to remain in Heartslabyul until you can lead by example as a loyal subject. Let this be my final act of mercy to any lawbreaker––” 

“Now I get it.” Instantly you whipped your head towards Ace who had the bravery to interrupt the Pyro Archon. When you tried to shut him up before he could make things worse, he didn’t have it. He didn’t even let Grim try to use his paws to cover his mouth or listen to the obvious signs from the other two deities to shut his trap while he still could. “You want them as a propaganda piece! Just to make everyone think that if you control the face of the resistance, then you control all. They’re not some tool for you to use! No one’s actually going to believe that rebel here would willingly follow your stupid laws.” 

“Stop!” Cater interjected, trying to get the two troublemaker immortals spared from a world of pain. The pair made it difficult to do so when they talked back. “They don’t mean that, Your Majesty! Of course our cute newbie is gonna come back with us, right?” Now Cater was looking at you pleadingly. It looked… genuine. Was he pleading with you to go with them in an attempt to spare lives, or because he wanted you there? 

“No, they’re not. They’re not going with you. They ran from you for a reason, and you’re going to try and drag them back when they don’t want to be there?” Deuce placed an arm in front of you, but you tried to get him to lower it. Even you knew that someone as clever as Ace or strong as Deuce would be defeated in seconds flat. If Riddle just looked away for a second, then maybe you could give the two enough time to make a break for an exit. 

“Heartslabyul is the safest and most prosperous nation because of me. I beheaded the beasts that made it all but impossible for mortals to live in peace, I brought centuries of order because I alone annihilated the old chaotic age when no one else could, and I enforce the laws that you mortals desired in order to do away with anarchy! There is nowhere safer than with me where I can teach you the laws and how to abide by them.” It didn’t sound like he was arguing with Ace or Deuce anymore, it sounded like Riddle was speaking to you. You didn’t like how his hands were sparking even more now, smoke rising from his fingertips. 

You got it. You had a plan to get Ace and Deuce out of here–– 

“Just cause you did all that doesn’t mean you can’t be a tyrant.” As soon as Ace spoke those words, you knew your plan was rendered useless, especially as the Pyro Archon stilled. 

The hair on the back of your neck went up, and instinctively you slowly raised your arms in defense as you felt heat emanating from him. However, he didn’t move. Riddle Rosehearts looked down at Ace from his spot on the hill, and he murmured strangely quietly, “What…? Care to repeat that?”

“Sure! He called you a selfish pompous bad-tempered lil’ tyrant who’s trying to steal my disciple!” Of all times for Grim to finally speak up––you felt like you were about to have a heart attack. 

It all happened so fast. Fire erupted at his fingertips, and you recognized the fiery threads that shot out towards you. Not directly at you nor at Grim, but at the two immortals beside you. You couldn’t block individually with one hand yet, but they were close enough to you so you could try, but this was the Pyro Archon’s fire. 

King Rosehearts didn’t even stop to check if his hit landed on the two immortals, because he immediately diverted his attention towards the settlement. You couldn’t see him past the flames, you could barely hear him past the effort of your own straining, but you did pick up on him shouting out commands. “Trey!! Cater!! While I fulfill this decree, you are to see to it that those two criminals are detained and my subject is brought back to the palace forthwith!!” 

Your palms felt as if they were burning, so hot you thought your flesh might melt straight off the bone. It hurt, like pain you never experienced before. The heat was centered directly in the middle of your palm where the emblem would be, as you had stuck out a hand in front of Ace and another in front of Deuce. You think, the only reason you weren’t fatally burned yet, was because Grim acted quick enough to aid your blocking technique with his own blue fire he spit out. You could feel your hold on those Threads of Eternal Fire beginning to slip. 

You heard Ace and Deuce scream something, maybe your name, you think. It was impossible to tell, when the heat was overwhelming you and making you dizzy, and the roar of the flames was the only thing you could clearly hear. The only thing you felt was the heat, and Grim still sticking close to your shoulder. There was no way you could cancel out the archon’s pyro, it was too strong. It wasn’t like the blessed thread the judge used where you miraculously cut it without entirely meaning to. Trying to cut through this thread would be like trying to cut through a chunk of metal with a flimsy pair of scissors, impossible. Deflect. That’s the only thing you could do, which became manageable when you felt the weight of the flames partially lifted on each end. You didn’t have to look to know that Ace and Deuce were likely stupidly attempting to block it too so you wouldn’t burn. It gave you enough leeway to deflect, back towards where Cater and Trey were ahead of you. 

The entire thing lasted a second, maybe two, but it felt like forever. You had no chance to check on your immortal friends, or if the attack actually hit the deities, or even check on your hands. Instantly, there were deafening bursts all around you, bursts of heat that made you wince and blasts that made your ears ring. One in particular was close, so close it sent you flying, separating you from Ace and Deuce while also driving a wedge between you and Cater or Trey. Miraculously you still had Grim, who dug his claws into your cloak and refused to be separated. 

You didn’t break any bones as you landed in those familiar daisies even further from the settlement. Your vision was blurry, and Grim was shaking you as you struggled to lift yourself up. The ringing continued in your ears, and as you looked at Grim’s wide blue eyes, you saw his mouth was moving rapidly but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. When you looked down, you were covered in remnants of soot and your trembling hands were somehow still intact. Your flesh felt sore, but it wasn’t burned, as your emblem glowed a horrid bloody red. When you looked up as your vision recovered, that is when your heart felt as if it stopped beating. 

The Furnace was on fire. 

The once bright blue sky was now gray with clouds of thick smoke, the white daisies on the ground were dirtied with ash. The horizon was painted red, not by a sunset but by flames. There were flames all around you, especially over the settlement, flames with bright red threads strung everywhere. 

Your hearing was starting to return at the worst time, because you could now make out the roaring flames and thundering blasts that drowned out the sound of screams. So many screams it formed a symphony of destruction, and Riddle Rosehearts was the conductor. You could just barely make out his silhouette far off in the distance, as he raised his hands this way and that way, controlling every strand of thread and spell of pyro. 

You couldn’t breathe–– was it the smoke in the air or were you hyperventilating? This can’t be happening, this can’t be real! It was your fault, this was all your fault–– 

“Disciple!!!” Grim was pulling you along, and only then did you notice he was pulling you away from the settlement. When you looked to the direction he was trying to guide you in, you noticed your bag ahead, some of the items had fallen out. It must have ended up there when you were tossed due to the blast. 

One of the items that had fallen out was the card you discovered in the last book you read: The White Flame and Crookedspire. Originally, you had intended to return it with the forbidden book to the library, however, in all the chaos that had ensued with your plan to escape, you had left the book on the nightstand beside a simple file you barely glanced at and accidentally brought the slip with you. The card was a plain old thing, dirtied by all the ash, but it was glowing. It didn’t do that before. As you quickly approached to gather your bag and Grim grabbed the fallen supplies to stuff back into place, the card began to glow brighter until white flames appeared. 

White flames formed, multiple in a line leading off deeper into the Furnace, away from the settlement and the ongoing destruction. The feline entity didn’t give you a choice, he pulled you along as quickly as he could, until both of you were running. Running, because this was not a fight you could win. 

Something told you to follow the trail of white flames, and so you did with the card in hand. Each time you got too close to one of the white flames, another would appear, then another, and another. They were tiny wisps that reminded you of him, but they weren’t red like him, they were pure white like little ghosts that hummed and beckoned you forward. Grim took the lead, not stopping at all as you continued running despite the intense ache all over your body, especially in your hands. The further you went along, panting and sprinting, the more the card glowed, brighter and brighter until it was warm. 

The last wisp hovered above a hole, hidden far from the settlement on a mound. The gap was right at the root of a great big twisted tree, the opening concealed by a boulder and vines. You were gasping, dying for breath when you stepped closer to the white flame. Just as before, it vanished, and you were left alone with Grim to peer inside. Immediately you could tell it was an exit, a way to leave the Furnace, but it must have been one that likely had not been used in a very very long time. 

There was not much time to question if the glowing card played a role with those white wisps, or why this particular exit was all the way out here, or where exactly it would lead. It was an exit, a way to get out, an opportunity to escape the Pyro Archon. 

Evidently, this was not something Grim would wait for you to decide on. The feline entity looked around, making sure no one was near, before pulling you forward so your feet were tipping over the edge. “Come on, disciple. We need to go. I’ll protect you, no matter what happens…!” And you believed him.

In one hand you gripped the mysterious card, and with the other hand Grim pulled you down so you were falling through that familiar space. Your guide clutched you tight, and in return, you held him like a lifeline. Poor Grim was covered in soot. You were falling and falling, the card in your grasp glowed like a nightlight. If only it could make everything go away, drive off the bad as if this were nothing but a nightmare. 

It got so bright, so hot, that you had to let go of the slip before it burned your fingers. It fluttered behind you, and you heard movement. The card fizzled and burned, going out like a firework, and as it did so, the path behind you was closing. You didn’t see it close entirely as you were spit out, but you heard it close with a pop! Suddenly it was quiet. 

So so quiet. There were no shouts, no screams, no sizzling or hissing or bursting of flames. It was so quiet here, wherever here was. It was a dark unfamiliar forest, very unlike the heavenly atmosphere of the Furnace. You could hear nothing except your rapid breathing and your own heartbeat in your ears, and Grim panting before sniffing the air. 

“I don’t smell anything weird nearby so I think the coast is clear!” Your vision got blurry again as Grim peered up at you, and he placed a paw over your hand as you were still awkwardly on the ground. “Disciple…?” 

You were crying. You were crying and you couldn’t stop it. The Pyro Archon had carried out his decree as he promised, and would surely devastate the Furnace as he had to so many places before. The Head of Investigation and the King’s Regent still had their orders to bring you back to the Fyrosian Palace even if they had to drag you while you were kicking and screaming. The Red Thief and Blue Brawler, your friends… you had no idea what would happen to them. “I-I’m sorry, Grim––” 

You could hardly breathe again, this time it was because of the droplets dampening your cheeks. The tears slid down your face, dropping onto your hands as you tried to rub them away and stop, but you simply couldn’t. 

“It’s okay…! Hey, I’m here!” Grim tried assuring, settling in your lap as his paws frantically tried patting at your cheeks to wipe off the tears. At least you weren’t entirely alone. Things could be so much worse, but at least your guide was still here sticking by your side.